Gcm2
Chapter 5: The Northern Route (Continued)
...guides, you shall enjoy appropriate hospitality." With an imperious gesture, he summoned additional cushions and what appeared to be silk sleeping pallets. "These will provide adequate rest for your mortal forms."
Serra approached the offerings with undisguised amazement, cautiously touching one of the embroidered cushions. "This fabric... I've never seen its like. It feels stronger than silk but softer than down."
"Divine-thread weave from the gardens of Ishtar," Gilgamesh explained casually. "A minor treasure, but practical for temporary accommodations."
Frieren noticed how the hunter's eyes widened at this casual reference to divine craftsmanship. Serra was clearly being drawn into the gravitational pull of Gilgamesh's extraordinary presence—a reaction Frieren understood all too well, despite her own scholarly detachment.
As evening descended, they gathered in Gilgamesh's pavilion for the meal he insisted on providing. The King of Heroes summoned an array of foods and wines from his treasury that made their travel provisions seem paltry by comparison—exotic meats in glistening sauces, fruits with impossible coloration, and breads that steamed despite having no visible heat source.
"Your world's cuisine lacks proper sophistication," he declared, pouring a luminescent golden wine into goblets that had materialized before each of them. "But you shall taste true excellence tonight."
Serra, less restrained by familiarity than the two mages, couldn't suppress a gasp of delight as she tasted the wine. "This is... I can't even describe it. Like drinking sunlight and honey together."
Gilgamesh smiled with smug satisfaction. "Ambrosia-infused vintage from the eastern slopes of my kingdom. Even gods requested it as tribute."
Their conversation flowed more freely as the meal progressed, the exceptional food and drink creating an atmosphere of relaxed camaraderie that transcended their vastly different origins. Gilgamesh, when not making pronouncements about his own greatness, proved surprisingly knowledgeable about natural phenomena and wildlife behaviors.
"These Shadowbeasts," he mused, refilling Serra's goblet with casual generosity, "they bear similarities to creatures I encountered in the northern reaches of Uruk—shadow jackals that hunted along the boundaries of the underworld."
"Did you hunt those as well?" Serra asked, her professional hunter's interest evident.
Gilgamesh laughed. "Hunt them? I tamed a pack as royal coursers. They pulled my obsidian chariot during the Festival of Stars." His expression grew distant with memory. "Their speed was unmatched on moonless nights."
As the evening deepened and more wine was consumed, the pavilion's interior somehow expanded to accommodate lounging space around a central fire pit that produced warmth without smoke. Gilgamesh reclined on a golden couch, his armor replaced by more casual attire of such magnificent craftsmanship that it still outshone royal finery.
"Tell me of Aurelis," he commanded, though his tone had softened to something closer to genuine curiosity. "This city of knowledge you guide me toward."
Flamme, who had maintained her composed demeanor despite the exceptional wine, took up the explanation. "Aurelis was founded five centuries ago at the confluence of seven ley lines. It began as a mage retreat but grew into a center of learning that attracts scholars from across the known world."
"Seven convergent power sources?" Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow. "Structurally similar to Babylon's founding arrangement, though likely less potent."
"The convergence creates unique magical properties," Frieren added. "Spells cast within the city walls maintain stability longer than anywhere else in our world. It's why the Great Library was established there—magical preservation of knowledge."
This detail seemed to genuinely interest the King of Heroes. "A worthy application of power. In my experience, most civilizations squander magical convergences on trivial enchantments or wasteful displays."
"The Aurelian Council prioritizes knowledge above all else," Flamme continued. "Even during the Demon Wars, the city's libraries and universities remained operational."
"A civilization that values wisdom," Gilgamesh mused, swirling the luminescent wine in his goblet. "Unusual, but not without merit." He fixed Flamme with a penetrating gaze. "And what position do you hold in this repository of knowledge, mage? Your power suggests authority."
"I am an independent researcher affiliated with the Historical Arcana division," Flamme replied. "My focus is on tracing residual divine signatures in remote regions."
"Which is how you found me," Gilgamesh concluded. "Fortuitous for your world. Lesser beings might have approached with hostility rather than proper deference."
Serra, whose tolerance for the divine wine was proving less robust than the mages', laughed with surprising boldness. "Proper deference? From what I've seen, Master Flamme addresses you as an equal, not a subject."
A tense silence followed this observation. Frieren held her breath, uncertain how the proud king would respond to such a direct challenge to his status. To her surprise, Gilgamesh merely smiled—a genuine expression of amusement rather than his usual imperial condescension.
"Perceptive, huntress. Indeed, your master mage carries herself with the dignity of one accustomed to respect." He inclined his head slightly toward Flamme. "It does not offend me. True nobility recognizes nobility, even across disparate power scales."
The moment of potential conflict transformed into something more complex—a mutual acknowledgment between two strong personalities. Flamme accepted the quasi-compliment with graceful poise, raising her goblet in silent toast.
As the night progressed, the conversation turned to personal histories. Serra spoke of her upbringing in the northern ranges, learning hunting techniques from her grandmother while developing an intuitive understanding of the mountainous terrain. Frieren shared abbreviated tales of her decades studying under Flamme, carefully omitting details that might reveal the full extent of elven longevity.
Gilgamesh listened with surprising attentiveness, occasionally commenting on parallels to hunting traditions or training methods from his own world. When the topic shifted to his origins, however, he became simultaneously more expansive and more guarded—speaking grandly of his kingdom's glory while revealing little about his personal journey.
"Uruk stood at the center of civilization," he declared, gesturing dramatically with his goblet. "Its walls gleamed white in the desert sun, visible for a day's journey in all directions. The Euphrates flowed through gardens that made gods envious, and our ziggurats reached toward heaven itself."
"It sounds magnificent," Serra said, her eyes bright with wine and wonder. "Do you miss it?"
The question, innocent yet profound, caused a subtle shift in Gilgamesh's demeanor. For a heartbeat, something vulnerable flickered across his perfect features—a shadow of genuine longing quickly masked by imperial hauteur.
