Meanwhile, outside, Gilgamel had finished dismantling the Golden Apple Tree.
He worked carefully, cutting down every branch except those bearing the precious fruits. Even the top of the tree was neatly removed. Afterward, he dug into the soil—not too deep, just enough to slice through several thick roots without damaging them.
Finally, he plucked the remaining four Golden Apples, placing each one into its own ageless box with utmost care.
The moment the last fruit left the branch, the entire tree began to decay before his eyes. The once-glowing wood dulled, the golden sheen fading into gray as the tree withered into a brittle husk.
Though he had expected this, Gilgamel still felt a flicker of relief. He thought, 'Good thing I studied beforehand. If I'd plucked all the apples first, I would've lost all those valuable leaves, wood, and roots.'
Just as he finished sealing the final box, a faint voice echoed in his mind—distant but clear.
"Human! Human!"
