You can read ahead up to 110 chapters on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/darkshadow6395
The cities of ancient Egypt buzzed with life.
Merchants hawked their wares... spices, pottery, amulets, and divine statues, at the top of their lungs.
Children darted through the crowds, their laughter echoing amid the priests' sacred hymns drifting from afar. It was as if the entire city were steeped in an atmosphere of mystical solemnity.
"Those holy relics are alchemical items of immense power. No wizard could ever create them," the one-eyed elder explained to Ian, his voice tinged with envy.
He was undoubtedly a wizard.
In an age when the gods still walked the earth, only wizards could have any connection to the temples. After all, in feudal times, the concept of universal equality didn't exist; only wizards were deemed worthy to serve as priests of the gods.
Consequently, the priests' associates were invariably wizards. The social hierarchy was even more pronounced in the supernatural realm.
"A trial?" Ian raised an eyebrow. "What kind of trial?"
The One-Eyed Elder glanced around nervously before answering, his voice tinged with reverence. "The gods love to test mortals: Ra, Anubis, Set, and Isis each have their own methods.
They might appear before you, disguised as travelers, priests, or even animals, and present you with a riddle or a trial. If you succeed, you earn their favor. If you fail, you either lose everything or vanish forever."
As he spoke, an odd glint flashed in his eye, as if he had personally witnessed these legends.
"You think they're just cold, detached observers? No, they delight in manipulating fate and watching mortals struggle to survive. They're like the protagonists of a story, and we mortals are merely actors in their divine drama." The One-Eyed Elder clearly had firsthand experience with the Legends.
His words carried the weight of his past experiences. Ian neither agreed nor disagreed. These so-called trials were essentially just entertainment for the gods.
He knew the One-Eyed Elder's words were true. These so-called trials were merely entertainment for the gods in an era before television, who used mortal heroes as their playthings.
"Heroes are just actors in the eyes of the gods," Ian remarked.
The Elder paused, then frowned. "What did you say?"
He clearly struggled to understand Ian's phrasing. Though Ian had used Legilimency to learn the local language beforehand, his way of speaking still differed greatly from that of the natives, mainly in sentence structure.
"Nothing," Ian said, waving his hand dismissively. He voiced his true thoughts: "I just think your gods here seem rather bored."
His tone lacked any reverence.
The moment the words left his lips, the air seemed to freeze for a few seconds.
The old man's face grew grave. He seized Ian's wrist and said sternly, "Young man, do not profane the gods of this land. Do you think this is merely a legend? Do you think these gods have fallen asleep? No, they are still alive, deep within the pyramids, at the bottom of the Nile River, and in every sun-drenched stone. They have been watching us all along."
The old man's words reeked of ancient, feudal superstition, but Ian had encountered gods on numerous occasions and knew they lacked the omniscience and omnipotence ascribed to them.
They didn't monitor every corner of the human realm at all times. Of course, mentioning a specific god by name might still draw its attention.
But...
For Ian, it was irrelevant. He didn't try to break free from the old man's grip. He merely regarded the old man calmly, his gaze devoid of fear. The gulf between him and the ancient wizard before him was too vast.
"I know they might be watching me," he said. "But I also know they won't reveal themselves easily." Unless... I touch something they care about."
The statement was reasonable enough. Ian's arrival would inevitably attract attention. After all, legendary wizards were like fireflies in the wizard community; they were instantly noticeable with even a casual glance.
"Ah, you bold young man!"
The One-Eyed Elder stared at Ian for a long moment, then sighed and released his grip.
"You're no ordinary person," he said. "But I hope you understand one thing: in this land, words carry weight, especially when evaluating the gods. Especially when evaluating the gods."
Ian nodded.
It was his acknowledgment.
He turned and left the stall.
In the end, he didn't buy the poorly crafted amulet. Perhaps this era held knowledge he could learn from, but for now, he continued to wander aimlessly through the city.
He didn't find any wizard stallholders that piqued his interest. While the cities of ancient Egypt lacked the meticulous order of modern metropolises, they teemed with vitality and inherent order.
Rows of shops and workshops lined the streets where artisans carved divine statues and crafted pottery while women haggled over fresh fruits and vegetables in the markets.
Along the riverbank, slaves hauled massive stone blocks to prepare them for transport to the pyramid construction sites. In the distance, several pyramids loomed majestically, like silent giants watching over the land.
Gazing down upon this landscape, Ian remarked, "It's really hot here." As he passed a temple, he saw a group of white-robed priests performing a ritual.
