Chapter 14: The Goddess Descending from the Heavens
The Uruk soldiers stationed outside the Demonic Beast Forest exchanged uneasy looks, caught between being moved by Rowe's words and horrified by what they were seeing.
The riot had been foreshadowed for days.
Even so, these battle hardened veterans could not understand why this wave was so much larger than anything before it.
Rowe, however, stayed calm.
Because the scale of the riot was, in truth, his doing.
Demonic Beasts were more dangerous than ordinary animals, but they were still beasts. And beasts, when pricked by the right stimulus, could be driven into madness.
The Gate of Babylon had already opened. Noble Phantasms hovered in the air around him, their edges sharp enough to make the very space feel thin.
Gilgamesh's treasures might not rival the gods, but they were not far beneath them either. The aura flooding the field was enough to stab the beasts with instinctive terror, enough to push them into a frenzy.
Rowe turned his head toward the captain.
"This scale is beyond what you can endure. Retreat."
The young warrior hesitated for a heartbeat, then clenched his jaw. There was no time left to argue.
"Everyone, fall back behind the wall!" he shouted, then lowered his voice. "Priest, please be careful."
The soldiers retreated at once. The gate sealed shut behind them.
In the open stretch between the wall and the forest, only Rowe remained.
Alone.
Ahead of him, dust and broken greenery churned like rolling thunder. Crimson eyes flickered within the haze, filled with manic bloodlust.
Behind him, the golden ripples of the Gate of Babylon flared brighter.
Everything unnecessary had been cleared away.
Rowe smiled.
He pulled his robe tighter and stepped forward instead of back, meeting the charge head on.
Under the gaze of every soldier watching from the wall, Rowe felt a swell of joy.
Not just because his goal might finally be within reach, but because of what he was doing right now.
All this time, he had cursed his so called golden finger as troublesome. Yet the power he had anchored to the Throne of Heroes, a power that required death to reclaim, was still his greatest reliance.
Because of it, he did not fear dying.
Because of it, he could do things normal people only dreamed of.
Publicly rebuking Gilgamesh.
Mocking Ishtar to her face.
He told himself it was all for death, but a part of him wanted to do those things anyway. He simply never would have dared without that safety net.
This moment was the same.
He had forced Uruk's soldiers to withdraw, leaving himself alone against a tide of thousands.
Guarding the border.
Protecting the homeland.
Those soldiers were warriors with iron beliefs. They should not be wasted here. Their lives ought to stretch farther than this wall.
And besides—
"I also get to be a glorious hero who dies heroically for once."
A perfect win win.
Rowe stopped.
The Demonic Beasts continued to roar forward, shaking the land. Dust blanketed the field. Within it, those pairs of crimson eyes burned hotter by the second.
Rowe spread his arms.
It was not surrender.
If he simply walked out and was torn apart instantly, that would not be heroism. That would be comedy.
A clown might accidentally become a Heroic Spirit, but a clown would never sit on the throne Rowe had reserved for himself.
Otherwise, he would have killed himself long ago.
No, he needed to carve the right scene.
He would first clear the field. Then, with only a few beasts remaining, he would "accidentally" expose a flaw at the perfect moment.
So now—
Light surged.
The golden ripples converged into a single violent current. Noble Phantasms spun into place, their edges compressing dreadful momentum until the air itself peeled into pale white swirls.
"If you have the guts, then come at me, you beasts!"
Rowe stood with arms wide, dark eyes reflecting the monstrous flood.
The originally clear blue sky was drowned in the crimson haze rising from the beast tide. The soldiers behind the wall held their breath.
Everyone watching knew that no matter how this ended, they would never forget this sight.
It was a scene worthy of the mythic age.
A lone hero confronting rampaging monsters.
A human will standing against a tide that seemed to belong to the gods.
No close combat had even begun, and yet it felt as if the battle had already reached its conclusion.
Because—
Those Demonic Beasts stopped.
The entire tide locked in place for a heartbeat, their forward momentum dying mid charge.
Then they turned.
And ran.
Dust rushed past fallen leaves. The field was suddenly empty, leaving only silence and scattered footprints.
Rowe froze as if struck by lightning.
From the wall, it must have looked like he had terrified the beasts into retreat by sheer pressure alone.
But Rowe himself was completely baffled.
No, why are you running?
Come here!
Are Demonic Beasts really that cowardly?
He was genuinely tempted to shout it.
Before he could, a faint sound reached him.
Rowe lifted his head.
With a priest's sharpened senses, he caught a melody hidden beneath the thunder of hooves. It was distant, subtle, almost swallowed by the chaos.
A song filled with divinity.
A song filled with distress.
His mind snapped back to the falling star he had seen last night.
A shooting star in the Age of Gods was not a meteor. It was a sign of something divine descending.
Rowe's eyes narrowed.
"Do not tell me…"
"The goddess who created Enkidu…"
"Aruru?"
Not Enkidu himself.
But the goddess who would shape that human formed weapon from clay, the one meant to bear the power of the gods.
Had she descended into this forest?
In legend, Enkidu's first awakening did happen in an ancient, quiet woodland.
Aruru, most likely, had descended like Ishtar did, through possession.
But even in a possessed state, a goddess was still a goddess. Her presence far exceeded almost every existence in the current world.
Only demigod heroes like Gilgamesh could truly stand on equal ground with her.
The Demonic Beasts had heard her voice.
They dared not disobey.
Or perhaps the earlier riots had another cause entirely. Maybe the beasts had subconsciously sensed Aruru's coming, feared her arrival, and tried to flee this place before she descended.
That was not impossible either.
Rowe sank into thought.
"I heard that when Aruru was tasked with creating Enkidu, she struggled endlessly because she could not craft a perfect form."
"This song sounds like real distress."
"She is doubting her own craftsmanship."
"And in that state, it is easy to be influenced by outside pressure, to become unstable, agitated, irritable…"
He paused.
Then his expression brightened.
Understood.
I will go find her immediately and mock her to death.