On the grid-like avenues linking the Seven Hills, the heavy, grim rhythm of marching feet echoed alongside the scrape of armor and the clang of swords and shields. From every direction, dozens of elite century units converged, assembling beneath the Palatine Hill.
Yet mysterious triangular sigils bearing embedded eyes suddenly lit up across every key choke point of the Roman Forum below the Pantheon. The stone pavement softened and collapsed, turning into spiraling quicksand that hindered the army's advance.
The Eye of Horus! Egyptian Magecraft!
The accompanying priests immediately realized what it was. Without hesitation, they began chanting sacred words, joining their voices to cast purification spells that dispelled the abnormality on the ground and reopened the path forward.
But in the instant the reinforcements were occupied clearing away the quicksand, a woman stepped out from the swirling dust.
With purple hair and bronze skin, she wore a loose, airy robe and held a falcon-headed staff. Several columns of wind rose around her as she emerged. Looking down at the advancing century units with cold disdain, she spoke proudly.
"Romans, halt. I am Nitocris, Pharaoh favored by Horus, God of the Sky. Take one more step, and I will show no mercy!"
"All units, wedge formation! Charge!"
Under the orders of their centurions, the disciplined Roman army immediately shifted into a wedge formation and drove forward without hesitation, their advance sharp and relentless.
Tch. Just as expected...
Pharaoh Nitocris lightly tapped her falcon-headed staff in resignation. From the inverted triangular Magecraft array floating in midair, she drew out the scroll she had obtained the previous night. With solemn resolve, she tore it open and hurled it forward.
Puff! Puff! Puff! Puff!
Amid curling plumes of blue smoke, several coffins adorned with golden patterns dropped out of the scroll and materialized into solid form.
"Mirror of Corpses, Mirror of Darkness. Become a doorway and bring terror here. Anpu Neb Ta Djeser!"
Nitocris traced mysterious patterns with her staff as she gave a solemn shout, chanting divine words in rapid succession. Behind her, a dark violet vortex appeared. From within it emerged a circular mirror. Its handle was carved with the head of Anubis, the jackal god, and pale wings spread from both sides as it cast out dim, ominous light.
"Awaken, warriors who sleep within the darkness!"
At once, the golden coffins illuminated by the underworld mirror began to tremble violently. The lids, sealed shut by ritual coffin nails, were blasted open with a thunderous roar of Ether.
"Roar! Roar! Roar! Roar!"
Dozens of mummies crawled out from the coffins. Their bodies were wrapped in rune-covered bandages, their frames shriveled like dry wood, yet their skin gleamed with a metallic sheen. Black mist swirled around their claws as they lashed out toward the Roman legion.
The sharp whistling of their strikes sent chills down the spine.
At the tip of the wedge formation, several centurions sensed the violent surge of Ether particles and their expressions changed instantly. Dropping into a braced stance, they thrust their shields forward and roared.
"Mars, God of War, ignite my blood!"
Boom!
The concentrated might of the legion clashed head-on with the boiling crimson battle aura and the lunging mummies. A piercing screech like metal scraping glass exploded in the air as violent waves of Mana blasted outward.
The centurions who took the impact staggered back, their boots shattering several stone slabs before they finally managed to halt.
Roman soldiers circling from both flanks raised their shields, thrust their spears, and brought their short swords down in heavy blows.
But a fierce recoil followed. Their weapons bent into exaggerated arcs under the impact.
Meanwhile, the bandage-wrapped mummies bore only a few shallow white marks on their bodies.
So hard!
The soldiers' palms went numb, their chests tight with shock as their pupils shrank in alarm.
Naturally.
These golden mummies were created through secret rites using the divine blood of the dead. Their bodies were harder than steel, their strength immense, and they were immune to low-level Magecraft. Each one could fight a hundred men alone.
Hmph. With these warriors of mine standing here, you will not pass.
Nitocris lifted her smooth chin, pride flickering in her eyes.
Yet when the corner of her gaze drifted toward the scattered fragments of the scroll on the ground, she could not help feeling a bit reflective.
