Mesopotamia—the land between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers. It was here that the Sumerians established numerous city-states.

Among them, on the right bank of the lower Euphrates, stood the city of Uruk.

Today, the palace of Uruk was filled with members of its two most powerful institutions: the Council of Elders and the Assembly of Citizens. They had gathered for a grand banquet to celebrate the coronation of a new king.

Though many wore expressions of respect, their eyes betrayed their true feelings—disdain, indifference, and even contempt.

The king's power was limited, constrained by the Council of Elders and the Assembly of Citizens. If the king clashed with these institutions, he would become nothing more than a puppet.

"Hmph!"

One of the elders let out a soft snort and began eating without waiting for the king's speech. His blatant disrespect drew the king's gaze—not sharp or angry, but resigned and helpless.

Following the elder's lead, others also began the feast without ceremony.

To most, the young king was no threat. A child barely over ten years old, he was likely overwhelmed and confused by his sudden rise to power.

"I propose a toast to all of you," the young king declared, his voice attempting to sound bold and commanding.

Though many raised their cups in response, their attitudes were dismissive and perfunctory.

The king then lifted a wine jar and began drinking heavily, as if to prove his maturity. But a closer look would reveal that he wasn't actually drinking—he was merely wasting the wine.

No one paid attention to this detail, of course. To them, he was nothing more than a child playing at being king.

As the banquet continued, the guests grew more intoxicated, their tongues loosening as they began to speak harshly.

"Is this our king?"

"Pathetic."

"When I was his age, I already…"

Someone noticed the king had fallen asleep on his throne and couldn't help but sneer.

"Already passed out from a little wine? What a useless brat. He'll have to learn from us in the future."

"Huh? This taste—"

A one-eyed man in his forties, who had been eating heartily, suddenly frowned. The meat in his mouth had taken on a strange, bitter flavor. His throat felt dry and burning, as if scorched by fire, and he struggled to breathe.

A wave of nausea hit him, and he tried to stand, only to find his limbs weak and in excruciating pain.

"Ugh… help—help me!"

His voice was barely audible, his throat searing with pain. His entire body ached as if being torn apart.

He collapsed to the ground, vomiting violently.

Those around him initially thought he had simply drunk too much, but their expressions changed when they saw foam bubbling from his mouth and his body convulsing uncontrollably.

"What's going on? He's not just drunk—"

Before they could finish, another person fell, exhibiting the same symptoms.

Thud—thud—thud!

One by one, people collapsed, their bodies writhing in agony. The banquet hall descended into chaos as more and more guests succumbed to the mysterious affliction.

"Is this… a curse?"

"Quick, fetch Priest Anu!"

Priest Anu, the high priest of the temple, was a figure of great authority and reverence. While the young king might be disrespected, no one dared to slight Priest Anu.

Traditionally, the king also served as the high priest, but due to the current king's youth, Priest Anu had taken on the role. In many ways, he was the true ruler of Uruk.

Before Priest Anu could arrive, over half of the banquet attendees had stopped breathing, their hearts no longer beating.

The survivors fled in terror, fearing they would be the next victims of this unknown curse.

Meanwhile, the young king, seated on his throne, finally stirred.

His complexion was healthy, unaffected by the supposed curse. He opened his eyes, took in the scene before him, and let out a yawn.

He wasn't shocked by the carnage—in fact, he seemed to have expected it.

Because he was the one behind it all.

A faint smile curled on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a mocking light that belied his youthful appearance.

Was this truly a curse?

No. The guests had simply consumed wine laced with powdered red orpiment—a form of arsenic.

In other words, they had been poisoned.

The young king's smile widened as he checked the system's progress.

[Current Progress: 65%]

Oh? It was only at 55% before. A 10% increase just from this?

In his vision, a card shimmered with golden light. The card, which had been partially petrified, was now 65% restored.

On the card was the image of a golden-haired, red-eyed youth—a king of unparalleled arrogance and dominance.

A king who despised the gods.

Yes, the figure on the card was none other than the Hero King—Gilgamesh, the wielder of the Chains of Heaven, Enkidu.

***

Gilgamesh, the Hero King.

The Gilgamesh who possessed the Gate of Babylon, the treasury of all the world's treasures.

If the system's role-playing recognition reached 100%, the card would be fully unfrozen.

Then, he could use the card to empower himself.

The result? He would gain all the abilities of the Hero King Gilgamesh from the Type-Moon universe.

In fact, his current identity was already Gilgamesh—just a young king who had recently ascended the throne of this city-state.

Originally, he—Bai Yue—was just an ordinary office worker.

Like many others, he lived a monotonous life: work, home, repeat. A corporate drone with no time for anything else.

