The shadow of the blond, red-eyed figure hooked a finger through the loop of the cuneiform-engraved rope, lifting the trembling snake to eye level.
The curved blade in his right hand traced down the serpent's newly-formed fine scales, sliding steadily until it paused at the vital seventh inch.
Hisss!
As the knife tip pressed down slightly, a sharp wave of pain shot through Ian, making his heart clench and goosebumps erupt across his back.
The instant the blade pierced the outer layer of scales, his wildly spiraling thoughts snapped into focus. His slender neck stiffened, and he let out a series of frantic hisses.
But then, the guilty snake seemed to realize something. His body froze for a beat, then slumped in despair, drained of hope—as if all his illusions had been crushed in a single instant.
Damn it! We don't even speak the same language!
I hate foreign languages!
I flunked this class in my last life—failed every proficiency test. Now even in this life, I can't escape it!
Frustration boiled in his soul. Trapped in his long, narrow body, he could only roar silently, cursing fate's entire female lineage with every foul word he could imagine.
The light in Ian's vertical pupils began to dim, resignation setting in.
Yet that desperate struggle seemed to amuse Gilgamesh.
The King of Heroes raised a finger, traced a cuneiform glyph in midair, then flicked it playfully at the forehead of the guilty snake.
As the rune burst in Ian's mind, he vaguely felt a communicative link open between him and the figure before him.
"King Gilgamesh! I am willing to pay the fine and atone for my sins!"
"Thirtyfold compensation!"
Seizing the chance at life, Ian hissed rapidly, spitting out the words he had long prepared in a desperate bid for survival.
The sight of this pleading serpent flicking its tongue earned only a scoff from Gilgamesh, whose crimson eyes gleamed with disdain.
"Compensation? What makes you think you're in any position to bargain with me?"
That cold, nasal voice cut like a blade. The aura it carried pricked like needles, piercing Ian's every nerve and scale, forcing his muscles taut with fear.
It was a power so tyrannical and absolute, it crushed even the will to resist.
The ruby dagger descended again, bringing with it the looming shadow of death.
Like hell I'm dying again!
Screw you, fate!
I want to live!
A surge of raw survival instinct exploded in Ian's heart. His pupils shrank to pinpricks, his neck shot up, scales bristled, and he cried out with everything he had, resisting the instinct to cower.
"Under the witness of Marduk, King of the Gods, the king shall rule over all people, bless the land, and let justice and righteousness shine eternally in Uruk!"
"If a man stole either an ox or a sheep or a donkey or a pig or a boat, if it belonged to the god or the palace, he shall restore thirtyfold!"
Gilgamesh blinked, visibly surprised. His expression shifted, now touched with intrigue.
As the King of Heroes faltered for a moment, the crushing pressure on Ian suddenly lightened. He could move—barely—and a flicker of hope sparked in his chest.
Thank god, it worked!
In truth, Ian's first line had been lifted from the prologue of the Code of Hammurabi. It declared not just divine kingship but the sanctity and legitimacy of law.
Of course, Ian had made a few creative edits to fit his current situation.
The crucial second line? Straight from Article 8 of the Code of Hammurabi, the sentencing guideline for theft.
As he hung over boiling water, racking his brain in despair, it was the only sliver of hope he could think of.
But he also knew that Gilgamesh's era was around 2600–2700 BCE, while the Code of Hammurabi came much later—1792 to 1750 BCE.
Sure, both figures belonged to the Mesopotamian civilization and shared the same pantheon, but there was an 800-year gap between them.
So when Ian quoted the law of theft from the Code of Hammurabi, it was a gamble.
The Code of Hammurabi was written law, but from his past-life knowledge of history, Ian remembered that long before written codes, societies already followed established customary laws.
So he could only assume that the principles in Hammurabi's code likely echoed norms already present during the time of Uruk's rule.
Of course, he also remembered the Code of Ur-Nammu, another Mesopotamian law code, dated around 2113–2006 BCE—only four to five centuries after Gilgamesh's era.