That eccentric woman may be terrified of death, but her ability to store all kinds of things like that is truly convenient.
Without her assistance, there would have been no way to smuggle these weapons from Egypt to Rome without anyone noticing.
It was said that these scrolls were crafted using the finest Magecraft material: leaves from the World Tree.
For this operation, Cyrus the Great had paid an enormous price, gathering a sufficient number of them from across many lands.
And after going to such lengths, the Three Kings were clearly not acting merely to stop a coronation ceremony.
They intended to bleed Rome... carve away its flesh... strip its bones... and perhaps even...
The female pharaoh raised her eyes toward the Pantheon. Her gaze flickered, her expression unreadable.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
At the same time, dust clouds erupted across every checkpoint. Elite century units rushing from their garrisons to reinforce the city were intercepted one after another.
"Behold Egypt's setting sun, revealing the Serpent of the End. By command of the Last Pharaoh... Serpent of the Dawn that brings the end, descend here!"
At the Arch of Triumph, Cleopatra, the female pharaoh clad in a flowing white dress, blue hair and blue eyes shining with the blessing of the serpent god, leapt down from above. With a sweeping gesture of her hand, a golden cobra formed from condensed Ether surged forth from the Magecraft array behind her. Coiling through the air, it charged headlong into the assembled Roman army.
"Lord of the Sun, Father of Flames, Mithra. Your origin is light, your power is fire. Become my arrow!"
At the highest point of the Colosseum, a robust young man with black hair and brown eyes stood atop a marble column, his gaze sharp as an eagle's. Drawing his bow to its limit, he condensed blazing light into an arrow and released it toward the Roman century units converging along the main routes. Each precise shot blasted apart the streets, sending thick clouds of dust into the air.
In an instant, figures emerged from rooftops, dark alleyways, and behind stone monuments. Cloaked archers moved like the wind, chanting divine words as they ran, loosing arrows in rapid succession.
Like meteors streaking across the heavens, the arrows tore through the haze and screamed through the air.
Arash, the great hero of Persia. The Meteor Legion.
As these upheavals unfolded, the three emperors standing upon the Palatine Ridge, overlooking the chaos spreading through the city, saw their expressions drastically change. A powerful sense of danger surged in their hearts.
Ignoring the risk of an ambush from the Old Man of the Mountain, they raised their greatswords and slashed through the anesthetic white mist released by Hassan.
But before the imperial guards could escape the haze, the grass, trees, bricks, and stones around them gradually lost their color. Everything faded into a vast white emptiness, as though they had been peeled away from the world itself.
"What is sought is the next night. And then once more... the next night. A never-ending tale of longing woven from my words. I am the Night Storyteller, here to record your heroic saga... One Thousand and One Nights!"
At the same time, within a chant that sounded like an ancient ballad, a dark-skinned beauty floated quietly in the air while seated on a flying carpet. She rolled the handles on both sides, attempting to close the scroll that had unfolded into a living painting of the Palatine Ridge, its grass, rocks, and all those present.
Within the painting, mist swirled.
The reinforcements trapped inside were separated and scattered, each facing their own peril.
Some were blocked by powerful blue spirits emerging from golden lamp flames.
Others found themselves in a desert, battling forty bandits wielding curved blades.
Still others were stranded on a barren island, while on the sea a Persian ship approached. An adventurer named Sinbad adjusted the angle of his cannons, firing lead shot toward the shore.
Within these endlessly unfolding stories, the intruders sank deeper and deeper until they became completely lost.
The Night Storyteller, Scheherazade. The Persian secret Magus.
Thankfully... she had survived long enough to complete the mission.
Scheherazade let out a quiet sigh of relief. Her palms, gripping the scroll, were damp with sweat, her posture reverent and fearful.
Legend said she possessed a page from the supreme Persian artifact, the [Book of Destiny]. The nearly miraculous power she wielded came from the blessing granted by that deified emperor.
The battle only grew fiercer.
Assassins of the Assassin Order darted through the chaos, acting according to the list etched into their memories. A new wave of slaughter began as blood and violence swept across the city.