His final words fell, clear and resounding.
That was enough.
Rovi closed his eyes, ready to meet death. He was certain there was no way he'd survive this.
After all, this kind of humiliation would be intolerable to any king.
Let alone Gilgamesh.
Yet Gilgamesh stood frozen, his eyes flickering with more than just anger—there was a hint of something contemplative.
Without a doubt, he had just been consumed by a wave of extreme fury.
As a king who held himself above all others, this was unprecedented. No one had ever dared insult him to his face—let alone in such a direct, confrontational way. Even if such insults couldn't shake Gilgamesh's core, they'd brought him incomparable humiliation.
Especially that word—mongrel—thrown back in his face.
And yet—
"The king should be chosen by the people."
That single phrase, shouted in Rovi's "righteous indignation," gave Gilgamesh pause at the height of his rage.
Gilgamesh utterly despised the gods.
He bore divine blood; he was chosen by the gods to be the king of men, the "wedge between heaven and earth," meant to sustain the bond between mortals and gods.
When he was young, Gilgamesh may not have understood what that meant.
But as he grew older, he came to resent the gods' constant attempts to control him.
He refused to be bound, to be a puppet whose fate was set in stone.
That was why he acted with such reckless abandon—refusing to become the wise king the gods expected, choosing instead to rule as a tyrant.
At its root, all of it came from his deep hatred for the gods.
But for that very reason, he found himself agreeing with Rovi's words.
He should be king of mankind.
He should be chosen by the people.
Not a puppet handpicked by the gods!
This guy...
Maybe he's like me—disgusted by those high-and-mighty gods, unwilling to submit!
He's standing here, speaking to me not as a servant of the gods, but as a representative of humanity.
Gilgamesh looked down at Rovi, who now stood before him, eyes closed, awaiting death.
The temple remained utterly still; everyone knelt in silence. But Gilgamesh could see clearly—thanks to this young priest's words, a restlessness was stirring among the people.
The other priests, especially the High Priest—they all wanted to save Rovi for speaking out as he did.
Because he had dared, for the people's sake, to speak the truth.
It was what they had all wished for, but never dared to say.
"Interesting..."
Gilgamesh let out a laugh.
Rovi, still standing there with his eyes shut, started to feel confused when death didn't arrive as quickly as expected. He opened his eyes, bewildered—
—and met Gilgamesh's upturned lips, and the serpentine reflection shining in those crimson eyes.
No longer cold—instead, they now held open appreciation.
"Though your barking is as grating and irritating as a wild dog's in the countryside, and your words as disgusting as a bug gnawing at the dirt—"
"—the loyalty you've shown, braced for death as you were, has truly reached my heart."
His words were as harsh as ever, but the recognition in his tone was impossible to miss.
The priests all breathed a sigh of relief.
Only Rovi stood there, utterly lost.
What just happened?
Who am I?
Where is this?
Wait a second... Weren't you supposed to kill me? As a selfish tyrant, how are you just letting this go? This isn't in your character setting at all!
But no matter how confused Rovi was, no matter how he screamed inside, none of it made any difference.
"I recognize your loyalty and pardon your offense against my noble and glorious self," Gilgamesh said with a wave of his hand, turning away. "Go home and weep in gratitude for my mercy!"
"This matter ends here. I'm tired. I'll be returning to rest!"
With that, Gilgamesh strode toward the great doors.
Any other day, if the king walked out before the ritual ended, people would rush to stop him. Even his divine mother would sometimes send down an oracle through the priests.
But today—whether mortal or divine—everyone was still reeling from what had just happened.
No one stopped Gilgamesh as he left.
No need to recite any more nauseating prayers, no need to stand around while his treasures were wasted on the "sky's parasites."
All in all, Gilgamesh found himself in a surprisingly good mood. The anger from earlier was already gone.
As a matter of fact—he should remember to reward that priest properly when he got home.
Gilgamesh departed in high spirits.
Leaving behind a thoroughly stunned Rovi.
And a roomful of priests who could finally breathe easy.
"Thank goodness... The king truly is wise, Rovi. He understood your intentions."
An elderly priest shuffled over to him.
Not a single one of them blamed Rovi for interrupting the ritual. If anything, they were relieved he'd survived.
"Rovi, if you planned to do something like this, why didn't you tell us in advance?" another priest asked.
The High Priest added, "If we'd all spoken up together, it would have been better than you facing it alone!"
Truthfully, Rovi was a little touched. He knew these elders genuinely cared for him... but at the same time, he felt both amused and exasperated.
What intentions?
I just wanted to die!
It was now clear—his plan to provoke Gilgamesh into killing him had completely failed.
Rovi let out a long sigh.
"Little Rovi, why do you look so glum?"
Seeing his gloomy face, one of the priests couldn't help but ask, "Are you worried the gods will punish you for interrupting the ceremony?"
At that, Rovi's eyes suddenly lit up.
This world really did have gods.
If the gods were angered because he'd disrupted their festival and denied them Uruk's offerings... he might still have a shot at dying!
As the others fretted, Rovi felt a new surge of hope.
Just then, someone shouted, "Look—it's a sign from the gods!"
Everyone looked up to see a shaft of light streaming down from the open dome above Anu's statue.
It was the radiance of the gods.
The gods could no longer descend in person, but they could still send down their will.
Rovi was delighted. To him, this was surely a message demanding his death.
The gods of Mesopotamia were infamous for their pettiness.
But his smile faded almost instantly.
"Priest Rovi, you have pointed out the king's mistakes to set him back on the right path. The gods have seen your loyalty and courage. Though you showed disrespect for the festival, your fearless heart has earned the gods' praise."
"The gods forgive your irreverence and proclaim: from now on, all your actions among mortals shall be permitted by the gods."
The priests broke into cheers, singing the wisdom of their king and the generosity of the gods.
Only Rovi stood there, utterly dumbfounded.
...
He just wanted to say—Why?!
All he wanted was to die. Why was it so damn difficult?