—What right did it have to make this king afraid!?
Gilgamesh roared soundlessly, glaring ahead with eyes nearly split wide as he watched Humbaba fall into a frenzy over Annanu and Enkidu entering it.
He unleashed his mana with nearly everything he had, even squeezing out his potential, raising a wall of wind around himself to contend against the gale generated by Humbaba.
For the moment, Gilgamesh could stand his ground without being swept away by the wind.
Ea had already been drawn, all three blades beginning to rotate, while savagery erupted from his red eyes.
He absolutely could not be afraid again. Even if his opponent was the embodiment of a natural disaster—as a king, he could not harbor even the slightest fear!
Unlike Gilgamesh, who furiously wanted to unleash Ea, Annanu and Enkidu, who had entered Humbaba, began searching.
"Humbaba—where are you?"
Annanu called out.
White flower wreaths rested atop their heads as they searched amid the endless cries of lament for the friend who had given them those wreaths.
—Why? Why had Humbaba changed like this?
What had that final sentence in Enlil's forest meant?
Because the flowers still existed, the clay people could vaguely remember—
Back then, Humbaba seemed to have said something.
Do not forget her.
Because she would eventually forget them.
At that time, the clay people possessed no sapience. They had only the instincts to think and survive, so naturally they had never sought to understand why such a thing would happen. But now that the remaining memories of Enlil's forest had finally returned to their programs, that incomprehension, that bafflement, that involuntary sorrow made them want to ask that question:
Why?
But Humbaba could no longer answer them.
The sight before them was exactly the same as when Enki had first thrown