Mesopotamia—that's the name the ancient Greeks gave to the land between the two rivers, the Euphrates and the Tigris.
Here, the Sumerians built numerous city-states along their banks.
In the south, on the right bank of the lower Euphrates, stood one such city called Uruk.
Today, almost every official from Uruk's two great power centers had gathered in the palace.
They were hosting a grand banquet to celebrate the coronation of their new king.
Though they wore respectful expressions, you could still catch hints of indifference and arrogance in their eyes.
A few high-ranking dignitaries even shot him condescending looks.
As king, his authority was limited by the Elder Council and the Citizens' Assembly.
If the king ever clashed with these institutions, he would be nothing more than a puppet.
"Humph!"
One member of the Elder Council snorted and immediately began eating before the king had even spoken.
This elder clearly held no respect for their new monarch.
The king glanced over, not angrily but with helpless resignation.
Once he started, the rest followed suit and the feast commenced.
Most saw the boy-king as harmless—just a ten-year-old child, restless from sudden elevation, a mere brat with no cause for concern.
"I propose a toast!"
The young king declared, trying to sound bold. A few raised their cups, but all did so perfunctorily.
He lifted the wine jar and pretended to drink deeply, showing off his bravado.
Watchful observers, however, would notice he never actually swallowed a drop—it was all for show.
Nobody paid it any mind; they didn't take him seriously.
As the revelers grew drunk, some began spewing hurtful comments.
"So this is our king?"
"Pathetic."
"At my age, I was already…"
Suddenly, someone noticed the figure on the throne was dozing off.
They laughed aloud.
He drank only a little and is already out cold? What a useless brat.
"Hmm? This taste—"
A one-eyed man in his forties, chewing on meat, frowned in confusion.
The flavor suddenly turned strange—numbing, astringent, impossible to swallow.
His throat burned and went dry as if aflame, crushing his breath, and waves of nausea overwhelmed him.
He tried to stand, but agony shot through his limbs.
"Ugh…help—help me!"
A choking whisper erupted from his burning throat as his body convulsed.
Then he collapsed to the floor.
"Ugh—"
He vomited violently.
Those nearby assumed he'd simply drunk too much and jeered.
"Come on, you're usually so strong—huh?"
Their words trailed off as they watched him foam at the mouth, his body writhing, eyes rolling back.
This wasn't mere drunken stupor.
One after another, revelers fell in the same way.
Thud—crash—thud—
Bodies hit the floor, tables overturned in chaos.
Panic rippled through the hall as survivors fled, terrified of this unknown curse.
"Is this…a curse?"
"Quick—send for Lord Anu!"
Lord Anu, the high priest, mediated with the gods and held unrivaled authority.
No one dared disrespect him, even if they mocked their child king.
Traditionally, the temple's high priest served as regent when the monarch was too young—so Anu effectively ruled Uruk.
Before he could arrive, over half the guests lay dead, their hearts stilled.
Amid the terror, the boy-king on the throne stirred.
His complexion was perfectly healthy, untouched by any curse.
He opened his eyes, barely surprised by the carnage, then yawned.
This was exactly as he'd planned—he himself was behind the slaughter.
A faint smile curved his lips, those mocking eyes far beyond his years.
These people weren't cursed—they'd been poisoned by the adulterated red lapis powder he'd slipped into their wine.
In short, they died of arsenic poisoning.
Excellent. I wonder how the system will judge this event.
"Current Progress: 65%"
Oh? It was only 55% before—so it jumped by ten points?
In his vision appeared a card glimmering with gold light.
It looked like a stone-sealed card now 65% unfrozen, bearing the portrait of a golden-haired, crimson-eyed youth.
A rebellious king, unrivaled under heaven.
A king who despised the gods.
Yes—it was the Hero King.
Emblem of Enkidu: Gilgamesh.
Chapter 002: Opening "Playing" the Hero King (Part 2)
Gilgamesh, the Hero King.
Wielder of the Gate of Babylon.
Once his "Performance" reaches 100%, this card will fully unseal, and he can invoke its power.
He'll then gain all abilities the Hero King possesses in the Type-Moon world.
In fact, his current identity is already Gilgamesh—he's merely just ascended the throne of this city-state.
Originally, he was Bai Yue, an ordinary office worker.
No different from thousands of others, caught in the three-point-one-line routine of work, commute, home—an overworked salaryman.
A girlfriend? Don't make me laugh. It's easier to cherish a two-dimensional waifu.
One day he truly "lay flat"—so flat he kicked the bucket in real life.
He spend his day off watching Fate at home when the TV overloaded, sparked, and caught fire.
It exploded just as the show hit a dramatic climax, making him think the in-show blast was crossing over into reality.
He lunged to cut the power and got an electric jolt instead—flatlined instantly.
When he awoke, he found himself in ancient Sumer, over two millennia in the past.
He'd transmigrated into Gilgamesh.
He wasn't frightened—he'd grown up in an orphanage and had no real ties left behind.
So this counts as a kind of time-slip, right?
What about the usual transmigration perks—some golden cheat?
His was a "Performance System."
Achieve 100% in playing your role, and cards unlock.
But "playing well" doesn't mean reenacting every known legend precisely.
You only need deeds roughly on par so future generations will remember you similarly.
If you stray wildly off the story, cause butterfly effects, and end up erased from history, performance fails—and you never become the Hero King.
So he watches the performance meter closely: a drop means a misstep, a rise means he's on track.