For the time that followed, Rovi stayed in his own courtyard and shut himself away.
Only Enkidu remained by his side.
Of course, though he shut himself away, no one could forget the sage's existence.
Every day, clay tablets flowed out from the courtyard, carried by numerous servants to the royal hall where Gilgamesh resided, constantly changing all of Uruk.
More and more people who could read and write, who possessed various skills, were received by the king. After enduring Gilgamesh's inexplicable "scoldings," they eagerly took up different positions.
Some served at the king's side, while others were sent to the towns and villages under Uruk's rule.
They were collectively known as "officials."
Everyone knew that the sage had invented this.
It was precisely because of these "officials" that the vast nation, which had once relied solely on Gilgamesh to govern it, rapidly began to transform. Naturally, this process could not avoid the interests of all kinds of groups—such as the priesthood, or the royal families of the various nations that had pledged allegiance.
But this was still an era where individual strength reigned supreme. Gilgamesh alone was enough to suppress an entire nation, so there was naturally no need for schemes and intrigues.
Thus, everything progressed very smoothly. As the number of officials increased and layers of decision-making bodies took shape, the enormous system that had once been somewhat chaotic quickly stabilized.
The process itself was naturally uneventful.
But soon, a piece of news plunged all of Uruk into an inexplicable mood—
Sage Rovi had fallen ill.
"The King's friend, the king's most capable aide, the sage who possessed the Origin of Strength and Wisdom, had fallen ill from that day onward."
"Only then did people realize just how much the sage who had stolen the Seed of Civilization