Chapter 20: Don’t Touch My Father’s Face!

Aaron carefully packed away the robe, feeling a faint sense that even the royal garments of Macedonia could not compare to its quality. He entrusted Malum with the task of storing it, deciding that this attire should be worn only when it truly mattered—such as when he might reunite with his mother.

It was not until the morning hour of "Lamin"—which meant "Ra is in the sky"—that the jailers finally arrived. In Malum’s timekeeping system, this corresponded to ten o’clock in the morning. It seemed that public servants in this era enjoyed a leisurely pace; in the later days of Terra, such officials rarely had time for rest, remaining at their posts at all hours.

Captain Gete, who had delivered them the day before, was adhering to the principle that it was better to avoid trouble than to invite it. He was preparing to release the three men suspected of being Roman spies. Muttering to himself, he had decided after a night of reflection to ignore Ainoa's suggestions.

"At the very least, go stir up trouble in those big cities. My governor here is busy catching crocodiles and skinning them for the Pharaoh every day; there’s no one left to fight a war."

After whispering his complaints, Gete opened the cell door and raised his voice: "Listen well, you lot! Get out of here as fast as you can. Leave the donkey; consider it a fine. Thank me for my mercy, or you’d have had your throats slit last night."

Malum was told to keep his emotions steady and act as if he saw nothing. Anda and his son, Aaron, stood frozen in place, unsure of what to do next. They had been prepared to use this incident to make contact with those who might spark a war, yet this fellow was trying to let them go. It was truly interesting; if all of humanity were as cautious as this, one wondered how many needless wars could be avoided.

Aaron leaned toward his father and whispered, "What now? They’re kicking us out. This isn't how we planned it. They were supposed to interrogate us, pin the charge of war espionage on us, and reveal more clues."

Anda’s face darkened. "Shut up and let me think."

"I’ve got it. You throw yourself on the ground right now, roll around, and say that donkey watched you grow up. Insist on taking it with you."

Aaron tugged at his father’s sleeve. "Are you even listening to yourself? Why don't you throw yourself on the ground and say you raised that donkey from a foal?"

Anda replied sternly, "Because that donkey truly wasn't raised by me, though it did watch you grow up. You are my son; how could you compare yourself to a donkey?"

Gete could not understand their words, and he sighed—they were surely Roman spies after all. But what power did a minor captain of the city guard have? It was better to keep his eyes shut and his mind at peace.

He urged them, "Go, hurry! We haven't prepared any meals for you."

He dared not order his men to use force, for the memory of how so many people had tripped and fallen while trying to capture them the day before was still fresh in his mind. The weather was hot, their clothing was thin, and if they tripped, broke the skin, and—without proper care—were cursed by Sekhmet, the goddess of war and pestilence, causing their flesh to rot, it would be a heavy price to pay.

As Aaron hesitated, on the verge of losing his pride to drop to the ground and plead his emotional attachment to the donkey—hoping the captain, denied any profit, would fly into a rage and keep them imprisoned—a miraculous turn of events occurred.

Before he could hit the floor, a clamor arose outside.

"Captain Gete! Captain Gete!"

"The 'Viper,' Priest Dalet, has arrived in Laswit! Lord Dalet heard you captured some Roman spies and intends to interrogate them!"

Several hurried guards rushed in, their faces radiant with joy. For ordinary soldiers, the chance to see a priest who walked the earth beneath the Pharaoh was the highest of honors. The Pharaoh was a god among men, and the priests were the conduits who could communicate with the gods in the heavens. If they had seen the priest, then when the gods spoke to him, they might even learn of their own existence! What a glorious thought!

If Aaron had known what they were thinking, he would have surely felt that when his mother was a priestess, she could never remember the names of those who worshipped her so devoutly.

Aaron couldn't help but grumble, "It seems we don't need to throw a tantrum after all. Phew. Father, next time, leave such embarrassing tasks to yourself."

Anda turned to look at Malum. "He can do it. After all, he swore he would dedicate everything to me."

Malum was startled. No, he had been standing there like a statue without a word—how did the conversation turn to him again?

"I—I, if my master requires it, I—"

Anda grew annoyed. "You, a descendant of Guilliman, actually hesitating! Do you intend to break your oath?"

Malum bowed his head in terror. "I have no such intention! I am ready to offer my life for you at any moment!"

Aaron whispered, "Why are you scaring him? No wonder Guilliman agreed with me in my dream last night that you are indeed a bastard."

Malum jerked his head up. *What on earth are you saying?!*

Anda clenched his fists, a powerful hiss of air escaping his nostrils. "Fine, fine, fine—"

Before he could vent his anger, Gete’s grumbling interrupted him: "Enough! You spies, now look what’s happened. The Priest has specifically asked to see you; your chance at survival is gone."

Gete waved his hand in disgust and ordered, "Take the prisoners to see the Priest; I will follow shortly."

Troublesome, truly troublesome. When did the priest arrive? The city of Laswit hadn't received a word. Hopefully, that blockheaded city lord wouldn't be caught in any scandal; the Pharaoh’s tomb still lacked a few burial attendants. Sigh, throughout history, those at the bottom always feared the higher-ups appearing in their jurisdiction unannounced—it was enough to scare a man to death.

The three men walked out quite submissively. Someone even brought them food and groomed them, especially that old man Anda, tidying his wild hair and messy beard.

*Damn it,* Aaron thought, *why is that servant stroking his face so much while shaving him?*

Still, he had to admit, his father didn't look quite as ugly without the beard. Aaron hurriedly suppressed this unnecessary thought.

"One must maintain proper decorum when meeting the Priest. Even criminals must do so; after all, the gods observe the creatures of the earth through the eyes of the priest, and one must not offend the divine gaze."

The servant finished his work with a serious expression, then gave Anda’s face one final pat. "Ahem. I hear you Romans are profligate and debauched. I hope the sins you carry do not anger the gods."

Aaron gritted his teeth. *That old man—could he be exuding that strange, inexplicable charm of his again?*

The three were led away to wash themselves, and fortunately, no one else came to scrub them down. Otherwise, he truly feared that the absurd stories circulating about Romans would come to pass right there, with his own father as the protagonist.

Once they were clean, they passed through the buildings and arrived before a temporarily erected but extraordinarily magnificent tent. They lifted the supple fabric to meet the Pharaoh’s priest, Dalet, the "Viper."

He was a thin, middle-aged man, also bald, with a tattoo of snake scales on his face.

"Romans," Dalet said, eyes closed as he savored the scent of incense. He sat up slowly from his couch and continued, "For spies and infiltrators, the custom is to be flayed and dismembered, an offering to the goddess Ma'at."

Dalet then opened his eyes. Almost the moment he saw Anda, his tone softened.

"But there is also an opportunity for redemption. You—would you like to become my slave?"

Dalet reached out with a feminine gesture, pointing directly at Anda.