Chapter 1127 - 357: The Temple’s Enigma

The wind in the alley carried sand and dust, rustling the hem of Ian’s robe.

The old man—or rather, Nakut—still clutched that so-called "Eye of the Ra Fragment," his dim eyes flickering with a final stubbornness.

"You’re saying... all of this is a dream?"

"The revelation of the Ra... is fake?" Nakut’s voice was hoarse like sandpaper, his originally hunched silhouette now appeared more twisted. He staggered, his steps chaotic, as if each footfall landed in cotton, floating. His hands tightly encircled that so-called "Eye of the Ra Fragment."

Lips slightly trembling, his eyes filled with shock and confusion.

Ian didn’t immediately respond.

He watched the old man’s trembling fingers, the blue glass fragment glimmering faintly in the dim light, seeming like some crude magic props.

The Little Wizard nodded slowly, his voice deep and clear:

"That is not the true Oracle, Mr. Nakut. Someone wove a dream, making you believe you were the ’chosen one,’ then used you."

Upon hearing this.

The old man immediately staggered back several steps.

"Dream... just someone else’s woven dream for me? The handiwork of a Wizard." He murmured, his voice hoarse and fragmented, expressions changing incessantly.

"That’s not an Oracle? Not Ra descending personally?" His expression abruptly distorted, first in shock, then anger, and finally a near-collapse bewilderment.

His lips trembled, seeming to want to contradict, yet unable to find any evidence to refute. He recalled those nights when Ra appeared in his dreams, the majestic voice telling him he was the chosen Guardian... But if even a god is fake, then everything he lost—family, wealth, dignity—what do they count for?

This is something the now impoverished elder simply cannot accept—if he accepts this truth, then it means everything he lost and his current hardships are meaningless.

The brain’s automatic protection mechanism starts to activate at this moment.

Ian noticed the change in the old man’s emotions.

However, he didn’t continue explaining.

He merely stood quietly in place, watching the elder’s expression change repeatedly within seconds—from shock to doubt, from doubt to anger, finally morphing into a near-maniacal roar.

"Fraud!" Nakut suddenly exploded with a scream, shoving Ian away fiercely, staggering backward, "You’re the fraud! You’re just like them, trying to steal it!"

His voice echoed through the empty alley, startling a few pigeons roosting on the rooftops.

Ian did not retaliate, nor did he explain. He merely watched the elder calmly, with a touch of pity in his gaze.

"I’m not here to deceive you." He said, "I’m merely telling you the truth."

"Truth?" The old man sneered, "What do you know about truth? You don’t even know what I’ve lost! My home, my wife, my children... all because of this fragment! It changed my life! And now you tell me it was all a dream? A dream... someone else crafted for me?"

His voice trembled more and more, until it almost turned into a sob.

"Yes." Ian nodded.

"Someone used magic to enter your dream, disguised as Ra, making you believe you were the chosen one. They let you indulge in this fantasy, abandoning everything to ’guard’ a meaningless stone." Ian was speaking the truth, but truth is forever the hardest thing to accept in this world.

The elder’s body shook violently, as if struck by lightning; he suddenly shoved Ian aside again, the force so great that Ian also stepped back.

"Get away!" He roared, turning hostile towards Ian, "I don’t need you to tell me what’s right! I don’t need you to destroy my last faith!"

"What kind of sorcery did you use to spy on my memories? Do you think I would believe the words of a lunatic like you? What Ra bestowed upon me, how could it be fake? How dare you say it was a dream?!" His movements were too sudden for Ian to stop him as the old man stumbled into the depths of the alley.

Like a wounded beast, disappearing into the shadows, his figure quickly swallowed by the twilight. Ian stood there, watching the old man’s distant figure, unmoved for a long time. He felt no anger nor defeat. He knew the truth often is harder to accept than lies, particularly when someone has sustained half a life with it.

"Something’s amiss."

Ian slowly closed his eyes, recalling once more the scene he saw in the elder’s memory—when that "Ra" appeared in the dream, his tone stiff, movements rigid, like an inferior imitation.

But what discomforted Ian more was the "texture" of the dream itself.

It was too perfect.

Perfect not like a natural dream, but like a meticulously staged play. Every detail was just right, every line hit directly at one’s heart, as if the designer deeply understood human psychological weaknesses.

This wasn’t a common illusion technique.

This was a higher-level spiritual manipulation.

"This doesn’t resemble ordinary Dark Arts." He muttered, the twisted magic fluctuation, that deliberate cultivation of "divinity," no matter how one speculates.

"It’s more like some sort of... ritual."

Just as he was deep in thought.

The temperature in the alley seemed to suddenly drop.

"You shouldn’t pursue this matter."

A cold female voice came from the darkness. Ian’s muscles instantly tensed, fingers quietly sliding towards the magic wand in his sleeve. He slowly turned, his gaze locked onto the shadow at the end of the alley—a Black-robed Man stood there with a hood covering most of the face, revealing only a pale chin and a faintly mocking smile.