NOVEL NEXT Chapter 36: King or a Pharaoh
"Tamado Grey," Derrick repeated, his voice rolling through the chamber like stone grinding on stone.
"You seem surprised. Aren't you an Ashborn? You must be aware… are you not? Did you really think I wouldn't know who you truly are? Ah...of course, I forget. You're of the side branch."
Wait. How…? How could he tell to that extent?
(Side note: Ashborn Abilities)
The Khetemu of Revelation grants Ashborns the power to unveil hidden truths, detect lies, and expose the concealed. But its effect isn't absolute. The user must first recognize that something is being hidden, and even then, only truths within their capacity to comprehend are revealed. If the wielder cannot grasp the meaning, the revelation remains clouded or fragmented. When amplified by engulfing the target in one's mana and presence, the technique sharpens to its maximum clarity yet even then, it shows only what the wielder can truly understand.
My mind went numb. Nothing had prepared me for this.
"You… you know my name. How?"
The only explanation was a Revelation Khetemu. But even then… from what my mother had explained, it wasn't supposed to be that effective. Right?
A low chuckle rumbled from him not cruel mockery, but a sound of deep amusement and satisfaction, as though my reaction confirmed his mastery.
"Of course I do. You stand before the founding father of the Ashborn."
If Khetemu alone could do this, then it was utterly broken...overpowered. But that only raised more questions. From what I'd been told, it was accessible only to main-branch families. Even among them, those who could wield it were rare, and proficiency varied.
"I'm sure you understand, as an Ashborn, what a Revelation Khetemu can accomplish," Derrick went on. "Allow me to add one thing: here, within my domain, all is bathed in my mana. A Revelation Khetemu's effect is amplified to its absolute. I alone have achieved this thus, all is revealed to me."
So he was basically claiming to be an all-knowing god. Ridiculous… right?
But did he truly know everything I kept hidden? Or only what he considered hidden? What if I acted like something wasn't a secret at all would it slip past him? The only way to know was to test it myself. Time would tell.
"Come. Sit."
Derrick's eyes flared with an emerald glow. The stone beneath us shifted and groaned. From the very floor of the pyramid, the earth rose and reshaped, forming a chair before me smooth, seamless, impossibly solid. The light in his eyes dimmed only once the transformation was complete, as if the pyramid itself had bowed to his will.
I froze, staring at the seat. Derrick leaned forward from his throne, the jackal mask casting his face in shadow.
His voice rumbled again.
"But tell me, Astraga… why did you reincarnate as an Ashborn?"
What did he mean why as an Ashborn? Were there other families one could be reborn into in this world? Was reincarnation bound to bloodlines? My parents never gave me the slightest hint that they knew I was reincarnated…
"Well, Astraga," Derrick pressed, "what now? Surely you have questions after all you've seen on your way here."
He was right. My mind was a whirlwind. Why did this place feel like a perfect reconstruction of ancient Egypt? Why did the Ashborns use Latin one moment, and now Egyptian culture the next? And why was he dressed like a pharaoh?
"Are you… really a pharaoh, then? Some kind of Egyptian ruler?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "Are the Ashborn some forgotten Egyptian civilization trapped in this world? Or are you just… a king?"
Derrick fixed me with a heavy stare. The air grew tense, ceremonial.
"I have one question for you, Astraga."
He leaned forward, eyes glowing brighter.
"Who is more powerful...a king, or a pharaoh?"
I blinked. Why was he answering my question with a question? Hesitant, I replied, "…Aren't they… the same?"
The reaction was immediate. The jackal mask couldn't hide it Derrick's jaw dropped, his glowing eyes widened like I'd just spat on his ancestors. He shot up from his seat, arms flailing like a man struck with blasphemy.
"SAME?!" he cried, voice cracking. "SAME?!"
He paced furiously in circles, muttering, then spun toward me and jabbed a clawed finger like an angry schoolteacher.
"Absolutely not! What do they even teach you in your schools?! Unbelievable!"
His composure shattered what stood before me now was less divine ruler, more deranged professor on the verge of a meltdown.
"A king," he ranted, gesturing wildly, "rules a nation, yes! He sits in palaces, castles, boring fortified cities! But a pharaoh ...a pharaoh is divine! The bridge between worlds! The living heartbeat of gods and men! To confuse the two…" He slapped both hands against his mask, groaning.
"Can't you see, Astraga? This pyramid itself is a testament!" He thrust his arms wide at the glowing walls. "Every glyph, every carving, every stone aligned with perfection. Do you think that happened by chance? No! I laid them there myself, one by one, thanks to my photographic memory!"
He thumped his chest like a proud child showing off a school project. "The symmetry! The proportions! The astronomical alignments flawless! This realm isn't just a tomb, it's Egypt reborn! A king could never dream of such grandeur. Pharaohs are eternity!"
Yep. He was obsessed.
Then, as quickly as he'd flared up, he deflated slumping back into his throne like a sulking child.
"And after all that… you still said 'same.' Unbelievable…"
He threw his head back dramatically.
"It's like saying a candle and the sun are the same thing!"
"Sorry, I wasn't able to tell the difference," I muttered, trying to defuse the tension with a nervous laugh.
Derrick exhaled heavily, a sigh so deep it rattled the chamber. Muttering to himself, he rocked back and forth:
"Keep cool, Derrick. Happens every time. Always get like this. Stay focused…"
At last, his shoulders eased, though his glowing eyes still burned.
"I'm sure you've realized by now," he said slowly, "that I too… am not from this world. And I hope my little outburst gave you some clues. You and I, Astraga… we come from the same place."
He raised a clawed hand to his mask, gripping the jackal's head. With a grinding sound, the golden and obsidian plates shifted, splitting apart like the petals of a flower beneath a dying sun.
Beneath it was not a beast, but a man. Stern. Human.
I braced myself for wrinkles carved deep into aged skin, the sagging features of someone who should have been eighty-five. Gray hair, a furrowed brow, a withered beard…
But what I saw left me speechless. His face was that of a man in his late thirties
smooth skin, a strong jaw, dark hair streaked only faintly with gray. Even his clawed hands softened into human form, though his eyes still glowed faintly green.
"I am Derrick Ashborn," he said firmly. "Here, in this world. But in my previous one… I was known as Derrick Marmoreal. Born… 1912."