A girlfriend? Forget it.

Maintaining a real-life relationship was too much trouble. He'd rather stick to his 2D waifus.

Then one day, he "lay flat"—not in the metaphorical sense, but literally. His body went cold, and he found himself in the morgue.

It happened on a day off while he was binge-watching *Fate*. His TV, a cheap knockoff, suddenly started smoking and caught fire.

Ironically, it happened during a high-intensity scene where a character unleashed a flashy ultimate move. For a moment, he thought the attack was about to break through the screen and hit him in real life.

In his panic, he tried to unplug the TV and ended up electrocuted.

When he woke up, he found himself in ancient Sumer, over 4,000 years in the past.

He had been reincarnated as Gilgamesh.

Surprisingly, he wasn't too shaken by this. His previous life had been going nowhere, and as an orphan, he didn't have many attachments.

So, in a way, this was his chance at a new life—a transmigration, as the novels called it.

But where were the cheat abilities that every transmigrator seemed to get?

He did have one: a role-playing system.

If he could perfectly embody the role of Gilgamesh and achieve 100% recognition from the system, he would unlock the card and gain its powers.

Of course, "perfectly embodying" the role didn't mean he had to follow Gilgamesh's exact story.

As long as his actions and achievements were comparable to the original, and he earned a similar legacy, that would suffice.

Generally, it was safer to follow the original story, and the system provided relevant records to guide him.

If he deviated too much and caused a butterfly effect that erased his legacy, the role-playing would fail, and he wouldn't become the Hero King.

That's why he kept a close eye on the system's recognition progress. If it dropped, it meant he had made a mistake. If it increased, he was on the right track.

So, what would cause the role-playing to fail? The simplest answer was death.

Either he could be killed during the process, or he could die of old age or illness before completing the progress.

And what happened if he failed? Would he die for real?

No. The system would simply move him to the next role-playing scenario, set in a different era.

As for what the next role would be, the system didn't say. He'd probably only find out after failing—or succeeding.

Or maybe he'd have to figure it out after waking up in his new life.

Now, was poisoning the two powerful institutions part of the system's suggested storyline?

No. It was his own decision.

Even with the system's guidance, deviations were inevitable.

Why?

Because small details—like his words, actions, and demeanor—could have unpredictable effects.

For example, the system's records might say that Gilgamesh went hunting on a certain day and got into a conflict with someone.

But the records didn't specify the exact time, the nature of the conflict, or its outcome. He had to figure those out himself, which left room for error.

A minor conflict in the original story might have only caused resentment, but if he handled it poorly, it could escalate into a life-or-death situation. That was the kind of deviation he had to avoid.

Because of these deviations, he had no choice but to take the risk of poisoning the two institutions.

So, what kind of world was this?

Was it an ordinary world?

No. This was a world where gods might exist.

Was he in the Type-Moon universe? Would he become a Heroic Spirit?

If this was the Type-Moon world, wouldn't the system's rewards be redundant?

Suddenly, a commotion snapped him out of his thoughts.

The high priest, Anu, had arrived.

Standing at the entrance, Anu was horrified by the scene before him. He hesitated to step inside.

When he noticed the king on the throne, casually resting his chin on his hand and smiling at him, a chill ran down his spine.

To Anu, the king's calm demeanor in the face of such carnage was unnerving.

It made him wonder: had the king orchestrated this massacre?

This young king, who had always seemed harmless, had just wiped out almost the entire leadership of the two most powerful institutions.

"My king, what… what happened here?"

Anu's voice trembled as he spoke, his eyes filled with fear.

"Oh, nothing much," the king replied casually. "These people were getting in my way. They wanted to turn me into a puppet, so I cursed them."

As he spoke, blue flames flickered to life around him, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

Anu broke out in a cold sweat. It seemed the young king truly possessed some terrifying power.

A curse? Could he really use such dark magic?

"High Priest Anu, I trust you don't share their ambitions?"

The king's voice was calm, but his gaze was piercing, as if he could see straight into Anu's soul.

"N-no, of course not!"

Anu quickly denied, fearing that any hesitation would lead to his own demise.

"Good."

The king leaned back on his throne, his smile both chilling and triumphant.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, the gods were holding a council.

A council that would decide the fate of humanity—to destroy or to preserve.

***

The sound of hurried yet steady footsteps echoed through the grand halls of Valhalla.

The footsteps belonged to a woman exuding an aura of solemnity and strength. Her long, jet-black hair was adorned with a wing-shaped hairpin, and her striking features needed no embellishment. She wore a knightly attire, her tall frame radiating an intimidating presence that spoke of countless battles.

She looked like a legendary Valkyrie—because she was one.

