"Heh… this world is getting more and more interesting."
"The Three Goddess Alliance, bent on destroying humanity and ruling the land…"
"The gods of Babylon, sitting high above, calmly watching the storms unfold…"
"The fragile Sumerian city-states, still resisting despite their weakness…"
"And now, the Goddess of Beginning, who pities all life and wants to side with humanity…"
"What a grand performance. I almost can't wait to see how it all plays out."
Gilgamesh cleared the distractions from his mind, sat up straight, and his tone dropped into something solemn and commanding.
"Very well. As a participant in this game, you are qualified—Tiamat's divine child."
"If you can truly shatter the Three Goddess Alliance and rewrite Uruk's Destiny, then what reason would this king have to refuse your request?"
Destiny…
Samael caught the subtle shift in Gilgamesh's tone—an unintentional emphasis, laced with deeper emotion—and narrowed his eyes. A hint of suspicion stirred in his heart.
Could it be that, more than the Three Goddess Alliance, it was this elusive concept of "destiny" that truly gave Gilgamesh pause?
The Three Goddess Alliance was merely a method, an instrument foretold in prophecy to bring about the end of the Sumerian era.
But the roots of the poisonous tree that bore this cursed fruit… that was Destiny itself.
Even if they succeeded in dismantling the alliance, who's to say the shadows weren't already nurturing a new threat?
Perhaps only when Uruk reached its true end would this poisonous tree of destiny—this source of disaster—finally stop bearing fruit and wither away.
As the thought took hold, the ancient serpent felt his mood sink like a stone.
He recalled the veiled words of the sacred prostitute Shamhat regarding Marduk, the King of Kings, and the mysterious Tablet of Destinies in his hands.
His suspicion… was likely correct.
Even if the Mother Goddess Tiamat abandoned her return and stood with humanity, resolving the deeper crisis would be no easy feat.
In fact, all signs pointed to the possibility that the Three Goddess Alliance was nothing more than a tool—a puppet for some greater scheme.
The terror it represented was just the tip of the iceberg.
The true threat was buried in an abyss of unfathomable depth, its chilling shape only visible to those who dared stare into the void.
Maybe… he'd boarded the sinking ship of Uruk a little too soon.
A vague dread crept up Samael's spine, cold and silent. He instinctively hunched his shoulders, beginning to regret his timing.
Then, with the barest shift of his eyes, he stole a glance at Gilgamesh atop the throne. His lips twitched slightly, the unspoken thought rising up like a mutter in his throat.
King Gilgamesh… hey, uh… is there any chance I can return my ticket?
"Hey, divine child of Tiamat. Weren't you planning to help take down the Three Goddess Alliance?"
"You've piqued my interest. Go on, tell me your plan."
The voice from the throne cut through his thoughts. Samael straightened at once, stepped forward, and stood before a miniature map crafted from several assembled clay tablets on the table. He began to speak confidently.
Using Tiamat's divine guidance as a pretense, the ancient serpent laid out the valuable intelligence he had meticulously pieced together.
First came an overview of the Three Goddess Alliance—their general composition, and most importantly, each of their vulnerabilities. Gilgamesh listened closely, nodding in approval more than once.
With such detailed intelligence as a foundation, the strategic options that followed became all the more compelling.
Sure enough, when Samael uttered the eight-character principle—[Bribe], [Win Over], [Divide], [Strike]—even Gilgamesh, usually aloof and arrogant, couldn't hide the gleam of interest in his eyes.
"Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant! With this, the Three Goddess Alliance will crumble without a fight. As long as we follow the plan, we've already won half the battle!"
At some point, Merlin had woken up and snuck behind the clay map to eavesdrop. Now, he applauded gleefully and pulled out a few altered clay tablets filled with scribbled notes, handing them over to Samael.
Faint, blurry keywords hinted at similar ideas—methods to divide the goddesses and dismantle the anti-human alliance.
The white-haired Incubus hugged his staff, pacing in circles around the two, his expression one of quiet satisfaction.
"Actually, King Gilgamesh had already come up with similar ideas about how to break apart the Three Goddess Alliance."
"You two are practically thinking along the same lines."
"Seems like we were always meant to be on the same path."
Before Samael could respond, Gilgamesh raised his hand and crushed the clay notes into dust, rolling his eyes at the old swindler.
"Shut it, Merlin. I know myself well enough."
"Those so-called notes were just idle musings scrawled down on a whim. They're nowhere near as thorough or reliable as this guy's strategy."
"Besides, my thoughts were fragmented. What he just presented was a fully-formed and coherent system."
"The credit is his, and his alone!"
"Whether it's recognizing his excellence or being willing to risk aligning with the goddess Tiamat, either way—"
"This king does not break promises!"
The great sage, ever the master of playing both sides and keeping the peace, forced a sheepish smile and bowed with exaggerated humility.
"King Gilgamesh, your wisdom and insight shine as brightly as the sun over Mesopotamia."
"Say one more word, and I won't hesitate to relive my tyrant days—starting with your head."
Gilgamesh crossed his arms and sneered, silencing the old con artist with one cold line.
"But you did remind me of something…"
The Hero King raised his hand absentmindedly, calling out.
"Siduri, bring me that blank clay tablet. I'm making a formal pact with this brat!"
"Uh, my king, Lady Siduri already rushed off to the ritual grounds—to stop the Great Goddess Ishtar from looting the place."
Samael glanced around the empty chamber and offered the reminder with a hint of helplessness.
Gilgamesh's face immediately darkened, bad memories surfacing as the corner of his mouth twitched.
"Ugh, that troublesome woman!"
"Fine, Merlin—you go get it!"
Upon hearing this, the Incubus lit up like he'd just been handed an imperial decree and cheerfully trotted off to the inner court to retrieve the blank clay tablet.
Samael watched the flamboyant figure of the old swindler disappear into the palace with a complicated expression, lost for words.
No wonder everyone from King Arthur down to the entire Round Table had such a love-hate relationship with this so-called great sage.
You could say he was dependable—but whenever trouble showed up, his first instinct was to bail. Avoid problems? Absolutely. Slack off? World-class.
Yet you could also say he wasn't completely unreliable. He had a knack for reading the situation through small details, and when things got truly dire, he'd occasionally offer advice and support that felt like the words of a true wise man.
Like now—Merlin was clearly pushing to solidify cooperation between Gilgamesh and the goddess Tiamat, while also nudging him to get that agreement in writing.
But whether the guy was doing it to spice up the drama or genuinely lend a hand… even Samael couldn't tell.
His eyes wandered—and then he caught sight of the snacks and dried fruit Ana had left on the table. His expression instantly darkened.
The quantity was off—about a third missing.
And when he'd been discussing strategy with Gilgamesh, the only other one around the "scene of the crime" had been the white-haired Incubus.
No wonder the guy looked so thrilled when asked to fetch a blank clay tablet.
Tch. Why even bother thinking about it?
Merlin should just drop dead already!