King of Heroes Gilgamesh, class Archer.
Both man and god, with two-thirds divine blood and one-third human. Born with the gods' expectations, he was not only a king but a wedge ensuring humanity and divinity remained linked—the [Wedge of Heaven].
His legend, recorded in the Epic of Gilgamesh, is the oldest surviving heroic epic.
The Epic revolves around Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, and his friend Enkidu, spanning four stages of his life.
From a cruel tyrant to meeting Enkidu; slaying the beast Humbaba to become a true King of Heroes; angering Ishtar and killing Gugalanna, leading to the gods stripping Enkidu's life; and seeking immortality across the underworld and continent, only to realize its futility, becoming Uruk's wise king.
His legend is ancient, his era vast, his life absurd yet grand.
Gilgamesh's power is fully embodied in his epic.
Soon, the heroes united to challenge this king would experience the miracle within him—the absolute might of the most ancient king.
"Is this your all? Hm… far from Enkidu, but a stage worthy of my full effort."
With a brief comment, Gilgamesh twisted his hand, the complex golden key morphing.
A pillar of light erupted, crimson patterns spreading across the sky, illuminating the sandy battlefield.
"King of Conquerors… you idealistic fool who only charges forward. Only when your dreams shatter will you see reality."
Gazing at the vast army charging for conquest, Gilgamesh's scarlet eyes remained emotionless. He spoke faintly.
"Now, witness your dream's end, and I'll make you feel the truth."
His soft words echoed as crimson light condensed, a terrifying gale swelling around him. The golden key revealed its true form.
A golden hilt with blue accents, its blade three cylindrical segments with crimson patterns, tightly joined, displaying its unique form.
Buzz, buzz, buzz—!!
Upon appearing, red sword energy trembled wildly, as if ready to cleave the heavens, terrifying yet majestic.
[Sword of Rupture (Enuma Elish): A++→EX]
"This is…? Such terrifying mana. Is the King of Heroes unleashing his Noble Phantasm?"
"Brace yourselves, everyone. It's coming."
Seeing the bizarre cylindrical blade in Gilgamesh's hand, Iskandar felt an unprecedented crisis, his instincts screaming of danger, an unpredictable force approaching.
Not just him—Lancelot, on his steed, trembled at the towering light pillar, letting out an uneasy roar.
"Arrrrrrrr…"
Iskandar noticed keenly.
"Not just me, Berserker. You sense something extraordinary in his hands too."
He remarked, but his charge didn't falter, leading thousands toward Gilgamesh.
To the King of Conquerors, the unknown and challenges were vital to conquest. Despite sensing the terrifying power in Gilgamesh, the outcome uncertain, he pressed on without fear.
For him, be it stars or abyss, he'd never halt.
As long as his soldiers stood, his dominion would never cease—conquest was his heart's desire.
But unlike the resolute Iskandar and Lancelot, ready for a final stand, Finn, charging on his white steed, made a different choice.
Leading the charge, Finn saw the crimson light gathering in Gilgamesh's hand, his ominous premonition surging.
He bit his finger, his face shifting, realizing something.
"This can't be…!"
Shocked, Finn spurred his horse toward Ptolemy's Gordius Wheel.
"Ptolemy I, let me drive the chariot! I'll protect our lords!!"
Finn leapt from his horse onto the chariot, shouting urgently to Ptolemy.
"…What's happened, warrior?"
Ptolemy, no fool, saw Finn's sudden distress and sensed something amiss.
"No time to explain. We've lost this fight. We must retreat!!"
Finn eyed the destructive storm brewing in Gilgamesh's hand, glancing at the bewildered Kayneth and Waver, sighing inwardly.
He'd love to charge with Iskandar and Lancelot, fighting as a warrior to the end. But duty and loyalty outweighed his warrior's pride.
Rather than die gloriously, he valued his lord's safety. A knight's honor was precious, but worthless compared to his lord's life. A knight's purpose is to protect—if he couldn't save those he swore to, what kind of knight was he?
Even if branded a coward, even if Iskandar resented him, Finn prioritized Kayneth's safety, determined to protect his lord at all costs.
"What's this…?"
Seeing Finn's grave expression, Ptolemy frowned, puzzled.
Finn had no time to explain. He leapt beside Ptolemy, seizing the chariot's reins, soaring skyward to escape the battlefield.
"Fleeing isn't my intent, I'm sorry. But to protect my lord and the King of Conquerors's Master, I must."
Finn spoke heavily.
"…Understood. The King's Master is in your hands, warrior."
Though confused, Ptolemy didn't scorn Finn's retreat. He saw Finn's earnest urgency, then glanced at the shifting Macedonian phalanx below, led by Iskandar, surrounding Gilgamesh from all sides.
Ptolemy smiled, nodding solemnly, entrusting Waver's safety to Finn. The white-haired youth, spear in hand, leapt from the chariot, joining the invincible army, fighting alongside his reckless, victorious king.
From brief contact, Ptolemy knew Finn saw something dire. For a Celtic hero of Finn's stature to declare defeat before the battle's climax, the situation was grim.
He didn't know what Gilgamesh wielded to make Finn retreat despite their army, but this fight might end as Finn predicted—in defeat.
But so what?
They, heroic spirits, were ghosts of a bygone era, awakened by a rousing call to this blood-soaked, memory-filled battlefield, reuniting with past comrades…
That was their greatest fortune. Even if death awaited, what did it matter? Following their king, chasing the endless sea, death was their choice.
