Please, Let Me Ascend to the Throne of Heroes! [2]

The temple complex of Uruk was a sprawling labyrinth.

Unlike the world Rovi had come from, the era he now found himself in was one where the gods truly existed—where myth was reality.

And because of that, the people’s faith in the gods wasn’t just a primitive awe of nature, but a deep expression of loyalty, fear, and dependence upon divine beings.

Every king of Uruk, generation after generation, would restore and expand the temple, building upon what their predecessors had left behind.

For people of this era, it was only natural to believe that humanity lived under the rule and protection of the gods.

Even someone as dismissive of the gods as Gilgamesh couldn’t truly change that. Otherwise, there would be no point in holding a festival to honor the gods at all.

The annual collective ritual for the gods was, to say the least, a grand affair.

But for now, all of this was only background noise to Rovi. Once he’d received word from the High Priest, brought to him by one of the temple’s attendants, he immediately took his clay tablet and left his chamber, making his way through the maze of steps and corridors. It took some time before he finally reached the heart of the temple complex, where the ritual was to be held:

The Pantheon.

The main hall dedicated to the gods.

Built of enormous, seamless blocks of natural stone, its towering columns stood like the primordial pillars that the god Ea had carved from the earth to uphold the world.

The statues of countless gods lined the four walls. In the very center, occupying the core position, stood the sky god Anu, king of the gods.

In front of Anu’s image, the old priest—draped in his linen robes—saw Rovi entering through the side door and couldn’t help but nod approvingly. “Rovi, you’ve worked hard.”

He repeated himself, looking both proud and pleased at Rovi’s prompt arrival.

“This is my duty,” Rovi replied with a gentle smile, glancing around.

All the other priests were already in their places, each seated with solemn dignity before the statue of their respective patron deity.

This seating arrangement was tradition for the annual festival.

Standing before the king of the gods’ statue, the High Priest naturally presided over Anu’s rites—but more than that, he was also the host for the entire festival.

Except, this year, he was not the one to preside. That role belonged to Rovi—

—the successor personally chosen by the old priest.

“Everyone, I’ll be counting on you.” The old man addressed the assembled priests, his tone sincere. “It’s Rovi’s first time leading a ritual of this scale. I hope you’ll all support him.”

“Don’t worry, High Priest. We’ll cooperate with Rovi in every way,” the priests replied.

Having dedicated their lives to serving the gods, these priests were no longer young. Toward Rovi, they felt only kindness—and perhaps a bit of envy for the High Priest, who had found such a worthy successor.

But now was not the time for idle talk, so no one said much more.

“The King is coming!” someone called out from beyond the doors.

At once, the priests fell silent, their expressions growing solemn.

The High Priest quietly stepped aside, leaving the spot before Anu’s image to Rovi.

From the openwork dome above, light poured down—golden, shimmering with the dawn.

Rovi stood tall.

He had already changed into his ritual linen robes on the way here. Holding his clay tablet in both hands, he gazed at the open doorway, his expression grave and unmoving—perhaps even a bit tense.

To those watching, it was only natural.

After all, though this wasn’t Rovi’s first ritual, it was his first time leading one of such importance. Anyone would be nervous.

But the truth was, Rovi’s nerves had nothing to do with the ritual itself.

All I’m thinking about is how to provoke the incoming king—how to push Gilgamesh’s rage to the limit and fulfill my own goal.

At that moment, noise echoed outside the temple doors.

A muffled thud.

First, a procession of servants entered, already prepared and moving in order. Then came the soft roll of carpets made from fine wool, unfurled across the floor. Treasures were laid out, rare and precious offerings placed before the statues of the gods.

And then, finally—the main event. Gilgamesh made his entrance.

“Tch. So this is the so-called festival of the gods? Such extravagance, all for a bunch of worthless voyeurs who only dare peek down from the heavens. Wasting my treasures on them—nothing could infuriate me more!”

The familiar voice of Uruk’s king echoed through the temple.

It seemed that, even here, in such a setting, he couldn’t be bothered to restrain himself...

Standing beside Rovi, the High Priest—reduced to the role of a mere attendant—could only sigh silently, placing all hope for Uruk’s continued relationship with the gods on Rovi’s shoulders.

Honestly, it’s a wonder anyone would call this a “civilized” solution... Rovi himself hadn’t exactly shown great reverence for the gods, either.

But compared to Gilgamesh, Rovi was practically a saint.

For the first time, the old priest realized why he had such faith in Rovi.

Rovi, meanwhile, wasn’t thinking about any of this. He simply passed by the rare treasures that had just been presented, eyes fixed on the doorway.

A tall figure entered, surrounded by servants.

Just as Rovi remembered: Gilgamesh’s short hair shone like gold, his sculpted features could have been chiseled by the gods, and his crimson eyes—pupils slit like a serpent’s—glimmered with an inhuman brilliance. Draped in a skirt-like garment typical of the era, his upper body bare, skin crisscrossed with glowing red circuits—his muscles hard as stone, shining with a godlike radiance.

His cruelty was infamous throughout Uruk.

And yet, none could deny—Gilgamesh had the bearing of a king.

He strode forward, surrounded by his attendants, making his way toward the statues of the gods without the slightest pretense of respect.

If anything, he seemed more interested in Rovi, who now stood before the image of Enlil, king of the gods.

“So, the High Priest has been replaced this year? Hmph, fine. Better you than that old relic—let’s hope you can at least put on an interesting show for me, mongrel!”

Gilgamesh’s arrogance was as blatant as ever.

Normally, anyone in Rovi’s position would respond with silence, doing their best to avoid the king’s unpredictable temper.

That was what most people in Uruk would have done.

But Rovi, desperate for death, was no ordinary man.

Though it wasn’t yet time to hand over his clay tablet, Rovi knew this was the perfect moment to make an impression.

Raging fury wasn’t something you could provoke all at once—it needed to build.

I should leave him with a good, strong first impression.

Now was the time.

“Believe me, Your Majesty. You’ll ‘enjoy’ it,” Rovi replied with a smile—his voice echoing through the temple, calm on the surface, but edged with unmistakable mockery.

“Mongrel, did I give you permission to speak?” Gilgamesh’s crimson eyes narrowed, and he let out a cold laugh.

The assembled priests, servants, and guards all froze.

No one had expected Rovi to respond to Gilgamesh’s casual taunt.

If the king lost his temper now... the consequences could be disastrous.

And yet, against all expectations, Uruk’s king merely smirked, showing no real sign of outrage...

This young priest was more interesting than he’d expected.

If anything, Gilgamesh seemed to be hoping that this festival would go awry.

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This is a fan translation of 求你让我上英灵座吧 by 洛州白马 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!