Divine Messenger? King's Aide?

Yes—Rovi remembered now. Gilgamesh's wisdom was also what the gods desired.

As a demigod, Gilgamesh had always been the gods' representative among mortals.

The wiser he became, the more it proved that even if the gods could not descend to the mortal world in their true forms, they could still protect the humans who lived there.

Then, no matter how long the years stretched on, the faith the gods had left among humanity would remain as steadfast as ever.

This was precisely the meaning of the so-called 'Vessel.'

And in the eyes of the gods, what Rovi had just done had, without a doubt, played a major role in guiding Gilgamesh toward the path of wisdom.

So even though he had caused the Festival of All Gods to be interrupted unexpectedly, the gods would not blame him for it.

This was the consequence after weighing both sides.

But it was precisely because he understood everything that Rovi felt even more like crying without tears.

What was all this... How was it so different from what he had imagined?

Rovi forcibly suppressed the overwhelming urge to vent his complaints, pulled himself back to the present, and looked ahead once more.

The light in the temple remained unchanged. Surrounded by the many towering statues of the gods, the divine oracle, after being delivered, had faded away along with the radiance. The priests slowly rose to their feet.

"High Priest..." Rovi looked at the old man.

The old man looked back at him.

Then he slowly extended a withered arm hidden beneath his linen robe, lifted the hem of his garment, and said respectfully, "Greetings to the Divine Messenger."

As soon as the old man spoke, the other priests immediately reacted.

They all bowed their bodies and paid their respects.

Rovi, who had been praised and acknowledged by the gods and had received their promises—wasn't he essentially the gods' envoy?

Such a status far surpassed that of any priest.

To some extent, it was comparable to the king's.

Of course, that was only to some extent. The actual gap was still enormous—the King of Uruk held absolute control over the city-state's military, civil affairs, diplomacy, religion, and countless other matters. His power was tightly clenched, leaving no room for the slightest doubt.

But even just approaching the king symbolically was already a unique honor in all of Uruk.

The problem was that this was not what Rovi wanted.

He sighed. "High Priest, all of you priests, there's no need to be so polite. I was just lucky."

The others had no idea what was on his mind. Seeing that he showed not the slightest hint of joy, they nodded inwardly, praising the young man's composure and steadiness, far beyond ordinary people.

What they didn't know was that the happiness was all theirs—Rovi had nothing.

But since things had already come to this, Rovi knew that no amount of frustration or regret would do any good.

He didn't have the ability to turn back time right now.

So he could only keep pushing forward—he hadn't died this time, but in the future, there would definitely be plenty of opportunities!

After all, the era Rovi now found himself in was hardly a time of peace.

Living was hard.

Dying? That was easy.

Rovi rallied himself again.

"King's Order."

From outside the temple doors, that voice came once more.

Immediately after, a tall figure stepped inside, wearing a helmet and armor that protected his vital points.

He was the king's herald.

A member of the Royal Guard, specifically tasked with delivering Gilgamesh's commands to every corner of the city.

His footsteps echoed crisply across the flat stone floor of the temple, reverberating through the open space.

The priests all startled, watching the herald's aggressive demeanor, and couldn't help but worry again.

Was the king... going to deal with Rovi again?

Though Gilgamesh had never done such a thing before, and though this king was brutal, he had so far kept his promises.

But the priests, having witnessed many of his absurd acts, no longer dared to guess at the king's actions.

He was simply impossible to predict—

Rovi was just as surprised, of course, but before he could dwell on Gilgamesh's sudden command, the herald swept his gaze across everyone in the hall and spoke on his own.

"King's Order," he said. "Rovi, temple attendant, you have committed great insolence, speaking bluntly and offending the great King of Uruk.

But the king is magnanimous. His heart is as vast as the sea of stars, his wisdom as brilliant as the constellations. He knows your intentions were good, so the king will overlook your rudeness and even elevate you."

"The king commands you to become his aide. Starting tomorrow, you shall attend to the king in the royal palace of Uruk."

No wonder he was Gilgamesh's herald—that insufferable arrogance ran in the bloodline...

Rovi was speechless.

He was somewhat disappointed that the other party hadn't come to punish him, yet also a little pleased—

To serve in the king's presence, under any other ruler, might have been a good post.

But Gilgamesh was different.

"To accompany a king is like accompanying a tiger"—a proverb that had yet to emerge in this era. Without a doubt, it was the best testament to Gilgamesh.

A capricious king was the most terrifying, because you never knew which casual action of yours might offend him.

Yet this was precisely what Rovi wanted.

And when he thought about it carefully, as the protagonist of the oldest epic, Gilgamesh would face no shortage of crises from now on.

So after the herald left, faced with the many dejected priests, it was Rovi, the "victim," who began to console them.

"Elders, there's no need for this," he said loudly. "To be able to go before the king was always my wish."

"If I can make the king change his ways, all the better."

The act had to be played to the end. Since he had already shaped this image in their minds, following it through felt only natural.

His words also snapped the priests back to their senses.

"At such an advanced age, I'm not even as open-minded as a young man," the old priest said with a bitter smile.

"Can't compare, so let it be!" another priest simply stretched out his legs and said, "With so many people in Uruk, who can compare to him?"

To speak bluntly before the king and yet gain the approval of the gods.

Throughout all of Uruk, even the entire Mesopotamian Plain, he could be said to be one of a kind.

"By the way, little Rovi doesn't have a spouse yet, does he? What do you think of my granddaughter..."

"Isn't your granddaughter only five or six years old? That's way too early!"

"So what? We can get engaged first. That's still better than your thirty- or forty-year-old daughter..."

The atmosphere suddenly turned a bit awkward.

Should one say that people are all the same?

Even the priests who served the gods were, in the end, still a group of humans.

This scene was all too similar to the days before Rovi had transmigrated, when he encountered elders who thought highly of him.

But at this moment, Rovi's thoughts had already drifted far away, to the palace where the king resided.

Time to properly establish a new plan...

"Your Majesty."

Inside the spacious palace, on the throne reached by ninety-nine steps, Gilgamesh, who had returned from the temple not long ago, opened his eyes.

He shifted slightly on the throne, his crimson gaze locking onto the speaker—

A woman with a light veil over her face.

His current advisor.

"Priest Rovi has accepted the order,"

the advisor said respectfully. "Also... in the Temple of Ishtar, footprints were found on the altar."

"Suspected to be... the descent of the goddess Ishtar."

Gilgamesh's originally somewhat languid expression instantly shifted.