The Royal Palace...
The afternoon sun streamed through the grand window of the royal palace, casting a warm glow across the lavishly decorated chamber. The room, with its high arched ceilings and rich tapestries, was a place where matters of great importance were discussed, and today was no exception. Standing by the large window was an elderly man with a long, snow-white beard, his posture upright, exuding authority and wisdom. His piercing gaze was fixed on the two men seated at the royal table before him, both seasoned in matters of the kingdom.
One of the seated men was slightly plump. He sat with his hands clasped in front of him, his expression serious but composed. The other was stern-faced, with sharp, hawk-like eyes that scanned every detail with intensity. His demeanor suggested a man who didn't tolerate nonsense, and his gaze now narrowed as he awaited the news the white-bearded man was about to deliver.
The elder cleared his throat, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Yesterday, the leader of the royal knights brought us a report," he began, his tone grave. "A report about a man staying at Roswaal's mansion—someone who may prove to be a significant threat to the kingdom."
The sharp-eyed man's gaze gleamed with interest, though his expression remained guarded. "A threat, you say? Who is this man?"
The white-bearded elder paused, as if considering how best to explain the gravity of the situation. "He calls himself Gilgamesh—the King of Heroes."
The name itself seemed to hang in the air, heavy and foreboding. The sharp-eyed man's brow furrowed, though he quickly dismissed the notion with a scoff. "King of Heroes?" His voice was tinged with skepticism. "You can't be serious, Roux. This sounds like a mere boast from an arrogant noble. Even if he claims to be a king, he is still but one man. No matter how strong, he is still just one man."
But Roux's expression did not change, and he met the sharp-eyed man's gaze with a steady look. "This is no exaggeration, Bordeaux." he replied quietly. "The explosion you heard yesterday, the one that shook even the capital? That was caused by this man—by Gilgamesh."
He paused, allowing the gravity of the revelation to sink in. "He is not just a fleeting name or a curious rumor. Today, he is on the lips of every citizen, from noble lords to the common folk. His name is sweeping through the kingdom like wildfire. A man who can unleash such immense power in a single day, a man who makes the very earth tremble beneath his will… this is no mere threat, Bordeaux. He has openly claimed the throne for himself."
At this, both the plump man and Bordeaux stiffened. The calm man's composed expression faltered for a brief moment as he exchanged a glance with the stern-faced one, who had gone quiet, his sharp eyes narrowing further as he processed this revelation.
Roux continued, his voice steady but grim. "According to the report, Gilgamesh is capable of using all elements with an ease that is unheard of. Fire, water, wind, earth—nothing seems beyond his reach. His powers are… mysterious. We do not know their true extent, nor their origin."
The calm man leaned forward slightly, his tone concerned. "All elements? That alone is a troubling revelation, but..." He hesitated, then added, "Surely the Sword Saint, with his divine protections, would have been able to sense something—anything—about this man?"
Roux's face darkened. "That is where things become even more concerning. Even the Sword Saint himself was unable to discern whether Gilgamesh possesses any divine protections. The report stated that the Sword Saint could not sense anything from him at all, as if Gilgamesh's powers are completely beyond the realm of our understanding."
Both the calm man and Bordeaux sat in stunned silence for a moment, the weight of the revelation sinking in. The plump man's face grew more serious, his brow furrowing in thought, while the sharp-eyed man's eyes narrowed, his stern expression tinged with frustration.
"Another man with affinities to all elements," Bordeaux muttered, the edge in his voice betraying his irritation. "As if dealing with Roswaal wasn't enough of a headache, now we have this Gilgamesh to contend with? One man capable of rivaling the Archmage?"
Roux nodded, his expression somber. "Indeed. And on top of that, even the Sword Saint—gifted with every divine protection—could not determine if Gilgamesh had any protection at all. This man is no ordinary threat. He could very well be something far more dangerous than anything we've encountered before."
Bordeaux, still visibly disturbed, slammed his hand down on the table with a grim resolve. "Then he must be killed immediately. If he poses such a threat to the kingdom, we cannot afford to wait until he decides to act."
But before Bordeaux could continue, the calm man interjected, his voice carrying an air of caution. "No, we cannot take that course of action."
Bordeaux turned sharply toward his companion, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "And why not Miklotov?" he demanded, his voice rising with frustration. "You just heard the report. This man, Gilgamesh, is a threat unlike any we've faced. We cannot let him roam free, plotting against the kingdom."
Miklotov sighed, leaning back in his chair as he met Bordeaux's gaze with a steady look. "Think," he began slowly. "Gilgamesh's name has already begun to spread throughout the kingdom. His feats, his power—people are talking about him. If we were to have him killed, it would not be seen as an act of justice. It would be seen as the kingdom fearing one man and resorting to cowardly assassination to silence him."
Bordeaux clenched his fists, the muscles in his jaw tightening as he struggled to contain his frustration. "So we are supposed to do nothing? Wait until he claims the throne, as he so boldly declared?"
Miklotov's gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "No. We must be cautious, but we cannot act rashly. Imagine the damage to the kingdom's reputation if word spread that we killed a single man out of fear. The knights' honor would be tarnished, and the people would lose faith in the crown. Our enemies would see it as weakness."
Bordeaux fell silent, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface, but Miklotov's words had struck a chord. He understood the delicate nature of the situation. As much as he loathed the idea of letting a potential threat roam free, the consequences of acting too hastily could be just as disastrous.
Roux, who had remained quiet during the exchange, nodded in agreement. "He is right. The kingdom's reputation is fragile, and Gilgamesh has already made an impression. Killing him now would only fuel rumors and create unrest among the people. We must find another way to deal with him—one that doesn't involve direct confrontation, at least not yet."
