Along the road to the lowest temple in the Underworld stood seven gates. Shiomi and his companions had already passed through six of them.
Each gate posed questions testing Shiomi's understanding of right and wrong. And with each answer he gave, the gates accepted him and opened the way forward.
"They say that in some myths, the souls of the dead are judged like this in the Underworld. If they fail to answer truthfully, they're locked away forever, never allowed to reincarnate," Shiomi mused as they approached the final gate.
The deeper they went, the more cylindrical cages they saw embedded in the cliffs flanking the path—each containing flickering, ghostly blue flames.
Those weren't for illumination. They were the souls of Mesopotamians who had entered the Underworld.
"Trapped in cages like that, displayed forever like artifacts?" Morgan asked with a curious smile.
Scáthach chuckled. "Don't worry. If my beloved disciple ever dies, his soul will just return to the Land of Shadows."
"Will I die?" Shiomi shook his head, almost dismissively.
His reply left the three women silent. No one had an answer to that complicated question.
How does someone who has already conquered death return to its embrace?
"The seventh gate," Sakura whispered, breaking the silence.
She could feel the temperature continuing to drop. If not for her Magic Circuits maintaining her body warmth, she'd likely already be trembling from the cold.
It must've been below five degrees Celsius—still above freezing, but far colder than the surface. Every breath they exhaled turned into pale mist.
"I wonder what the question will be this time. I hope I pass," Shiomi said as he stepped forward, stopping just before the barrier of the gate.
As with the others, the patterns on the stone surface began to glow.
"Answer me Answer me O living soul who walks in the Underworld… speak of the truth of your heart."
That familiar, low and echoing voice drifted out.
Shiomi stood quietly, waiting.
"There are three women by your side. Tell me—who is the one you love most?"
"…Huh?" Shiomi froze in place.
And he wasn't the only one. All three women behind him, listening in, were stunned into silence.
Apparently, the goddess of the Underworld was a bit nosy—she seemed to have perfect insight into Shiomi's love life.
More accurately, the gate was an autonomous construct formed by Ereshkigal's divine authority. Each question was drawn from a direct examination of the target's soul.
"That's a great question. If you don't answer it properly, even if the door opens, I'll make you suffer a little, my husband," Morgan said with a devilish grin, nodding with interest.
Scáthach jumped right in as well. "Don't just stand there, answer quickly, my beloved disciple."
Sakura, flustered and a little hopeful, hesitantly raised a finger. "I-I'm included too?"
"Not you..." Shiomi quickly corrected her misunderstanding.
"You mean Artoria, don't you?" Morgan said casually.
Sakura gave an awkward but sweet smile. "R-right… that makes sense…"
A heavy silence settled before the final gate.
Looking up at the carvings on its pillars, Shiomi had a hunch that this was meant to sow discord among them.
But even so, he wasn't troubled in the slightest.
"It's not that complicated," Shiomi said with a shrug.
"Answer me~" The door repeated in its usual mechanical tone.
"Morgan is the one I love most. I admire Artoria more than any Knight of the Round Table, but if I had to choose someone to die with, I'd choose my master."
The short answer hung in the air, silence spreading around them—but Shiomi didn't feel the least bit awkward.
"How smooth. I'll let it slide this time," Morgan said, twirling her hair with a smile, clearly pleased. "But Scáthach isn't dead. If you say you'd die with her, does that mean you don't want to die either?"
"Because Master once said she wanted to be killed by me. But I couldn't live on after killing her." Shiomi turned around, his gaze soft and heavy as he looked at Morgan and Scáthach.
"Relax. At least until this planet meets its end, I won't wish for death again," Scáthach said, her heart softening. She gave her beloved disciple a firm pat on the back. "The gate's open."
Whatever the criteria were, the seventh gate truly did open.
Scáthach, Shiomi, and Morgan passed through one after another. Sakura followed behind, hugging her staff, a subtle feeling settling in—like she didn't quite belong here.
If she'd known, she might've stayed back in Uruk with the others doing logistics. A situation like this... probably called for the Knight King to be here instead.
But that was just wishful thinking. With the seventh gate behind them, the temple at the heart of the lower Underworld now stood before them.
"In the myths, the Underworld goddess Ereshkigal cannot leave this realm. In exchange, she's nearly invincible here," Shiomi said, quickening his pace to take the lead again. "Heroic Spirits and gods lose their power in this place."
Morgan nodded lightly. "Indeed. Compared to when we first entered, my strength now is probably just a little stronger than about half of Hassan of the Hundred Faces during the Fourth Holy Grail War. I'll be relying on you to protect me, my husband."
"I'm not optimistic either. This isn't my domain, after all. Maybe because I'm also a ruler of a realm of the dead, the Underworld is starting to reject me," Scáthach said with a casual shrug.
Sakura tensed and rushed to Shiomi's side. "If that's the case—"
"Then we may have judged wrong. I should've come alone," Shiomi raised his hand. "The only ones who can still fight at full strength here are Sakura and me—the living."
"I understand..." Sakura stepped back and moved in front of Morgan and Scáthach protectively.
"No need to get so tense. We can still support with Magecraft—assuming our Magecraft even works here," Scáthach said, weighing a Rune Stone in her hand.
She watched as her disciple stepped alone toward the center of the temple square.
"Goddess Ereshkigal, mistress of the Underworld—I've passed the trials of your seven gates. Will you now grant us your presence?"
But it wasn't a voice that responded—it was a freezing gust of wind.
On the altar ahead, two stone pillars wreathed in magic lit up. From the void above them, blood-red spiritual light coalesced, forming a massive apparition—bones and grotesque muscle woven into one monstrous ghost.
It was the Gallû Spirit of Mesopotamian myth.
"Despair, humans. I am the steward of death. The mistress of the Underworld. The one who embraces the spirits—Ereshkigal."
So declared the goddess, manifesting in the form of a Gallû Spirit.
...
(100 Chapters Ahead)
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