Chapter 48: A Carriage Race, but We Have No Horses, Only Donkeys

Vashtorr's consciousness was anchored within his own emissary, an exquisite daemonic soul-construct blended with a puppet of sunk gold.

The puppet drifted beneath the brilliant starry expanse of the Empyrean Dream, confronting the Changer of Ways.

At least this place was not as nauseating as the domains of the other three. Vashtorr was already contemplating how to manage his own realm once it fully ascended.

If he wanted a seat among the players, he would have to shove aside the guy sitting in the outhouse and refusing to do any work.

Vashtorr's voice was composed of countless encrypted bytes, though there was naturally no need to worry that Tzeentch wouldn't understand: "Our domains overlap in certain aspects, and we are equally treacherous."

"It is wisdom," Tzeentch corrected. "You disgust mortals into signing exorbitant debts, which is a method of coercion, whereas my wisdom guides them toward their ultimate end."

Vashtorr's puppet lit up: "I have no desire to argue with you, and even our cooperation cannot send a more powerful daemon through. Even the Dark King of the human era was a being whom daemons were powerless to oppose."

The formless Tzeentch snatched a timeline from the brilliant starry expanse:

"Yet there is a war—though its grand outcome is already sealed—that is taking place in the past."

The unfolding drama of Horus and the Emperor upon the *Vengeful Spirit* was set into motion, becoming a part of the time the Emperor had experienced.

"We only need to guide Horus so that his strike hits the Emperor, and it will deal Him a crippling blow."

"Look, right here, there happens to be a Horus. And you, do you not suspect whether you are worthy of standing in our ranks? Back then, you failed to participate in the plot against Horus. Now, you too may join it and become the fifth of the ancients—ah, or rather, the sixth. After all, we sometimes count Him as one of our own."

Tzeentch's words almost completely persuaded Vashtorr. His greatest setup in Egypt was none other than Necho II, the Pharaoh—the "living Horus."

And Vashtorr, having previously missed out on the corruption of Horus, now had the opportunity to intervene.

This was precisely proof of the ascension awaiting Vashtorr in the future.

Vashtorr's puppet received a satisfactory answer, and amid the shrieks of that pitiful daemon, it exploded into nothingness.

He would leave not a single trace in Tzeentch's hands.

Yet the Lord of Change merely shifted from a lying posture to a sitting one. His arms—if such a term could be applied—were intertwined with one another.

"How utterly amusing. Into an unchanging cesspool, one must always toss a few large boulders, or perhaps some gunpowder. That way, the person sitting on the toilet will get splattered, and they are certain to leap up in disgust."

He felt no aversion to the crude and vulgar nature of his own metaphor; He possessed all the wisdom of the universe!

As for whether He genuinely intended to help Vashtorr cut the line, Tzeentch pondered the matter seriously.

Better not. He merely coveted Vashtorr's physique—specifically, the portion of those malicious crafts that overlapped with His own domain.

600 BC, Iunu, the City of the Sun.

Early the next morning, Aaron got up to prepare breakfast: a platter of local fruits and vegetables, accompanied by juice he had squeezed himself.

There was no need to eat anything too heavy with meat in the morning; mostly, Aaron wanted to see if his father's mouth would be less foul when eating vegetarian.

Having finally finished breakfast in peace, it was time to head out.

Number Five took the initiative to bite its own reins and trotted over to Andah. It had been enjoying too many good days lately, to the point where going out for a walk had become a means to unwind its mood.

Andah casually snatched the reins and tossed them to Aaron:

"We are embarking on dangerous intelligence work, and you're bringing Number Five along—cough, cough, to think you actually gave it a title. You named it, so you take care of it."

Aaron caught the reins and sighed: "You only need to open your eyes and let your gaze flash with golden light to know everything. Why must we go out to investigate intelligence in person?"

Andah offered no explanation, leaving instead with Malum. The two of them looked as though they were engaged in some strange roleplay.

Or perhaps his father had simply been struck by a sudden urge to play.

Aaron stroked Number Five's neck, led it out, and headed in the opposite direction toward the chariot arena of Iunu.

Human beings always harbored an urge to compete.

From throwing objects the furthest to running the fastest, there was always something to rival one another in.

As the only faster vehicle harnessed by humans at present, the chariot naturally became a form of competition.

At least no one would bring a donkey cart or an ox cart to race for speed.

Because the probability of injury in chariot racing far exceeded that of a running race, and coupled with the fact that it offered people in times of peace a prime opportunity to witness battlefield spectacles, chariot racing was practically a standard fixture in every major city.

It was immensely popular in Macedonia, Rome, and the Egyptian region.

In this regard, even Egypt—which was striving to fend off the invasion of Greek mythology—readily embraced it, for it could also represent their sun god Ra as a sport dedicated to the supreme deity.

The fact that it could rake in ticket revenue was another reason.

After all, not everyone enjoyed watching theatrical performances, but surely far more people favored chariot races.

Leading Number Five, Aaron walked amidst the increasingly crowded streets. There were quite a few people around whose skin tone was similar to his own, so he didn't particularly draw attention.

After all, northern caravans traveled back and forth and would not bypass a major metropolis like Iunu; it was inevitable that spies or even small detachments of troops would mingle within.

Naturally, the Pharaoh wished to control this trade route, even at the cost of provoking war.

Aaron observed the roadside stalls and markets with keen interest, feeling quite delighted. For as long as he could remember, this was the first time he had faced such a slice of everyday life all on his own.

Iunu was far more prosperous than Thebes.

A man wearing a hat was struggling to elbow his way toward him. Aaron wore a wary expression; the last time he had encountered an initiative-taking businessman in a hat, it had indirectly led to him selling his father.

Nothing good ever came of it this time either.

"Jodwen of Sais! I belong to a caravan personally signed off by the Pharaoh Horus, so please have no fear."

Jodwen doffed his hat in salute and finally managed to squeeze his way to Aaron's side.

"Hoo—huf—there are really far too many people today. Apologies, but I am here to invite you to join a race."

"There is a single-horse chariot race today, meant as a warm-up, but we are short on participants. No one cares to watch the opening acts; everyone is just waiting for those four-horse chariots to take the field. But someone has opened a betting pool, and I've placed a wager. If we can't scrape together enough participants for the race, I'm going to lose my shirt. Regardless of your placement, I'll give you twenty copper deben. What do you say?"

Only then did Jodwen's gaze shift to the sleek-furred, spirited little donkey that Aaron was holding by the reins.

As if struck by a horrifying sight, his eyes bulged wide, and he began to stammer incoherently:

"Wait—wait—this—this is a donkey! By Ra above, this is still a donkey! How can this possibly be a donkey?!"

Wondering if these merchants were all idiots, Aaron retorted:

"If this isn't a donkey, what is it?"

Jodwen's bizarre behavior caused the surrounding people to instinctively step back, making room for this raving merchant to go mad.

Jodwen bit down on the brim of his hat, his eyes splitting with rage:

"Why—why have you taken such immaculate care of a donkey?! From a distance, I thought this was a magnificent young steed, waiting for a supreme athletic competition to hone its skills!"

"And it turns out to be a donkey!"

Number Five stuck out its tongue and flicked it across Jodwen's hat with a wet slap, expressing its displeasure.

The audacity! Yet another disrespectful human had appeared before it!