"Miss it? One does not 'miss' that which is eternally part of oneself," he replied. "I carry Uruk in my very essence. Its glory lives through me, wherever I travel across dimensions."
Despite the grandiose response, Frieren detected the evasion beneath his words. The King of Heroes, for all his divine attributes and interdimensional experiences, still harbored attachments to his original home—a surprisingly mortal sentiment that humanized him in unexpected ways.
As the hour grew late, exhaustion began to claim even Flamme's disciplined composure. Serra had already drifted into wine-softened slumber on her silk pallet, and Frieren fought to keep her eyes open despite the fascinating discussion.
"Rest," Gilgamesh commanded, noting their condition with amused tolerance. "Mortal forms require renewal, and we have distance yet to cover tomorrow."
Flamme nodded gracefully, rising from her cushion with practiced dignity despite the effects of the divine wine. "Thank you for your hospitality, Your Majesty. The meal was extraordinary."
"Of course it was," Gilgamesh replied, though his typical arrogance seemed tempered by something almost akin to warmth. "I expect alert minds tomorrow. Aurelis should prove more stimulating than these wilderness accommodations."
As Frieren moved to follow her master toward the sleeping area, her foot caught on the edge of a cushion. She stumbled forward, losing her balance in a most un-elflike display of clumsiness. Gilgamesh moved with supernatural speed, catching her before she could fall, one arm securing her waist while the other steadied her shoulder.
The contact lasted only moments, but Frieren found herself pressed against his chest, close enough to detect the faint scent of cedar and exotic spices that seemed to emanate from his person. His touch radiated warmth that had nothing to do with normal human body heat—more like sunlight concentrated into human form.
"The divine wine affects elven constitution more potently than expected," Gilgamesh observed, his voice closer to her ear than propriety would normally allow. "An interesting alchemical reaction worthy of study."
Frieren regained her footing and stepped back, her pale cheeks flushed with a combination of embarrassment and something more complex. "Thank you, Your Majesty. The wine is indeed... potent."
His crimson eyes studied her with unsettling perceptiveness. "Sleep well, apprentice mage. Your educational journey has only begun."
As Frieren retreated to her sleeping pallet, she was acutely aware of Flamme's knowing gaze following her. Her master's expression revealed nothing, but the slight raise of one eyebrow spoke volumes about her observation of the exchange.
Sleep came quickly despite Frieren's racing thoughts, the divine wine and extraordinary day conspiring to pull her into deep slumber. Her dreams were filled with golden light and ancient cities rising from desert sands, while a king with crimson eyes watched from a throne that overlooked eternity.
Chapter 6: Unexpected Detour
Dawn arrived with ominous weather—heavy clouds rolling in from the north, carrying the metallic scent of impending storm. Serra, recovered from the previous night's indulgences, studied the sky with professional concern.
"That's not normal autumn weather," she announced as they broke camp. "Too dense, moving too quickly. Something's not right."
Gilgamesh emerged from his pavilion, which dissolved behind him with a shimmer of golden light. He too gazed at the approaching storm front, his expression shifting from initial disinterest to focused attention.
"The hunter is correct," he declared. "That formation carries magical disruption. Similar patterns formed above Uruk when boundary incursions occurred from the divine realm."
Flamme extended her magical senses toward the clouds, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "There's definitely unnatural energy there. Demonic, but... different from common signatures. More concentrated."
"Should we seek shelter?" Frieren asked, already calculating defensive spells that might prove useful against magical storms.
Serra shook her head. "Not here. This ridge is too exposed. There's an abandoned watcher's outpost about two hours ahead—stone construction, built into the mountainside. That would be safer."
"Then we proceed with haste," Gilgamesh decided, surprising the others with his immediate acceptance of Serra's suggestion. "Though I fear not for myself, allowing companions to be damaged by lesser forces would reflect poorly on my magnanimity."
They moved quickly along the ridge path, Serra leading with increased urgency while continuously checking the advancing storm. The clouds moved unnaturally fast, boiling and writhing as if alive, occasionally illuminated from within by flashes of sickly purple lightning.
"Your world has fascinating weather patterns," Gilgamesh commented as they navigated a particularly narrow section of path. "In mine, such atmospheric disturbances usually preceded a god's temper tantrum."
"This is not natural," Flamme replied, her voice tight with concentration as she maintained a subtle barrier spell above their group. "Something is manipulating elemental forces on a large scale."
"The outpost is just ahead," Serra called back, pointing toward a stone structure partially visible around the mountain's curve. "We should reach it before—"
Her words were cut short as a bolt of unnatural lightning struck the path ahead, the stone exploding into fragments that forced them to shield their faces. When the dust cleared, a crack had formed across the entire width of the trail, too wide to jump safely.
"Inconvenient," Gilgamesh remarked with aristocratic understatement. He stepped forward, examining the gap with mild irritation. "A minor obstacle, easily overcome."
Before he could demonstrate whatever solution he had in mind, a sound rose above the gathering storm—a high, keening wail that seemed to come from the clouds themselves. The unnatural lightning flashed again, more frequently now, illuminating shapes within the storm that defied natural explanation.
"Storm demons," Flamme identified, her expression grim. "I've read accounts but never witnessed them directly. They're supposed to be sealed in the northern void realms."
"Your seals require maintenance," Gilgamesh observed dryly, as the first creature descended from the clouds.
It was vaguely humanoid but composed of swirling vapor and crackling energy, its form constantly shifting between solidity and dissipation. Lightning coursed through its misty body, and where it touched the mountainside, stone blackened and cracked.
"Behind me," Gilgamesh commanded, stepping forward with casual confidence. "These atmospheric irritants require proper discipline."
More entities were descending now, at least a dozen materializing from the storm clouds. They surrounded the narrow path, effectively cutting off both forward progress and retreat. Serra drew her twin blades, though her expression suggested she had serious doubts about their effectiveness against such otherworldly opponents.
