Chapter 57: What to Do Before Death
Gilgamesh did not know what Rowe knew. He only saw his friend standing there, apparently safe and breathing, and the tension in his chest finally loosened into laughter.
"AHAHAHAHA… as expected of the friend acknowledged by this King!" Gilgamesh threw his head back. "Therefore, this King shall temporarily pardon your unforgivable sin of disrespect toward me!"
"Rejoice. Praise this King's magnanimity, vast as the starry sea!"
"You already said that. Say something else." Rowe's face did not move. "Surely you are not short on insults and also short on self praise, right?"
Gilgamesh froze.
Would this man explode if he did not retort?
Enkidu hurried in from the side, her robe fluttering like a white banner. She looked Rowe up and down as if checking for cracks in a priceless treasure, then sighed in pure relief.
"Rowe, that's wonderful!"
The divine Construct maiden took his hand, her smile bright enough to be mistaken for sunrise.
"You even withstood the gods' curse…"
Then another voice barged in, sharp as a thrown gem.
"In that case, hurry up and hand over all of this Goddess's rewards!"
Ishtar Rin's joy flickered across her face for a heartbeat, then she smothered it under exaggerated arrogance.
"This Goddess waited until now just for that!" She folded her arms hard. "Your life or death… I do not care at all!"
"Another difficult one…" Rowe glanced at her.
"Another?" Gilgamesh's eyes widened as if personally stabbed. "What does 'another' mean, mongrel?"
Rowe did not bother answering. He narrowed his eyes toward the palace gate. In the shadowed corner, a golden haired goddess in a crimson robe stood quietly.
Ereshkigal.
She had sensed trouble even in the Underworld and used the item Rowe gave her to cross into the human world. Her crimson eyes met his.
Her cheeks flushed.
In the next blink, she vanished again.
Rowe could not help smiling.
"Rowe, what are you smiling at?" Enkidu tilted her head, confused.
"Hmph. Are you celebrating that you are still alive?" Gilgamesh clicked his tongue. "Mere mongrel. Without this King's permission, who gave you the confidence to act so unafraid of death?"
"Stop babbling. If you keep talking, I will punch you twice again." Rowe waved him off.
Gilgamesh's mouth twitched.
He still remembered those two punches from earlier. They had not stopped hurting, and Rowe reminding him made the ache flare like it had been waiting for permission.
Rowe ignored him and turned serious.
"It is time for the final cleanup."
"Oh, right. Cleanup!" Ishtar Rin suddenly jumped like a child who remembered dessert. "I am going to retrieve the Bull of Heaven and Ishtar's treasures."
"From now on, I will be the one and only Venus Goddess! Hohohoho!"
With a cackle more witch than goddess, she flashed away.
"Foolish fellow…" Gilgamesh muttered, but for once did not chase the argument. He stepped forward instead, past Rowe and Enkidu, to the palace gate and the edge of the stairs.
Below, the people had already gathered.
From the first thunder of the final battle until now, they had not scattered. They stood where they had stood, eyes lifted, waiting.
Waiting for the King.
"AHAHAHAHa… rejoice, my subjects!" Gilgamesh grinned wide. "Under the leadership of this King and this King's friend…"
"You have overcome the world ending disaster and defeated the gods who sought to dictate our destiny."
"This is worth celebrating, is it not?"
"For this is your achievement. An immortal spirit that will shine regardless of what the future holds!"
He praised without hesitation the people who deserved it. Awkward in most things, Gilgamesh never stumbled when it came to acknowledging valor.
Rowe and Enkidu exchanged a glance. Both smiled.
The King leads the people.
The King praises the people.
The King is the one the people love and respect.
Having shattered the gods and survived the end of the world, the young King of Uruk stood before them with his friend beside him, and the cheers that rose were like the sea discovering its own voice.
Gilgamesh spread his arms.
The city erupted.
He still stood above Uruk's countless subjects, as he always had. But the air between throne and street did not feel as distant anymore.
