Escape from an Ancient Civilization Ch 113

Chapter 113

“If I have to brew potion twice in one night, I’ll drop dead myself.”

Nataek muttered to himself as he rubbed at his waist. First, banging down doors at dawn and waking people from their sleep, then tearing across all of Kish like a madman. Not even midnight gymnastics would be this absurdly random. But regardless of the process, what mattered was the result. In Nataek’s hand was a Healing Potion.

The thought that this alone could save Medeus made the heaviness weighing down on his chest lift little by little.

By the time he was halfway through the quiet early-morning market, the sun was beginning to rise.

Watching the people open their stalls one by one, Nataek quickened his pace. Then came a sudden stir of voices, the faint buzz of people murmuring. He brushed it off, thinking it must not be important—he couldn’t waste a second.

“Wasn’t that man earlier the general? The one from Uruk?”

As two merchants passed by, Nataek caught the low words.

A general from Uruk?

His face drained of color.

Medeus… here? He’s not supposed to be walking around now.

Nataek knew at once, instinctively.

Medeus had to be the source of the commotion.

What had started as brisk walking became an all-out run, his legs pounding harder with every passing second.

When at last he came to where the crowd’s attention was gathered, he saw ahead a man taller than the rest by an entire head, staggering unsteadily. He wasn’t so much walking as forcing his legs to keep from collapsing.

There was no mistaking who it was, even from a distance.

…Why the hell is he here?

“Medeus!” Nataek cried out, rushing forward.

“…Teresi?”

“What are you doing here? Why are you—”

Damn it all. I leave him for half a day, and they let him wander out like this?

Medeus blinked slowly, bleary-eyed, fixing his gaze wholly on Nataek. Then, at last recognizing him, he pulled him into an embrace.

“Teresi…”

“Why are you here?”

Nataek felt the faint mumbling of words against his shoulder, but the whispers were too weak to make out clearly.

“Let’s go back. You’ll only make things worse—how could you be moving about like this?!”

“Teresi…”

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here. Let’s go back. If this wound festers any further—”

Medeus was limp, unable to support his own weight. Nataek struggled to hold him up.

“Do you think you can walk as far as your quarters?”

“Teresi…”

Feeling the man’s body sagging heavier, Nataek realized: Medeus had had the strength to reach here, maybe—but no longer the strength to go back.

“How did you even make it this far like this? Forget it, just walk that much further, at least until we’re out of people’s sight.”

Even sick, Medeus was still the commanding general. He couldn’t be seen being carried like an invalid where others could watch.

So Nataek dragged him forward, half-carrying, but the heat rising off his body was unbearable. His breath steamed hot like scalding vapor.

This won’t do. At this rate, damn the face he has to save—he could really die.

Nataek propped Medeus against a wall, then hurriedly shrugged off his cloak. He wrapped it around the tall figure, covering body and face. Then, with grit teeth, he bent and lifted, pulling the lanky body into his arms. He hooked Medeus’s arms and head over his shoulder, supporting his lower body beneath. His knees nearly buckled.

“Ughh… heavy…”

Conscious still, but Medeus’s tall frame was like stone. Luckily, Nataek found himself thankful for those bygone modern days when he had haunted the gym like it was his second home. He had sometimes doubted the point of the so-called “big three lifts”³, but here and now he could see their value. They existed for reasons like this: to let him lift what should be impossible.

Despite the weight, cradling him like this made Medeus feel strangely like a child.

“Teresi…” Medeus murmured sleepily.

Nataek glanced down at him in the crook of his arms. Your life’s a bitter one too. And the only person you have to call at a time like this… is me.

“Yes. Teresi is here. Just hold on. I’ll fix you.”

It was ironic, that he found it easier to speak his heart to him while he was feverish and half-conscious. But Nataek couldn’t help it — Medeus seemed too pitiful for such reservations.

Feeling almost déjà vu, though not daring to acknowledge it, he strode quickly back to the quarters.

There, he found the doctor and attendants anxiously searching for their master.

Seeing it brought down a hot surge of fury in him.

“Did I entrust him to your care for half a day? A whole day? It wasn’t even long, and yet you failed to keep him in place? You let him wander into the street like this?”

He tried to temper his voice, but the sound of Medeus’s shallow, painful breathing lent his anger a sharp edge.

“Our apologies, Lion. We only stepped out to fetch his medicine and boiling water, and—”

Their excuses and apologies felt strange to him. He isn’t my child. I’m not his family. So why am I the one angry?

“…No. Don’t apologize to me.”

Awkward silence. The physician quickly broke it.

“His fever hasn’t gone down, so I have brought new herbs. We’ve decocted them already — please, come in and administer them.”

