In 2600 BCE, the Early Dynastic Period of Sumer began, ushering in an era where city-state kingdoms became the dominant political entities.
During this era, the system where a single city equated to a nation was commonplace. Numerous slave-based city-states constantly warred with one another, each rising and falling in succession. It wasn't until the mid-24th century BCE that the King of Umma conquered the southern city-states and officially founded the Sumerian state, establishing its capital in the fortified city of — Uruk.
This so-called King of Umma was none other than the protagonist of humanity's oldest epic, The Epic of Gilgamesh — Gilgamesh himself.
He was the earliest king in human history, and also humanity's oldest hero. Revered as the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh stood out as the most distinctive and legendary among the three great Sumerian heroes, highly praised and worshipped by the people of Sumer.
If Heroic Spirits are exalted beings born from historical and mythological figures, then Gilgamesh is undoubtedly the first Heroic Spirit, the oldest hero.
His spiritual foundation could rival that of the greatest god-king of Egypt, Ozymandias, and in terms of seniority, he even surpassed him. In the entirety of human history, perhaps only one or two other beings could stand on equal footing with him. He was one of the strongest Heroic Spirits — a man who stood at the pinnacle of both heroism and kingship — and was virtually peerless.
Now, the era Rozen and his group had arrived in was the very age in which this king lived.
Rozen remembered all the legends about him with perfect clarity.
According to myth, the gods created Gilgamesh as a check against humanity's rapid growth and prosperity. Fearing humanity's potential, the gods combined the lineage of human royalty and divine blood to create Gilgamesh — a divine wedge to suppress humanity's ascent.
Thus, the gods referred to him as the Wedge of Heaven.
As a result, Gilgamesh was a demi-god, possessing two-thirds divinity and one-third humanity — an extraordinarily high divine spirit rank, and a perspective that spanned both godhood and mankind.
In his youth, Gilgamesh was a revered and ideal ruler — virtuous, just, compassionate, and deeply loved by his people.
But upon reaching adulthood, he abruptly chose to become a torrential storm that would reprimand humanity, rather than simply govern it.
To establish judgment for mankind, he began hoarding and accumulating wealth, gathering all the treasures of the world into his vault — keeping them solely for himself.
Faced with this increasingly tyrannical Gilgamesh, the gods, seeking to reclaim him, created a warrior as a counterbalance — Enkidu, a being forged to serve as the Chains of Heaven that would bind the Wedge of Heaven.
Thus, Gilgamesh and Enkidu met on Earth and engaged in a legendary battle worthy of myth.
However, neither could gain the upper hand.
In the aftermath of their fierce clash, Gilgamesh — who had, for the first time, found an equal — befriended Enkidu.
With his new companion, Gilgamesh guided Uruk toward order and prosperity, creating a flourishing civilization.
Yet, he remained a willful, unreasonable tyrant.
Later, the goddess Ishtar proposed marriage to Gilgamesh, only to be scornfully rejected.
Enraged, Ishtar pleaded before her father, the god Anu, and sent the mightiest divine beast — the Bull of Heaven — down to Earth.
The beast ravaged the land and slaughtered the innocent, plunging humanity into catastrophe.
Gilgamesh and Enkidu fought side by side to defeat the Bull of Heaven, sparing the world from a second great flood and shattering Ishtar's ambitions.
But Ishtar, humiliated by her failure, prayed to the gods.
As Enkidu was a weapon crafted by the gods, he could not resist divine will — and so, he fell ill and died.
Overcome with grief and remorse, Gilgamesh blamed himself. He fell into a deep, overwhelming sorrow and despair.
Witnessing Enkidu's death forced Gilgamesh to realize that one day, he too would die.
In search of immortality, he set off on a journey to the Underworld.
After crossing mountains and rivers and enduring countless trials, he finally met an old man named Utnapishtim in the Underworld, and obtained the herb of immortality.
However, Gilgamesh did not consume it.
As a being of flesh and blood — a child of humanity — he chose instead to bring the herb back to his people.
Tragically, on his return to Uruk, while bathing in a pool of clear water to refresh both body and spirit, a serpent stole the herb, shed its skin, and slithered away with a new body.
Witnessing this, Gilgamesh came to a realization:
"In the end, nothing remains in my hands."
Accepting that he had seen through the distant future from the very beginning, Gilgamesh decided that he did not need immortality.
Instead, he would live on as a hero whose name would be passed down through the ages — a king who had fulfilled his responsibility.
He returned to Uruk, shed his tyranny, and ruled with wisdom. Eventually, he ended his life as a widely renowned and virtuous king.
Moreover, it was this king who stood against the gods and declared that the world no longer needed divine rule.
From this age forward, humanity and the gods began to part ways, mystery began to fade, gods withdrew from the earth, and the Age of Gods approached its end — until it was formally concluded in the Common Era.
In other words, at the twilight of the Age of Gods, Gilgamesh stood at the center of it all. The city he ruled, Uruk, served as the core of this Singularity, just as the Holy City did in the Sixth Singularity.
"We've only just arrived in this Singularity, and we still don't understand its full situation. So, our best bet is to head to Uruk first — we're sure to find the answers we're looking for there."
That was Rozen's reasoning for heading to Uruk.
Because the Age of Gods was so far removed from modern times, the concentration of mystery in the environment far exceeded anything in the present era.
Given how hastily the spiritron transfer had been prepared, Chaldea would need some time before they could establish reliable communication.
Chaldea had already anticipated this. That's why they had loaded general map data of the current era into the communicator beforehand — so that Rozen wouldn't get lost on his way to Uruk.
And so, Rozen led Mash and Altera on their journey toward Uruk.
However, during the journey, Rozen realized something was terribly wrong with this era.
"Slash!"
A magical beast lunged with a roar—only to be cleanly bisected in a flash of the tricolored sword. Its corpse and blood fell to the earth.
Rozen scanned the surroundings, his expression darkening.
Looking closer, he noticed that along their path, the ground was littered with beast corpses.
Even Altera frowned slightly. Mash looked confused and uneasy.
Rozen exhaled and asked:
"How many waves of beasts have attacked us so far?"
To which Mash quietly replied:
"The thirty-fourth wave. This was already the thirty-fourth beast assault. Altogether, there must have been hundreds of them."
Indeed—
All along their route, Rozen's group had been relentlessly attacked by magical beasts.
This phenomenon was clearly abnormal.
"Even in the Age of Gods, it wouldn't be strange to see divine beasts or even gods themselves appear. So the presence of magical beasts alone isn't surprising. But this many… it's far too excessive."
If the land was swarming with this many magical beasts, how could humanity possibly survive?
Rozen was certain.
"Something is definitely wrong with this Singularity."
So he brooded.
Just then, Mash spoke up beside him.
"There's a city up ahead!"
Hearing that, Rozen snapped out of his thoughts and looked toward it.
And as soon as he saw it — his expression changed again.