Bordeaux let out a slow, frustrated breath, but eventually, he gave a reluctant nod. "Fine," he muttered, his voice laced with grudging acceptance. "But mark my words, if this Gilgamesh makes any move against the kingdom, we cannot afford to hesitate."
Miklotov met his gaze with a firm nod of his own. "Agreed. We will remain vigilant. But for now, we must tread carefully."
The three men fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the decision pressing down on them like the oppressive air before a storm. Outside, the sun continued its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the palace, as if foreshadowing the dangers that lay ahead for the kingdom.
.............................
Rosowaal's Mansion...
Gilgamesh could be seen lounging in the grand royal bathroom, his form reclining in a massive, luxuriously designed bathtub filled with steaming hot water. The opulence of the bathroom reflected the extravagance of the mansion itself—gilded edges adorned the marble, intricate designs of gold and red lined the walls, and the air was thick with the calming scent of lavender and fine oils. In one hand, Gilgamesh held a glass of wine, swirling the deep red liquid lazily as he rested, his muscles relaxed against the warmth of the water.
The tranquility of the moment was unmistakable, his royal demeanor as untouchable as ever. His eyes, half-lidded with disinterest, reflected the gleam of the golden goblet in his hand. Every movement he made, even in such a relaxed state, carried the air of someone utterly in control, a king basking in his own power.
But the peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by the sudden creak of the door. To Gilgamesh's annoyance, Roswaal entered the bathroom unceremoniously, his ever-present, almost theatrical smile dancing on his painted lips. Without waiting for an invitation, Roswaal sauntered into the room, his flamboyant attire rustling softly as he approached the massive bathtub. Instead of stopping at its edge, however, Roswaal gracefully disrobed, his movements fluid and deliberate, as though he were putting on a show. Then, with a casual air, he slipped into the steaming water, settling down across from Gilgamesh, his legs crossing beneath the surface.
Gilgamesh's expression darkened, crimson eyes narrowing as he watched the mage intrude upon what had been his private sanctuary. Roswaal, as always, remained unfazed, his painted lips curled into a faint smirk. He reclined comfortably, his piercing gaze never leaving Gilgamesh's face, as though oblivious—or perhaps indifferent—to Gilgamesh's growing irritation.
The bathwater rippled gently between them, the steam rising in thin wisps, but the tension in the air was palpable. It was clear that Roswaal's intrusion, bold as it was, was not just a matter of conversation. There was something deliberate, almost provocative, in the way he joined Gilgamesh without a hint of hesitation.
After a brief, almost uncomfortable silence, he spoke, his voice carrying that sing-song lilt that often masked his cunning. "I was cuuurious, Gilgamesh~," Roswaal began, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Have you, perrrchance, come across a naaame called Natsuki Subaru in your time heeere~?"
Gilgamesh's gaze flicked briefly toward Roswaal, his expression unreadable as he gave a short, dismissive answer. "No," he said simply, his voice devoid of interest. The answer was blunt, and it was clear he had no intention of humoring Roswaal's inquiries further.
Undeterred, Roswaal leaned in slightly, as if probing for more. "Cuurious~," he mused, his voice maintaining its playful edge. "And... how do you view Emilia, theeen~? She is, after aaall, the one striving for a goooal that could chaaange the fate of this kiiingdom~."
Gilgamesh's irritation was growing more evident with each passing question, though he answered with a measured calm. "She's nothing more than an innocent girl," he replied, his tone cool and detached. "Her goals are delusional, to be sure, but understandable, given her nature. There is no malice in her—only a misguided sense of nobility."
Roswaal's smile never faltered, though there was a glint of something sharper in his gaze as he leaned back, his hands resting lightly on the edge of the tub. He regarded Gilgamesh with a curious expression before speaking again, this time in a more probing manner. "And what of you, Gilgamesh~?" Roswaal's voice was quieter now, almost conspiratorial. "What is your origiiin~? Are you truly human, as you appeeear~? Or is there something moooore... mysteriooous about your existeeence~?"
That was the breaking point.
Gilgamesh's patience, thin to begin with, snapped. His eyes, now glinting with a dangerous intensity, locked onto Roswaal's with an icy glare. "Enough." His voice was a low, commanding growl, filled with the raw power of someone not to be trifled with. The air in the room seemed to chill, the atmosphere shifting as his irritation boiled over. "I grow weary of your incessant questions. If you value your life, Roswaal, I suggest you shut your mouth. Consider yourself honored that I haven't already kicked you out of here."
Roswaal, clearly not expecting such a blunt and threatening response, blinked in mild surprise. For a brief moment, the facade of his carefree demeanor faltered, and his voice lowered into a near whisper. "But... this is my mansion."
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed, the weight of his gaze enough to make the room feel suffocating. "What was that?" he asked, his tone carrying a menacing undertone that dared Roswaal to repeat himself.
Roswaal, realizing the precarious position he had put himself in, quickly averted his gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips as he replied softly, "N-nothing, Gilgamesh."
Satisfied with Roswaal's retreat, Gilgamesh leaned back into the tub, his expression returning to one of detached amusement as he raised his goblet of wine to his lips once more. He took a slow sip, savoring the moment. The tension lingered, but Roswaal wisely kept his mouth shut.
The silence between them was thick, but Gilgamesh, ever the master of control, was content to let it stretch. After all, there was no need for more words when his dominance had already been established. Roswaal, though bold in his own right, knew better than to press further.
For now.