Escape from an Ancient Civilization Ch 138

Chapter 138

Nataek knew his strengths and weaknesses well. Not being picky about food was a strength, but eating too much was a weakness; being good at refusal was a strength, but not easily reading others’ emotions was a weakness. Of his virtues, the one he ranked highest was self‑restraint.

There was exactly one kind of moment when that virtue failed to shine—like now. Whenever he exchanged affection with someone toward whom his heart inclined, his body became hard to control.

Coming to his senses, he found Medeus already above him. The instant he realized how heated and sweat‑dampened Medeus had become, Nataek’s heartbeat spiked.

“Mede… us. Please—wait.”

His heart pounded harder, as if it might leap from his chest. At his words, Medeus only pressed closer. In a fluster, Nataek slid his arms down and wedged a hand between his own lower body and Medeus’s, right where they were about to meet.

Don’t press in… Please, don’t.

His palm brushed his own body, the back of his hand Medeus’s—leaving no doubt about the state of things below. His reason dangled by half a thread; he had to tie it back together before it snapped. He reached for the blanket, caught at the side, and dragged it quickly between them.

“Blessings are fine… everything’s fine… but I’d like our bodies… not to be pressed together.”

“…Why?”

Only then did Medeus raise his torso. In that brief gap, Nataek covered his lower half with the blanket, rolling in haste—only for his upper body to spill off the bed.

“Ugh.”

His head never hit the floor; Medeus caught the back of his skull with quick hands. In that odd posture—lower body on the bed, upper body off it—Medeus’s face was even clearer. The look of disappointment made Nataek’s heart drop.

“D‑don’t misunderstand. I’m not refusing the blessing.”

Propping himself on the floor, he climbed back onto the bed. Even in the dim light, Medeus’s expression was vivid. Despite Nataek’s reassurance, his eyes reddened, as if about to cry. Nataek, at a loss, reached toward him.

“No, look. It’s just—”

“Teresi.”

A large hand stopped him. Medeus gently encircled Nataek’s wrist and met his gaze straight on.

“For the last time… I’ll ask. I won’t bring this up again. Just once—answer honestly.”

The trembling in Medeus’s hand travelled through Nataek’s wrist.

“To you… am I truly only a master?”

Nataek knew, instinctively, that evasion would not work this time. Which meant the best choice was to refuse—now. A chance to settle the feelings entangling them before they deepened further.

Right. If we cannot be together anyway, why keep feeding it? That way lies hurt for both.

“I…”

He had to refuse.

“I… that is…”

But the words would not come. Perhaps because he was meeting Medeus’s eyes. He bowed his head and covered his eyes with one hand.

“I… Medeus…”

Even with his gaze averted, he could not complete the thought.

Refuse him. But… I don’t want to refuse…

“Haa…”

Air leaked out in a long sigh. He bit his dry lip and raised his head.

“Medeus.”

“…Mm.”

“Could you… give me a little time?”

It was a matter that needed no thought—and yet his heart needed time to settle. He needed courage to cut cleanly through the possibility stretched between them. He spoke with unfeigned sincerity.

“I want to answer now, but I also need to sort myself out—to understand you, and to understand my own heart. This time I’ll be completely honest. Please give me just a few days.”

“Truly? You’ll answer honestly?”

“Yes. I swear it—on gods or whatever else—you’ll have the truth. I promise.”

Nataek curled the hand Medeus was holding, extending only his little finger. Medeus only stared, looking from finger to face with growing puzzlement.

So this gesture exists only in my time?

The anachronism struck him as absurd; he let out a small laugh.

“This is a promise ritual where I lived.”

“…How does it work? Show me.”

“Like this. Extend your little finger like mine.”

He coaxed Medeus’s hand into the same shape.

“Then we hook them.”

He hooked pinkies.

“And stamp a seal.”

Pressing their fingertips together, he rubbed them like a seal.

“Now the palms. Copy.”

“Copy what?”

“Just… like this, swish‑swish.”

“Teresi. You aren’t tricking me because I don’t know this, are you?”

Medeus frowned at the irreverent “ritual.”

Ah—this is no time to laugh.

He shouldn’t, but Medeus’s suspicious glare drew out a smile anyway.

“Are you making fun of me? I’m serious—”

“No! Please don’t misunderstand. I’m making a sincere promise too. Who would mock someone while even hooking fingers?”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“…Sorry. It’s just…”

He stole a glance at Medeus, then looked down.

It’s just… you’re cute when you do that…

The thought popped up unbidden; Nataek startled at himself.

I’m mad. Truly, properly mad.

“Haa… I’m just out of my mind. It’s not scorn, and the promise isn’t false—so please let it pass just this once. And I’ll keep what I promised.”

This time, the truth had to be told. Nataek burrowed the cooled heat of his body under the blanket, ignoring Medeus’s still‑warm presence. Even just ordering his thoughts made his head feel ready to burst.

The next day, the atmosphere between them was unchanged—for the better—thanks largely to Medeus, who spoke to him coolly, as if nothing were amiss.

“Best not to relax our guard.”

Nataek nodded. The servant the man had sent arrived just after midday—late by ancient standards, when people rose at dawn.

Following the servant, they drew nearer and nearer the center of Ur. At the heart stood Ur’s grand residence—bristling with Guti guards the closer they came.

“…Medeus.”

Nataek flicked his eyes; Medeus looked a shade more tense than earlier. They had suspected the man was a Guti henchman. For a moment, Nataek had wondered if he might be Sibiera—but dismissed it. Their “Hidden Ally” quest was still in progress; it made no sense to meet Sibiera or Lagab before finding the ally, if events flowed normally. There were surely more than a few Ur men who had thrown in with the Guti. Still, that dismissed hypothesis began to prickle with life.

They arrived at a temple at the entrance of Ur’s mansion.

“We’ve arrived.”

The door before the servant bore the symbol of Nanna, Ur’s god. Nataek asked, puzzled, “Isn’t this a temple?”

“It was. Now it’s used as a residence.”

To convert the god’s temple into private quarters—unthinkable, by Nataek’s Sununki lore. How many had the power to turn a sanctum into their own chamber?

Ah… this is bad. Bad.

He wet his lips with his tongue.

Creak—

The heavy door opened onto a small space. As the servant said, there was no sign of a god within, nor even traces of a priest. The interior was arranged like any house. In the center stood the man from yesterday. The servant bowed.

“My lord Sibiera. I have brought the damgar from Delam.”

“Enter.”

Damn it…

The name’s dossier flashed through Nataek’s head.

“The soldiers in Ur? All of them belong to Sibiera. Any not on his side were executed.”

“Sibiera?”

“Yes. The man who betrayed the ensi and Ur!”

Sibiera—the traitor of Ur who abandoned ruler and people.

Then came the whispers gathered under the “Sibiera” keyword in the market.

“He leads in exploiting the people! Worse than the Guti!”

“He throws himself into serving Lagab. How can an Ur man do that? But no one resists—if they do, they lose their heads!”

“All we lose—goods and absurd taxes—go into his purse, then on to Lagab!”

Of all people—Sibiera.

He did not know whether to call this fortunate or ill‑omened. Good, because the story seemed to be moving quicker than expected; bad, because the encounter had come without preparation. He swallowed.

“Sit.”

Sibiera gestured to a small table. Doing their best to appear calm, Nataek and Medeus approached. Sibiera narrowed his eyes, scanning Medeus up and down.

“You. Are you also a damgar of Delam?”