Escape from an Ancient Civilization Ch 152

Chapter 152

The princess approached through the soldiers, holding a lamp. Seeing a familiar face finally set him at ease. Nataek managed a relieved expression, but the princess’s own face only darkened further. With a small hand over her startled lips, she looked him over.

“The wounds are severe. Please, come this way first.”

She beckoned. Only then did it become clear that her elite troops, like Nataek, were dressed in the garb of Delam damgar. By the princess’s foresight, they had infiltrated Ur on the day of the operation. Taking stock, Nataek felt even deeper gratitude than before.

“Truly, thank you. Without the soldiers’ help, our retreat would have been cut off.”

“I only dressed them as Delamites. If you’re thankful, save it for the soldiers later. For now, the injuries are too great.”

She came close, rose on tiptoe, and examined Nataek’s face and torso. Behind her, Medeus clenched his fist, swallowing his distress.

Hurrying the pace and leading the way, the princess took them into a nearby field tent.

“I will fetch a physician.”

The sun had long set; it was far too late for that.

“I really am fine. Tomorrow will do for a physician.”

“Fine? With wounds like these…! Please wait a moment.”

Despite Nataek’s protest, the princess immediately stepped out, leaving only Nataek and Medeus in the makeshift tent.

“I really am alright…”

He muttered it—and it wasn’t a lie. He touched his nose. Despite taking the floor head‑on, the bone was intact. He rubbed his ear rim; even with a hard slap to the cheek, the eardrum had not burst, no breaks, no torn flesh. For what he had endured, the injuries were light.

Once he’d finished checking himself, Medeus came back into view. Nataek walked up and flexed his arm a few times for show.

“See? The arm’s fine. Lucky break.”

A gesture to reassure Medeus—yet Medeus stared back, stone‑faced.

“Teresi. You’re going back to Kish.”

Nataek’s arm froze.

“What do you mean?”

“Now that Lagab has identified you, there’s no time to waste. Once Kish reinforcements arrive, we go to open battle. You’ll return to Kish and get treatment.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? I’m perfectly fine.”

“Look at your face!”

His voice rose; at once, he clapped a hand over his own mouth, and a long sigh poured into his palm.

“No. Return to Kish and get proper care.”

Startled, Nataek stepped up.

“What are you saying? We came all this way—why turn back now?”

“All that remains is the fight with Lagab. In this state, where do you think you’re going? You’ve more than done your part. Leave the rest to me.”

From learning trade craft via the Soothsayer, to finding Shuran and Nammuwa in Ur, to scouring Lagab’s quarters—and suffering his outrage—he had crawled through hell to get here. Now, on the cusp of the end, he was to step out? Absurd.

“No. Absolutely not. I’m taking part.”

“Teresi!”

He shouted again. Nataek knew what worried him, but he had also carried his weight during the Uruk infiltration. To secure Ur’s reconquest, he had to be part of every step. If Medeus abandoned him now, it would be like spoiling the stew at the finish line.

Nataek clenched his fist hard enough to make veins stand out.

“I know it was a close call. I know I got out thanks to you. But did I break an arm? A leg? It’s only bruises. Asking me to go back now is unacceptable. Wounds like these are common among soldiers on operations. Besides—”

He at once recalled how he got this way: to find Lagab’s weakness. He began unrolling the garment he had tightly wound to his waist.

“I completed my part in my own way. I was caught by Sibiera at the end, but—here, this!”

When the cloth finally came loose, the belt‑wrapped vial appeared. He thrust the bundle at Medeus.

“This is tied to Lagab’s weakness—”

“Teresi.”

Without listening, Medeus wrapped Nataek’s hand and lowered it, then spoke with a commander’s iron tone.

“At first light, you leave with the princess.”

It sounded like an order to a subordinate; Medeus had no intent to hear him out. Nataek looked down at his hand. The vial containing Lagab’s weakness—the one he’d risked so much to get—was dismissed as if unnecessary. It felt off.

“…That won’t do.”

“What?”

