Escape from an Ancient Civilization Ch 158

Chapter 158

Whip—!

The arrow streaked out.

Ting—

But it lodged in the drawer of a cabinet. Nataek froze with the empty bow angled at the air, pupils wide and shaking.

Almost shot Medeus.

No matter how true the aim, if the target moved faster, it was no use. His heart hammered; realizing he had nearly harmed Medeus with his own hand made even his fingers tremble.

Yet the shot bought a sliver of space in the brutal clash. Medeus seized the moment and pressed Lagab hard. Hacking coughs rattled Lagab as he staggered back a few steps—then he countered immediately. Clutching at his thundering left breast, Nataek scanned for options.

Another way… There was no potion to boost hit rate, no Arrow of Anu; he wasn’t confident he could strike Lagab cleanly without risking Medeus. That risk made him hesitate.

Clatter—

“Khak, khak!”

Even in that state Lagab traded blows with Medeus; Nataek bit his lip.

His weakness… must use that weakness somehow.

He gripped the last cedar‑powder pouch at his waist—but at this distance he couldn’t throw it. If every card he had was worthless, he needed a new plan. He had to restrain Lagab’s movement.

Disrupt the focus of someone struggling to breathe…

Then, the whip that had bound him flashed through his mind—and the curtains hanging in Lagab’s quarters. More precisely, the decorative curtain cords strung along the walls.

Slipping the bow over a shoulder, he sprinted back inside. Even without an allergy, the milky haze was harsh; a sharp smell was rising. Ignoring his discomfort, he yanked curtains and cords from the wall.

Rip, rip—the fabric and cords tore free. He quickly coiled a fallen cord like a rope. A massive shadow loomed close.

“I’ll kill you! Khak!”

Clang—

But the shadow was blocked by the “scent of brush”—Medeus interposed.

“Don’t touch him,” Medeus growled, voice feral. He lured Lagab away from Nataek.

Thud—!

A distant bedpost cracked; frantic now, Nataek sped his coiling and found the end of the cord. Eyes sweeping, he searched for a weight to tie on.

Small, with heft…

A round pottery piece.

Too big.

A vase.

Too frail.

Metal—need metal…

His eyes lit on a palm‑sized bronze ornament.

That.

He slid to it, dropped to a knee, wrapped and knotted the ornament at the cord’s end, and sprang up.

One try. Must land it.

He gave the line slack and began to whirl it like a lasso; each turn whooshed with weight. Slowly, he advanced on Lagab. The threat behind his back alone drew the man’s attention.

Lagab, slashing his axe at Medeus, set his off‑hand to his belt—where a small dagger sat. He meant to throw it at Nataek.

Not happening.

Spinning the cord with all his might, Nataek shouted, “Medeus!”

Catching his gaze, Medeus ducked. Nataek’s loop flew for Lagab’s neck; Lagab whipped out the dagger and sighted Nataek—just as

Clang—

“Ghh!”

The dagger fell; Lagab half‑turned from a long slash Medeus carved into his arm. A shallow line of blood also marked Medeus’s cheek where the axe had grazed him.

“Medeus!”

A thin sheet of blood bled across Medeus’s cheek. Nataek’s loop cinched clean around Lagab’s thick neck.

That bastard dared mark his face!

He hauled on the line—Lagab did not topple. Even as the noose choked, the brute stood like stone and bore the pull. He glared; the whites of his eyes swelled. The taut cord thrummed with his brutal strength.

Damn.

Nataek dropped his weight onto the line. Lagab, all while resisting him, re‑engaged Medeus. Like breaking a stubborn bull, Nataek was dragged to and fro. Teeth clenched, palms skinned, he hauled with all his might—but couldn’t subdue him. The writhing tangle slackened his face covering; a harsher stench stabbed his nose.

Urgh… what is that smell.

His eyes burned; the haze shifted from pale yellow to gray.

“Khak, khak!”

“Khak—khak.”

Now Medeus was coughing too, not just Lagab.

A fire?

Holding the line tight, he glanced back. Lagab hacked Medeus away, reached his bleeding arm behind, and seized the rope.

“Teresi!”

That instant of inattention opened a gap. Nataek pitched sideways but didn’t let go. Damn it! He dug in with his legs—too late. With a yank like slamming a rice cake, Lagab snapped him to the floor, then ripped a dagger free with his bleeding arm and hurled it at Medeus while chopping at Nataek with the axe.

Gasp—

Nataek tucked his arms and rolled.

Crash—!