"Normal weapons won't affect their ethereal forms," Flamme warned, already tracing complex patterns in the air for a high-level containment spell. "We need specialized magic or divine intervention."
"The latter is at hand," Gilgamesh announced with imperial certainty. Golden portals opened around him in a radiant crown, each revealing glimpses of weapons whose designs defied conventional understanding. "Observe how a king disciplines unruly elements."
The first storm demon lunged toward them, its form elongating into a spear of living lightning. Gilgamesh responded without apparent effort, a single golden sword launching from its portal to intercept the creature. Where blade met energy, there was no explosive reaction—instead, the demon's form simply collapsed around the weapon, as if the sword negated the very magical principles that allowed its existence.
"Your arsenal contains anti-magical properties," Flamme observed with scholarly interest, even as she completed her own protective barrier around their group.
"Each weapon in my treasury bears specific attributes," Gilgamesh confirmed, directing more blades toward the advancing demons with negligent grace. "These vermin are susceptible to implements that severed divine lightning in my world."
What followed was less a battle than a one-sided demonstration of supernatural dominance. The storm demons attacked with increasing desperation, combining their forms into larger entities or splitting into smaller, faster-moving targets. None of these tactics proved effective against Gilgamesh's weapons, which tracked them with unerring precision regardless of their transformations.
Frieren, maintaining a secondary barrier to reinforce Flamme's, found herself mesmerized by the King of Heroes in action. His movements were minimal yet perfectly executed, each gesture precise and elegant despite the chaos surrounding them. He fought not with the desperate determination of a warrior facing difficult odds, but with the absolute confidence of a superior being managing lesser entities.
"The storm itself is the source," Flamme called out, her voice nearly lost in the howling wind. "These are just extensions—destroying them individually won't end the incursion."
Gilgamesh nodded, apparently having reached the same conclusion. "A more comprehensive solution is required." His expression shifted to one of focused concentration—the first time Frieren had seen him exert genuine effort rather than casual dominance.
Above them, the golden portals expanded and multiplied until they formed a dome of shimmering apertures. From each emerged not individual weapons but chains—intricate, glowing constructs that moved with apparent intelligence rather than mere physical properties.
"Enkidu," Gilgamesh named them, and something in his voice suggested this was more than a mere designation—perhaps a tribute or memorial to the friend he had mentioned.
The chains shot upward into the storm clouds, weaving through the tempest like golden lightning flowing in reverse. Where they touched the unnatural formation, the clouds seemed to solidify, their chaotic energy contained and compressed by the binding metal.
"Divine restraints," Flamme murmured, her expert eye recognizing the fundamental magic at work. "He's not destroying the storm—he's binding it."
The process took longer than Gilgamesh's previous displays of power, suggesting that even his extraordinary abilities had limits when applied to larger-scale phenomena. Sweat appeared on his perfect brow—another first in their observation of him—as the chains continued their work, gradually transforming the writhing storm into a contained, compressed sphere of energy suspended above the mountain.
With a final gesture that conveyed both command and dismissal, Gilgamesh closed his hand into a fist. The sphere collapsed in upon itself, imploding with a thunderclap that echoed across the ranges. When the sound faded, the sky above them was clear, with no trace of the unnatural storm or its demonic manifestations.
The sudden silence felt almost oppressive after the chaos of the battle. Serra was the first to break it, exhaling a breath she'd apparently been holding for some time.
"That was..." she began, then shook her head, apparently unable to find adequate words.
"Impressive," Flamme supplied, studying Gilgamesh with increased interest. "Binding magic on that scale typically requires multiple mages working in concert, yet you managed it alone."
Gilgamesh waved away the observation with imperial dismissiveness, though Frieren noticed he took a moment to compose himself before responding—another small indication that the feat had required genuine exertion.
"Such atmospheric disturbances were common annoyances during festival seasons in Uruk," he claimed. "The gods often attempted to disrupt mortal celebrations with petty weather manipulations."
Despite his casual tone, Frieren sensed something deeper in his reaction to their praise—a genuine satisfaction that transcended mere arrogance. The King of Heroes, it seemed, appreciated recognition of his abilities, particularly from those he had begun to regard as something other than mere subjects.
"The path remains blocked," Serra pointed out, gesturing to the gap still separating them from the stone outpost. "And while the immediate danger has passed, those storm demons didn't appear by accident. Something's disrupting the northern barriers."
Gilgamesh approached the edge of the broken path, studying the gap with mild irritation. "A minor inconvenience." He turned to his companions. "Come. We shall bypass this primitive obstacle."
Before anyone could ask his meaning, golden portals opened beneath each of them. Frieren felt momentary panic as the ground seemed to vanish from under her feet, but instead of falling, she found herself standing on a solid golden platform that rose smoothly into the air.
"What manner of—" Serra began, her voice tight with alarm as her own platform lifted her alongside the others.
"Transportation discs," Gilgamesh explained casually, his own platform leading the way across the gap. "Used for aerial processions during royal celebrations. Crude but functional for short distances."
The golden discs carried them smoothly over the chasm, descending gently on the far side where the path continued toward the stone outpost. As they stepped off onto solid ground again, the platforms dissolved back into their portals, leaving no trace of the extraordinary mode of transit.
Serra stared at the space where her platform had been, then at Gilgamesh. "You have flying vehicles in your... treasury?"
"I have everything of value in my treasury," he corrected with imperial certainty. "Though those particular conveyances are among the more mundane items. Hardly worth mentioning compared to my stellar ships or divine chariots."
The casual reference to even more extraordinary vehicles seemed to leave Serra momentarily speechless. She shook her head slightly, as if trying to realign her understanding of what was possible with what she had just experienced.
"We should reach the outpost quickly," Flamme suggested, her practical nature reasserting itself after the supernatural display. "Those storm demons may have been advance entities for something larger."
They covered the remaining distance to the stone structure with increased urgency. The outpost proved to be more substantial than Frieren had expected—a small fortress built directly into the mountainside, its weathered walls suggesting centuries of vigilance over the northern passes.
