Afterward, Rovi shut himself away in his courtyard, never venturing outside.
Only Enkidu kept him company.
Yet even secluded behind closed doors, nobody in Uruk could forget the existence of this Sage.
Because each day, countless clay tablets flowed from his courtyard, carried by servants to the great hall where Gilgamesh ruled—steadily reshaping the entirety of Uruk.
Increasingly literate and capable individuals appeared before the King. After enduring Gilgamesh's inexplicable torrent of abuse, they gladly took up their new roles—
Some served directly by the King's side; others were dispatched to towns and villages across Uruk's vast domain.
Collectively, they became known as "officials."
Everyone knew the title had been created by the Sage himself.
Thanks precisely to these "officials," the enormous kingdom, previously managed single-handedly by Gilgamesh, swiftly transformed. Of course, friction inevitably arose—among priests, or royal families from newly incorporated states.
Yet this was still an age defined by personal might. Gilgamesh alone could suppress an entire nation, rendering schemes and intrigue unnecessary.
Thus, everything proceeded smoothly. As officials multiplied, layers of governance quickly emerged, stabilizing what had once been chaos.
This process unfolded naturally, without much drama.
But soon after, a particular piece of news plunged Uruk into an uneasy mood—
Sage Rovi had fallen gravely ill.
"The King's friend, his greatest aide—the Sage who wielded unparalleled power and wisdom—is bedridden ever since that day."
"Only now did people realize the immensity of the Sage's contributions, after stealing the flame of wisdom from heaven."
"The wisdom of gods, carried by a mortal—how unimaginably heavy that burden must be!"
...
"'Heavy' my ass."
That was Rovi's first reaction when he heard the rumors circulating outside.
Then he couldn't help but cough softly, his hand—holding a clay tablet—shaking slightly.
Inside the courtyard, lush plants flourished. Brilliant sunlight filtered through the greenery, casting gently swaying shadows like distant mountains. Though clearly daytime, Rovi sat wrapped in blankets, his complexion alarmingly pale.
Yet the rumors weren't completely false—Rovi truly was ill. But definitely not because of the so-called "Heavenly Wisdom." Everything he'd accomplished came solely from human knowledge, entirely unrelated to the thoroughly banished gods. The true culprit was the gods' lingering curse, steadily eroding his body.
In fact, the weaker Rovi felt physically, the happier he became.
Because this meant his death—his uniquely special death—was finally drawing near. Cursed to death for slaughtering gods… surely, such an end deserved a place in history forever.
Of course, physical weakness didn't truly affect his strength. Neither the former [Key of Heaven] nor the fully manifested [Sword of Rupture—Ea] depended on bodily condition.
"Rovi…" Enkidu, seated beside him, watched worriedly. "Maybe you should rest first?"
"No need." Rovi grinned, dismissing her gently. "I know my own body—hm?"
His words stopped abruptly.
Enkidu completely ignored his protest, quietly shifting behind him. Gently, she wrapped her arms around his body.
As her loose white robe softly slid down, the gentle warmth of her chest pressed against his back. Her slender legs crossed lightly, thighs pressed close, delicate hips shifting slightly downward—warmth overflowing as she earnestly sought to comfort him.
"Like this… you shouldn't feel cold anymore, right?"
Seeing the sincere concern reflected in En's emerald eyes, now fully feminine, Rovi fell silent in surprise.
He had to admit, En—born from the Earth—was incredibly warm.
It was warmth reminiscent of subterranean lava beneath the earth's surface—soft but never burning, a gentle embrace that encouraged him to close his eyes and drift peacefully into sleep.
Rovi smiled softly, no longer resisting.
"Thank you, En…"
En continued holding him gently.
She watched as his eyes slowly drifted shut, his grip on the clay tablet gradually loosening.
Rovi fell into peaceful sleep.
"How wonderful, Rovi…"
A delighted gleam flickered in Enkidu's emerald eyes. She leaned forward slowly, moist red lips tenderly brushing his cheek.
Her exquisite face flushed deeply, tinged with quiet excitement.
...
Outside, Gilgamesh paused, hand raised mid-motion, ready to knock on the door.
"We're leaving!"
Turning decisively to Siduri beside him, he declared firmly, "Let him rest a bit longer—consider it proof of this king's boundless generosity!"
"Yes, my King."
Siduri, standing respectfully behind Gilgamesh, cast him a curious glance. She'd found it strange—her king rushed over immediately upon hearing news of Rovi's illness, yet now he hesitated at the door.
But as the king's advisor, Siduri remained diligent and discreet, never voicing her thoughts unnecessarily.
She simply glanced toward the courtyard wall briefly, then withdrew her gaze.
Lord Rovi… surely he would be fine, wouldn't he?
Otherwise, the King wouldn't pause here so long.
What Siduri didn't know… Gilgamesh merely had a strange, nagging intuition that entering now would lead to something extremely unpleasant!
Thus, he wisely chose to retreat.
...
And in that drifting, dreamlike moment, Rovi opened his eyes again.
"Rovi, did you come here just to see me?"
A soft voice spoke with barely suppressed excitement. Beneath flowing golden hair, crimson lips parted joyfully, a lovely face radiant with delight.
It was Eresh.
She gracefully squatted before Rovi, who lay sprawled upon the cold ground. Her slender legs pressed tightly beneath her crimson robe and tight black garments. From Rovi's position, her softly pressed thighs appeared slightly flushed, curves rising gently upward.
The Mistress of the Netherworld was as breathtakingly beautiful as always.
Around them stretched endless, deathly silence—only faintly glowing blue flames illuminated the vast emptiness.
Without doubt, this was Mesopotamia's Netherworld—Eresh's domain.
At this moment of absolute clarity—or perhaps awakening—Rovi again found himself speechless.
He had died.
Just like that, quietly slipping from sleep into death.
Yet his demise wasn't directly caused by the gods' curse. Instead, the curse had weakened him enough that death simply arrived quietly, prematurely.
Realizing this left him even more speechless.
When he'd desperately wanted death, he couldn't die. But now, having finally decided he wished to keep living—
He just died like this?
"Rovi… what's wrong?" Eresh gently poked his cheek, tilting her head in confusion, crimson eyes filled with curiosity.
"Why aren't you saying anything?"