But truth be told, Siduri couldn't help but feel a little moved.
If you counted carefully, Gilgamesh and Rovi actually hadn't known each other for very long.
And yet, it felt as though they had gone through so much together.
No—not just felt. They had experienced much.
And many of those things were ones the King himself had never experienced before.
So of course, he was pleased.
Of course he would acknowledge them as his friends, value them, treasure this bond.
Some changes, unnoticed by the King himself, were clear to Siduri who stood at his side. Subtle shifts, quiet but undeniable, were maturing this vigorous young sovereign.
Siduri felt an inexplicable sense of relief.
"Then continue to spread this king's wisdom, Siduri!"
From the throne, Gilgamesh waved his hand, stowing away the tablet. "Though but a mongrel who barks, he is still acknowledged by this king as a friend. And the deeds of one worthy to stand beside me—glorious and great as I am—must of course be put to use!"
"Yes, my King." Siduri bowed low, drawing out fresh tablets, listening to his commands, and recording them one after another as she managed Uruk's affairs.
"Station three thousand sentries each in the east and west. One post every ten li, using fire beacons as signal…"
"Order all residents of Uruk's outlying lands to move within the city, or at least live pressed against the walls…"
"Send word to all allied states:"
"Strictly register all citizens, every man, woman, and child, inscribed into tablets and kept on record."
Eyes half-closed, fingers tapping the throne's armrest, Gilgamesh spoke with rapid cadence. Siduri's stylus scratched swiftly, her movements skillful, practiced.
But today—his thoughts seemed to flow even faster than usual.
Perhaps it was his newfound maturity of late. Or perhaps… it was simply that the King was in a fine mood.
Behind her veil, Siduri's gaze flicked across the young ruler before her.
And so, in just a brief exchange, the towering stack of clay tablets at her side was consumed to nothing.
Siduri picked up the very last one, but upon reading what was inscribed there, her expression tightened slightly. Clearly, this was serious.
"My King. The final matter—you must treat it with caution."
"It concerns the Bull of Heaven and the beast, Humbaba…"
Gilgamesh straightened at once.
Unlike the previous matters, those two "Beasts"—the punishment of the gods—were always the foremost concern.
This was the crux.
They represented how much time remained, how much still needed to be done.
"The Bull of Heaven and Humbaba have begun to take form. Of course, they are still some distance from fully manifesting."
That meant time remained—Gilgamesh's expression did not change.
"But that is not the only problem." Siduri bowed slightly, face solemn. "As they gradually take shape, the disasters they embody are already beginning to seep into the world."
"In the east, near the Euphrates, drought has struck. No rain falls, the sun scorches mercilessly. In only three days, the land has withered, life shriveled."
"In the vast plains of the west, floods and earthquakes have begun, countless villages destroyed."
The divine beast brought Heaven's punishment.
The monstrous beast carried the Earth's wrath.
"The pace of their forming is accelerating. But our preparations… still need time."
"So then—"
"So then their growth must be delayed. And the only one capable of that… is me, isn't it?"
Gilgamesh picked up where she left off. "Hmph… so those foolish gods are already losing patience?"
"Siduri! See to it that all my orders are dispatched without delay!"
He raised his hands from the throne's arms, about to stand. "It seems the time has come for this king to move in person—"
He intended to go east and west himself.
After being crushed beneath endless affairs, Gilgamesh had long yearned to break free, to stride forth!
"My King," Siduri stopped him. "…Enkidu-sama, upon hearing the news, has already departed for the west—to the Cedar Forest, where Humbaba dwells."
Gilgamesh froze mid-motion, then sank back into his throne. His crimson eyes coiled like serpents.
Expressionless.
"Enkidu-sama said—" Siduri's eyes glimmered faintly, the sign she was speaking by magecraft to the distant one—"that as a weapon crafted by the gods, before meeting Rovi-sama and awakening self-awareness, she lived as mere clay alongside Humbaba in the deepest Cedar Forest of Heaven…"
"She knows Humbaba well."
"Her power comes from the earth itself. She can restrain him."
Reasonable. Irrefutable.
At least there was still the Bull of Heaven.
"Hmph. For the sake of her being one this king acknowledges, I shall overlook such a crime as stealing this king's prey!"
"Then I shall go east—"
Gilgamesh once again began to rise.
But at that very moment, golden ripples opened before him.
Siduri blinked in surprise.
The young King of Uruk also paused, raising his hand on instinct to catch the clay tablet that fell from within.
Just like the five alliance tablets before.
This too had been sent through the King's Treasury—by Rovi.
Gilgamesh looked at the inscription.
"Passing through the east."
"I'll handle the Bull of Heaven."
"Do your overtime properly—"
"Golden Pika!"
Crack!
The tablet shattered in his grasp.
"My King?" Siduri asked, confused, not having seen its contents. She only saw him sink back into his seat, face clouded and shifting.
A mere mongrel, a barking dog—and he dares to dictate this king's movements?
Gilgamesh was certain—that bastard had done it on purpose!
He could even picture Rovi's smug grin as he wrote the words.
"…Tch." No—that was his line. Whatever. All things beneath Heaven and Earth are mine. Words included.
Gilgamesh drew a deep breath. "Siduri. We continue."
"Yes, my King." Though puzzled, Siduri nodded and signaled for more tablets to be brought forward.
Gilgamesh closed his eyes, then opened them again.
Fingers clenched hard against the throne's arm.
Damn it. For the sake of pulling those wretched gods down sooner… this king endures!
...
"Fuhahaha… that golden bastard's face right now must be priceless."
Standing in the wilderness, Rovi let out a strange laugh, face brimming with satisfaction.
Just as Gilgamesh had guessed—he had done it deliberately.
Rovi knew well: as a natural-born king, Gilgamesh loathed being chained to a single place. He must have long wanted an excuse to escape—but for the sake of their shared plan, he forced himself to sit still, to play the anchor.
To leave, he would need a reason—like the Bull of Heaven, like Humbaba.
Not to convince others.
To convince himself.
But Rovi, thanks to the [Key of Heaven], already knew that En had gone west, to face Humbaba.
So he sent that tablet.
And now, he too arrived—on the eastern front of Uruk.