"This was an elven watchtower originally," Flamme explained as they entered the central chamber. "Built during the First Demon War as an early warning post. The Northern Range Authority maintains it now, though it's rarely staffed in peaceful times."
"Sensible defensive positioning," Gilgamesh observed, surveying the interior with a conqueror's eye. "Though the construction lacks proper grandeur. In Uruk, even minor outposts featured gold-veined marble and lapis lazuli inlays."
"Function over form was the elvish way during wartime," Frieren noted, examining ancient inscriptions carved into the stone walls. "These are warning runes—designed to activate if significant demonic energy approaches."
"And are they active now?" Serra asked, already moving to secure the heavy wooden door behind them.
Frieren ran her fingers over the etched symbols, channeling a small amount of mana to test their reactivity. "No. Whatever caused the storm demons hasn't triggered these wards."
"Curious," Flamme murmured, joining her apprentice at the wall. "These are calibrated for major incursions. Either the storm entities were isolated anomalies, or..."
"Or something is masking the larger threat," Gilgamesh finished, surprising them with his magical insight. At their questioning looks, he smirked. "Did you imagine the King of Heroes ignorant of arcane principles? I supervised the creation of Uruk's defensive ward system personally."
Serra had begun exploring the outpost's storage areas, returning with an armful of preserved supplies. "Dried provisions, lanterns, and bedding," she reported. "Enough for several days if needed. The Northern Authority keeps these stations stocked for emergencies."
"Practical," Gilgamesh conceded, though his tone suggested this was among the lowest forms of praise he could offer. "Though hardly necessary while I travel with you. My treasury contains sustenance far superior to preserved rations."
As if to demonstrate, he gestured casually, opening a small portal from which he withdrew a flask of gleaming metal. "This contains water from the fountains of youth that flowed in the central gardens of Uruk. One sip provides more nourishment than a day's worth of ordinary food."
Serra accepted the flask with reverent care when he offered it, taking a cautious taste before her eyes widened in astonishment. "It's... incredible. Like drinking pure energy."
"A king provides appropriate sustenance for those in his service," Gilgamesh declared, though his usual hauteur seemed tempered by something almost resembling consideration.
As they settled into the outpost to wait out any potential aftereffects of the strange storm, Frieren noticed subtle changes in the group's dynamics. Serra now regarded Gilgamesh with undisguised admiration after witnessing his power against the storm demons, while Flamme's scholarly interest had deepened into something more complex—professional respect mingled with cautious fascination.
The King of Heroes himself seemed more at ease with their company, his imperious pronouncements now occasionally giving way to genuine exchanges of information. He questioned Flamme about the historical patterns of demonic incursions in this region, displaying strategic acumen that revealed depths beyond mere combat prowess.
"Your world's dimensional boundaries appear more permeable than those of my origin realm," he observed as evening approached. "In Uruk, demonic entities could only cross during specific celestial alignments, and even then required sacrificial anchors."
"The Creation War left scars in the fabric between worlds," Flamme explained. "The Northern Ranges contain some of the thinnest barriers, which is why these watchtowers were established."
"A design flaw in your reality's fundamental structure," Gilgamesh assessed with casual arrogance. "Though not without certain advantages. Such permeability allows for greater magical conductivity."
Their discussion continued as Serra prepared a simple meal, supplemented by Gilgamesh's contributions from his seemingly endless treasury. The stone chamber grew more comfortable as they activated the outpost's ancient heating runes, creating an atmosphere that felt almost domestic despite the extraordinary circumstances and company.
As night fell outside, casting the outpost into deepening shadows relieved only by lamplight, Frieren found herself seated beside Gilgamesh while Flamme and Serra discussed alternate routes to Aurelis that might avoid further storm activity.
"Your master is unusually knowledgeable for a mortal," the King of Heroes observed, his voice pitched low enough that only Frieren could hear. "Her understanding of dimensional principles suggests experiences beyond typical mage training."
"Master Flamme has traveled extensively," Frieren replied carefully, "and studied under the greatest sages of our age."
Gilgamesh's crimson eyes studied her with unsettling perceptiveness. "You protect her secrets. Admirable loyalty." His perfect lips curved into a knowing smile. "But unnecessary. I recognize those who have touched the boundaries between worlds. Your master carries such traces upon her magical signature."
This observation startled Frieren. Flamme had never spoken of crossing dimensional boundaries, though certain aspects of her more advanced teachings had hinted at firsthand knowledge of extradimensional principles.
"If you have questions about her past, you should ask her directly," Frieren suggested, maintaining her composure despite her curiosity about what Gilgamesh might have perceived.
"Direct questioning is rarely the most efficient path to understanding," he replied, his voice carrying surprising wisdom beneath the arrogance. "Observation reveals more than interrogation, particularly with beings of substance."
Their conversation might have continued, but a sudden tremor shook the outpost, dust drifting down from ancient stone beams overhead. Everyone fell silent, attention shifting to the unexpected disturbance.
"Earthquake?" Serra wondered, already moving toward the entrance to check the exterior conditions.
"No," Gilgamesh stated with absolute certainty, rising to his feet with fluid grace. "Something approaches. Something... substantial."
The warning runes Frieren had examined earlier suddenly blazed to life, their etched lines glowing with bright blue energy that cast eerie shadows across the chamber walls. The intensity of their illumination suggested a threat of significant magnitude.
"Major incursion," Flamme confirmed, her expression grim as she gathered her staff. "The wards wouldn't activate for anything less than multiple high-tier entities or a single apex-level threat."
Serra returned from the entrance, her face pale in the rune-light. "You need to see this," she said simply.
They followed her to the outpost's observation platform—a stone balcony cut into the mountainside that offered an unobstructed view of the northern valleys. What they saw there defied easy description.
The mountain pass below was filled with movement—a vast processional of creatures that should not exist in the natural world. Demons of various forms marched in unnervingly perfect formation, their disparate anatomies nonetheless coordinated with military precision. Above them floated larger entities that seemed composed of living shadow and crackling energy, similar to the storm demons they had encountered earlier but far more substantial.
