This was a twist that no one—except Rovi, who'd planned it all—could have seen coming.
Though the sudden upheaval had plunged the temple into silence, everyone could feel it...
The king's fury was rising.
It was only natural.
Since Gilgamesh became king—or rather, since the day he was born—no one had ever dared rebuke him to his face, let alone insult him so brazenly.
Not even his own parents—the previous king and the all-knowing goddess—had ever treated him this way.
"My king, this was an accident..."
The old High Priest stepped forward, his body trembling.
His mind had gone blank—he couldn't fathom why the usually respectful Rovi would do such a thing—but as High Priest, it was still his duty to calm the king's wrath.
Or maybe... maybe it was really a mistake, maybe Rovi had grabbed the wrong tablet by accident.
Even now, he was still looking for excuses for Rovi.
But Gilgamesh merely glanced at him—those crimson, snake-like eyes as cold as the ice at the bottom of the underworld. That chill alone rendered the old man speechless.
"Did I give you permission to speak, mong—"
It was his usual insult, but as the words from the tablet echoed in his mind, Gilgamesh actually faltered.
His face grew even darker.
But the effect was undeniable.
Under that blood-red gaze, no one dared say a word. In an instant, all the priests, servants, and guards fell to their knees.
Gilgamesh was a king of both god and man—his wrath brought a crushing pressure that made everyone tremble instinctively.
Everyone except Rovi—after all, Rovi had come from the Root itself. Even if his power was now sealed in the Throne of Heroes, he'd once held it. Gilgamesh's intimidation didn't even register.
Inside, Rovi was positively delighted.
The angrier Gilgamesh got, the happier he felt.
And on his face, that smug, mocking smile only grew.
Gilgamesh's eyes grew colder still.
"Mongrel... Do you understand what it means to enrage a king as great and radiant as I? Wretched worm!" His voice was glacial, surrounded on all sides by his prostrate subjects.
The red circuit marks on his body began to glow brilliantly.
That was the power of the gods awakening.
A power vast and overwhelming—an inheritance of divinity far beyond mortal strength.
"Who among us isn't lowly?"
Rovi answered, undaunted by the mounting fury. In fact, he seemed almost pleased.
"Greatness is always relative, and humility is forever. Maybe I'm weaker than you, but compared to the gods, and the gods compared to the cosmos—who can claim true strength forever?"
"At least, I can see that for what it is. You, on the other hand—"
"O mighty king," Rovi's smile blazed, dazzling to the point of provocation, "do you only know how to turn your weapons on your own people? Do you only use your kingly authority and strength to crush those who serve you?"
Rovi had rehearsed his words well—he would never be lost for words at a moment like this.
His tone rang out, unshaken:
"Do you know what it means to be king?"
"A true king is one who protects his people, one who safeguards his land."
"And you? What have you done?"
"You call yourself king, but all you do is oppress your subjects, abuse the powerless, judge the world by your whims, trample on the dignity of those under your rule, caring nothing for wealth or poverty, fortune or misfortune."
"You treat the nation as your private property, play with your people as if they were toys, disposing of them at a whim."
"Are you really worthy of the crown?"
"Gilgamesh... you really are just a... mongrel yourself!"
Rovi's words rang out, impassioned.
His handsome face was flushed with genuine fervor.
Gilgamesh's expression shifted from icy to eerily calm.
To call the king by name was high treason in Uruk.
Yet Gilgamesh did not fly into a rage, nor did he curse back—if anything, he grew coldly quiet. Everyone knew... this was the real warning sign. This was when Gilgamesh was truly angry.
He had always reserved the word "mongrel" for others.
And now, someone had thrown it back at him.
Yet somehow, Rovi's words struck a chord with the crowd kneeling around them.
For all of Gilgamesh's arrogance, he was as Rovi described—cruel, domineering, unpredictable, sneering at those above, oppressing those below, leaving the people of Uruk to suffer.
Everyone knew it.
But until now, no one had ever dared to confront Gilgamesh directly. No one had ever rebuked him to his face.
Except Rovi—
Right here, right now, it was Rovi!
He was speaking out with his life on the line, standing up for Uruk's people, naming the king's failings with his last breath—
The crowd realized it all at once.
The old High Priest burst into tears.
He'd chosen the right man!
Compared to himself, who only cared about prolonging Uruk's survival, Rovi was bold and direct—more passionate for this country than anyone.
"Are you finished?"
Gilgamesh's words cut through the silence, his tone icy and hard as iron. Only the red divine circuits on his body continued to blaze, brighter than ever.
For daring to enrage the king, Rovi now faced the heaviest punishment.
But while most people would cower, Rovi was hoping for exactly that.
If anything, he worried the punishment might not be harsh enough—he needed to die, after all.
So he threw more fuel on the fire.
"Finished? Of course not!"
"Gilgamesh, do you think that just because the heavens chose you as king, you can do as you please? That you can use your demigod strength to oppress the weak?"
"No. You can't."
"No one can!"
"Uruk was built by human hands. We raised these walls from the dust and mud, stone by stone."
"This is our home, our kingdom."
"Our king should be chosen by the people."
"You—"
"—are not worthy!"
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK... At that moment, the clay tablet in Gilgamesh's grasp finally shattered completely, splintering into pieces and scattering across the temple floor.
Rovi felt a pang of regret—he'd wanted to keep a physical record of this moment.
But it was enough.
As the first death-defying petition in human history, Rovi was sure his name would be remembered.
And now...
"I may be alone, and you can kill me if you wish. But I believe, once I'm gone, the people will not remain silent."
"In the future, there will surely be those who rise up against your cruelty."
Rovi would let these words stand—his final declaration, to be echoed through the ages.
He'd make sure his death was truly spectacular.