One had to admit—Ziusudra's method was, in truth, correct.
He could not know the reason Rovi refused his "protection," but neither did he stubbornly press the issue. After all, this immortal who had endured across ages understood well—if he forced himself upon someone, he would only stir resentment.
That would be counterproductive.
Yet to both honor Rovi's will and still guard him seemed nearly impossible.
But Ziusudra had found the way most natural to himself.
Namely—what he had just done.
In Rovi's name, extinguish a nation. Let the other nations quake, tremble, and fear.
Too frightened to make a move.
Too frightened indeed. But if they don't dare to move at all, if all the "opportunities" get strangled before I can even act—how am I supposed to die properly!?
"Lord Rovi, here is the alliance tablet we have prepared—please review it."
A low, rasping, aged voice resounded.
Somewhere in the north of the Mesopotamian plain, inside a city-state's royal palace—
Rovi stood upon the stone-tiled floor, bathed in sunlight, accepting the clay tablet handed to him by a trembling, frightened little king. Rovi curled his lips slightly, showing a smile.
And at that smile, the old king's knees nearly gave way altogether, staggering as though about to collapse.
Rovi: "…"
This was the fifth, and the last, of the city-states he had visited.
The tale of Ziusudra slaughtering nobles in Rovi's name had already spread throughout the northern lands.
Rumor, naturally, had only fanned the flames, adding embellishments upon embellishments.
But the fact remained: an entire city's nobility had been annihilated overnight.
And so wherever Rovi arrived, he was received with the most extravagant honors, treated with terrified reverence.
These were small states.
All of them dreaded being the next to be "erased."
Thus the offering of alliance tablets pledging Uruk as their suzerain nation was inevitable.
The truth was, the reason they had sided with Akkad at all was simply the belief that Uruk was too occupied to strike them. They had hoped to carve out a share for themselves at Uruk's expense, perhaps even leap from petty state to dominant power.
But now—Rovi's annihilation proved Uruk had not only the strength to spare—
But far more than enough.
Enough to wipe out, in one night, the entirety of a city's nobility.
The instinct of all life was to bow before overwhelming strength.
Thus Rovi's journey proceeded without any of the resistance he had expected. It ended as smoothly, as perfectly, as if preordained.
Stepping out of the palace into the sunlit streets, he walked past squat buildings crouched low in the dust and light—like people prostrated upon the earth. Compared to Uruk, these city-states were paltry in both scale and splendor.
But Rovi's concern was not their customs.
It was the figure waiting for him outside the palace gates—
The elder who had shadowed him since the first annihilation.
"It seems your journey went exceedingly well."
The hoarse, gravelly voice drifted from the shade. Casting aside his "Assassin" guise, the demon-armored reaper, Ziusudra once again revealed the bent, cloaked elder's form.
"Not just these five states—even Akkad has submitted its tablet to Uruk. Now, you may return."
The bearded old man smiled faintly, then tilted his head in puzzlement.
"Yet you do not seem… pleased?"
Pleased? Should I laugh? No, I can't. My tears are all trapped in my stomach…
Expression blank, words iron, Rovi's face nonetheless read as "joyful": "What is there to be pleased about?"
"Hahaha—is it because matters resolved so easily you feel no sense of reality?" Ziusudra chuckled, clearly misreading. "No matter. If you live to my years, whether there is such 'sense' or not ceases to matter."
Too long a life, too much seen—Ziusudra's world was not that of ordinary men.
"…Just curious, how long have you lived?" Rovi asked.
Everyone knew of the Great Flood long ago.
But never its exact years.
"In Kur there is no sun, no moon. So I cannot count." The old man's hooded face looked pensive. "But perhaps… five or six thousand years."
"…"
"But do not trouble yourself." Ziusudra cast a sidelong glance at him. "Immortals are but remnants of cataclysm. Now, with the gods unable to descend, such beings are nearly gone."
"To my knowledge, upon this plain remain only one or two such relics. The chance of finding another is vanishingly small."
"Do not covet what was never yours."
Clearly, he misunderstood Rovi's thoughts.
Forget it.
Rovi didn't bother correcting him. He brushed the dust from his linen robe.
Then, glancing back into the palace halls, at the nobles, priests, generals, the king himself—all frozen in place, afraid to move until he was gone—
Rovi halted. Then smiled.
"As expected… Gilgamesh was right."
He waved his hand lightly.
"An alliance against Uruk? A joke, nothing more."
"A pack of mongrels, and they dare dream themselves sovereigns?"
His silhouette receded, laughter echoing with scorn.
He had arrived under countless eyes, beneath countless terrors. Now he left with careless ease—yet not a single soul dared show even a flicker of resentment.
For in his name, a nation had been snuffed out overnight.
For he had already, in truth, shaken the northern lands, even the whole plain.
Even an army of thousands—who would dare raise a hand against him?
...
"Ha-hahaha! As expected of one this king has marked!"
Atop Uruk's palace steps, Gilgamesh, weariness faint upon his features, threw his head back and laughed as five alliance tablets emerged from the opened [Gate of Babylon] before him.
Without doubt, Rovi had placed them in the treasury, letting Gilgamesh retrieve them directly.
And beyond the tablets, news had already reached him of Rovi's deeds in the north.
The king was delighted.
"Before he went, this king fretted what methods he might use upon those mongrels… but of course! Only such ruthless, decisive action could truly reflect this king's brilliance!"
"The kingdom of a king must not be only warm soil—it must be the storm that annihilates all disobedience!"
Siduri, too, smiled faintly.
Truth be told, Rovi had handled this matter well.
By destroying one nation as a warning—
Then treating the others with courtesy, courtesy backed by blood.
The slaughter made the politeness no weakness, but magnanimity.
Strength displayed, and mercy shown.
Had Siduri herself been envoy, she doubted she could have achieved so much.
Not merely from lack of strength—
But lack of such boldness.
Yet she found nothing strange in it.
For long had she known Rovi was different.
One who could stand beside the King—how else could he be?
---
T/N: poor rovi