Miss Hebe Is Charging Through the Lostbelts! [33]

“Greetings, king of a later age. I am Imhotep. I am speaking to you from three thousand years ago.”

White candlelight swayed as Hebe met Arthur’s eyes through the curtain of flame.

Hebe turned slightly to the side, while Arthur sat upright in the high-backed chair. She gave no response at all, as though she had not heard a word Hebe said.

Her eyes swept over the tall bookshelves, the antique fossils covered by transparent glass domes, the gray mist flowing across the floor, and the somewhat old-fashioned floorboards visible through the gaps in that mist.

This was the Wasteland, a world that could only be reached through dreams.

A full five seconds passed before Arthur raised her eyes.

She leaned back slightly, settling comfortably against the back of the chair. Her left elbow bent against the armrest, and her straight-lined legs crossed. She was clearly only a guest, yet invisible majesty filled the entire space.

“Merlin?”

Arthur spoke abruptly.

Hebe’s heartbeat seemed to skip a beat.

The candlelight swayed faintly.

“I am Imhotep of Kemet,” Hebe answered softly.

The ancient Egyptians called their homeland Kemet, meaning “the black land watered by the river,” while the desert was called Deshret, meaning “red land.”

Arthur neither confirmed nor denied it.

Hebe frowned inwardly. Even Ozymandias wasn’t this hard to fool. What the hell is with this woman?

So she simply got straight to the point. “King of a later age, I wish to ask for your help.”

“The god Set is about to destroy Kemet, and the pharaoh who rules Kemet has now strayed from the path of the god Horus. This time, no god will manifest a miracle against the disaster.”

“The god Set possesses three natures: destruction, calamity, and nothingness. Only when the rivers of Kemet run dry, the sun dims, and the oases turn to desert will Set’s fury subside. Only when the last Kemetian dies and their culture is severed will his endless hunt come to a halt.”

“O king of a later age, you are beloved by the god Horus, a living god who presides over authority. I beg you to accept a portion of the Kemetians in the future and allow them to settle and rebuild upon your land.”

Horus was another name for the Second Consul, Scar-Father, while Set was an aspect of the Eighth Consul, Remnant Wolf. From ancient times to the present, they had struggled against each other, fighting to the death.

“They will bring considerable wealth and secret knowledge. All you need do is… accept them as your subjects.”

Hebe felt somewhat uneasy.

She knew that Arthur was not an easy king to negotiate with, and she knew even more clearly that the promise she made now might not necessarily be fulfilled once history changed.

“Very well.”

“If you… hm?”

Hebe realized the answer she had heard was not a refusal.

“I agree,” Arthur repeated, her fingers interlaced and resting on her knees.

Even through mist and candlelight, Hebe felt as though Arthur had been staring into her eyes the entire time.

The king’s gaze grew hotter and hotter, radiating a terrifying aggressiveness and desire to conquer.

“Th-thank you for your mercy.”

After a brief but difficult silence, Hebe gave a dry laugh.

The wavering candle flames suddenly leapt upward, and the velvet curtains before the window billowed high.

The cobalt starlight and secret candleflames melted into a pool of water, until the specific scene could no longer be made out.

Arthur narrowed her eyes and reached out toward the rising candlefire.

Yet the instant she touched it, her hand closed on nothing.

…

The King of Albion awoke upon her throne and silently rubbed her fingers.

On her slender fingertips was a layer of scorched black, as though burned by fire.

In India, in the riverlands of the Far Eastern subcontinent, the nobles there believed that time was a candle flame.

Its wick was cold and cruel, its outer flame violent.

“Time…” Arthur murmured.

She had been certain that Merlin was secretly playing tricks, but when the burn marks of time appeared, she became less sure.

This meant that the person calling themselves Imhotep truly was separated from her by a vast span of time.

“But does that matter?” the King of Albion laughed softly.

For a king, never mind familiarity—even the slightest possibility was worth any price.

Arthur’s fingers tapped against the armrest of her throne.

Thud!

A drumlike roar came without warning.

Then solemn bells and horns sounded together from deep within the throne hall.

In the hearth-like shrines at the four corners of the throne hall, flames suddenly surged several meters high, and illusory figures of the Knights of the Round Table stepped out from within them, bowing their heads to the king upon the throne.

Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Tristan… with the exception of Mordred, the entire first generation of the Round Table had gathered.

And within the shadows cast by the rising hearthfire, heavy footsteps sounded. This man wore black armor, his face cold and austere as steel.

—Agravain the Iron.

He had once not been a Knight of the Round Table, but Merlin’s disciple and assistant; after reaching adulthood, he had served as an aide.

Yet that was already the distant past.

The Knights of the Round Table had long since become one corner of King Arthur’s legend, and more than that, the foundation of the Eternal King’s Great Deed.

When Arthur, bearing the authority of the Eternal King, ruled over Albion, these Knights of the Round Table had answered the summons once more as Heroic Spirits. They gathered under Arthur’s banner and fought for her.

Agravain knelt on one knee below the steps, awaiting King Arthur’s command.

“My lords!”

The king, bearing Red Dragon blood and a Lion’s heart, recounted word for word everything she had seen in the Wasteland, omitting no detail.

As she described it, the expressions of the Knights of the Round Table changed.

What rose upon their faces was not fear, but… realization and wild joy.

“So that is it! So that is it.” Agravain murmured under his breath, letting out a sigh of sudden understanding.

