Chapter 6: Messenger of the Gods? Adjutant to the King?
Rowe finally understood.
Gilgamesh's "wisdom," the very thing the gods hoped he would develop, wasn't for the sake of the people.
It was their proof.
Proof that even if the gods could no longer descend in their true forms, their will could still guide the human world.
Proof that faith would not decay, even after centuries passed.
Proof that the "Pledge" between heaven and earth still held meaning.
And Rowe, through his bold outburst, had inadvertently nudged Gilgamesh one step onto that path.
To the gods, he had done something valuable.
So despite disrupting the Festival of Ten Thousand Gods, the divine will had spared him.
A political calculation.
A divine calculation.
Understanding it only made Rowe feel even more miserable.
Everything had gone wrong.
Suppressing his urge to scream internally, Rowe steadied his expression and looked forward.
The temple's radiance lingered.
The divine decree faded with the light.
The priests slowly rose to their feet, returning to solemn composure amidst the towering statues.
"High Priest…" Rowe spoke quietly.
The old man met his gaze.
Then, slowly, he extended a withered arm and lifted the hem of his robe in a formal bow.
"Greetings, Divine Messenger."
The moment the words left his lips, the rest of the priests immediately followed suit.
Their movements were full of reverence.
Rowe, recognized by the gods and bestowed a divine promise
was he not now equivalent to a Messenger of the Gods?
His status no longer aligned with ordinary clergy.
It surpassed them all, symbolically standing shoulder to shoulder with the King himself.
Of course, only symbolically.
The King of Uruk wielded absolute power, military, civil, diplomatic, religious.
No one truly equaled him.
Still, in the eyes of Uruk, Rowe had ascended to a rank few could ever dream of.
Which was the opposite of what Rowe wanted.
He sighed. "High Priest… all of you, please don't treat me this way. I was only fortunate, nothing more."
The old priests exchanged glances. Seeing his humility, they nodded to themselves.
What a steady temperament!
So modest!
So mature!
None of them realized the truth:
All the joy was theirs.
None of it belonged to Rowe.
But what could he do?
He couldn't rewind time.
He couldn't undo being recognized by both king and gods.
So he could only continue.
If I failed to die today… then I'll simply find another opportunity.
This era was anything but peaceful.
Death came easily to most men.
Why not to me?
…Right?
Rowe took a deep breath and steeled himself.
Then—
"The King has a command!"
A loud voice echoed from the temple entrance.
A tall figure entered, armored and imposing
the King's herald, a member of the Royal Guard entrusted with announcing Gilgamesh's orders.
His footsteps rang sharply on the stone floor.
The priests paled.
Had Gilgamesh changed his mind?
Was he here to punish Rowe after all?
Gilgamesh was unpredictable, tyrannical, capricious, divine.
Even if he had spared Rowe earlier, who dared claim he wouldn't change his mind minutes later?
Rowe was also confused.
But before he could reflect further, the herald spoke.
"The King has issued a decree."
His loud voice boomed across the hall.
"Temple co priest, Rowe—you were rebellious and directly offended the great King of Uruk."
The priests winced.
"But the King, whose heart is as vast as the star filled heavens, whose wisdom shines brighter than the constellations, understands that your intentions were good."
Rowe's eyebrow twitched.
This tone…
Yes, definitely Gilgamesh's herald.
"Thus, the King disregards your rudeness and intends to promote you."
The priests all froze.
"The King commands you to serve as his Adjutant. Beginning tomorrow, you will enter the royal palace and attend the King closely."
The herald delivered the decree with unmistakable arrogance.
Rowe was speechless for several long seconds.
Not executed.
Not punished.
Promoted.
Part of him was disappointed.
Another part—curiously amused.
Serving other kings might be a blessing.
Serving Gilgamesh?
Equivalent to hugging a wild, starving tiger and hoping it didn't bite.
A tyrant's mood changed faster than the wind.
A single stray remark could lead to death.
Perfect.
This was exactly what Rowe wanted.
And considering Gilgamesh's fate in the epic, there would be many crises ahead.
Many, many crises.
When the herald left, the priests turned toward Rowe with despair and worry
only for Rowe, the supposed victim, to comfort them instead.
"Everyone, there's no need for concern," Rowe said confidently. "Serving the King closely has always been my wish."
"And if I can help guide him away from past mistakes, all the better."
He had to act the role completely.
Since he was already regarded as a righteous priest and divine messenger, he would play the part to the end.
The priests gradually relaxed.
"At my age, I cannot compare to your bravery," the High Priest said with a rueful smile.
"If we cannot compare, then we simply cannot," another priest muttered. "Out of all the people in Uruk, who can compare to him?"
He dared to rebuke Gilgamesh, yet gained both the King's approval and the gods' blessing.
Truly unique in all of Uruk—perhaps in all of Mesopotamia.
"By the way, Little Rowe isn't married yet, right?" one priest suddenly asked. "My granddaughter—what do you think?"
"Your granddaughter is five. What are you thinking?"
"What? Better to arrange early than wait for your daughter in her thirties—"
The conversation devolved instantly into chaos.
Rowe silently stared into the distance.
Whether in the modern world or the ancient world…
old men would always be old men.
But his mind had already drifted far away—
towards the palace.
It was time to craft a new plan.
"King."
Inside the great palace, at the summit of ninety nine steps, Gilgamesh opened his eyes.
He shifted his position slightly upon the massive throne, his crimson gaze lowering to the speaker.
A veiled woman—his current Adjutant.
"Priest Rowe has accepted your command," she reported.
"And… one more thing."
Her tone grew tense.
"In the Temple of Ishtar… traces were discovered on the altar."
She hesitated.
"It is suspected that the goddess Ishtar has descended."
Gilgamesh's once lazy, relaxed gaze sharpened immediately.