Inside Gilgamesh's Command Tent
"So, you were defeated? Beaten soundly by a mere Imperial Satrap?"
High atop his campaign chair, Gilgamesh questioned the men before him. His voice remained chillingly calm and composed, yet it filled the tent with a pressure more suffocating than the desert heat. He looked down at Ur-Namu and the rebel generals, who were kneeling in a state of utter trepidation.
"Yes, Your Highness. We were careless. We did not expect the Palace to possess such a brilliant commander!"
Facing Gilgamesh's interrogation, the rebel generals were overcome with shame. None dared to look up at the Agû—the horned crown—resting upon their King's brow. These were veteran officers personally trained by Gilgamesh, yet they had just been routed while attempting to take the northern prefectural capital. The defeat was so severe that over a dozen newly captured districts had defected back to the Imperial side, forcing the Auric Reclamation to retreat nearly a hundred miles.
If Ur-Namu hadn't had the presence of mind to order an emergency withdrawal—maintaining enough order to keep the retreat from turning into a massacre—eight or nine out of every ten soldiers in the Northern Expeditionary Army would likely have been lost.
"General Ur-Namu, you're no green recruit. How did you let things go so horribly wrong?"
Standing guard beside Gilgamesh, Siduri delivered the sharp rebukes that Gilgamesh's royal status prevented him from saying directly. Ur-Namu's head sank lower with every word. He knew he deserved the weight of her anger.
"Enough, Siduri. Do not berate Ur-Namu further."
Gilgamesh's voice cut through the air, and Siduri immediately fell silent.
"At the very least, he managed to salvage the situation at the final hour. Because of that, we are in a position to strike again. However, mistakes have consequences. All of your noble titles are hereby stripped as a penalty. I am personally taking over the leadership of this front."
"We thank Your Highness for his mercy!" Ur-Namu and the generals struck their breastplates in salute.
"Now, tell me: how exactly were you defeated? What tactics did this Satrap use?"
The generals exchanged glances. Finally, Ur-Namu spoke up.
"Your Highness, the man's defense of the city was impenetrable. We held a council and decided to lift the siege, hoping to lure the garrison out into the open plains for a decisive battle. And he did come out. But then he brought us a nightmare. His light chariots and cavalry are incredibly agile—our riders couldn't touch them. They used 'kite' tactics to lead our formations in circles until we were exhausted."
"Furthermore, he is a master of the 'decapitation strike.' He made several daring charges directly at our command post, attempting to kill me and the other generals. If it weren't for our veterans fighting to the death to repel them, we would be ghosts by now."
"..."
"He sounds like a troublesome opponent. Does he have a name?" Gilgamesh asked. He could sense the lingering fear in Ur-Namu—a man who had crawled through mountains of corpses.
"Lugal-Kisura. That is the name I gathered from my inquiries. They call him the 'Wind of the Border.'"
"Lugal-Kisura... a name that sounds full of character. He sounds like a worthy adversary," Gilgamesh remarked, his ruby eyes narrowing as he began to formulate a plan.