After they had answered the summons again as Heroic Spirits, they had already realized that this was a beautiful new world—metal had become the skeleton of the cities, and electricity raced through pipelines, driving the age forward.

Yet there was still someone who had not seen all of this with her own eyes.

“Find her,” the king upon the throne said softly. “Sister’s divination is indeed wondrous, but this time, I will be faster than she is.”

And so the ecstatic Round Table quietly faded once more into hearthfire and shadow. In the name of the Eternal King, they would present before Arthur every last piece of information on every person in Albion, down to the finest detail.

Among the many Knights of the Round Table, Bedivere’s steps slowed slightly. “My king, the operative from the Night Watch Bureau action team has already had her identity verified. You may summon her now.”

“Mm.” Arthur nodded noncommittally. “I remember her codename was… Mostima?”

“Your Majesty’s memory is exact.”

“Then have her come to audience.”

“As you command.” Bedivere bowed once more and left the throne hall together with Agravain.

Within the shadows where the hearthfire leapt, the king’s suppressed laughter sounded, like the hiss of blades and the clang of metal.

…

Bedivere and Agravain walked side by side, leaving the hall behind.

The rare sunlight of Albion was doing its best to pierce the clouds, spilling over the courtyard paths.

“My king unleashed divine power beyond Daylight status in Frontier: Cape of Birds and completely destroyed that Frontier,” Bedivere said. “The impact of the Sword in the Stone will make temperatures in that region higher for the next twenty years, making it suitable for crop cultivation, but also more likely to breed occult societies.”

“Because the remnants of Cape of Birds slid into the Atlantic, El Niño will be more severe over the next five years.”

“Several fishing grounds on the eastern side of the United Federation have been affected and destroyed. They have strong objections.”

Agravain sneered. “They can die for all I care.”

“I am afraid the Red Dragon King and the speaker may have something to say about it,” Bedivere reminded him.

“When has the current Red Dragon ever behaved herself? She is merely an immature little girl.” Agravain continued to sneer, though his expression was no longer quite so contemptuous. “There is only one king I revere, and that is the Eternal King who rules all Albion, Her Majesty Arthur.”

“In any case, we need to give her a response.” Bedivere calmly turned his gaze toward the lake. “When Lady Morgan previously divined clues concerning the sage, she also notified the royal family and parliament.”

“Mm…” Agravain nodded coldly, and in the end, did not argue further.

The current Red Dragon King, Talulah, had always been somewhat restless. They had long since grown used to it.

Fortunately, compared to the Red Dragon King, the speaker from the Victoria bloodline was far easier to get along with.

And so, in a few brief words, the matter was settled, becoming a lightly written line in a Night Watch Bureau document.

Though the Round Table existed as Heroic Spirits, the king had also granted them official positions in the present world.

Among them, Bedivere served as Cabinet Steward, while Agravain served both as aide and as Minister of the Night Watch, specifically handling supernatural and mystical affairs.

Whether it was the “defected” Andoain or Mostima and the others, all counted as Agravain’s subordinates.

In the eyes of the Minister of the Night Watch, he could hardly escape blame for the Cape of Birds incident.

“I do not think His Majesty means to blame you for this matter, Sir Agravain,” Bedivere stopped and said softly. “A Frontier was shattered by His Majesty using the Sword in the Stone. Andoain was caught within it and must surely be thoroughly dead. The Orthodox Church claims he suffered Distortion due to becoming entranced, but that is not the truth.”

“Andoain received a ‘blessing’ from an unknown being and was promoted to Daylight status.”

Bedivere paused. “—Before he was promoted, he also renounced his faith in the HOLY GRAIL.”

In other words, the being who had bestowed that blessing upon Andoain was at least a Consul.

Ever since the two world wars, powers above Daylight had vanished from the waking world, as though it had always been that way from ancient times to the present. The same was true of the Consuls.

Agravain suddenly spoke. “What does Andoain possess that could make a Consul value him?”

So much so that this Consul even had to hide their name to bestow a blessing upon him.

“Unless that Consul’s own condition is very… poor.” Bedivere’s voice slowly lowered. “It has been almost half a century since the two wars. Though conflicts still continue across the world today, there are no longer any flames of war that would set the entire world alight…”

Mysticisms of violence, destruction, and nothingness still existed, but no one put them into practice anymore.

These were all symbols of the Eighth Consul, Remnant Wolf.

Agravain let out a heavy breath, his brow furrowing tighter.

“To make that Consul quiet down would indeed be very difficult. Unless they are already not far from ‘death.’”

After a long silence, Bedivere took the initiative to move past the topic and looked at Agravain.

“His Majesty has already issued the command. What method will you use to find our sage?”

“…I will go to Cornwall,” Agravain answered.

“Then I will search the household registration records for all Albion.” Bedivere nodded simply. “I wish you success in finding the answer you want in Cornwall, Sir Agravain.”

“And I wish you gains as well, Sir Bedivere.”

Agravain responded with a simple salute and watched Bedivere’s back disappear at the end of the corridor.

The answers Agravain sought were not as simple as “clues to Merlin.” He would also ask for information concerning August Consul: Remnant Wolf.

This knight was quite certain that he would gain something.

Because he knew that a library named the Silenced Bookhouse had stood in the countryside of Cornwall for hundreds of years. And from a century ago, the Silenced Bookhouse had maintained a good working relationship with the Night Watch Bureau.

Rumor had it that the Silenced Bookhouse came from the hot lands of Egypt.

This is a fan translation of 赫柏小姐正在杀出异闻带！ by 青散人 Rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!