With a single wave of the staff, the surrounding guards retreated. Amidst the sounds of the wind outside the palace, Messe's voice remained loud: "Egypt has already lost a year's harvest, and the vegetation in the fields is all withered and yellow."
"What kind of price do you need to see to let us leave?"
"Never, you are the wealth of the Egyptians, the sinners banished by All Gods. No one can leave until your sins are cleansed!"
Clang—
Rising from the Golden Throne, Ramses reached for his Bronze Sword, noticing that the opponent's Demon Art had grown stronger.
But it didn't matter, he was not afraid of Messe's methods, the snake he conjured, the winds he summoned, simply because these powers had no effect on him.
He was the Pharaoh, a god in the eyes of the Egyptians, not just a trick or a way to maintain a sense of mystery and prestige, but an objective description.