Wielding long staffs, they chanted ancient spells and danced around a colossal divine statue. The statue's imposing yet unfamiliar appearance suggested that it represented a deity not widely recognized by later generations.
Ian had little interest in such mystical displays. He was searching for gathering places of wizards, and sure enough, every city seemed to have its own version of the Leaky Cauldron, a hub for wizards.
And what a coincidence, nearly all of them were taverns.
This custom of gathering in taverns seemed to truly date back to ancient times.
At midday, Ian entered a riverside tavern. Murals of harvest dances adorned the mud-brick walls, and a group of foreign merchants were gambling with dice in the corner.
The air hung thick with the aroma of beer and an unknown spice. Ian ordered a cup of palm wine and sat by the window to observe the street scene. Soon, two dancers in translucent linen robes approached him.
"Handsome foreigner," one of the girls said. Her golden nose ring glinted as she twirled a strand of her hair. "Would you like to hear a song? Just one copper coin."
Ian smiled and tossed her a silver coin. "I'd rather hear some special stories. Like, about your gods."
The dancers exchanged glances. The girl with the nose ring lowered her voice. "Which god do you want to know about? If you want to hear hymns to God Amun, we wouldn't dare sing them carelessly, the temple's spies are everywhere."
"Then tell me about a less mainstream one," Ian suggested, swirling his goblet. "Like... Set?"
The two dancers shivered simultaneously.
"Shh!" Another dancer, her eyes lined with blue kohl, glanced around nervously. "You can't casually invoke the Storm God's name! Especially lately..."
"Lately?"
The woman with the golden nose ring leaned close to Ian's ear, her breath sweet with wine. "Last month, on the night of the full moon, someone saw a massive jackal shadow in the western desert, accompanied by thunderstorms. Everyone says Set is returning."
Ian narrowed his eyes. Set was the god of chaos in ancient Egypt. He was the murderer of Osiris and was exiled into the desert by Horus.
If this god was indeed stirring, it would be crucial intelligence to monitor. Just as he was about to ask for more details, the tavern doors burst open with a clang!
Boom!
Three bald priests in white robes strode in. The golden sacred serpent ornaments on their foreheads glittered in the sunlight. The lead priest carried a scepter topped with a scarab.
His hawk-like gaze swept across the room.
"In the name of Amon-Ra!" the priest declared, raising his scepter high. "Last night, a desecrator infiltrated the Karnak Temple and stole offerings from the altar. A reward of ten taels will be given to anyone who provides information!"
The tavern erupted in commotion. Ian noticed the two dancing girls shrink into a corner; their faces were pale. The One-Eyed Elder, who sold amulets, had already slipped out the back door unnoticed.
Even more striking, the scarab on the priest's scepter began to glow, growing brighter and brighter.
"Found him!"
The priest suddenly turned toward Ian. The scarab erupted with a blinding golden light.
"The desecrator is right here..."
Clearly, the local gods had noticed Ian, and they were orchestrating this absurd spectacle through their followers to drive him away.
Ian sighed.
The moment the scarab locked onto him, he snapped his fingers.
Snap!
The Scarab's glow vanished instantly.
All the lights in the tavern flickered momentarily. When the lights came back on, the priests stood frozen in confusion while Ian's seat was empty.
Only half a glass of unfinished palm wine remained on the table.
"What happened?"
The priest clutching the scepter shook the scarab vigorously.
"Just now, I..." His expression was dazed; he was unable to recall what had just transpired. Clearly, the young wizard had erased the memories of everyone present before departing.
This was a trivial feat for a legendary wizard.
As the setting sun bathed the pyramid in blood-red light, Ian stood on top of an abandoned granary in the city's western district and gazed at the distant lights of the local temple.
"I've received my orders, but I still need to find my mission objective," Ian mused, unfazed by the gods' attitude. After all, the activities of legendary wizards were bound to unsettle them.
The reason legendary wizards were legendary was that even their weakest members possessed the power to utterly crush all other wizards.
The most exceptional among them could even threaten the lives of the gods themselves. Given this, the sudden appearance of a mysterious Legendary in ancient Egypt was unwelcome among the local gods.
"The Fragment of Ra's Eye is most likely hidden deep within the temple." He traced the temple layout he'd swiped from the bartender. "As for the River Styx oar, we might have to try our luck at the Osiris Temple in Abydos."
What about the Pharaoh's Curse gold leaf?
He glanced at the coin pouch at his waist. It contained information he had "borrowed" from a black-market merchant. The latest batch of stolen funerary artifacts from the pharaoh's tombs was currently circulating on Thebes's underground black market.
