Chapter 11: Voluntarily Offering Service
On this land, Gilgamesh was a tyrant acknowledged by all.
He had no respect for the gods, held absolute dominion over life and death, and could strip a man of his home, fortune, or head on a whim.
Yet for all his cruelty, Gilgamesh was no incompetent ruler.
He was never a foolish King.
He governed Uruk with absolute self-centered will, making decisions that seemed nonsensical, even monstrous, to ordinary citizens. His methods were harsh, coercive, and often brutal.
But because he was that self-centered, Gilgamesh valued the nation's safety even more fiercely.
Uruk belonged to the King.
He could do whatever he wanted with it.
But he would never allow outsiders to meddle in his domain.
"Dare to disturb this King's land, and I shall make those gutter-born beasts understand one thing—anything belonging to the King is not to be trampled on."
Gilgamesh rose from the throne, golden radiance flickering across his features. Under Siduri's watchful gaze, he made his decision without hesitation.
He would personally travel to the western border to suppress the crisis.
But he failed to notice the priest sitting on the palace steps, Rowe—dust clinging to his linen robe as he slowly stood up, thoughts already unraveling into action.
"Wait."
Rowe clapped the dust off his robe and looked at the King and Siduri.
"I'll go."
His tone was firm.
"You are the King. You shouldn't move unnecessarily."
His reasoning was simple.
Since neither Gilgamesh nor the gods had successfully killed him yet, it was time to seek a new opportunity.
He needed to leave Uruk's capital.
He needed the border
A place where death was far more attainable.
Everyone knew the danger of the western lands.
The Forest of Demonic Beasts was a perpetual nest of monstrous creatures, overflowing with threats that even trained soldiers feared.
Even with Uruk's borders heavily guarded, beast riots still erupted.
If Rowe volunteered under the King's authority, the soldiers stationed there could no longer bar his entry.
And once he reached the forest…
A glorious death awaited:
A siege, a sacrifice, a vanished corpse.
Enough to carve his name into history.
Siduri immediately tried to object. "Priest Rowe, I'm afraid you—"
She stopped mid-sentence.
Golden ripples shimmered around Rowe's body.
One after another, blades and Noble Phantasms emerged from the portals each glowing with the unmistakable brilliance of the Babylon Treasury.
Gilgamesh's gift.
Siduri was stunned.
Even Gilgamesh blinked in surprise before bursting into laughter.
"Hmph. Hahahaha! For a barking stray dog, you learned to wield my treasures far quicker than expected. This King is pleasantly surprised."
Then he lifted his chin proudly.
"Very well! Take this King's armory and reveal my unmatched majesty to those fools in the west!"
Rowe rolled his eyes. "Speak like a human."
"This King is the one and only sovereign of heaven and earth," Gilgamesh replied with disdain. "My words are the words of a King. It is you mortals whose dung-like barking should cease."
There they go again… Siduri rubbed her forehead in silence.
Despite the constant bickering, Siduri could not deny the truth: with the Gate of Babylon supporting him, Rowe fully qualified to act in the King's stead and suppress the Demonic Beast riot.
"I'm done talking." Rowe turned toward the palace entrance. Outside, the sky had darkened into shades of orange and red, the sun staining the city like autumn leaves aflame.
Without a goodbye, he descended the steps.
"Hmph," Gilgamesh exhaled sharply, watching Rowe's retreating figure. His crimson eyes reflected the slender priest wrapped in dust-covered linen.
"If you go in this King's place, then even a filthy stray dog must shine brightly. Those beasts in the west have gnawed in their gutters long enough. This King refuses to see his messenger fall in the dirt."
"That would tarnish this King's image."
Rowe paused and glanced back.
"You should worry more about yourself. You can't even speak properly."
He shook his head and walked out.
Of course, Rowe understood Gilgamesh's meaning.
The King was concerned for him
Even if the attitude wrapped around that concern was insufferable.
And though Rowe craved death, he was still human.
Some part of him warmed at the thought.
But still
"A grown man being that dramatic when he talks is just disgusting."
Siduri chose very wisely to pretend she didn't hear that.
"Hmph, hahaha! The feeling is mutual!" Gilgamesh roared with laughter. "Mutual!"
From childhood until now, no one had ever dared to offend him this much and still fail to provoke genuine anger.
"A man who disrespects the gods, just like this King… Let me witness it myself—" Gilgamesh rose fully, golden light pooling around him like molten divinity.
"—whether you possess the qualifications to stand at this King's side and call yourself this King's friend!"
---
Outside, Rowe halted at the threshold of the palace.
The streets of Uruk had quieted with dusk.
Trees swayed beside clay homes, an old yellow dog slept by a door, travelers trudged back from the road, and young men returning from labor waved farewell to their families.
This city of earth and stone—this super-settlement of hundreds of thousands could only exist in an age when gods still breathed faintly upon the world.
And even then…
This was the limit.
Because the gods forbade human unification.
Humanity's rise meant the gods' fall.
There was a time when the gods had supported mankind.
But now, they had become shackles.
Not that any of this mattered to Rowe.
Not yet.
He only wished for one thing
To die.
He lifted his head
And saw a star falling across the sky.
A shooting star.
Good, he thought.
May his life burn the same way
Leave its mark upon human order,
Then vanish in an instant.
Wait.
"Hold on."
Rowe narrowed his eyes.
"In the Age of Gods, shooting stars aren't meteorites…"
"They're signs of something descending from the heavens."
"Other than Ishtar in her pseudo-servant state."
"What else could be coming now?"
A chill traced his spine.
Something—someone—was falling toward Uruk.