The axe split the spot he’d lain a second before. As Lagab wrenched the axe free, Nataek popped up and backed off.

Going mad—why is he so strong!

He had always failed the last city—but those failures were arrows while sneaking, plans blown, betrayal and reversal. He’d never had a straight fight with the axe‑wielding final boss—and had not imagined this difficulty.

The lasso he’d thrown hung snarled around Lagab’s neck, looping like a scarf over his shoulders. The rasp of Lagab’s breathing grew harsher—not mere exertion. The cedar powder was biting, and the noose helped. Behind Lagab, Medeus reset his grip.

Swish, swish—

Lagab swept the axe in arcs, menacing each in turn; Nataek’s eyes flicked between them. Blood trailed thick from Medeus’s cheek, turning his stomach. When he took the bow back in hand, Lagab lunged for him.

“Teresi!”

Nataek rolled aside from the axe; at once Medeus drove in with the blade level.

Thup—the sound of leather piercing—Medeus’s sword sank by Lagab’s scapula. Nataek leapt and clung to the axe arm.

The smoke thickened unsettlingly—someone had set the building ablaze. Whether above or below, the stench here meant it had spread far. In the heart of an ancient battlefield, there was no remedy for breathing toxic smoke.

If this drags, it turns lethal. If close‑quarters won’t end it, and a headshot is too risky—there’s one answer. Push him out.

“Medeus! The window—khak!”

Catching on, Medeus crossed the rope draped like a scarf over Lagab’s shoulders and hauled backward, dragging him.

Boom—!

A blast like a bomb from the hall; flames rippled up the stair the two had climbed—fire leaped even from bare air. Nataek’s memory flashed: “Even if not, cedar powder helps ignition—use boosts our power.” Fire devoured the entry’s hangings, and black smoke began to roll into the room.

“I’ll—khk—kill—khk—!”

Choking him, Medeus pressed Lagab toward the window. Watching the hall swallowed by fire, Nataek wrenched the axe arm harder. Medeus’s back hit the sill; Lagab, chest to his back, hacked; even now, he refused to drop the axe.

Stubborn bastard.

Nataek was nearing his limit too. All three strained for their lives; the deadlock would not break. The more he pulled, the thicker the blood on Medeus’s cheek became.

Damn…

Teeth grinding, Nataek stared at Lagab—then saw the inside of his arm. The tender inner bicep near the armpit. He knew how that pain felt—from school days.

Without hesitation, he reached for that spot. Arm hair brushed his hand—he ignored the shiver. Pinching a small fold of skin like salt, he twisted savagely.

“Aaagh!”

Few ancients had known this petty, dirty pain; less likely a brute like Lagab. Even a muscled arm couldn’t shrug off this new agony. The iron wall opened a gap. He twisted harder and peeled at the fingers gripping the axe, ripping them free.

Drop it, you bastard!

Thud—!

The axe fell and stuck in the floor. Lagab instantly laced fingers with Nataek’s and wrenched back viciously.

“Ng—!”

At his groan, Medeus’s eyes snapped to him. Lagab swung his freed arm and flung Nataek to the floor; with the wild thrash, the sword lodged in his scapula popped free.

“Teresi! Are you alright?!”

Cradling his hand, Nataek nodded.

Whoosh—

Fire reached the inner room; the flames caught the torn curtains. “Push!” he shouted.

Medeus slipped behind Lagab—Nataek kicked the man’s chest and Medeus seized his face and heaved him for the window. Lagab tipped, torso sliding out—then he locked both hands on the sill.

Don’t miss this. Do not.

Lose this timing and there’s no chance. Nataek snatched at a foot and lifted—but

Thwack—!

“Urgh…”

Lagab kicked him in the face with the other. He sprawled, clutching his face; two lines of blood ran from his nose. Sparks flared in Medeus’s eyes.

“Filthy cur. You dare—!”

He smashed Lagab’s nose with a fist—then the mouth and jaw in a rapid flurry. Lagab couldn’t use his arms while holding the sill. Medeus raised a long leg and drove it into his gut; a short cry burst forth. He snatched up his fallen sword—then scooped a cedar pouch rolling on the floor.

Even now, Lagab clawed to pull himself back inside—but Medeus moved first. He hurled the pouch into Lagab’s face; powder sprayed through a gap.

“Gwek—khaa—khak!”

As the pouch fell, Medeus raised his sword arm.

Thup—

With the sound of piercing flesh, the blade speared through the pouch into Lagab’s left chest.