Even though these were just peripheral finds, they confirmed the existence of places ripe for tomb raiding.
"Alien gods, transcendent beings . . . whatever you are," Ian chuckled. His figure gradually blended into the twilight. "Tomorrow, I'll experience the local customs and traditions of this place firsthand."
The night wind swept across the Nile River, carrying the distant howl of hyenas and whipping sand against the desert surrounding Thebes. Ian set out under cover of darkness, relying on his plundered memories to guide him.
It was a grueling eight- to nine-hour journey. Keep in mind that Ian could fly as Raven at remarkable speed, but the desert's vast, featureless landscape made navigation treacherous.
Of course.
Fortunately, Ian had finally reached his destination. Standing atop a sand dune, he gazed at the faint silhouette of the pyramid in the distance.
Bathed in moonlight, the tomb of Ramses III shimmered with an eerie, bluish-white glow, resembling a slumbering leviathan.
According to intelligence from black market merchants, a batch of the pharaoh's stolen funerary goods had recently surfaced in the underground market. The most prized item among them was a "Cursed Gold Foil" inscribed with hieroglyphic incantations.
Unfortunately, when the black market merchants tried to track down the tomb raiders, they found that the group had been executed by temple guards three days earlier and that the gold foil had been resealed within the pyramid.
"I'm Ian of the Old Nine Gates now," he sighed, gently tracing the temple map he had lifted from a tavern with his fingers. The map detailed the layout of the Pyramid of Unas.
Outside the pyramid's perimeter, a heavily armed guard patrol marched along the stone walls. They carried bronze spears and wore scarab amulets around their waists. Their vigilant eyes scanned the surroundings.
Legend has it that the pharaoh's tomb is protected by the divine power of Anubis. Desecrators would face attacks from "ghouls": tomb raiders cursed and transformed into half-human, half-jackal monsters, doomed to haunt the tomb's perimeter eternally. The story sounded terrifying and mysterious, but Ian had no interest in tangling with the guards.
"Just the result of biological transformation," he muttered.
To him, everything had a rational explanation rooted in magic.
With a soft snap of his fingers, his figure gradually blurred and dissolved into a wisp of thin gray mist. He drifted silently past the guards' line of sight, gliding across the sand toward the pyramid's entrance.
A massive stone slab carved with hieroglyphs sealed the entrance to the pyramid, creating an airtight passage. Ian took out a Greek Deconstruction Rune and was about to cast a spell when he frowned suddenly.
"Wait..." His silver-gray right eye spotted faint scratches on the stone wall. "This is a trapdoor?"
He gently traced a specific area of the hieroglyphs with his fingers, and the massive stone silently slid inward. Even more unsettling, the walls of the passageway shifted slowly, the stone blocks constantly rearranging themselves as if they were alive.
"Maze Curse," Ian whispered softly.
"It looks like this pharaoh commissioned a high-level priest spell or had advanced wizards cast it." He took a Deconstruction Rune he had acquired in Greece from his pouch and gently pressed it into a crack between the stones. The rune glowed with an eerie blue light, and the rock's molecular structure began to disintegrate. Within seconds, the sealed stone crumbled into fine sand, cascading down with a rustling sound.
Different civilizations nurture different achievements.
Sometimes, the crystallized magic of one civilization proves exceptionally effective in another. As soon as Ian stepped into the pyramid, the entrance behind him automatically sealed shut as a new stone slab grew into place.
It was as if an invisible hand were manipulating the tomb.
"What was that?"
Ahead was a narrow corridor with hieroglyphs covering its walls. Every ten paces, an eerie green light burned from a bronze oil lamp, its wick igniting spontaneously without flame.
"Just as I expected, plenty of traps."
Ian narrowed his eyes. His legendary vision pierced the darkness, revealing what ordinary eyes couldn't perceive: countless fine golden threads suspended in the air and forming a spiderweb-like pattern throughout the corridor.
"Cursed silk, touch it and you die instantly," he murmured with a sigh. "The pharaohs' imaginations truly haven't evolved in millennia."
Knowing that ancient Egyptian wizards were masters of curses, Ian flicked his fingertip. A silver-gray stream of magical energy, sharp as a blade, sliced through all the golden threads, causing them to snap and vanish without a trace.
Of course.
The danger wasn't completely neutralized.
Passing through the corridor, Ian entered a square tomb chamber. In the center of the room was a turquoise-inlaid sarcophagus, and the surrounding walls were riddled with hair-raisingly dense holes.
Inside.
Every single one was filled with scarabs.
"Jackpot!"
Potions Master Ian had logged in.
(End Of This Chapter)