Because behind him stood someone who could stand with him.
…
The war was over.
The whole nation boiled.
What followed was a carnival of survival and victory.
"But next, Gilgamesh will probably work himself to death again."
That night, Rowe sat alone in his courtyard, leaning against the stone table with a cup of mead in hand. He looked out over Uruk.
The city had become a sea of lights. Bonfires burned at every corner. Laughter and shouting drifted from every street.
Only one light was brighter than all the rest.
The royal hall.
Gilgamesh's palace blazed with steady brilliance, meaning the King of Uruk had already buried himself in work again.
The thought made Rowe laugh softly.
Though they were the three who carried the age on their backs, none of them joined the revelry.
Rowe and Enkidu simply did not enjoy it.
Gilgamesh could not afford it.
For others this was celebration. For the King it was consolidation. After the battle, this land, now called the Mesopotamian Plain, had only one country left.
Uruk.
All former city states had merged into one.
By ordinary logic, after a war everything would return to how it was. The old city states would separate again, restoring their borders as if the world had not changed.
Rowe refused to allow that.
As a transmigrator, he could not help carrying the dream of unity. Even in a foreign land. Even in another world.
And because of that decision, Gilgamesh now had to bind this vast territory together, to keep it from splintering at the first crack of peace.
It was a burden.
But it was also a foundation far stronger than anything they had before.
Whether for refining their own abilities, or for the coming of Tiamat, a unified Uruk was a shield the age desperately needed.
Rowe did not fear the primordial goddess. He was about to die anyway. Killing was easy. Saving was hard. If Tiamat chose not to save herself, then that was her problem.
If she arrived before he died, he would deal with it.
If she arrived after, Uruk would still be better prepared than it had ever been.
"They call me a Sage." Rowe set his cup down and looked sideways. "So I should leave something behind before I die."
A voice drifted in with the night breeze.
"This old man does not understand everything, but I do know this. Sir, you are about to die."
"Facing death and still so calm. Your temperament really is extraordinary."
Ziusudra sat in the chair beside him as if he had always been there. The cloaked old man moved like mist and spoke like stone.
The same Ziusudra who had appeared only once days ago, whose blade had decided the course of the battle.
"What is there to be afraid of?" Rowe grinned.
Fear was not in his vocabulary. If he was destined for the Throne of Heroes, then he intended to arrive there looking fabulous.
"Hahaha…" Ziusudra chuckled at Rowe's ease. "Sage Rowe, your title is well deserved."
He studied Rowe quietly, then asked the question he came for.
"So why seek me out? You have not listened for my bell and come to kill me, have you?"
"Of course not." Ziusudra's answer disappointed Rowe a little.
"I did see the end of your destiny, but I did not hear the bell toll."
"Life and death are still unknown."
"Oh, please do not." Rowe waved him off. "Life and death are fated. Forcing it is useless."
He said it earnestly.
This time Ziusudra was the one caught off guard.
He had met people unafraid of death before.
He had never met someone who looked almost eager for it.
After a pause, he said, "This old man came to say goodbye. There is no longer a destiny for me in this world. So I will leave."
"Where to?"
"Unknown." Ziusudra shook his head. "But in the future, you and I will surely meet again."
"Perhaps… it will not be long."
His voice thinned into the air.
His figure vanished.
Exactly as he had come.
Appearing and disappearing like a ghost that obeyed no rules but destiny.
Rowe did not chase him.
He only swirled the mead in his cup, listening to the city breathe.
Inside the room, Enkidu slept peacefully. She had learned to sleep when she could, likely because Rowe kept teaching her by example.
Rowe raised his cup as if toasting the night itself.
"Then for this last stretch of time… let us do something."
He grinned, drained his drink, and coughed softly.
His time was getting shorter.
If he now bore the title Sage, a name of wisdom in this era, then he would use that name to light a fire. A fire that made civilization burn brighter.
A gift to Gilgamesh, before Rowe stepped into his own end.
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