“Kh—”

Lagab choked, wordless. Medeus glared and heaved; the point burst out the back. He grabbed Lagab’s hair, twisted the blade, and ripped it free at once.

“Kh—kha—”

Clutching his chest, Lagab reeled; metal‑tinged breath spat from his open mouth. Blood poured between his fingers. He swung a fist—slow—Medeus slipped it and drove the point into the hollow above the clavicle—the very spot he’d pressed to Nataek’s throat.

“That’s the price for laying filthy hands on what’s mine,” he said, stabbing deeper. “Compared to Teresi’s humiliation and pain, this is nothing.”

He ripped the blade free and slid aside; a fountain of blood erupted from the neck.

“Gk—kha—”

“I won’t let Teresi see more of you. Be grateful I end it here.”

He hammered Lagab’s jaw with an uppercut. The heavy body tipped and fell back.

Thud—

The bulk plunged—and a wet, bursting slap of flesh followed.

“Teresi.”

Medeus turned at once. Nataek, hand clamped over his nose, looked from him to the window.

Is it over.

“Teresi. Are you alright?”

Brows drawn, Medeus searched his face.

Is it truly over.

Stunned, Nataek breathed, “Is it over?”

“Yes.”

Crack—the carved ceiling wood fell. Flames now blanketed the quarters.

“We need to get out.”

Boom—whoosh—!

A pillar of fire roared as lamp oil caught. He had thought it hurt to open his eyes because of the beating; even after the pain ebbed, smoke made it hard to see.

Supporting himself on Medeus’s shoulder, he ducked and rushed to the window—not the one where Lagab fell, but the next one. That one was clear; he deliberately avoided looking where Lagab lay.

“We’ll have to go out the window.”

The surge spread fast.

“I’ll hold a cloth—go!”

Medeus dragged an unburned blanket from the bed and dangled it outside. Nataek looked at it—then at his blood‑smeared hands. He squeezed a fist; the strength wouldn’t come. Lagab had wrenched his hand; he doubted he could slide down.

“Teresi, hurry!”

He glanced at Medeus, then swept the room. The curtain cord he’d ripped lay under the cabinet—the same kind he’d used on Lagab’s neck. He sprinted and snatched the unburned cord.

“What are you doing!”

“Just a moment!”

He looped one end round the bed leg and cinched it tight, then wrapped a turn around his injured forearm.

“Teresi.”

With his good hand he tossed the line out.

“You go first.”

“No. You first.”

“Until you go first, I’m not moving. You’ll have to throw me out.”

If he showed the state of his hand, Medeus might risk himself to save him. So he feigned a grip with the injured hand.

“Teresi. Please—listen to me.”

“You, please, listen to me. Go first and catch me. That’s how we both live.”

“Teresi.”

Crash—the inner ceiling fell.

“Go. Please—please—do as I say!”

Hey! I can’t climb down that line like this!

Whoosh—

Now the flames licked the bed. Coughing, he shoved Medeus toward the sill.

“Please. Please… just this once—do as I say! If you go first, I can live!”

“Why won’t you ever listen!”

“You listen! Can’t you trust your lover? Going first is the right way!”

He couldn’t confess the real reason; he clung, begging. Heat pressed his back; for the first time he felt true fear before such fire—he might die.

More frightening was that Medeus might die. Strength is nothing before a blaze. Should the flames swallow him—just imagining losing the man before him sent his heart crashing to the floor.

“I’m doing this to live—and to save you.”

Equally, he feared death—his and Medeus’s weighed the same—so he told himself. He didn’t realize the balance in his heart had already begun to tilt.

“Please… please, listen to me, Medeus…”

At his near‑tears plea, Medeus’s eyes reddened; at last he swung onto the sill.

“I’ll catch you. Don’t worry. I will.”

Nataek nodded and gripped the line as Medeus went over. At least Medeus will live.

The load was heavy. He leaned back to bear it; the cord bit his forearm and bruised it blue; veins bulged. Soon, the weight was gone.

“Teresi!”

Medeus’s shout rose outside. Nataek unwrapped his forearm and perched on the sill; flames licked the window edge.

“Whew.”

He looked down, then back into the burning room.

One‑handed…?

Down again—four stories. Jump, and something would break—and so might Medeus trying to catch him. He had to lower the drop.

He wound one line round his leg and gripped with his good hand. He tried the injured hand—no strength.

You can do it. You can.

He swung out. Loosened his grip.