"That's... impossible," Serra whispered, her professional hunter's composure momentarily abandoned. "Demons don't organize like this. They're territorial, solitary, or move in small packs at most."
"Something is controlling them," Flamme observed, her experienced eye assessing the unnatural phenomenon. "Coordinating distinct demonic species into a unified force."
"A demon lord," Frieren suggested, recalling ancient texts that spoke of hierarchical structures in the void realms.
Gilgamesh studied the procession with unexpected intensity, his usual expression of bored superiority replaced by focused analysis. "Not merely a lord," he corrected. "Look at the formation pattern. That's not simple herding behavior—it's complex military strategy. Whatever commands them possesses tactical intelligence far beyond typical demonic capacity."
As if in confirmation of his assessment, the procession suddenly halted. The various entities turned in perfect unison toward the outpost, as if they had become aware of the observers on the mountain above them.
"We've been noticed," Flamme stated unnecessarily, already beginning to trace defensive spell patterns.
Gilgamesh's response was unexpectedly measured. Rather than immediately summoning his weapons, he continued observing the demonic army with the calculating eye of a seasoned commander.
"Interesting," he murmured. "They're deployed in a formation I recognize—the Crescent Annihilation pattern, used by divine armies during the war against primordial chaos entities."
"You recognize divine battle formations?" Serra asked, her hands instinctively
Chapter 6: Unexpected Detour (Continued)
...tightening on the hilts of her twin blades.
"Of course," Gilgamesh replied, his tone suggesting the question itself was absurd. "I commanded divine legions during multiple campaigns against chaos entities. This particular formation was designed to channel concentrated force against fortified positions." His eyes narrowed. "Which means..."
Before he could complete his analysis, a pulse of dark energy surged from the center of the demonic army. It raced up the mountainside with unnatural speed, striking the outpost's ancient walls with such force that the entire structure shuddered. Cracks appeared in the stone beneath their feet, and part of the observation platform began to crumble away.
Serra lost her footing as the section where she stood collapsed. With reflexes born of centuries of combat experience, Flamme lunged for the hunter, but the angle was wrong—she couldn't reach her in time.
Gilgamesh moved with impossible speed, golden portals opening in the air as he vaulted over the broken edge of the platform. A chain shot from one portal, wrapping securely around Serra's waist even as she fell. With a single powerful movement, Gilgamesh pulled her back to safety, catching her against his armored chest as the chain dissolved.
"T-thank you," Serra gasped, her usual composure shattered by the near-death experience.
"A king protects those in his service," Gilgamesh stated matter-of-factly, though Frieren noticed his arm remained around the hunter's waist a moment longer than strictly necessary.
There was no time to dwell on this observation. The demonic army below had begun to move again, now advancing directly toward the mountain path that led to the outpost.
"They're targeting us specifically," Flamme concluded, already drawing complex spell patterns in the air. "Whatever intelligence guides them recognizes our presence as significant."
"Or his," Frieren suggested, glancing at Gilgamesh. "Your power signature is... distinctive."
The King of Heroes smiled with predatory satisfaction. "Naturally. Even mindless demonic entities recognize true divinity when it manifests." He strode back into the outpost's main chamber, gesturing for the others to follow. "Come. This crumbling watchtower offers inadequate tactical advantage."
"We can't abandon it," Serra protested, recovering her professional demeanor. "The outpost's defensive wards are our best protection against—"
"Against conventional demonic entities, perhaps," Gilgamesh interrupted. "But these are not conventional. They're executing divine battle tactics, which renders mundane protections obsolete." His crimson eyes gleamed with anticipation. "Besides, a true king does not hide behind ancient stones when battle presents itself."
Flamme studied him with sharp assessment. "You intend to confront an entire demonic army?"
"I intend to educate them on the proper hierarchy of existence," Gilgamesh corrected, golden armor materializing around his form as he spoke. "And provide this world with a demonstration of true power in the process."
Before anyone could argue further, he strode toward the outpost's entrance. The heavy wooden door swung open at his approach, as if even inanimate objects recognized the authority in his movements.
Frieren exchanged a quick glance with Flamme. Her master's expression was unreadable, but there was a calculating look in her amber eyes that suggested she saw opportunity in this development.
"We should assist," Flamme decided, gathering her staff. "At minimum, to observe and document. This may provide invaluable information about both current demonic evolution and His Majesty's capabilities."
"Always the scholar," Frieren noted with a small smile, though she too was burning with curiosity about how Gilgamesh would handle such overwhelming numbers.
They emerged from the outpost to find the King of Heroes standing on an elevated rock formation that jutted from the mountainside. The position offered clear visibility to the approaching demonic army, which had now reached the base of the path leading upward. Their numbers seemed even more vast from this vantage point—hundreds, perhaps thousands, of entities ranging from lesser imps to towering void creatures.
"Remain behind me," Gilgamesh commanded without looking back. "This will be... instructive."
The air around him began to shimmer with golden light as multiple portals opened—not just a dozen as they had seen before, but hundreds, creating a hemispheric dome of gleaming apertures that surrounded him on all sides. Within each, Frieren could glimpse the outlines of different weapons, each radiating power that made her magical senses tingle even at a distance.
"Gate of Babylon," Gilgamesh announced, his voice carrying easily despite the growing demonic howls from below. "Full Deployment."
The first wave of demons surged up the mountain path, moving with that uncanny coordination that suggested central control. They were met with a rain of golden weapons that descended with such precision that it resembled a choreographed display rather than combat. Each projectile found its mark with unerring accuracy, and where divine metal met demonic flesh, there was no contest—the creatures simply dissolved, their essence scattered by the superior power.
"Magnificent," Serra whispered, her hunter's eye appreciating the lethal efficiency of the display.
"Tactically precise," Flamme agreed, analyzing the pattern of deployment. "He's targeting command nodes within the formation, disrupting their coordination."
