As the golden comet streaked across the sky, its overwhelming power pressed down like Mount Ebih crashing from above.
The magical beasts gathered at the base of the city scattered in panic, retreating into the night like a receding tide at the approach of a natural predator.
Those unlucky enough to still be clinging to the city walls trembled uncontrollably, unable to move.
The Uruk soldiers, emboldened by the momentum, seized the chance to strike. They formed tight Spartan phalanxes and surrounded the remaining magical beasts, cutting them off into isolated pockets.
Only a few high-ranking beasts like the Blue Dragon Bašmu, the Wyvern, and the Three-Horned Lion-Dragon recognized the shift and fled back into the wasteland.
The rest—mid- and low-tier cannon fodder—were either skewered by the rain of spears or shoved off the walls by ranks of burly warriors, their bodies splattering into pulp below.
After three grueling hours of battle, the Babylonia defensive line finally earned a brief moment of reprieve.
"Touch me again and see what happens, you pervert!"
At that moment, the Lion-Headed Storm Demon let out a long sigh, rolled his eyes, and turned with a cold snort, baring his sharp teeth in a sinister warning.
"Oh? So it's you, Samael? What happened to you?"
The Magus of Flowers, smoothly withdrawing his hand, rubbed his chin and stepped closer—half surprised, half amused, and unmistakably enjoying the show.
"None of your damn business! I should be asking why it took you so long to show up!"
The ancient serpent snapped back, glaring, his suspicion deepening.
This old conman was at least on the verge of Grand Magus class. Traveling from the Royal Palace Tower shouldn't have taken that long.
Back when they were fleeing from Kingu, the guy had used a long-range teleportation skill without hesitation.
But now? With Babylonia hanging by a thread, Samael had been scrambling for survival, narrowly dodging death again and again—yet that damned white-haired Incubus hadn't lifted a finger.
And now, the moment Gilgamesh drew Kingu away, here he was, suddenly popping out of some obscure corner like it was all perfectly timed.
Too convenient.
"You were peeping just now, weren't you?"
The Lion-Headed Storm Demon narrowed his eyes, voice low and eerie as he glanced back with a chilling gaze.
"Die, Merlin!"
At the same time, Ana—still on his back—reacted even faster. Her face scrunched up in fury as she gritted her teeth and swung the divine weapon Harpe with force.
Seeing the divine attribute-suppressing weapon coming his way, the old trickster's expression changed instantly. He turned and ran, clutching his head in panic.
"Ana, yes! Slash him! Good job!"
The ancient serpent, embracing the art of fanning the flames, charged forward with the indignant purple-haired girl still riding his back, completely ignoring Merlin's earlier question.
He had already prepared to reveal his identity once the battle ended. The fact that he could speak human language in beast form was no accident.
During his early integration into Uruk, Samael had built a solid foundation—earning trust, planting the seeds to make the "truth" more acceptable.
Now that the groundwork was done, it was time to take the risk and elevate his standing—no room for hesitation.
The Third Storm was already taking shape—an epic catastrophe that would decide the fate of the entire Mesopotamian world.
The heroic soldiers of ruined Babylon, the butchers in the Sacrificial Grounds skilled at carving up magical beast corpses—they were all too small.
They didn't have the qualifications to share the stage in this war with the Three Goddess Alliance, the King of Uruk, the Demon God King Goetia, or Ishtar, Mistress of Heaven. They couldn't influence their decisions.
Whether it was negotiation or gambling on fate, you needed leverage.
So, Samael had to reveal a higher status to earn a real seat at the table.
Besides, just like pulling back a fist to gather power and strike more precisely...
Strategic growth wasn't just about hiding or surviving in fear.
Otherwise, he'd end up like most Sumerians—blown away like dust in the face of the Third Storm.
Let alone welcoming back the Mother Goddess Tiamat and washing away her sorrow and infamy—he wouldn't even get the chance to try.
"No, no, no! I'm doing this for your own good!"
The old fraud ducked and weaved, wearing an aggrieved look as he tried to justify himself.
"Think about it—if I got involved, who would be left to prove your innocence?"
Ana, as straightforward as ever, took it as just another of his usual excuses. Without hesitation, she continued swinging her purple sickle at Merlin's backside, strike after strike.
But the Samael beneath her couldn't help falling into thought.
Ana was the juvenile form of the goddess Gorgon. He himself could transform into a high-ranking Magical Beast. Both of them, by origin and nature, carried unavoidable suspicions—linked, at least superficially, to the dark forces at play.
Sure, after more than a month of integration, they'd built a good rapport with the people.
But who could guarantee these two anomalies weren't secretly scheming? Who could swear they were truly committed to Uruk's cause?
Still, any lingering doubts would surely fade after the battle they just survived.
On the surface, they'd nearly been killed by Kingu. But in reality, the more dire the danger, the more it proved their loyalty and resolve.
Their performance had clearly earned Gilgamesh's trust.
Otherwise, the King of Heroes wouldn't have stepped in at such a critical moment.
On the flip side, if Merlin had interfered back then, it would've undermined the trial the battlefield imposed. The image of "Friends of Uruk" might not have held up under scrutiny.
Could it be... Merlin actually did the right thing for once?
Samael muttered internally, glancing at the bouncing white-haired Incubus, his thoughts tangled.
But then, he caught sight of Merlin's smug, universally offensive expression—and instantly crushed any last sliver of hesitation.
Ana's the one trying to kill him. What's that got to do with me?
Of course, the chase only lasted a few breaths, but it was enough to shake off the lingering fear of death from moments ago.
Then, as the ground trembled again, all three of them halted at once and turned their eyes toward the pitch-black wasteland.
"They're coming back!"
"Drag the ones who can't move! Anyone still standing—form up!"
With two crisscrossing claw marks carved into his chest and half his helmet shattered, Leonidas still stood tall like a mountain. He slammed the butt of his spear into the ground and barked his orders.
On the scarred Babylonia walls, the Magi repairing the fortification spells and the priestesses treating the wounded stopped what they were doing and prepared for battle.
Support troops delivering javelins, shields, medicine, and other supplies moved with practiced coordination, relocating the seriously injured and clearing the dead.
Even some civilians—armed with hunting bows, shields, and spears—chose to stay on the walls, stepping into the gaps left by the fallen.
Leonidas's Spartan training hadn't been limited to professional Uruk soldiers.
Now that the Third Storm was upon them, all of Uruk had become a city of warriors.
Nearly every able-bodied man had received some form of military drill, serving as a ready reserve force for the front lines.
As the Magical Beasts surged once more—climbing through cracks in the brickwork and over corpses strewn across the wasteland—the battle resumed.
Yet for some reason, a dark sense of foreboding still lingered in Samael's heart.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
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