Miss Hebe Is Charging Through the Lostbelts! [38]

Tutankhamun’s eyes were smiling, his tone gentle.

“The answer is very simple. The nine Consuls were discussing whether a new Consul should be born.”

A look of realization appeared on Hebe’s face, and she nodded, neither deferential nor arrogant. “I see!”

All the mysteries now had their answer.

The nine Consuls had discussed the birth of a new Consul in the Wasteland. Their opinions certainly could not have been entirely aligned, and so the contention between the Consuls had affected the present world from within the Wasteland, forming the first Calamities of the Ennead.

Ozymandias, in turn, had realized that a far greater power still existed in this world, and that other Paths existed as well. Because of that, he had been forced to take one crucial step, yet had been unable to ascend any higher.

First, he devoured the pharaohs of every age. Then he split off the seats of the Nine Sage Gods. After that, he brought down disasters, seizing countless lives as fuel to sustain himself.

But even so, Ozymandias could no longer hold on. In seven years at most, he would make one final gamble and drag all of Egypt down into the abyss with him.

Hebe had spoken the honor-name of March Consul: Raven, causing that young Consul to come from a later age and creating a new turn in the situation. Ozymandias had realized that he might even have the possibility of becoming a Consul—the flames of ambition would not allow him to let go.

For that, he would not hesitate to sacrifice all of Egypt to accomplish his own unrivaled work.

Were Ozymandias here, he would surely answer with a great laugh: “I am the sun, the god-king who rules the great red sea of sand, the oases, and all this land. For Upper and Lower Egypt to die for me—is that not only natural?!”

Hebe’s heart gradually sank. She carefully studied the smiling Tutankhamun before her.

Sunlight poured bright and clear outside the window, yet the seat was empty. There was no Tutankhamun at all, only an empty carpet.

Hebe’s expression did not change. She quietly stared at that spot before her, and in the next instant, the space between her brows swelled. Vaguely, a gleam rose in the air, as though feathers had layered upon feathers.

The layered feathers vanished in an instant, as though they had been nothing more than a fleeting dream. Tutankhamun was still sitting properly in his place, chewing on a fresh date.

Is the Tutankhamun before me really that pharaoh who died young in history? The thought flashed through Hebe’s mind. Is he an incarnation of the March Consul, or…

The thought swiftly sank away again. Hebe pressed down the emotions in her heart. “In other words, if I do not stop him, Ozymandias really does have a chance of becoming a Consul?”

Hebe thought of the final moment of every seven years, that terrifying skeleton descending from the clouds, trampling over desert and oasis, scooping up flesh and blood to sate itself. If she absolutely had to match it to one of the Consuls, the only one that came to mind was December Consul: Duke of Sighs.

Could Ozymandias be the later Duke of Sighs?

The moment this conjecture emerged in Hebe’s mind, her Lostbelt progress shot upward by a great margin.

The sunlight twisted, forming words that only she could see.

[THE TRUTH OF HISTORY HAS FINALLY BEEN LAID BARE. IN THE CREVICE BETWEEN DISASTER AND AMBITION, OZYMANDIAS FOUND THE ROAD TO THE SEAT OF CONSUL, AND IN HIS HAND HE HOLDS THE KEY TO KNOCK OPEN THE ULTIMATE GATE.]

[OZYMANDIAS IS TOUCHING THE FORBIDDEN, BUT FORBIDDEN THINGS HAVE POWER OF THEIR OWN. THE RED KING HAS MADE EVERYTHING IN EGYPT THE CORNERSTONE OF HIS ASCENSION. BETWEEN THE RISE AND FALL OF CIVILIZATION, HE WILL SEIZE AUTHORITY OVER DISASTER, DESPAIR, AND DEATH.]

[THE TRUTH OF HISTORY CANNOT BE ALTERED, AND SO IT IS WITH THE FATE BY WHICH DECEMBER CONSUL: DUKE OF SIGHS IS BORN.]

Hebe raised her head and met Tutankhamun’s eyes.

The young pharaoh had been happily eating dates. Noticing Hebe’s gaze, he gave an awkward smile.

“I imagine the gods would not welcome a companion who is tyrannical, arbitrary, and willful,” Hebe said to Tutankhamun with a smile. “In arbitrariness, February Consul: Scar-Father already came before him; in boundless cruelty, August Consul: Remnant Wolf comes after him.”

“Moreover, I would think that a deity presiding over a subordinate Path of the Principle of Winter ought to maintain silence and respect toward death. At the very least, toward proper death.”

Hebe’s smile grew brighter and brighter, while the chill around her body grew heavier and heavier.

Tutankhamun’s eyes widened, astonishment appearing on his face.

And at that moment, Hebe spoke the final sentence. “…I imagine the gods only need there to be a Consul. They do not care who that Consul is.”

Then, following her will, new words appeared.

