Of course, Gilgamesh knew none of this.
He only saw that Rovi was "safe and sound," and couldn't help but laugh.
"Bwahahaha! As expected of the one this king acknowledges as a friend!"
He laughed grandly. "Thus, this king shall graciously pardon your insolence—though it merits death a thousand times over!"
"Rejoice, and praise this king's boundless magnanimity, vast as the sea of stars!"
"You've said that already. Try something new."
Rovi's expression remained unchanged. "Don't tell me you've run out of insults and praise for yourself?"
Gilgamesh: "…"
Does this man die if he doesn't talk back?
Enkidu came running over, her face radiant with delight. "Rovi! That's wonderful!"
Her robes fluttered softly as the clay being forged by gods gently took Rovi's hand.
Her smile bloomed, warm as sunlight on water.
"You even withstood the gods' curse… Now hurry up and give this goddess the reward you owe!"
Ishtar-Rin's face flashed with joy—but she quickly schooled it, feigning disdain.
"This goddess only waited so long for that, understand?"
"Your life or death—hmph, who cares!"
"So stubborn again…" Rovi shot her a sidelong glance.
What do you mean, 'again'?
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes widened slightly—feeling vaguely insulted.
Rovi shifted his gaze toward the shadows near the palace gate.
There, he saw a golden-haired goddess draped in a crimson cloak.
Eresh—who had sensed something wrong even in the Netherworld and reached the surface using Rovi's gift.
Their eyes met.
For a fleeting instant, her cheeks flushed.
The next moment, she vanished.
Rovi chuckled softly.
"Rovi, what's funny?" Enkidu asked, puzzled.
"Hmph. Clearly celebrating his survival," Gilgamesh scoffed. "A mere mongrel—who permitted you to act unafraid of death without this king's permission?"
"Quit the nonsense. Any more crap, and I'll give you two more punches." Rovi waved dismissively.
Gilgamesh's mouth twitched.
He recalled those punches from their earlier fight over the gods' curse. They still hurt.
And now that Rovi mentioned them, they hurt even more.
Ignoring him, Rovi said lightly, "Time for the final clean-up."
"Oh, right! The clean-up!" Ishtar-Rin suddenly sprang to life. "I have to retrieve the [Bull of Heaven], and all of Ishtar's treasures—"
"From now on, I'll be the one and only Goddess of Venus! Hohohohoho!"
With a witch-like cackle, the goddess vanished in a flash.
"Foolish woman…" Gilgamesh muttered disdainfully, but said nothing more.
He stepped forward.
Down to the edge of the palace steps.
Below, the citizens had gathered into a dense sea of people.
From the start of the final battle until now, they hadn't moved—still standing, still waiting.
All eyes gazed upward at their "King" upon the stairs.
"Bwahahaha! Rejoice, my subjects!" Gilgamesh grinned broadly.
"Under the guidance of this king—and this king's friend—"
"You've overcome the apocalypse, defied the gods who tried to control our fate!"
"This is cause for boundless celebration!"
"This glory is yours! Whatever future awaits, your immortal spirit shall forever be remembered!"
When someone was worthy of praise, he praised without hesitation.
Though stubborn by nature, in this alone, Gilgamesh never wavered.
Rovi and Enkidu exchanged a knowing smile.
"The King leads all people."
"The King praises all people."
"The King deserves the love of all people."
Having conquered apocalypse and calamity, the young King Gilgamesh stood beside his friend, accepting the people's cheers.
Gilgamesh spread his arms wide.
Below, the crowd erupted in fervent jubilation.
In this moment—as in ancient days—he still stood above Uruk's countless citizens.
Yet no longer alone.
For now, behind him stood an equal.
The war had ended.
The entire kingdom blazed with joy.
With it came revelry—a celebration of victory and survival.
"But next," Rovi grinned, "I'm afraid Gilgamesh will be working himself half to death again."
...
