Aya Ran Away - Chapter 9

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 9
Aya remembered the eyes of the “King” as he looked upon Nahal.
She had wondered why he granted such a lofty position as “Commander” to someone he despised so deeply — now she understood the reason.
‘He laid a trap to kill him.’
What was she to do?
Aya’s mind filled with worry for him.
“He and his followers are still in the Capital, aren’t they? Which house did you say they were indebted to?”
Chipor asked in an indifferent tone.
Those present felt only a measured sympathy for Nahal’s plight.
A game piece cast aside and discarded — such things scarcely merited their concern.
Just as Aya’s suffering was not theirs, neither was Nahal’s.
“I heard the rest are to be entertained by House of Antinus. And as for him… he stays there as he always does.”
“Ah, there.”
Chipor nodded as if understanding.
Aya too murmured softly to herself.
‘There again.’
Whenever Nahal came to the Capital, he lingered nowhere but that place.
Because of this, a spot usually quiet had grown crowded only during the season of his arrival.
* * *
The Prayer Room of the Temple was quiet, as always.
Occasional weeping could be heard, though it scarcely disturbed the prayers of others.
Bardal, having finished his prayers long ago, stood with his back against the wall, waiting for Nahal.
Between the distant tolling of bells and low murmuring, drowsiness had begun creeping over him.
Suddenly Nahal’s shoulders trembled.
Then he lifted his head from his clasped hands and surveyed his surroundings.
“What is it.”
By Bardal’s reckoning of the usual prayer time, it was far too early for him to finish.
Bardal straightened his posture.
“Did you receive some revelation?”
“Not at all.”
Nahal answered curtly, his gaze drifting.
He exhaled a long, low sigh, then bowed his head again.
Bardal found it strange, but he swallowed his question.
Knowing how intently Nahal usually recited the prayers, he simply waited for them to end.
Nahal finished his prayer without wavering, as though carved from stone, then pushed himself up with his hands.
“Let’s go.”
Bardal followed Nahal out of the Prayer Room.
The two walked straight along the connected corridor.
“He’s coming out!”
A cry rang out.
Looking around, Bardal saw crowds gathered between the rows of stone pillars lining the passageway.
‘There seem to be more than last time.’
Bardal clicked his tongue at the ever-growing throng.
They all strove to catch Nahal’s attention, yet he walked without sparing them a single glance.
Some forgot this was a Temple itself, calling out his name in loud voices.
Apprentice priests passing through the corridor seemed to offer reproof, but the tumult did not subside.
Burdensome gazes clung to him relentlessly.
Bardal turned to look at Nahal’s face.
Even standing beside him felt oppressive, yet the other showed no sign of disturbance whatsoever.
‘He was the same at the Meritorious Service Ceremony.’
At times like this, Nahal seemed so unmoved that Bardal found it difficult to believe they were the same age.
He did not even offer a cold smile, as though it were someone else’s affair.
He resembled the stillness of an inanimate object far more than the vitality of a living person.
Bardal, gazing at that sculptural face, shook his head.
‘He’s more like a priest.’
After walking some distance, the passage only grew quieter once they entered a section forbidden to those without authorization.
By the time the Temple courtyard came into view beyond the pillars, all sound had faded entirely.
Bardal saw this as his chance.
If they simply proceeded into the building where their lodgings were kept, Nahal would surely fall silent under the pretense of having too many ears listening.
“What was all that anyway? Did you really receive a revelation? If it’s a prophecy, couldn’t you give me a hint?”
Nahal’s brow furrowed at the casual question tossed his way.
“Why are you curious about that?”
“If it’s a prophecy, then I, who am always at your side, ought to have the right to hear it, shouldn’t I? And if it’s not a prophecy, then it means your condition isn’t good—which is something I, as your attendant, should certainly know about.”
Nahal fell silent at the airtight logic, his steps slowing as if lost in thought.
For a long moment, no answer came.
Still silent, Nahal dragged a hand across his face and muttered softly.
“……A song.”
It seemed like I heard one.
His murmur sounded nothing like his usual voice.
Even the ear he’d turned away had flushed crimson.
‘He’s embarrassed.’
Bardal laughed silently.
Though his face remained as impassive as ever, even Nahal couldn’t seem to hide the color rising in his cheeks.
“So this time too—another dead end?”
Asking what he already knew.
Nahal shot him a wordless glare.
“You said some money was spent. Has any new information come in?”
Without answering, Nahal strode briskly into the building that served as their quarters.
Bardal shook his head knowingly, a wry smile playing at his lips.
He followed close on Nahal’s heels as the man climbed the stairs at a deliberately quickened pace, speaking almost to himself.
“The Temple’s security really is impressive, I’ll grant you that. We’ve spent years on this, and we haven’t even glimpsed a shadow.”
“……Quit before I throw you down these stairs.”
Bardal continued unperturbed, his composure unshaken by the threat.
“Still, the fact that word of you searching for someone all these years hasn’t leaked out suggests it’s not all disadvantage.”
“That’s true.”
Nahal bit out the words as if something had finally snapped.
“Which is why, if rumors start spreading, I’ll be questioning you first.”
Bardal shrugged his shoulders.
“After all we’ve been through, can’t you look the other way just this once?”
“Enough.”
Nahal rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
“Leave. You’ve already followed me all the way to the Prayer Room, haven’t you?”
Bardal clicked his tongue in disbelief.
“You know full well the whole unit is staying in the Temple. Remember I was assigned the room right next door?”
“……What luxuries do you nobles suppose you’ll enjoy.”
Nahal’s sarcasm left Bardal unmoved.
“Divine blessing, no Demon Beasts about. It’s ideal.”
So long as the Wall Spell held firm, no Demon Beast could breach the walls.
Inside the Capital, whether in the Temple or on the street, it was equally safe from Demon Beasts—so that was merely an excuse.
Nahal, listening to Bardal’s playful words, asked him directly.
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
“That I’ll be with you always, no matter where or when.”
Nahal’s brow deepened.
He understood the true meaning behind those words.
Bardal meant he would follow him all the way to the naval battle that would take place in Ragas.
“That’s absurd.”
“It certainly is absurd.”
Bardal’s voice turned grave.
“You should stay in your post. This task is mine to bear alone.”
Nahal delivered this as though in earnest counsel, then turned to enter the room—but Bardal seized his arm.
“Don’t tell me the great Hereb has lost his nerve?”
Hereb was their private battlefield name for Nahal, derived from the Temple’s sacred script meaning “blade”—a name they used when speaking of him as something inhuman on the field of war.
“Lost my nerve? Who has?”
Nahal’s question came back sharp.
Bardal found no ready answer to match that bravado.
On the battlefield, Nahal was nothing short of a War God made flesh.
Bardal and the others in his unit owed their lives to Nahal many times over.
For a moment, Bardal felt at a loss and scratched the back of his head.
Nahal folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, as though inviting him to say more if he had anything left.
“It’s not that I doubt your strength. But do you truly believe you can walk out of there alive on your own?”
“Do you think I can’t do it?”
Bardal’s face crumpled at her plain answer.
“Listen to me seriously!”
Nahal spoke as though mocking such a Bardal.
“So. You have no confidence fighting without me, then?”
“If you die, you won’t meet that priest again.”
Bardal hurled the words out, overcome by a surge of frustration.
In the same instant, the air shifted sharply, prickling against his skin.
Nahal straightened his posture, abandoning his careless demeanor, and bit out Bardal’s name like grinding teeth.
“Bardal Karinus.”
His voice came out cold—worse than cold, cutting.
“You don’t know your place.”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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