Chapter 7: Ishtar? A New Opportunity Has Arrived!
Among the gods of the Mesopotamian plain, Ishtar occupied a very particular place.
Goddess of beauty.
Goddess of harvest.
Goddess of war.
She was the youngest of the major deities and the most beloved.
Because of that, she was also the most willful, the most reckless, and quite possibly the most troublesome of them all.
Especially for Gilgamesh.
He disdained the rest of the pantheon.
But that goddess in particular was someone he did not even wish to lay eyes on.
There was a simple reason for it.
Ishtar had once pretended to pursue him.
The goddess of beauty loved beautiful things, and Gilgamesh fit that standard perfectly. But the young King of Uruk knew all too well the true nature of the gods. He knew that Ishtar’s so called affection was not human love, merely the whim of a bored goddess looking for a new toy.
In the days when the gods could still descend in their true forms, Gilgamesh had suffered quite a bit under her constant meddling.
So when he heard she might have appeared again, his expression changed at once.
It was rare to see such a look on the King’s face.
Below him, his palace adjutant held a bundle of clay tablets filled with reports from across Uruk. She kept her eyes lowered and said nothing.
Then she heard Gilgamesh murmur softly to himself.
“That woman… no. The Age of Gods is drawing to its end. Those foolish, rotting gods can no longer descend in their true bodies.”
His crimson eyes narrowed, slit pupils gleaming like a serpent tasting the air.
The adjutant knew what that meant.
Gilgamesh had activated his highest grade Clairvoyance. Among magi, the ability itself was not rare, but in the hands of the King of Uruk, it had reached a level that allowed him to peer beyond the surface of reality.
With that gaze, he looked toward the future and drew an answer about the present.
“So that is how it is… a Divine Spirit possession.”
The light in his eyes died down, understanding settling over his features.
Divine Spirits could not appear fully in the present world. Their essence was too far removed. Yet they still possessed countless ways to interfere with reality.
For example, descending only as a consciousness that possessed a mortal vessel.
Gilgamesh shook his head and looked down at the adjutant.
“Hmph. In the end they are nothing more than decayed things squirming in the mud, and yet they dare to point their filthy fingers at this King, who blazes like the sun in the vault of heaven.”
“Siduri.”
He waved a hand and rose from the throne.
“I am here, King,” the adjutant answered, bowing her head.
“I hear the Babylon treasury is nearly complete. This King will go to inspect it.” Gilgamesh’s tone cooled. “If that woman arrives, stop her. Do not allow her to disturb this foolish King.”
“Yes,” Siduri replied at once.
She did not need to ask who he meant by that woman.
Gilgamesh had no desire to meet Ishtar. He knew that if she had descended, she would inevitably come to find him. Once they argued, there was a very real chance things would escalate into violence.
In her possessed state, Ishtar might not be able to defeat him.
And Gilgamesh could not guarantee he would refrain from killing her.
Yet at this point in time, though he disliked the gods, his dislike had not yet fermented into outright hatred. He did not wish to completely sever ties with the divine realm.
For all his self centered arrogance, he was still a king. He had his own calculations.
“I will do my best not to trouble you,” Siduri said quietly.
“Good.”
Gilgamesh turned and strode deeper into the palace, then paused mid step and glanced back with a faint smile.
“By the way, this King has found an interesting colleague for you. He should be arriving shortly. You and that mo… you and that fellow should get along.”
“That will add a little amusement to your dull, tedious days.”
His laughter echoed through the hall as he departed.
Siduri stood there with the clay tablets in hand and allowed herself a small smile.
Just then, a guard’s voice came from the entrance.
“Priest Rowe, the King says you may enter directly. There is no need to be announced.”
“I understand,” a young voice replied.
He truly arrived as soon as he was mentioned.
Siduri raised her head toward the doorway.
A figure in a linen priest’s robe stepped over the threshold and began walking toward the throne. He was a young man, perhaps better described as a youth, slender of build, with dark hair, dark eyes, and refined features. There was a quiet steadiness about him.
It was Rowe.
After consoling the priests in the temple, he had come straight here.
His eagerness had naturally earned more praise from the old priests. In their eyes, it proved even more that Rowe’s earlier outburst had been driven by devotion to guiding Gilgamesh.
In reality, Rowe was simply in a hurry to put himself in front of Gilgamesh again.
He wanted another chance to die.
He had not even changed clothes, still dressed as a temple priest, walking across the gleaming floor of the royal hall toward the high throne.
The palace was vast and tall, lined with pillars that reached for the heavens. Sunlight spilled in, reflecting off the polished walls and floor, giving the place an austere magnificence that even the Pantheon could not match.
But unlike the Pantheon, this hall had not been constructed and expanded by generations of Uruk’s kings.
It was commissioned directly by Gilgamesh.
It existed through tyranny and the weight of his oppression.
So this is how he declares that royal authority stands above divine authority…
Rowe mused silently.
His thoughts were interrupted as he met the gaze of the figure waiting on the steps.
“Priest Rowe… no. From today onward, you should be called Adjutant Rowe.”
The female adjutant’s voice was clear and pleasant.
“Hello, Adjutant Siduri,” Rowe replied politely.
He had no reason to antagonize someone who could not kill him in some suitably abnormal way. There was no benefit in making enemies at random. Life, even one dedicated to dying, did not need extra hostility.
“Where is the King?”
Rowe stepped onto the dais and glanced toward the empty throne.
“The King is… occupied,” Siduri said. “However, before leaving, he assigned a task to both of us.”
“A task?” Rowe blinked. “What kind of task? Is it important?”
His first thought was that if he mishandled it, Gilgamesh might kill him.
Siduri, of course, misunderstood his tone.
“There is no need to be so tense. It is nothing serious. A little perfunctory effort will be enough.”
“That goddess will not trouble us mortals too much.”
Goddess?
Rowe froze.
Could it be—
“Gilgamesh!”
A clear, ringing voice echoed from outside the palace.
“Come out at once and welcome the beautiful mistress of heaven, Ishtar!”
Siduri sighed softly.
“I did not expect that goddess to arrive so quickly…”
Rowe’s eyes lit up.
Even setting aside what he remembered from before he transmigrated, his years serving as a priest were more than enough to make him familiar with this goddess.
He knew her willfulness.
Her erratic moods.
Her domineering arrogance.
He had just been worrying about how to seek death next.
So what if he could not rebuke Gilgamesh face to face again for a while?
A new opportunity had just walked right up to the palace gates.
And its name was Ishtar.