Nataek knew Medeus’s concern, knew he fell short of a general like him. But he had thought Medeus trusted and needed him; perhaps he had assumed progress without noticing. The reaction—that he was not needed—did not sit well.

He gripped the vial tight.

“I’ll find an escort to attend the princess. It won’t be me.”

“Teresi. Go back.”

“No.”

“I said go back.”

“I’m not your subordinate.”

If one truly trusts another, the most critical task belongs with them. Even without revealing the reasons he had to be in the Ur war, Medeus should have wanted him there. The more one trusts, the more one seeks to remain together to the end—that’s how Nataek thought.

But Medeus was different.

“Teresi. That’s not what I meant. I…”

After a long silence, Medeus gazed at him quietly.

“In this world… what man wants to bring his lover to the battlefield?”

The words landed like a blow to the back of Nataek’s head.

“L—”

Lover. Ah… right…

“I don’t want to send you away. I want to be with you. But not here, in a war, where it’s this dangerous. You’re not strong—now you’re hurt. I don’t want to take you there.”

Only then did Nataek see the root of the problem. In a relationship, he had always been the protector; never the one treated as fragile, never the one quietly protected. He had overlooked how Medeus saw him.

He flipped the perspective—if Medeus were smaller than him, weaker in strength and stamina—would he do any different? He would worry the same way.

Watching Nataek’s face, Medeus gave a bitter smile.

“Teresi… do you really grasp what we are?”

“Uh…”

Well… yes… but—

“Did I push you too hard that night? So… you agreed to what you didn’t want…?”

“What? No. That’s not—”

“Do you realize you’re mine… that you’re my lover?”

The obvious answer should have come at once—but it didn’t. Without meaning to, he looked back over the past. He had never lost ground like this in disputes with Medeus before; then, all right and wrong had been measured by practical reality. Now, it was different: before facts, he had to weigh the heart of someone precious. Their relationship had shifted—Nataek felt it starkly. But Medeus could not know his inner thoughts.

Medeus bit his lip.

“…Rest.”

“Medeus.”

Without waiting for a reply, he spun and strode to the door.

“Medeus! Mede—”

He opened it and left in quick steps.

“Me… Medeus! Mede—”

Thud—

“…”

Nataek stood rooted long after Medeus had gone.

Why… did the talk go like this again?

“Haa.”

Scratching his head hard, he pulled out a chair and sat. Leaning back, head tipped up, he let out a long breath.

“Whew…”

“‘Did I push you too hard that night? So… you agreed to what you didn’t want…?’”

He had never once doubted Medeus’s heart—never imagined he had some ulterior motive in asking to be lovers. But perhaps Medeus had.

Could a relationship be forced into being by pressure…?

“‘Do you realize you’re mine… that you’re my lover?’”

Had he failed to give Medeus trust? Had his special care not truly reached him?

There is nothing more pitiful than making a lover feel insecure.

“Ha… what an idiot.”

He had surely failed to give Medeus certainty. Clenching a fist, he knocked his own brow repeatedly.

How did it end up like this, how. Now is not the time to fight.

His thoughts skidded to a halt.

Did he sense it?

To Nataek, escaping the ancient world mattered as much as anything—he weighed it alongside Medeus, and his heart split accordingly. Medeus was different: he likely put Nataek first.

Nataek had taken an apple of the heart and given Medeus half. Medeus, facing any temptation, did not split his heart; he kept the apple whole and gave it to Nataek alone.

“Ah… aaaargh.”

He clutched his head in both hands—then remembered the vial and lowered them quickly.

Half a heart and a whole one were weighted differently from the start. He did not want to divide his heart this way; it was the unavoidable consequence of being a modern man. But Medeus didn’t know that. He only felt, in body and heart, that the piece offered him was a half—and was hurt.

From Medeus’s side, Nataek was an anxious lover.

“I’m going to lose my mind.”

He slid down in the chair, hips hooked on the edge, lying back to stare blankly up.

The bond until the day of the true ending—his own drawn line—Medeus must be sensing it.

Medeus’s anger came from worry about his state, yet Nataek’s head had filled with his own mistakes.

“Maybe… we shouldn’t have started this…”