Night Talk on the Archangel 4

Natarle remained expressionless. Her eyes were like two bottomless lakes, without the slightest ripple. She simply looked quietly at Murrue and Mu, showing no emotional reaction whatsoever. There seemed to be some irresistible force in that gaze—or perhaps it was merely the enormous panic and unease deep within their hearts, infinitely magnified by Natarle's unimaginable blank expression.

At that moment, Murrue and Mu felt as though her cold, hard gaze had mercilessly nailed them to the spot, leaving them unable to move an inch.

Even their breathing became cautious, their throats dry as if scorched by desert winds.

The atmosphere throughout the bridge instantly became stagnant and oppressive, as though most of the air had been sucked away.

The awkwardness brought by that silence was like an invisible beast opening its bloody maw, ready at any moment to devour all their dignity and self-respect. The scene became exceptionally embarrassing.

After a stretch of dead silence, the tightly drawn corners of Natarle's lips suddenly lowered almost imperceptibly.

Her chest rose and fell ever so slightly, as if she were suppressing something.

Then a faint sigh, clearly tinged with helplessness, escaped her tightly pressed lips, breaking the suffocating silence.

A trace of weariness and distress gathered between her normally stern brows. She slowly shook her head, and there was an indescribable bitterness hidden in that motion, as though she were utterly helpless before what she was seeing—or mocking her own superfluous presence.

Even with her emotions suppressed, her voice retained a soldier's characteristic composure and clarity. "Sigh... Please don't look at me as if you've seen something terrifying. I only hope that you can distinguish between appropriate and inappropriate occasions."

Though Natarle's tone remained even, every word was like a sharp blade landing precisely in Murrue and Mu's hearts.

Her gaze was