Several days later, at the Vulture's Nest, within the Temple of the Evening Bell, night lay thick and heavy.
Clack!
The crisp sound echoed through the quiet chamber.
Samael lowered his gaze to the neatly severed, gold-and-blue scepter lying on the table. He picked it up, idly turning it in his hand, a faint smile of satisfaction curving his lips.
"So, it seems you succeeded?"
"I failed in my mission. Though I took his head twice, I could only bring back this useless thing…"
A shadow that had blended into the surroundings gradually solidified. The black-clad, skull-masked swordsman stepped out from the darkness, his tone low, carrying a trace of regret.
He had clearly beheaded the Pharaoh, yet within the Temple of Radiance, his Feather of Death had been unable to prevent Ramesses II from reviving.
"Gods aren't so easy to kill."
Samael took a sip of the sweet, tangy drink in his cup, weighing the gold-and-blue fragment in his hand as he replied casually.
And that was the truth.
Divine Spirits, bound by their own constraints, were still the pinnacle of power upon the earth. Unless under very specific conditions, they were not so easily destroyed.
In the battle at the City of Seven Hills, Cyrus had made exhaustive preparations to successfully assassinate the divine ancestor Romulus.
Heroes from Egypt and Persia had almost all been mobilized to create chaos. Several Hassans had infiltrated the pantheon to sabotage its foundation and disrupt the flow of divine authority. Three Divine Spirits of equal rank had joined forces to force out an opening. And in the end, this Grand Assassin had delivered the decisive strike, shattering the divine core.
Every aspect, manpower, timing, location, and tactics, had been pushed to the limit. Only then had the assassination barely succeeded.
Before that, Samael had also laid a trap for Cyrus.
He used two provinces as the hunting ground, nearly seventy thousand Roman elites as bait, and even arranged five thousand Amazon warriors to support the operation.
And still, it ended in failure.
Cyrus escaped despite heavy injuries, and the sudden appearance of the dark god Angra Mainyu nearly triggered a disaster. Even Samael himself had almost been dragged down with it.
So even as a Grand Assassin, for the old man to go alone into Egypt and face the remnants of the entire Egyptian pantheon…
The fact that he managed to behead Ramesses II twice without support was already astonishing.
As for Ramesses II reviving, that was only natural.
The Temple of Radiance itself was shaped like a pyramid, a pharaoh's tomb, embodying the cycle of death and rebirth. Within it lay a divine form of immortality.
Osiris, the first Pharaoh of Egypt in the Age of Gods, had ruled over fertile lands and a vast population, drawing the envy of his brother Set, god of desert and death.
During a banquet, this great pharaoh who led Egypt into prosperity was murdered through treachery. His body was cut into fourteen pieces and scattered across Egypt.
His wife Isis searched tirelessly, yet only recovered thirteen pieces. Even so, Osiris was still brought back to life.
So for a pharaoh to return from death was practically tradition. If Ramesses II lacked such a capability, that would have been the real surprise.
"Old man, don't dwell on it. As we agreed, that Pharaoh is more valuable alive than dead."
After a brief pause, Samael smiled faintly, his gaze meeting that of the Old Man of the Mountain.
"By the way, you didn't expose yourself, did you?"
"Following your advice, I acted only when Ramesses II was alone and never revealed my face in public. Still, it likely won't escape the Pharaoh's deductions."
The blue-black flames around the old man faded, and he returned to his simple robes, sitting across from Samael as he answered honestly with a slight nod.
"Kings are always suspicious. Some things are better left unsaid. They prefer conclusions they arrive at themselves. The more pride they have, the more so."
Samael smiled, his understanding of human nature precise and effortless.
After a moment, he grew more serious, looking at the Old Man of the Mountain with a gentler expression.
"And besides, I've dragged you onto this ship again. I can't exactly betray your trust, can I?
As long as there's no direct evidence and no one admits anything, it's as good as never having happened.
This matter in Egypt won't reach the ears of that Persian emperor. You and your Order won't be put in a difficult position. Everything can continue as before. You can rest easy."
Samael's lips curled slightly, a teasing hint of amusement flickering across his face.
"After all, His Majesty the Pharaoh does care about appearances…"
"And that makes it easier to pin the blame on the Persian Empire."
The old man lifted his gaze and glanced at his nominal superior, calmly finishing the unspoken half of the sentence.
"Despicable?"
"No. A wise choice."
"Exactly. In an unequal game, there's no shame in the weaker side exploiting the rules, using every trick available, and shaping conditions in their favor. Conspiracy, in another sense, is simply wisdom.
The struggle between humans and Divine Spirits is no different."
Samael tapped his fingers rhythmically against the tabletop, his tone low, his gaze distant.
"I've learned much…"
The Old Man of the Mountain pondered the meaning carefully, then slowly nodded.
Talking with someone intelligent really was effortless. Samael nodded in satisfaction, drained his cup, and rose to leave the Temple of the Evening Bell. As he walked out, he glanced down at the gold-and-blue scepter fragment in his hand, turning it idly as he let out a soft chuckle.
"By my reckoning… my greetings should be arriving about now."
...
At the same time, in Egypt, within the Temple of Radiance.
Crack…
The crisp sound echoed through the vast hall.
The two female pharaohs, who had been leaning against the soft manes of the Sphinxes and nodding off, jolted awake. They immediately lowered their heads, eyes down, standing straight and still as if nothing had happened.
Crack…
Another faint sound of bones shifting came from the throne.
Unable to resist her curiosity, Nitocris glanced up at the Pharaoh, who was holding his head and rolling his neck from side to side, and muttered inwardly.
When did His Majesty pick up that habit?
"What are you looking at?"
"N-nothing! I just thought… maybe Your Majesty has been overworking lately. You've seemed to have neck pain these past few days. I know a few remedies. Should I fetch them? I could also prepare some potions…"
A cold snort suddenly echoed beside her ear.
Nitocris's ears snapped upright. She stammered at first, then spilled everything in one breath.
"I am the King of Kings, the omnipotent god! All things lie within my grasp. How could I possibly suffer from such a trivial ailment!"
She had stepped right onto a landmine.
Ramesses II's face darkened instantly. His brows furrowed as his gaze toward Nitocris turned increasingly ominous.
But before the Pharaoh could press the matter further, an urgent dispatch was delivered.
Holding the envelope, embossed with rose petals, he paused—surprise flickering in his eyes.
"A letter from Rome? How interesting…"