Chapter 32: Spreading Public Opinion and Inciting Terror
"Even if it is the wild talk of a stray dog, this King will grudgingly give your idea a positive evaluation."
After Rowe laid out his thoughts, Gilgamesh fell silent for a moment before delivering that verdict.
The words were sharp as ever, but his expression betrayed him completely. His eyes were bright, his smile eager, the sort of excitement only a true Hero King could wear without shame.
Rowe's plan was simply more to his taste. Overcoming a crisis was fine, but turning that crisis into a spear aimed at heaven? That was the language Gilgamesh understood.
"If it were not impossible, who would tolerate being watched by those arrogant fools all day?" he said, then laughed again, rich and delighted. "This King looks forward to the faces they will make. Hmph hahaha."
"Whatever Rowe wants to do, I will support it."
Enkidu's voice was gentle, but her meaning was unwavering. She would never oppose her friend. If Rowe chose a road, she would walk with him to the end.
"Adjutant. Rowe's proposal is… worth attempting."
Siduri spoke after a short pause. Compared to Gilgamesh's joy in defiance, Siduri's mind went straight to the foundations. She measured weight, risk, and consequence. Even so, she could not deny it. Rowe's idea was not flawless, but it was the only path that might turn their danger into strength.
Theory was one thing. Making it real was another.
So she raised the critical question.
"How do we make the other countries feel this crisis?"
The Bull of Heaven and Humbaba were poised at Uruk's border. Their path would almost certainly be an advance from east and west, converging on the royal city. The devastation they carried was aimed at Uruk first, perhaps Uruk alone.
What reason would the rest of the Mesopotamian plain have to move?
Rowe laughed softly.
"The gods say they sent the strongest divine beast and the strongest demonic beast only to punish us. Who believes that?"
Gods did not care for humans.
Humans did not care for livestock.
Promises from heaven were nothing but mist. Even at the height of the Age of Gods, treachery had been routine. They had faith because they had power, not because they had earned trust.
"Even if the kings and priests wanted to believe them," Rowe continued, "what about the common people? If they could choose, would anyone let their life hang on the moods of gods?"
Siduri blinked, still turning the thought over, but Enkidu spoke first.
"I understand."
She brushed a strand of emerald hair behind her ear, her calm lips shaping clear words.
"No matter what the gods claim, if we make the other nations know the crisis of the Bull of Heaven and Humbaba, and make them believe it, that is enough."
Public opinion.
Public sentiment was like water, quiet until heated. Once it boiled, it could make lies feel like truth.
Enkidu's wisdom was as clean as her origin. She was a construct shaped by gods, and that innate clarity showed itself in moments like this.
Gilgamesh clasped the thread instantly.
"Worthy of being this King's friend."
Then he looked toward Siduri.
"There are always many merchants from other countries in Uruk, yes?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Uruk was the greatest city state of this age. Its commerce flourished. Traders from every land passed through, buying and selling, carrying goods back to their own borders.
Merchants pursued profit first. Give them enough, and they would carry any story you wished.
"Give them a sum of gold," Gilgamesh said, impatient as a commander already tasting the battle. "Send them out with a message."
"Let them say that the Sky God has grown tired of human existence, and that heaven and earth will send trials great enough to erase mankind."
"Let them say that to survive, all people must unite, with the strongest nation at the center."
Still in the name of gods.
Gilgamesh despised them, but he never hesitated to borrow their shadow. In this late Age of Gods, belief was still the spine of society. A rumor that wore divine clothing would spread faster than any army.
Siduri bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Majesty. I will go at once."
She left at a near run. She knew the scale of what had just been set in motion.
First, boiling public opinion.
Then, shaping momentum.
"In the name of the gods, we drag the gods into the dust," Gilgamesh murmured, pleased enough to laugh again. "Hmph hahaha. I cannot wait to see them choke on it."
Rowe listened, and smiled faintly, though his mind was already turning in another direction.
To unite nations, sincerity was required. Sometimes sincerity was written in blood.
When the time came, he could accept a mission into hostile territory. He could provoke an assassin. He could die there.
If he died, Gilgamesh would have the excuse to strike, proving Uruk's force and cowing those who might resist unity. A sacrifice that strengthened the cause.
Serve with devotion until death.
If he could find a way to suppress Ereshkigal's blessing afterward, it might even work.
Even if the odds of Ereshkigal intercepting his soul in the Underworld were nearly absolute, Rowe still wanted to try.
He spoke about great deeds and great deaths, but he would not ignore any smaller doorway that might open along the way.
And somewhere in the flow of time, a voice like an old epic stirred.
"The King, the Sage, and the Divine Construct devised a strategy against the punishment sent down by the heavens within that room."
"The King ordered merchants to travel, carrying the words of the Sage."
"Heaven and earth tremble. A disaster like the ancient Flood of Utnapishtim that once drowned the land is about to return."
"The King calls for unity."
"The Sage calls for arms."
"The Divine Construct made by godhs stands beside them."
Rustle, rustle.
Across the dusty wilderness, a figure stumbled forward.
A black, ragged robe clung to his emaciated frame, yet he did not look fragile. There was a stubborn strength in the way he kept moving, as if the desert itself could not stop him.
He raised his head.
Thick black hair and beard hid most of his face, but the eyes beneath were clear.
Behind him yawned a cold, dark spatial rift, a gap that opened into the Underworld.
The old man who called himself Ziusudra listened to the distant rumors borne by the wind.
"Disaster is coming…"
"One of the original three without a destiny may be the key."
"This old man should go and meet him."
He exhaled slowly, then lowered his head and walked on.
Each step pressed into the loess, leaving dark footprints. Wherever he passed, life seemed to wither, as if Death itself had brushed the earth.
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