Hippolyta glanced around. Seeing no one nearby, she pressed her lips together and, under the pretense of tidying the chessboard, lowered her voice to remind him,
"Since everything that needed to be done is done, we should leave as soon as possible. Either return to the City of Seven Hills or head for Greece. Your injuries haven't fully healed yet. Only by leaving enemy territory can you recover in peace."
Samael picked up the knight that had been driven deep into Hassan of the Hundred Faces' formation and smiled lightly.
"If Rome were truly safe, Romulus wouldn't have fallen. And Greece is already under heavy siege, trapped in a deadlock. If another true god shows up, I can't guarantee we'd get out unscathed."
"But Persia…"
"The most dangerous place is often the safest. As long as the few who know keep their mouths shut, no one will suspect I'm recuperating right under Cyrus's nose."
"That's true. To turn Persia's sharpest blade with just a few words... it's hard to believe."
Hippolyta paused, clearly impressed by his scheming.
"Old friend, some people can be persuaded only because they want to be persuaded…"
Samael toyed with the chess pieces in the box, casting her a meaningful glance.
"On the night Romulus fell, an assassin with zero experience, who had never taken part in an assassination operation, slipped into the Roman Senate."
"…"
"She hadn't even confirmed her target. That night, I was the one on duty."
"…"
"And with the war at a critical point, the Assassins, who usually march with the Persian army, have instead all withdrawn to the Vulture's Nest to sun themselves."
"You mean…"
Hippolyta seemed to realize something, her expression shifting.
"Some things are better left unspoken once you understand them."
The Ancient Serpent gave a lazy smile, then turned to look at the small girl with short pale purple hair approaching with a clay pot in her arms, raising a hand in greeting.
He had indeed come to keep an appointment, as an invited guest.
The old man saw things clearly. Ever since their meeting in the City of Seven Hills, he had likely reached his own conclusions.
And the exchange at the Temple of the Evening Bell had simply reinforced that understanding, giving both sides a justification they could accept.
Whether it was Rome's struggle to survive or the future rise of the Arabs.
Their words were not only for each other, but also for the Romans and the mountain folk behind them.
Of course, until everything was settled, what needed to remain hidden would stay hidden.
At that moment, Hassan of the Serenity approached the stone table, clutching the clay pot, and timidly poured out the freshly brewed jellab for the two of them. She practically glowed under the praise she received.
On a whim, Samael reached out and ruffled the little poison girl's hair, a casual gesture of encouragement.
For someone like her, who longed for close contact, the warmth of that touch was something to savor. She edged closer little by little.
Seeing that Samael didn't push her away, she grew bolder, wrapping her arms around his waist and hugging him gently, resting her cheek against his chest, lowering her head as she quietly nuzzled closer.
From all around the village, eyes watched. Some amused, some envious, some annoyed, all fixed on Samael.
No wonder the Assassins were getting worse and worse. Too busy slacking off and peeking instead of doing proper work.
Samael, sensing those prying gazes, muttered inwardly and gave Hassan of the Serenity a few light pats on the shoulder.
Curled against him, the little Hassan yawned, rubbed her sleepy eyes, and reluctantly stirred.
Samael glanced down at the damp patch on his chest and the faint trail of drool at the corner of her lips, then covered his face, half amused, half exasperated.
"You actually fell asleep like that... honestly. Being a Hassan is a waste on you. You should just become a mascot."
"Hey, wake up. If you're sleepy, go back to your room and sleep."
The drowsy girl was gently shaken awake. Realizing the mess she had left behind, her face flushed bright red. She hurriedly grabbed the clay pot and fled.
Samael watched as the little "pigeon" stumbled three times, bumped into a wall twice, and finally staggered straight into his room.
His expression froze.
That left him unsure whether what had just happened was simply Hassan of the Serenity sleepily wandering off by accident, or if the little girl had developed a taste for close contact and was planning a perfectly legitimate nighttime "raid."
"Your tastes are rather unexpected. Perhaps I should call Penthesilea over…"
Hippolyta cast a long, thoughtful glance at the petite, inexperienced figure who had skillfully slipped into Samael's room, her tone carrying a faint trace of something hard to name.
"Sorry, I'm not interested in underdeveloped washboards. You, on the other hand, might want to be a bit more mindful of your own safety."
Samael's expression darkened as he shot her a glare and retorted irritably.
It was common knowledge that with Hippolyta's features, as long as her body was properly nourished, it was all too easy for everything to develop in one very noticeable direction.
A certain rose emperor of Rome, a certain lion king of Britain, and a certain saint of France had all proven that point.
"So you prefer this body of mine? Even if it's not the proper season, I can come stay in your room tonight."
"Ahem… I appreciate the thought…"
"Not satisfied? If you have needs, once we return to the City of Seven Hills, I can have the warriors I brought serve you together."
Hippolyta bit her lip, clearly eager, her eyes burning with a heat intense enough to make Samael uncomfortable.
Amazons never did things halfway.
Five thousand tall, beautiful warriors lined up together… just imagining it was enough to stir—
"Thanks, but I refuse."
Samael pictured that overwhelming scene, his throat bobbing instinctively, but he quickly composed himself and gave a firm, righteous answer.
Five thousand Amazons charging in like wild horses… even for a god, no one could endure that for long. In a few months, he would be lucky if he could still walk without clinging to a wall. Worst case, he would be completely drained dry.
Not a drop left.
Besides, he had not forgotten that back then, Hippolyta had seriously planned to drag him back to her tribe as breeding stock.
Seeing there was no chance, the Amazon queen reluctantly withdrew her heated gaze and shifted topics, her expression turning serious.
"Your Highness, what should I do next?"
"Wait."
The Ancient Serpent stroked his chin and gave a single, unhurried answer. Then he lifted his gaze toward the distant southwestern horizon, a sly smile forming.
"And send a letter to that Pharaoh. Add a little fuel to the fire."
The second move was not even finished yet. Chess required patience.
Thinking back on everything she had seen recently, Hippolyta knew well how strong Persia's influence over the mountain folk was. It would not be uprooted anytime soon, and that made her worry for Samael's safety.
"Even if that old man can be trusted, there's no guarantee every Assassin thinks the same way. The longer we stay, the greater the risk to you…"
"Aren't you here?"
Standing against the mountain wind, the man turned and looked at her with a faint smile.
Hippolyta froze for a moment, then her expression softened. She nodded firmly.
"Yes. I will risk my life to ensure your safety."