"Speaking of which, I rember you had a rather unpleasant encounter with him before we even t."
rlin expertly poured himself another glass of wine, his smile tinged with mischief.
"Ugh, that tactless brat from Israel!"
Gilgash's mouth twitched as the mory was dragged back up, the kind that qualified as personal black history.
Clairvoyance, in theory, is a special power that allows one to perceive the past and future—and those chosen by fate who possess it often develop a sense of each other's presence.
Which ant, under the right conditions, they could communicate across ti and space through shared thought.
Back in the early days, when Gilgash had just beco the Wise King, he'd sensed the presence of two others like him. That gave him a rather amusing idea.
What if he, as the "senior," took it upon himself to ntor the two newcors with Clairvoyance? Surely sothing interesting would co of it.
So, with a spark of curiosity, the King of Heroes used secret Magecraft rituals in an attempt to impart a little wisdom to these juniors who, like him, were shackled by fate.
But when he reached out to the second one—a little kid from Israel, barely a ter tall, with white curls and seated on a throne—the response he got was just one line:
"I am all-knowing and all-powerful. I require no guidance."
That cold, contemptuous gaze nearly made Gilgash choke on the spot.
And to add insult to injury, the brat blocked him imdiately after saying it—without even breaking eye contact!
Coming back to the present, Gilgash glanced sideways at the grinning rlin and snorted.
"It wasn't just that Israeli brat. You weren't much better when we first t!"
Because after that frustrating attempt, once the King of Heroes finally cald himself down enough to reach out to the great sage of Britannia...
Gilgash figured that among the three of them, rlin's Clairvoyance was the weakest. Surely, if he stooped to offer guidance, the little fool would be overjoyed, even moved to tears.
He did not expect the response to be—
The immature white-haired Incubus wiped drool from the corner of his mouth, blinked his sly almond eyes, and asked:
"Are you a pretty big sister?"
"No!"
"Then forget it. I want a pretty big sister to teach ."
And that was the end of it. After taking two consecutive emotional hits, Gilgash imdiately doused the last embers of his well-aning "teacher of the people" spirit, dismantled the ritual Magecraft, and never again tried contacting those two brats.
That incident marked a shared dark chapter for all three of them.
Now, when they brought it up, the awkwardness had faded, replaced by a strange sort of nostalgia.
Gilgash and rlin exchanged a glance, raised their glasses, and downed the amber wine in one go.
"I was glad you ca back then…"
"I didn't want to. But hey, I've got to eat."
"Human dreams are my food stores. The ss that King of Israel left behind was about to cut off my rations—I had to do sothing to salvage it."
rlin smiled faintly, the glint of mory soft in his eyes.
"Truth be told, during the collapse of Mystery in Britannia, both natural and human disasters ran rampant. Just getting a full al was a blessing."
"The Knights of the Round Table in Calot worked hardest in two places."
"One was the battlefield. The other was the dinner table…"
"That's why the spell I used as a signal during warti was: 'Artoria! Dinner's ready!'"
Hearing the great sage recount the tale so vividly, Gilgash couldn't help but laugh, his abs beginning to ache from holding it in.
But for so reason, when the subject turned to Britannia and Artoria, that playful, roguish smile on the Incubus's face faded slightly, and his voice grew quiet.
"Go on. I'm interested in what happened in your Britannia…"
Gilgash casually grabbed another jug of wine and tossed it across the table to the great sage, the corners of his mouth curling with a rare, genuine curiosity.
It wasn't often this old liar opened up and showed a softer side.
Tonight, Gilgash was willing to be the listener.
After all, the rain was heavy, and the night was long.
It wasn't just Uruk that was bound by fate and yearned to break free.
Britannia was the sa.
...
anwhile, in the embassy, Kukulkan stirred at the sound of footsteps. She rose and opened the door to find a man and his daughter from Uruk standing in the rain, each carrying a basket full of fruits and sweets.
"At last, we finally get to et you, Kukulkan-sama."
"Thank you for the... the fruit you gave last ti—"
"Mango!"
His daughter, wearing her hair in a ponytail, lifted her little face and promptly corrected him.
"Yes, mango!"
"After eating it, I felt so much better. All my aches and pains disappeared completely. It's really thanks to you."
"To show our gratitude, we've brought so local specialties from Uruk. I hope you won't mind accepting them."
Only then did Kukulkan recall—this was the soldier she'd helped near the city gates, the one who'd been suffering under the corrosive effects of death energy. She had offered a bit of casual aid out of kindness, never expecting the man to rember, let alone go out of his way to track her down and deliver a gift in the middle of a rainy night.
"Ah, I've actually been wanting to try Uruk's food and fruits for a while. Thank you."
Smiling warmly, Kukulkan bent down and gently patted the little girl's head. A soft golden glow, warm as sunlight, quietly sank into the back of the child's neck.
Those who hold reverence for the gods deserve the gods' affection in return.
This was a divine blessing. While it couldn't grant her supernatural power, it would allow this fragile life to grow up healthy, free of illness and harm.
The three entered the room and chatted briefly before the father and daughter stood to take their leave.
Outside, on the rain-soaked streets, the pair ran ho through the downpour, lighthearted and overjoyed, as if a weight had been lifted from their hearts.
Kukulkan watched them go, then turned her gaze skyward toward the deep, dark night. She opened her hand and caught a few raindrops the size of soybeans in her palm. A soft sigh escaped her lips.
You've been far too cruel to these children.
...
In the loft above the Sacrificial Grounds, fire roared in the hearth. The Jaguar Warrior lay sprawled across a rug of soft monster fur, downing mug after mug of barley beer while tearing into skewered roast at with oil-slicked fangs.
Half-drunk, cheeks flushed, the feline deity slurred boastful nonsense through a haze of alcohol, babbling about her heroic feats of beating up Kukulkan and reigning over two solar eras with unrivaled glory.
Around her, a dozen priests—tasked with serving the divine being—grimaced as they dutifully recorded her words onto clay tablets. The shrine maidens, anwhile, worked on sculpting her likeness from her ramblings.
In the kitchen, fat sizzled and popped as at roasted over open flas. Four or five seasoned chefs took turns presenting their finest dishes, not forgetting to offer so fresh fruit to cut the grease.
Hohaha! Uruk really is paradise! It's the perfect place for a jaguar to live!
Boneless, floaty, and near blissful, the Jaguar Warrior had fully surrendered herself to this full-service indulgence.
But after a few rolls across the rug, she scowled at the sound of rain tapping against the window.
The looming, pitch-black clouds made her feel stifled—she just couldn't fully enjoy herself.
Seriously, this heavy rain outside is the worst. Makes it impossible to get a good night's sleep.
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