That night, Rovi sat in his courtyard, leaning against a stone table, raising a mug of barley beer as he gazed into the distance.
Across Uruk's palace-lined skyline, lights glittered like a sea of stars.
Bonfires burned in every corner; cheers rang out from all directions.
But among those countless lights, one shone brightest—
The royal palace, blazing brightly, proclaiming the ceaseless labor of King Gilgamesh.
At that thought, Rovi laughed softly.
Though the three of them had led this war, neither Rovi, Enkidu, nor Gilgamesh joined the city's celebrations.
Rovi and Enkidu simply disliked such scenes.
Gilgamesh—because he couldn't afford to.
For the rest, it was a festival.
For the King of Uruk, it was something entirely different.
After the cataclysm, the Mesopotamian Plain had become one unified kingdom—Uruk.
All other city-states had merged into it.
By old-world habit, after a war ended, things typically returned to normal. Cities would again separate.
But Rovi had prevented that.
As a transmigrator, he inevitably held dreams of a unified, great nation—
Even beneath a foreign sky, in another world.
Yet—
"They call me Sage," Rovi murmured, lowering his cup, glancing sideways. "Then I suppose I should leave something behind… before I die."
Because of that conviction—to sustain this vast new order—Gilgamesh had thrown himself back into endless work.
Still, it was worth it.
The benefits outweighed the burdens.
It would sharpen Gilgamesh's rule—and serve as a shield against the coming Tiamat.
But regarding that Primordial Mother Goddess, Rovi wasn't particularly worried.
He was already dying, after all.
Killing was easy; saving was hard.
And Tiamat had ignored him thus far. If she didn't come while he lived, she'd likely protect Uruk even better after his death.
"What do you think, old man?"
"I don't know much," came a calm, aged reply. "But I do know… your life is fading."
"To face death with such composure—truly, your heart surpasses most, my lord Sage."
A cloaked old man appeared silently on the seat beside Rovi.
It was Ziusudra—who appeared once days ago, struck a single blow, and turned the battle's tide.
"What's there to fear?" Rovi grinned.
Fear? Impossible. Not in this lifetime.
Those dwelling on the Throne of Heroes certainly spoke well—he fully intended to reach it!
"Bwahahaha!"
Seeing Rovi's carefree expression, the old man laughed softly.
"Sage Rovi—your title is truly well-deserved."
"So, what brings you here? Did you hear my 'Heavenly Fate' toll and come to finish me off?"
"Of course not." Ziusudra's answer disappointed him slightly.
"I have indeed glimpsed your Fate's endpoint," the old man said gently. "But I haven't heard the bell toll yet."
"Your life or death remains uncertain."
"Forget it." Rovi waved dismissively. "Life and death follow Heaven's will. Forcing it is pointless."
His tone was solemn.
Now it was Ziusudra's turn to be taken aback.
He'd seen many unafraid of death—but Rovi looked as if he welcomed it.
"I came to bid farewell," Ziusudra finally said, choosing his words carefully.
"My Heavenly Fate no longer lies in this world. I must depart."
"Depart where?"
"To the unknown." He shook his head. "But surely we'll meet again in the future—"
"Perhaps sooner than later."
His voice faded like mist.
The old man vanished instantly—as silently as he'd appeared.
Like a ghost.
But Rovi didn't mind.
He merely swirled the beer in his cup.
Inside, Enkidu slept soundly, serene as a child.
Because of Rovi, she'd learned to rest when peace allowed.
Rovi raised his cup.
"Then next… with the little time left—let's do something meaningful."
Grinning, he drained the drink in one go.
Coughed lightly.
His remaining "life" shrank by the hour.
As he'd told Ziusudra—
Since this age had dubbed him the "Sage," bearer of wisdom,
he might as well earn that title before he died—
To spark this era, to let civilization's light burn brighter still.
A parting gift, from a dying friend—to Gilgamesh.