Srrr—

Rope burned skin; heat flared in his palm. He clenched down again, gritting through the scrape. He was near the third floor. Seeing him, Medeus realized something was wrong.

“Damn…”

He bit his lip and spread his arms to the void.

“Teresi! I’ll catch you!”

Nataek glanced down.

Even if I’m lighter—you’ll break an arm…

Two more slides and he could reach a first‑floor drop. He drew a breath and loosened again.

Srrrr—

Blood smeared the rope. He halted, palm flayed and stinging; he was near the second floor.

“Teresi! Jump!”

His arms were failing.

“A bit lower!”

“Your arm is hurt! Trust me—jump!”

Medeus’s face was wild with panic. Nataek looked away from his eyes and up again.

Once more should do it.

As he went to loosen his hand—the rope slid on its own. Startled, he looked up; fire blossomed from the sill. The line at the bed leg had caught.

Damn it!

“Ah!”

The rope parted before he could warn Medeus. He fell—and hit something hard.

Only a blunt jolt—no other pain. He opened his eyes—broad chest.

“Ha. You really—”

Before he finished, Medeus crushed him in a deep embrace—as if finding a lost child—pulling him tighter still. The warrior who had fought like a lion was gone; in his place, a frightened lamb.

With a trembling hand he touched Nataek’s cheek.

“Why didn’t you say you were hurt!”

“Uh…”

Anger seemed to flare—then his lips shook.

“No. I should have seen it. I’m sorry. I should have noticed.”

Nataek gave a ragged smile.

“I was cheating—sending you first so I could come down easy.”

Medeus bit his lip and glared.

“See? Came down easy and fast.”

Nataek tipped his chin at his body in Medeus’s arms. Medeus looked at his hand—his gaze alone radiated the collapse in his chest. Nataek tried to calm him—but a stentorian shout rose behind them.

“We have him!”

Shuran’s voice. A burly figure pounded up; dozens of eyes turned. Shuran hoisted Lagab’s head. As he showed it to the soldiers and their screams turned to cheers, Medeus looked only at Nataek.

What a… cinematic tableau.

A fair beauty in his arms; a headless corpse nearby; Shuran bellowing victory with the head aloft; Ur’s soldiers cheering, the Guti collapsing—like watching films of different genres at once.

“Behold! He is slain! Guti—surrender!”

With his cry came a ground‑shaking thrum—surely Kish’s second wave arriving.

“Teresi…”

As tension ebbed, the world swam. His palms throbbed; the leg still wrapped with rope twitched. He remembered he hadn’t slept at all in the mad rush to prepare. With life and death settled, fatigue crashed in.

“Medeus.”

Red‑rimmed eyes met him.

“It’s… all over, right?”

“Yes. It’s over.”

Crack—the ceiling carvings fell. Flames swallowed the quarters.

“We need to get out.”

Boom—whoosh—!

Lamp oil fed a column of fire. He’d thought his eyes stung from beating—but even after the ache eased, smoke made opening them a struggle.

He grabbed Medeus’s shoulder, hunched, and rushed for the window. He leaned out the next one over—clean—and turned away from where Lagab lay.

“We can only go down the window.”

The flames surged.

“I’ll hold cloth—go.”

Medeus hauled the blanket and dangled it out. Nataek looked at it, then at his blood‑smeared hands. He squeezed a fist—no strength; the wrenching had done it. Sliding down would be hard.

“Teresi, go!”

He glanced at Medeus and scanned the room—the curtain cord he’d torn lay under a cabinet, another like the one he’d used on Lagab’s neck. He sprinted to the unburned cord.

“What are you doing!”

“Just a moment!”

He looped one end round the bed leg and cinched it, then wrapped once round his injured forearm.

“Teresi.”

He tossed the line outside with his good hand.

“You go first.”

“No. You go!”

“Until you go, I’m not leaving. You’ll have to shove me out.”

If he saw the hand, Medeus would risk himself to save him—so Nataek feigned a grip.

“Teresi. Please—listen.”

“You please—listen. Go first—catch me. That’s how we both live.”

“Teresi.”

Crash—the inner ceiling fell.

“Go first. Please—please—do as I say!”

Hey! I can’t climb that line right now!

Whoosh—

Fire licked the bed. Coughing, he shoved Medeus through.

“Please—please… just this once—listen to me! If you go first, I can live!”

“Why won’t you listen!”

“You listen! Can’t you trust your lover’s words? You going first is the right way!”

He couldn’t confess—he begged instead. Heat pressed his back; he felt true fear before the blaze—he might die.

