Chapter Eleven – A Test of Strength
The storm had passed, leaving the world fresh and glistening beneath the morning sun. The group resumed their journey, following an old forest trail that led toward the next village.
It was supposed to be a peaceful day.
But then—
The ground trembled.
Stark tensed. "Did you feel that?"
Before anyone could answer, a massive shadow loomed overhead. With a deafening crash, something landed in their path, sending debris flying in all directions.
A wyvern.
The beast was massive—easily twice the size of a horse—with dark, jagged scales and piercing red eyes. It unfurled its wings, letting out a shriek that sent a flock of birds scattering into the sky.
Fern paled. "That's… that's a really big one."
Stark gritted his teeth. "And it looks angry."
Frieren calmly stepped forward. "I'll handle it."
But before she could lift a finger—
Gilgamesh moved.
Faster than the eye could follow.
In a single fluid motion, he raised his hand—and the Gates of Babylon opened behind him.
A dozen golden portals shimmered into existence, and from them, an arsenal of divine weapons emerged.
Before the wyvern could even react—
Blades rained down like falling stars.
Each one struck true, piercing the beast's thick hide, impaling it against the ground. The wyvern let out a final, pitiful shriek before falling still, its massive form slumping in a heap.
Silence.
The only sound was the rustling of leaves in the breeze.
Fern and Stark gawked.
Frieren merely raised an eyebrow.
Gilgamesh lowered his hand, the golden portals fading. He stepped toward the fallen creature, inspecting it with mild curiosity. "Stronger than the average wyvern. But still unremarkable."
Stark let out a breath. "That was… excessive."
Fern nodded rapidly. "You didn't even move."
Gilgamesh glanced at them, his expression unreadable. "Did you wish for me to hold back?"
"No! No, I mean—" Fern flailed her hands. "It's just… we're used to Frieren handling things, and she usually doesn't obliterate monsters like that in five seconds."
Frieren smirked. "I could, but I prefer using less effort."
Gilgamesh chuckled. "A philosophy I can respect."
Stark rubbed his temples. "Great. Now we have two terrifying ancient beings traveling with us."
Frieren turned to Gilgamesh. "You didn't even hesitate. Most adventurers would at least wait for it to attack first."
Gilgamesh shrugged. "I have long since stopped giving my enemies the luxury of the first move."
There was something in his tone.
Not arrogance.
Not cruelty.
Just… experience.
As if he had seen far too many battles to entertain the notion of holding back.
Frieren studied him for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough."
The group resumed their journey, stepping past the fallen wyvern as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.
Fern whispered to Stark. "I think we just got a glimpse of what he was like back in the old days."
Stark nodded solemnly. "Yeah… and I really hope we never end up on the wrong side of that."
Gilgamesh merely smiled, the golden glow of his eyes flickering like dying embers.
The past was gone.
But remnants of the King of Heroes still lingered.
And the world would soon remember.