Those words were extremely pale, like fresh snow upon a window.

[OZYMANDIAS’S ASCENSION RITUAL IS NEARING ITS MIDPOINT. BY REMNANT WOLF’S PROMISE, A NEW CONSUL WILL STEP INTO ETERNITY, AND EVERYTHING IN EGYPT WILL FALL APART AND CEASE TO EXIST. YET THE SITUATION STILL HAS ROOM TO TURN.]

[FOR THE CONSULS’ OPINIONS ARE NOT UNIFIED. THE GODS NEED ONLY HAVE A CONSUL, BUT DO NOT CARE WHO THAT CONSUL IS. IT MAY BE OZYMANDIAS, OR IT MAY BE ANOTHER. AND THE PRIEST ONCE PROMISED THE GODDESS WITH WHOM SHE FORMED A COVENANT THAT EVERYTHING WOULD BE ALL RIGHT, AND ALL THINGS WOULD BE IN ORDER.]

[YOU WILL WITNESS THE BIRTH OF A NEW CONSUL AND, AT THE SAME TIME, DECLARE OZYMANDIAS’S DEFEAT. THUS WILL THE CURTAIN FALL ON THIS LOSTBELT.]

…

When Nitocris stood outside Abydos, her mood could by no means be called good, because she had already realized that Hebe’s words carried a heavy sense of farewell.

She felt unwillingness, anger, absurdity, and emptiness. As a pharaoh, she was all the more helpless for it.

Nitocris respected Hebe, just as Hebe respected her. In her eyes, Hebe was a child who might step into self-destruction at any time and in any place. Yet precisely because of that, Nitocris wanted all the more to care for her, protect her, and accompany her as she grew up safely.

If that was still possible.

The thought only made Nitocris’s heart colder. She gazed at the soldiers standing in strict guard upon the city walls, calmly extended both hands, then clenched her fists and crossed them over her chest.

A dark halo rose behind her head. Yet that darkness was soon soaked through with a bleak white, speckled here and there like silent snow falling in the deep of night.

[FIRST MARK]: FUNERARY TEXT

[SECOND MARK]: GREAT WORK OF THE NETHERWORLD GOD

[THIRD MARK]: JUDGMENT OF THE NETHERWORLD GOD

[FOURTH MARK]: WIND OF THE DESERT NIGHT

The four gates of Abydos were abruptly covered in a thin layer of white frost. A stern chill began to sprout from every inch of earth. Whether commoners or nobles, everyone unconsciously lowered their voices; even the sound of footsteps seemed loud.

Hieroglyphs surfaced upon Nitocris’s crossed arms. At the mere sight of them, the guards upon the city wall could not stop their tears from falling, yet those tears froze before they could run down their cheeks.

Cold winds arrived from every direction, circling silently beneath the gloomy sky. Immediately afterward, every sound sank into the intoxicating frost, and no unnecessary noise appeared again.

A heavy snow-white came from the far end of the horizon, dyeing Abydos into a world of blue and white. Whether it was the Temple of Kings or the obelisks inscribed with achievements, everything seemed fragile beneath the weight of that snow.

This city had been utterly transformed by the power of Winter. Under snowlight and moonlight, it would appear still more beautiful, while an entrancing silence lingered on beneath the city’s sky.

It had walls like a crescent moon, and an appearance like new snow. This was Abydos as it now stood.

And yet Nitocris still felt it was not enough. She raised both arms, and an ancient papyrus scroll silently unfurled. Those heartbreaking words fell upon it one after another. Thus, all those who had died upon this land over thousands of years began crawling out of their graves in succession.

The dead had sunken eye sockets, while the places that had once been mouths were shriveled, smooth sheets of flesh. Gaunt to the bone, they moved through the north wind, becoming the finest residents of Abydos.

Only then did Nitocris finally complete her preparations. She softly exhaled a pale-white breath.

The fresh snow and north winds answered together, giving a gentle resonance.

—[ANPU NEB TA DJESER: NETHER MIRROR THESAURUS].

At some point, a mirror seemingly polished from obsidian had appeared in Nitocris’s arms. The mirror was pitch-black, like a silent curtain of night. As she lifted her hand, the image of Abydos appeared within it, though that city was just as silent and still.

Every living thing had been drawn into it, without realizing they had already left the present world behind.

In Abydos of the present world, only the soundless dead remained. Following the remnants of their memories, they found the homes where they had once lived.

Nitocris held the mirror close. She reached into it and drew out a white cloak.

There was nothing else on the cloak, only two hollow eyes, staring silently straight ahead.

Nitocris draped the white vestment over herself.

In the next instant, a rumbling roar came from far away.

The female pharaoh raised her head and looked over. A scorching burning wind was sweeping a sandstorm along with it, howling toward her from the distant horizon.

damn nice butt

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!