The doctor opened the door for him, but Nataek signaled with his eyes sharply.

“Tell me which it is—I’ll do it myself. Just give me the instructions. Leave the rest to me.”

The urgency in him rose with every second Medeus faltered. He had thought to give the potion subtly, making it look like a natural recovery after some treatment—but delay now might well mean they’d have only a corpse to manage.

“Are you certain…?”

The doctor’s tone was worried, but of course he was ignorant of the “modern fighter’s trump card” Nataek held in hand.

“I’ll take responsibility. Whatever happens while he’s in my care — all of it will fall on me. Please, leave him to me.”

“…If you insist so strongly… then we will trust Medeus to Lion Teresi.”

With the responsibility of others weighing on him as well, Nataek carried Medeus inside. He removed the cloak and carefully laid him on the bed. Pulling off the dirty garments as well, he washed his own hands quickly with the clean water set aside.

First — the potion.

He rummaged through his clothes, produced the Healing Potion, and sat on the bedside.

“Medeus. Can you understand me?”

The man blinked slowly, unfocused, and raised his heavy gaze toward him.

“…Teresi.”

His eyes weren’t steady enough to really focus, but it was enough: he could probably still drink if guided.

“Yes, it’s me. Can you sit up?”

Medeus gave the faintest nod.

Nataek supported him under his back with one arm, helping him to the bed’s edge.

But the nod had been meaningless — Medeus couldn’t hold himself upright at all.

“…Not happening. All right, up you go.”

He pulled the solid frame against him, managing to set Medeus properly seated.

Gently brushing damp hair from Medeus’s face, Nataek spoke softly.

“This was hard-wept to obtain. So don’t waste a drop. Drink it all.”

He popped the stopper, tipping the vial carefully at Medeus’s lips. A few cautious drops slipped between them.

“Cough—cough.”

But only a scant sip went down; most dribbled down his chin. Nataek swiftly wiped it away with his palm.

“Hey—don’t spill this. You need every bit to get better.”

And suddenly in his head:

‘Teresi. Open your mouth. You know you have to drink this to get well.’

Whose voice was that memory? He wasn’t sure when he’d heard it.

Smiling faintly with realization, he muttered, “The cedar forest — that’s the only time you’d have said that.”

Comparing then and now, against his will, laughter slipped from him at the absurd irony.

“This isn’t the time for laughter. Wasn’t it you who told me that?”

Slipping a pillow behind Medeus’s back, Nataek climbed fully onto the bed.

“I’m not joking. You really have to drink all of this. So excuse me for a moment — don’t push me away, all right?”

Medeus watched him blankly like a man half-asleep, then gave a faint nod.

“You understood that, right?”

Nataek didn’t need an answer. He sipped the potion into his own mouth, tilted Medeus’s jaw gently — and pressed his lips against his, giving him the liquid mouth-to-mouth, little by little.

Medeus swallowed slowly, accepting it from him.

“Ugh. God, tastes like bitter medicine. Horrid stuff.”

The words were half to Medeus, half muttered to himself.

He took another small mouthful and did the same, transferring it gently so nothing spilled.

Checking, each time, that Medeus’s throat moved — then giving more, and again.

In the cedar forest, Medeus had been an unmovable citadel, untouchable. Now here he was — changed utterly. And Nataek himself had changed just as much in adapting to this ancient world.

The fact that he had grown so used to it was almost frightening. As were the unrecognizable feelings filling his chest now. In this moment, Nataek longed less for the return to modernity than for Medeus’s recovery. He wanted his sole companion in this ancient world to be free of pain — to endure what lay ahead without him someday, not crushed beneath it.

It’s because you’re ill. That’s all. Otherwise I wouldn’t be getting so damned sentimental. So hurry up, drink it — get better, Medeus.

Sip after sip, kiss after kiss, until the vial was empty. At last the system’s glow confirmed it.

The Healing Potion’s effect has activated.

Recovery of wounds has begun.

“…Finally.”

Nataek exhaled, muscles unclenching at last. He set the vial down on the floor. Their state was pitiful — dust and dirt smeared both their clothes, Medeus soaked in cold sweat that plastered his garments to him.

Should… should I undress him?

That was the thought weighing on him as he looked down at Medeus.

Footnotes:

1. “Big Three Lifts” — Slang from modern weight training: bench press, squat, and deadlift, often used as a benchmark of physical strength.
2. “Lion” here is being used as an honorific epithet or title meaning a mighty protector/war leader, echoing ancient Near Eastern and epic traditions where rulers and champions are likened to lions for courage, ferocity, and kingship symbolism