Chapter 57: What to Do Before Death
Gilgash 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!” Gilgash threw his head back. “Therefore, this King shall temporarily pardon your unforgivable sin of disrespect toward !”
“Rejoice. Praise this King’s magnanimity, vast as the starry sea!”
“You already said that. Say sothing else.” Rowe’s face did not move. “Surely you are not short on insults and also short on self praise, right?”
Gilgash 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?” Gilgash’s eyes widened as if personally stabbed. “What does ‘another’ an, 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 t 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?” Gilgash clicked his tongue. “re 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.
Gilgash’s mouth twitched.
He still rembered 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 ti for the final cleanup.”
“Oh, right. Cleanup!” Ishtar Rin suddenly jumped like a child who rembered 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…” Gilgash muttered, but for once did not chase the argunt. 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!” Gilgash grinned wide. “Under the leadership of this King and this King’s friend…”
“You have overco 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 achievent. 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, Gilgash never stumbled when it ca 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.
Gilgash 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 soone who could stand with him.
…
The war was over.
The whole nation boiled.
What followed was a carnival of survival and victory.
“But next, Gilgash will probably work himself to death again.”
That night, Rowe sat alone in his courtyard, leaning against the stone table with a cup of ad in hand. He looked out over Uruk.
The city had beco 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.
Gilgash’s palace blazed with steady brilliance, aning 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.
Gilgash could not afford it.
For others this was celebration. For the King it was consolidation. After the battle, this land, now called the sopotamian Plain, had only one country left.
Uruk.
All forr city states had rged 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, Gilgash 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 a Sage.” Rowe set his cup down and looked sideways. “So I should leave sothing 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 temperant 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 sa 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 ca for.
“So why seek out? You have not listened for my bell and co to kill , 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 ti Ziusudra was the one caught off guard.
He had t people unafraid of death before.
He had never t soone who looked almost eager for it.
After a pause, he said, “This old man ca to say goodbye. There is no longer a destiny for in this world. So I will leave.”
“Where to?”
“Unknown.” Ziusudra shook his head. “But in the future, you and I will surely et again.”
“Perhaps… it will not be long.”
His voice thinned into the air.
His figure vanished.
Exactly as he had co.
Appearing and disappearing like a ghost that obeyed no rules but destiny.
Rowe did not chase him.
He only swirled the ad 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 ti… let us do sothing.”
He grinned, drained his drink, and coughed softly.
His ti was getting shorter.
If he now bore the title Sage, a na of wisdom in this era, then he would use that na to light a fire. A fire that made civilization burn brighter.
A gift to Gilgash, before Rowe stepped into his own end.
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