Indeed, Frieren could see how Gilgamesh's attacks weren't simply random destruction but followed a strategic pattern, striking specific demons that seemed to serve as focal points for the unnatural coordination. As these key entities fell, portions of the army began to move more chaotically, reverting to the disorganized behavior more typical of their kind.
The remaining demons, however, adjusted their approach. The larger void entities moved forward, creating shields of concentrated darkness that absorbed or deflected many of the golden weapons. Behind these protective barriers, other demons began channeling energy into what appeared to be a massive spell structure—arcane patterns forming in the air between them.
"They're preparing a void collapse," Flamme identified, her expression grave. "Similar to what destroyed the Eastern Citadel during the Third Demon War. We should retreat further."
Gilgamesh, however, seemed entirely unconcerned by this development. If anything, his posture suggested increased interest, as if the demons had finally done something worthy of his full attention.
"Amateur dimensional manipulation," he assessed with imperial disdain. "Observe how a true master controls the boundaries between worlds."
From his extended hand emerged not a weapon but what appeared to be a cylindrical object composed of rotating segments. It gleamed with an otherworldly light that seemed to bend reality around it, creating distortion effects that made it difficult to focus on directly.
"Ea," Gilgamesh named it, and something in his tone suggested this was no ordinary treasure but a prized possession of special significance.
The demons below seemed to recognize the threat this new artifact represented. Their attack pattern shifted immediately, all resources now directed toward disrupting whatever Gilgamesh intended. Void bolts, demonic flame, and manifested shadow all surged toward him in a concentrated assault.
Frieren began tracing defensive spells, concerned that even Gilgamesh's remarkable abilities might be overwhelmed by such a massive combined attack. Before she could complete her casting, however, Serra gripped her arm.
"Look," the hunter directed, her voice hushed with awe.
The incoming demonic energies were being intercepted by a barrier of golden light that had formed around Gilgamesh without any apparent effort on his part. Each attack simply dissolved upon contact, as if encountering a fundamental negation of its very existence rather than merely a protective shield.
"Divine authority field," Flamme identified, her scholarly detachment momentarily giving way to genuine amazement. "He's not blocking their attacks—he's exerting conceptual dominance over the space itself."
Meanwhile, the cylindrical artifact in Gilgamesh's hand had begun to spin faster, its segments rotating in opposite directions to create visual patterns that hurt the eye to follow. The air around it warped and twisted, reality itself seeming to protest against whatever power was being channeled.
"Let the truth be spoken," Gilgamesh intoned, raising the artifact above his head. "Enuma Elish!"
What followed defied comprehensive description. The space between Gilgamesh and the demonic army simply... unraveled. Not an explosion, not a beam of energy, but a systematic deconstruction of reality itself, as if the fundamental principles that allowed existence had been temporarily suspended in a controlled corridor.
The void collapse the demons had been preparing was not merely countered but consumed, its constituent energies absorbed and redirected by the greater working Gilgamesh had initiated. The demonic army didn't so much die as cease to exist, their forms unwritten from the world with methodical precision.
When the effect finally subsided, the mountain path below was not destroyed or damaged—it was pristine, as if nothing had ever approached the outpost. No bodies, no residual energy, not even scorch marks remained to evidence the battle that had just occurred.
Silence fell, broken only by the distant cry of a hawk circling overhead.
"What... what was that?" Serra finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Gilgamesh turned back toward them, the cylindrical artifact already vanishing into a golden portal. His expression was one of mild satisfaction rather than exertion, as if he had completed a pleasant morning exercise rather than obliterated an entire demonic army.
"Ea, the Sword of Rupture," he explained casually. "The weapon that separated heaven from earth at the creation of the world. One of the few treasures in my vault that I consider truly worthy of a king's direct use."
"It didn't just destroy them," Frieren observed, her magical senses still reeling from what she had witnessed. "It removed them from existence entirely. Even their constituent energy patterns."
"Of course," Gilgamesh replied, as if this were the most natural outcome. "Lesser weapons merely damage physical forms. Ea addresses the fundamental validity of existence itself."
Flamme's expression had shifted from amazement to intense scholarly interest. "A conceptual weapon that operates on reality's foundational principles," she mused. "I've read theoretical treatises about such possibilities, but never imagined actually witnessing one in operation."
"Your world's theoretical understanding is surprisingly advanced, if somewhat lacking in practical application," Gilgamesh acknowledged, which from him constituted high praise indeed. "Though I admit, I did not expect to encounter organized demonic forces employing divine battle tactics in this realm."
"Neither did we," Flamme replied grimly. "This represents a significant escalation from typical demonic behavior patterns. Something—or someone—is coordinating them with advanced strategic knowledge."
"A mystery to investigate," Gilgamesh concluded, his armor dissolving back into casual attire with a shimmer of golden light. "But first, we require proper refreshment. Battle against even unworthy opponents deserves celebration."
With a casual gesture, he summoned an elaborate pavilion on the flat ground before the outpost. Unlike his previous accommodations, this structure seemed designed specifically for post-battle revelry—open-sided with comfortable lounging areas arranged around a central fire pit, where flames of unusual golden color already danced.
"Come," he invited with imperial magnanimity. "Share the king's table after witnessing his victory."
The three women exchanged glances, then followed him into the pavilion. Inside, a feast had already materialized—exotic foods arranged on golden platters, alongside decanters of wine that glowed with internal light. The comfort and luxury seemed almost absurd given their precarious position on a mountain outpost that had just been targeted by supernatural forces, yet somehow appropriate to the extraordinary being who had provided it.
As they settled onto cushioned seating, Serra finally gave voice to the question that hung between them. "Those demons... they were coming for you specifically, weren't they?"
Gilgamesh sipped from a golden goblet, considering the question with unusual thoughtfulness. "Perhaps. My presence in any dimension creates... disturbances in the supernatural order. Lesser powers often respond with either worship or hostility." His perfect lips curved into a sardonic smile. "Rarely with indifference."