She was Brynhildr, the eldest of the 13 Valkyrie sisters in Norse mythology.

Behind her, another set of footsteps followed, lighter and more hurried. A petite girl, seemingly around 13 or 14 years old, struggled to keep up.

She had short, lavender hair, large emerald-green eyes, and a delicate, cherry-colored mouth. Her small frame was dressed in casual clothes, though one of her slender legs was clad in a black thigh-high sock, as if to stand out.

This adorable girl was also a Valkyrie—the youngest of the sisters, named Grei.

The two were heading toward a magnificent and solemn building: the Valhalla Council Hall.

"Sister Brynhildr," Grei called out, her small fists clenched nervously at her chest.

She had a bad feeling. Her beloved older sister seemed about to do something reckless.

The Valhalla Council Hall was a place where only the gods gathered. As half-gods, the Valkyrie sisters had no right to enter.

Today, the hall was hosting a once-in-a-millennium meeting—a meeting that would decide the fate of humanity.

Brynhildr, who had always been connected to humans, seemed determined to intervene.

Grei had heard rumors. This time, the council might truly pass a verdict of destruction.

As a Valkyrie, Brynhildr couldn't stand by and watch.

Neither could Grei, but what could she do? She was just a half-god, the youngest and weakest of the Valkyries—a trainee.

As they approached the council hall, Grei grew more anxious. Inside were beings of immense power—true gods.

Brynhildr, however, strode forward without hesitation.

Grei bit her lip and followed.

***

Inside the Valhalla Council Hall, the atmosphere was tense.

"Esteemed colleagues, it has been a thousand years since our last meeting," a frail, elderly voice began.

The speaker was a thin, white-robed old man who looked as if a strong breeze could knock him over. He was Zeus, the chairman of the Valhalla Council and the chief god of Greek mythology.

"Let us now begin the meeting—the Conference on the Survival of Humanity, attended by gods from all over the world!"

As he spoke, his eyes, previously hidden beneath thick brows, opened to reveal a sharp, piercing gaze.

"Shall we allow humanity to continue for another thousand years? Or shall we bring about their end?"

This was the theme of the meeting.

Every millennium, the gods gathered to vote on whether humanity should be allowed to survive for another thousand years.

Thus, the reasons for humanity's potential extinction weren't limited to asteroids, nuclear war, or alien invasions—there was also the judgment of the gods.

"Now, esteemed gods, please voice your opinions," Zeus declared.

The hall remained eerily silent at first, the gods seemingly disinterested.

"Fine~ let's just end them," a lazy voice drawled.

The speaker was Shiva, one of the three chief gods of Hinduism, the god of destruction and creation. He lounged lazily, two of his four arms raising signs marked with an "X" to signify destruction.

"In my opinion, humanity has shown no remorse over the past thousand years. Let's just wipe them all out."

"As Lord Shiva said, the world has become increasingly ugly over the past millennium. The oceans are filled with trash and..."

The second voice belonged to a goddess of breathtaking beauty—Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty.

She, too, supported destruction, as humanity had made the world increasingly unbearable.

One by one, the other gods voiced their criticisms of humanity. None spoke in favor of humanity's survival.

"Humans are the scourge of this world."

"Let humanity perish."

"They're nothing but pests!"

"I'm tired of guiding them."

"They're beyond saving. Let them be destroyed."

The gods had clearly lost all hope in humanity. They were ready to declare humanity's end in this very council.

"It seems we have reached a conclusion," Zeus said, raising his gavel to deliver the final verdict.

"Then, in this Conference on the Survival of Humanity, it is unanimously decided that humanity shall—"

"Wait!"

A voice rang out, interrupting Zeus.

It was Brynhildr, who had just arrived.

Despite the angry glares from the gods, she stood tall and unyielding. She was determined to stop the gods from declaring humanity's end.

She invoked a special clause in the Valhalla Constitution—Article 62, Section 15—which allowed for a one-on-one battle between gods and humans.

She proposed a final showdown: 13 gods versus 13 humans. If humanity achieved 7 victories first, they would be allowed to survive until the next Conference on the Survival of Humanity.

To provoke the gods, she insinuated that refusing the challenge would mean they were afraid of losing to humans.

Enraged, the gods accepted her proposal, eager to prove humanity's inferiority.

Brynhildr was tasked with selecting the 13 human participants.

"Thirteen humans…"

These 13 individuals would carry the fate of humanity on their shoulders. She couldn't afford to make a mistake.

Her first choice was already clear: Adam, a man blessed by God himself.

As Brynhildr prepared to summon Adam, she overheard a conversation among the Babylonian gods.

What she heard shocked her—a secret unknown even to most gods.

Someone had successfully slain a god.

And not just any god—a powerful one.