More fearful—Medeus might die. Strength meant nothing; if flames took him—just imagining losing him slammed his heart to the floor.

“I’m doing this—to live—and to save you.”

Equally, he feared his own death. He told himself their lives weighed the same. He didn’t realize his balance had tilted.

“Please… please—listen to me, Medeus…”

Tears touched his voice; Medeus’s eyes reddened—and he swung onto the sill.

“I’ll catch you. Don’t worry. I will.”

Nataek nodded and braced the rope. One thought rose: at least Medeus will surely live.

The weight was heavy; he leaned back against it. The cord bruised blue; veins stood. Soon, the load vanished.

“Teresi!”

Medeus’s shout below. Nataek freed his forearm, sat on the sill—flames roared right at the window.

“Whew.”

He looked down—then back at the burning room.

One arm…?

Down again—four floors. A jump risked broken bones—for him and for Medeus. Lower the drop.

He wrapped a line around his leg; gripped with his good hand. He tried the bad—no strength.

You can do it.

He slid out and eased his grip.

Srrr—

Rope burned skin; heat flared in his palm. He clamped—and found himself at the third floor. Seeing him, Medeus realized at last his state wasn’t normal.

“Damn…”

He bit his lip and spread his arms.

“Teresi! I’ll catch you!”

Nataek glanced down.

Even if I’m lighter—I’m still a grown man. What if your arm breaks.

Two more slides could reach first‑floor height. He breathed—and loosened.

Srrrr—

Blood smeared the rope; he halted. His flayed palms blazed. He’d reached the second‑floor height.

“Teresi! Jump!”

His strength ebbed.

“A little lower!”

“Your arm is hurt! Trust me—jump!”

Medeus’s face was frantic. Nataek looked away and up.

Once more…

He began to loosen—and the rope slid by itself. He looked up in alarm as fire burst from the sill. The line on the bed leg burned.

Damn!

“Ah!”

The rope snapped before he could warn Medeus. He fell—and landed with a thud on something hard. Only dull shock—no sharp pain. Opening his eyes, he saw a broad chest.

“Ha. You really—”

Before he finished, Medeus crushed him in a deep embrace—tighter still. The fearless fighter was gone; a frightened lamb stood there.

With trembling hand, he touched Nataek’s cheek.

“Why didn’t you say you were hurt!”

“Uh…”

Anger trembled into a murmur.

“No. I should have known. I’m sorry. I should have seen.”

Nataek forced a shabby smile.

“I was just shirking—sent you first so I could come down easy.”

Medeus bit his lip and glared.

“See? Came down easy and fast.”

Nataek nudged his chin at his body in Medeus’s arms. Medeus looked at his hand; his breaking heart showed in that gaze. Nataek tried to soothe him—and a thunderous voice boomed behind.

“We have Lagab!”

Shuran. A massive figure ran up; eyes swung their way. He hoisted Lagab’s head. As he displayed it and soldiers screamed in joy, Medeus looked only at Nataek.

What a scene.

A lovely beauty in his arms; a headless corpse; Shuran roaring victory with the head; Ur soldiers cheering, Guti despairing. It felt like watching films of different genres at once.

“Behold! At last he is slain! Guti—surrender!”

With his cry came a ground‑shake—surely Kish’s second wave arriving.

“Teresi…”

As tension ebbed, dizziness washed over him. His palms throbbed; the leg still wrapped with rope twitched. He remembered: no sleep last night in the rush to prepare. With life and death settled, fatigue crashed in.

“Medeus.”

Red‑rimmed eyes met him.

“It’s… all done, right?”

“Yes. All done.”

“Haa…”

Ur’s reconquest—the one that felt endless—was over. Lagab was slain. Staring dazed at the sky, practical worries bubbled up.

What if the hands get infected—tetanus? And the toxic smoke… trouble later? Medeus too—just in case…

He lifted a limp arm and brought the back of his hand to Medeus’s lips.

“Please—give me a blessing.”

He had to stock the blessing points he’d neglected in the chaos—like a preventative shot.

Medeus didn’t question the out‑of‑place request—he performed the rite with care. The system flashed bright.

Inanna has bestowed “Anu’s Blessing” upon Teresi!

Inanna Teresi has gained 300 Luck Points.

Blessing each other in a blood‑soaked foreign courtyard was grotesque—but the text soothed him more than ever.

[Retake Ur] Quest completed.

In his guardian’s arms, Nataek let go.

For the first time, he had overcome the failure that clung like a curse.