"But they used divine battle formations," Flamme pressed, accepting a goblet of luminescent wine. "That suggests more than mere reactive hostility. It implies preparation, foreknowledge."
"Indeed," Gilgamesh agreed, his expression sharpening with interest. "Which suggests your world contains entities with knowledge they should not possess. Intriguing."
The conversation continued as they partook of the otherworldly feast, analyzing what they had witnessed and its implications for their journey. Gradually, the tension of battle gave way to the relaxed atmosphere that exceptional food and drink inevitably created, though Frieren noticed that Flamme maintained her usual measured consumption, clearly keeping her wits sharp despite the celebratory setting.
Serra, less disciplined in this regard, became increasingly animated as the evening progressed, her professional reserve softening under the influence of divine wine. She moved to sit closer to Gilgamesh, openly admiring the casual display of power in even his smallest gestures.
"The way you pulled me back from falling," she mentioned, her cheeks flushed with more than just wine. "I've never seen anyone move that fast, not even elite rangers from the southern kingdoms."
"Trivial exertion," Gilgamesh replied, though his expression suggested he appreciated the recognition. "The King of Heroes naturally protects those who serve him well."
"Is that what we're doing?" Serra asked boldly. "Serving the King of Heroes?"
"What else would you call it?" Gilgamesh countered with amused arrogance. "You guide me through your primitive wilderness, provide local insights, and witness my magnificence. Classic service to royalty."
Rather than taking offense, Serra laughed—a bright, genuine sound that seemed to catch Gilgamesh by surprise. "Well, when you put it that way, Your Majesty, I suppose we are." She raised her goblet in salute. "To serving the most extraordinary king any world has seen."
Gilgamesh's expression shifted subtly—imperial satisfaction tinged with something almost resembling warmth. He touched his goblet to hers in acknowledgment of the toast, his crimson eyes studying her with increased interest.
Frieren, observing this exchange, caught Flamme's knowing gaze. Her master's slight nod confirmed they were thinking along similar lines—Serra was being drawn into Gilgamesh's orbit with surprising speed, her natural confidence and straightforward nature creating a dynamic different from their own more measured interactions with the golden king.
As the night deepened, Gilgamesh regaled them with tales of battles from his world—conflicts between gods and heroes that made even the legendary wars of their realm seem modest by comparison. His storytelling proved unexpectedly engaging, his usual arrogance giving way to a more nuanced narrative style that brought ancient events to vivid life.
"The Bull of Heaven destroyed seven mountains with its first charge," he recounted, gesturing expansively. "Its breath withered forests, its hooves created canyons where fertile valleys had stood. The gods themselves fled before its rampage."
"How did you defeat such a creature?" Serra asked, completely engrossed in the tale.
Gilgamesh smiled, the expression transforming his perfect features from merely beautiful to genuinely charismatic. "With strategy, strength, and the assistance of the only being I ever acknowledged as my equal." His expression softened momentarily. "Enkidu held its horns while I delivered the killing blow—a perfect collaboration between king and companion."
The mention of this Enkidu—clearly someone of great significance to Gilgamesh—created a momentary vulnerability in his imperial facade. Frieren found herself surprisingly moved by this glimpse of genuine emotion beneath the arrogance.
As the hour grew late, Serra eventually succumbed to the combination of battle tension, extraordinary wine, and the day's exertions. She drifted into slumber against the cushions, her usual alert posture softened in sleep.
Gilgamesh observed this with a mixture of amusement and something almost resembling fondness. "Your hunter has admirable spirit," he commented to Flamme. "Few mortals would recover so quickly from nearly falling to their death, then witnessing divine battle."
"Serra is exceptional," Flamme agreed. "The Northern Rangers accept only the most resilient individuals into their ranks."
"You collect capable companions," Gilgamesh observed, his gaze shifting to include Frieren in this assessment. "A trait we share, it seems."
This casual comparison between himself and Flamme was striking—perhaps the first time he had acknowledged any similarity between himself and another being in their presence. Frieren noted how her master accepted the observation with graceful poise, neither dismissing the honor nor appearing overly impressed by it.
"Capability recognizes capability across dimensions, it seems," Flamme replied diplomatically.
Gilgamesh laughed—a genuine sound of amusement rather than his usual sardonic chuckle. "Well parsed, master mage. You navigate conversation with the same precision you employ in spellcraft."
As Serra continued to slumber peacefully, Gilgamesh rose from his cushioned seat with fluid grace. "The hour grows late, and even immortal kings occasionally indulge in rest. I shall retire to my chambers." With a casual gesture, he materialized a blanket of shimmering material that he placed over Serra's sleeping form with surprising gentleness. "Ensure she remains comfortable. Her service today merits reward."
With that, he withdrew to a separated section of the pavilion that had apparently been designated as his private quarters, leaving Frieren and Flamme alone by the golden fire.
"He's growing attached to us," Frieren observed softly once they were alone.
Flamme nodded, her amber eyes reflecting the unusual flames. "As expected. Even beings of extraordinary power seek connection—perhaps they more than most."
"Do you think that improves our world's chances?" Frieren asked, the question that had underlain their entire journey finally voiced directly.
Her master considered this carefully before responding. "It creates possibility where none existed before. Gilgamesh judges worlds based on what he deems worthy of his interest. By becoming... interesting to him, we potentially influence that judgment."
Frieren glanced toward the sleeping Serra, then back to her master. "And if his interest becomes more... personal?"
A small smile touched Flamme's lips. "Then we navigate that development with the same care we've shown thus far. Our primary obligation remains to our world's survival, apprentice. Remember that."
With that gentle admonition, Flamme also retired to rest, leaving Frieren alone with her thoughts beside the golden fire. She found herself contemplating the complex being they had committed to guiding—a king from another dimension with the power to unmake reality itself, yet who still paused to place a blanket over a sleeping companion.
The implications were both encouraging and concerning. A Gilgamesh who formed attachments might be more inclined to spare their world—but attachments also created expectations, and she doubted the King of Heroes responded well to disappointment.