Sadly, the Code of Ur-Nammu was fragmentary, with incomplete entries on theft.
Still, the very existence of that earlier code supported the idea that laws on theft had long since become customary in the region—even before any formal codes were carved in stone.
That gave Ian the courage to go against his instincts and plead for the chance to pay a fine to Gilgamesh.
Still, if their legal systems had no common ground, he'd lose even his last chance to struggle. Worse, if he said the wrong thing and angered Gilgamesh, he might die even faster.
"My king, I'm not here to negotiate. I only ask to be judged by law and punished accordingly, to atone for my sins."
"I stole in daylight. By Sumerian tradition, I am willing to pay a thirtyfold fine."
Seeing Gilgamesh's expression ease slightly, Ian lowered his head in a respectful nod, trying to show his sincerity.
He vaguely recalled that the fragmented Code of Ur-Nammu stated that nighttime theft, being a greater threat to property owners, could still warrant death. Naturally, he didn't forget to emphasize the time of his so-called "crime."
With the specter of death looming, Ian's walnut-sized brain was spinning furiously.
Under the crushing pressure, a strange thrill surged through his nerves.
In that moment, his previous twenty-odd years of humdrum life seemed dull in comparison—this was what it meant to truly feel alive.
Yes, alive.
Every muscle, every nerve, strained for one purpose: survival.
Random bits of trivia from his past life surged through his mind, quickly forming into potential arguments for every twist this bizarre situation might throw at him.
Meanwhile, the King of Heroes, having come back to his senses, studied the little snake with growing interest. A faint smirk curled at the corners of his mouth.
A snake, quoting the laws of Uruk in its own defense? To beg for its life?
Amusing. Absolutely delightful.
To Gilgamesh, "forgiveness" was an empty, boring word.
What he craved was pleasure.
Yes, this King of Heroes was exactly as the legends described—a hedonist to the core.
The blond, red-eyed king smiled darkly, his low voice like a dagger, aiming straight at the legal loophole Ian had invoked.
"If memory serves me right, that law applies only to free men, doesn't it?"
Ian paused, then slowly lifted his head.
"King Gilgamesh, I was born on the land of Uruk. I am one of your subjects…"
"I have never been enslaved. I am not a slave. I was born with the right to freedom…"
Gilgamesh looked intrigued. He raised his hand, and from a golden vortex summoned a throne inlaid with glittering jewels. Reclining lazily, he rested his chin on his hand and interrupted the serpent's formal plea.
"But you're a snake…"
"Does your wisdom only grace humanity?" Ian countered without flinching.
"The morning stars above, and all life on earth—they all belong to the King."
"Therefore, whether sky or land, forest or sea, all creatures dwell with Uruk. Wherever your radiance touches, there lies the paradise of Sumer."
Ian raised his eyes to Gilgamesh, and somehow, despite everything, a trace of calm dignity stirred within him—the product of a lifetime's education.
"That's right. All things on earth, all the stars in the sky, and every living being under heaven—are mine!" Gilgamesh declared.
"Hahahaha! You're far more amusing than Uruk's judges."
"Those fools studied the law for decades and still can't argue as well as a snake. They ought to smash their heads into a wall!"
"As a reward for pleasing this king, thirtyfold compensation? Approved!"
The King of Heroes clutched his side in a fit of laughter, clearly entertained.
But just as Ian took a slight breath of relief, Gilgamesh summoned a golden chalice from the treasury, swirling the deep red wine within. The air turned heavy in an instant.
"Since everything belongs to the king… what do you intend to pay your thirtyfold fine with?"
"And the value of the Herb of Immortality… cannot be measured by ordinary treasure."
As Gilgamesh downed the drink in one gulp, golden vortexes spun open behind the throne.
From them emerged weapons of every kind—blades, spears, axes, halberds—all pointed directly at the ancient snake.
Those blood-red eyes were still cold as ever.
"If the price you offer fails to please me… I'll cut you to shreds and toss you in the pot myself!"