In this land, Gilgamesh was recognized by all as a tyrant.
He showed no reverence to the gods, wielded power over life and death among his subjects, and from atop his throne, he arbitrarily decided the fate of the people—seizing the property and lives of his ministers at will.
But at the end of the day, Gilgamesh was a tyrant, not a fool.
Nor was he a mediocre king.
As the one who ruled this nation, he had never given up on governance. It was just that, due to his extreme self-centeredness and capriciousness, he often made decisions that seemed absurd to ordinary people, and the means by which he ruled were cruel and domineering.
Yet precisely because he was so self-absorbed, Gilgamesh valued the safety of his nation all the more.
The country belonged to the king.
He could dispose of it as he pleased—but would never tolerate outsiders meddling, much less allow anything foreign to invade or bring harm.
"Anyone who dares encroach upon my territory, I will make those vermin who crawl in the gutters understand—what belongs to the king shall never be trampled at will!"
Gilgamesh rose to his feet, and under Siduri's watchful gaze, made his decision without hesitation.
He would personally travel to the western border to resolve the crisis there.
What no one noticed, however, was that—
Rovi, who had been sitting carelessly on the steps, completely unconcerned with decorum, had already begun to hatch a plan.
And just then, Rovi stood up as well.
"Wait!" He stood, looking toward Gilgamesh and Siduri at the foot of the throne, dusting off his linen robe, which was smudged with ash and dirt.
"I'll go!" Rovi declared. "You're the king. A king shouldn't be moved lightly."
His reasoning was simple.
Since getting Gilgamesh and the gods to kill him hadn't worked out, he might as well settle for the next best thing.
He wanted to leave Uruk's royal city.
To head for the dangerous frontier.
He knew about the monster-infested forest in the west, a place crawling with magical beasts year-round. It was dangerous, terrifying—a major threat to Uruk.
Even with heavy patrols to keep ordinary people away, beast rampages still happened from time to time.
But if Rovi volunteered for the task and went with the king's warrant, the Uruk guards couldn't stop him from approaching.
And then—
He could stage a suitably tragic end for himself. Whether by accident or being surrounded, it would be enough to go down in the annals of history and become a legend.
Of course, Siduri couldn't possibly agree. "Rovi, Vizier, I'm afraid you—"
She meant to say Rovi wasn't strong enough, but the words died in her throat.
Because, all of a sudden, several golden ripples flared around Rovi, and swords and treasures slid out from within, scattering crystal light into the air.
The right to use the [Gate of Babylon]—bestowed by Gilgamesh.
Siduri was stunned.
Gilgamesh, on the other hand, let out another laugh.
"Hmph, hahaha! For a mutt that yaps so loud, you've picked up the use of my treasures rather quickly. I'll admit, that's a bit of a surprise."
Then he added, "Very well! In that case, take the king's treasures and go show those fools the brilliance of your king!"
"Speak normal words, will you?" Rovi rolled his eyes, entirely ungracious.
"I am the one true king above heaven and earth. Naturally, my words are the language of kings. The language of mortals is unfit to restrain me." Gilgamesh sneered. "What you should restrain is that revolting, dog-like barking of yours!"
Here we go again… Watching the two bicker like children, Siduri sighed silently.
She realized, suddenly, that perhaps she'd have to get used to this sort of environment from now on.
But seeing Rovi wield the [Gate of Babylon] so skillfully, the young vizier understood that, with the king's treasures alone, Rovi had more than enough qualification to stand in for Gilgamesh and suppress the monster outbreak.
"Enough nonsense." Rovi glanced out of the palace. The sky was already dusky blue, the sinking sun painting the city with fiery light, like maple leaves turning the hills red.
He shook his head, not bothering with farewells, and strode down the steps toward the palace gates.
"Hmph!" Gilgamesh scoffed, a hint of a smile in his crimson eyes, reflecting the figure draped in linen—slender, yet unwavering.
"If you're to go to battle in my stead, even a filthy stray dog ought to shine with brilliance. Those beasts in the west have gnawed in the gutters for years. I'd rather not see my envoy come back covered in mud."
"That would hardly do my image any favors."
"You should worry about yourself first—can't you speak like a normal person?" Rovi paused, glanced back at him, shook his head, and walked on without another word.
He could tell, of course, that Gilgamesh was showing concern.
Even if he didn't understand why Gilgamesh treated him this way, Rovi knew—the king truly acknowledged him now.
Despite his yearning for death, Rovi was still just a regular person.
He couldn't help but be moved, just a little.
But, anyway—
Men who talk in circles are just disgusting.
"…"
Siduri listened to Rovi's voice drifting in from outside and wisely kept her eyes on the floor, her mind on her breathing.
"Hmph, hahaha! Right back at you!" Gilgamesh burst out laughing. "Right back at you!"
From childhood to now, no one had ever dared offend him like this and actually managed to make him genuinely not angry.
"A man who, like me, holds no reverence for the gods—let's see if you have what it takes to stand at my side as my equal, as my friend."
The king's low voice echoed in the grand hall. Atop the tall steps and the glittering throne, the king waved a languid hand.
Out the door, Rovi paused for a moment. Before him lay Uruk, growing quiet in the twilight—trees swaying by the gates, an old yellow dog teetering at the threshold, travelers returning from afar, a young man conscripted for labor bidding his parents goodbye.
Those earth and stone buildings, laid out in neat rows, this vast city housing over a hundred thousand souls—in this prehistoric human civilization, a world that could only exist with the gods present.
But this was already the limit.
The gods would not allow mankind's unity; that would hasten the erasure of their traces from the world.
In the early days, the gods' presence had undoubtedly aided humanity.
But now, they had become shackles.
Not that it mattered to him.
At least for now, he had no interest in interfering—he only wanted to die.
Rovi looked up and caught a glimpse of a star falling through the sky.
A shooting star… not bad.
He thought to himself.
Maybe my life could be like that star, leaving its name etched in the history of humanity—then vanishing in an instant…
Wait.
"If I remember right, in the age of myth, a falling star means something from the heavens is descending to the mortal world, right?"
"Besides Ishtar, who's currently in a vessel—"
"So what's coming this time?"
Rovi's instincts sharpened at once.