Ptolemy, frustrated at missing the grand expedition, saw Finn's action as his chance to fulfill that dream.
Facing the crimson gale that could tear the heavens, the countless heroic spirits showed no fear, marching toward their goal, their enemy.
Advance, advance, until conquest!!
Even if buried in sand, even if dying on this battlefield, they had no regrets.
This was their lifelong pursuit—the essence of the path of conquest!!
…
"Charge—!!"
"Charge—!!!"
As the army drew closer, the war cries grew fiercer.
Clashing steel, a tiger swallowing mountains, a terrifying momentum shaking the heavens!!
'Oh? The formation's changed…'
'Sensing the coming danger?'
'Not bad, mongrels. But it's futile. Under this strike, all your efforts are in vain!'
Watching the army's shift, Gilgamesh, holding the crimson blade, smiled faintly, raising the glowing weapon toward the advancing horde.
"Let this strike be our parting ceremony."
His words fell softly. Crimson light rippled, the three cylindrical blades on the golden hilt spinning, a red gale enveloping him.
Gilgamesh floated into the sky.
At the gale's center, three symbols—Heaven, Earth, Underworld—linked, forming a terrifying crimson point.
"Narrate the origin—
When Heaven and Earth divided, the void offered its blessing."
As he chanted, the three blades turned, the red gale compressing at the sword's tip, its terrifying power trembling the reality marble, a piercing wind howling in all ears.
The heavens and earth shifted.
"This is…?!"
Sensing the reality marble's upheaval, Iskandar realized something was wrong.
But it was too late.
"With my Sword of Rupture, I tear the world—!
The mill of stars, Heaven's hell, the end of creation!"
—Boom!!
Gilgamesh stood in the sky, gazing at the charging army, his eyes devoid of emotion.
The gale from creation's eve raged, its mere prelude stirring a sandstorm in Iskandar's heart-world, the crimson thunder pressing down with the force of genesis, suffocating even Iskandar.
Looking up, he saw the end of creation reflected in his eyes, the calm before annihilation.
"With your death—end it all!"
"Enuma Elish!!"
Gilgamesh shouted, swinging his arm, releasing the sword.
Boom, boom, boom!!
The sky roared, the earth bellowed.
A massive mana beam, carrying the crimson gale of creation's eve, surged, condensing the divine law to tear worlds and open chaos, its unmatched might pouring forth.
The howling gale filled every warrior's ears, the sandstorm and world's rift like an abyssal maw swallowing countless soldiers.
The scene of creation's division imprinted in their minds, their final sight.
In midair, Gilgamesh swung Enuma Elish, targeting no one.
Or rather, he needed no target. Its light didn't merely annihilate men or gods—it targeted the world itself, as it did eons ago in the gods' hands.
The crimson beam, with creation's gale, struck the sandy world. As Enuma Elish fell, the world tore apart, sand collapsing, a chasm splitting the earth, swallowing horses and soldiers, the light of genesis obliterating all.
The tide turned; the King's Army crumbled.
"My lord, take care!!"
Facing the world-splitting gale, Finn, airborne, gripped the reins, steering the divine oxen from the cataclysm's reach, shielding them from the destructive impact.
"What is this?!"
Witnessing Mesopotamia's gods dividing the world, Kayneth's worldview shattered.
He thought Finn's Noble Phantasm was absurd, Iskandar's army even more so, believing him the strongest in the Grail War. But…
Gilgamesh's Noble Phantasm obliterated his understanding.
This wasn't just a Noble Phantasm—it was divine reincarnation!!
Kayneth's thoughts spiraled. He couldn't tell what era he was in anymore.
As Finn predicted, the battle's outcome was sealed the moment the world-splitting sword appeared.
"Rider!!"
Watching the red figure below, wielding his sword with Lancelot against certain death, Waver shouted from the Gordius Wheel.
But facing this pre-creation terror, he couldn't move. Without Finn, he and Kayneth would be crushed like the soldiers swallowed by the rift.
Waver knew he could only stay, helping by not hindering Iskandar.
—Rustle, rustle.
"This is the Oceanus…"
On his steed, facing the world-sweeping gale and vanishing soldiers, Iskandar faltered.
The gale faded, replaced by the sound of the sea, the call he chased his whole life.
"Rider…"
Perhaps sensing Waver's cry, Iskandar turned to the soaring Gordius Wheel.
Seeing Finn protecting Waver and Kayneth, a calm smile spread across his face.
"Thank you, Lancer. Take care of my reckless Master…"
"I'm off to conquer the endless sea again."
"Arrrrrr—!!!"
Hearing an angry war cry, Iskandar snapped back, seeing the black knight charging beside him.
Despite his worsening state, mana severed, his body spiritualizing, Lancelot didn't stop, charging with Iskandar.
"You're still here, Berserker."
Seeing Lancelot, Iskandar nodded, speaking softly, "You're not ready to end like this either…"
"Then let's charge! Show the King of Heroes our resolve!!"
With a final shout, Iskandar raised his sword, roaring.
His black steed, understanding, neighed, galloping at its fastest, leaping high. Under Gilgamesh's surprised gaze, it crossed the abyss, soaring over the canyon, charging alone toward him.
Like in life, he became a piercing thunder, crashing toward the endless sea.
Sand swirled, thousands called, reaching his heart's desire.
***
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