As she finally sought her own rest, Frieren wondered what awaited them in Aurelis, and whether the demonic army they had encountered was an isolated incident or a harbinger of greater disruptions to come.
Chapter 7: Into the Valley
Dawn arrived with unusual clarity, the previous day's unsettling weather replaced by crisp autumn sunshine that gilded the mountain peaks. Frieren awoke to find Serra already active, checking their supplies while consulting a small map she had produced from her pack.
"Sleep well?" the hunter asked, noticing Frieren's movement.
"Better than expected," Frieren admitted, still somewhat surprised by how comfortable Gilgamesh's magical accommodations had proven. "You seemed to rest deeply yourself."
Serra's cheeks colored slightly. "That wine of his... potent stuff. I don't usually sleep so soundly in the field." She glanced toward the section of the pavilion where Gilgamesh had retired. "Is he still...?"
Her question was answered by the pavilion's entrance opening to admit Flamme, who had apparently been outside assessing their surroundings. The master mage looked refreshed and alert, her practical efficiency evident in her already-prepared traveling appearance.
"The path below shows no trace of yesterday's confrontation," she reported. "It's as if the demonic army never existed."
"His Majesty's weapon didn't just destroy them," Serra noted with a hint of awe still coloring her voice. "It erased them completely."
"Conceptual elimination rather than mere physical destruction," Flamme agreed, her scholar's mind clearly still processing the implications. "A concerning capability, if wielded without restraint."
"A capability currently employed in your world's defense," came Gilgamesh's voice as he emerged from his private chambers. Unlike the women, who showed at least some signs of having slept in field conditions, the King of Heroes appeared immaculate—his casual attire perfectly arranged, his golden hair gleaming in the morning light as if freshly washed and styled.
"For which we're grateful," Flamme acknowledged with a respectful nod. "Though I admit scholarly curiosity about the principles underlying such power."
Gilgamesh seemed pleased by this interest, his usual imperial hauteur softening slightly. "Few mortals could comprehend the fundamental mechanics involved, but your understanding of magical theory suggests you might grasp the basic concepts." He gestured toward the food that had appeared on a central table. "Over breakfast, perhaps. Even discussions of reality's underpinnings proceed better with proper refreshment."
The meal that followed proved unexpectedly pleasant. Gilgamesh, apparently in an expansive mood after his victory over the demonic army, explained certain aspects of his treasury's operation in terms that, while still laced with references to divine principles beyond their experience, offered genuine insights into cross-dimensional magic.
"My vault exists partially outside conventional space-time," he explained, demonstrating by summoning and dismissing small objects with casual gestures. "It maintains consistent internal organization regardless of which dimension I currently occupy."
"A pocket realm with stable integrity across planar boundaries," Flamme translated into terms more familiar to their world's magical taxonomy. "Fascinating. Our theoretical mages have postulated such possibilities, but practical implementation has proven elusive."
"Naturally," Gilgamesh replied with imperial certainty. "Such achievements require divine authority to establish and maintain. Mortal magic alone is insufficient."
Rather than taking offense at this dismissal of their world's capabilities, Flamme seized the opportunity to probe deeper. "Yet you mentioned that our world's magical conductivity is unusually high due to dimensional permeability. Wouldn't that potentially facilitate similar workings under the right conditions?"
This question seemed to genuinely interest Gilgamesh. He paused, crimson eyes focusing on Flamme with new appreciation for her insight. "A perceptive observation. Indeed, your world's boundary structure does create possibilities that more stable dimensions lack." He smiled, the expression both beautiful and slightly predatory. "Perhaps that explains my arrival here. Cosmic forces tend to deposit me where interesting developments might occur."
As they finished their meal and prepared to depart, Serra studied her map again, her expression troubled. "We need to rethink our route," she announced. "The direct path to Aurelis passes through the Valley of Echoes, which would normally be the fastest approach. But if demonic forces are organizing in this region..."
"The valley could become a natural bottleneck," Flamme finished, understanding the tactical concern immediately.
"Precisely," Serra confirmed. "We could detour around through the eastern foothills, but that would add at least two days to our journey."
"Unacceptable," Gilgamesh declared, his tone making clear this wasn't merely a preference but a royal decree. "Delays serve no purpose. If more demons await in this valley, they will meet the same fate as yesterday's pitiful assembly."
Serra hesitated, clearly torn between professional caution and the memory of Gilgamesh's overwhelming display of power. "The Valley of Echoes has... unusual properties," she explained carefully. "Sound carries strangely there, and magical effects sometimes behave unpredictably due to the geological formation."
"All the more interesting," Gilgamesh decided, already moving toward the pavilion's entrance. "Lead on, huntress. Your king grows eager to witness these peculiar effects firsthand."
With his decree effectively ending further discussion, the pavilion dissolved around them as they stepped outside, leaving no trace of its luxurious accommodations. Serra exchanged a quick glance with Flamme, who nodded slightly—a silent acknowledgment that while Gilgamesh's confidence wasn't unwarranted given his demonstrated power, additional caution would be prudent.
They departed the outpost and began their descent toward the valley below, following a winding path that crossed several steep ridgelines before opening onto a broader trail. The terrain gradually shifted from barren rock to sparse vegetation, then to more lush growth as they descended into the warmer climate of the lowlands.
Gilgamesh walked with Serra at the lead, questioning her about local flora and fauna with surprising interest for someone who had initially dismissed their entire world as "primitive." Frieren, walking alongside Flamme slightly behind them, observed this interaction with quiet assessment.
"He's gathering information systematically," she noted softly to her master. "Not just casual curiosity."
Flamme nodded. "The King of Heroes appears to take his evaluation of our world quite seriously, despite his dismissive attitudes. An encouraging sign, perhaps."
By midday, they reached the entrance to the Valley of Echoes—a narrow passage between towering cliffs that expanded into a broader ravine beyond. Even at the threshold, Frieren could sense the unusual properties Serra had mentioned. Sound seemed to bend and reflect in unpredictable patterns, creating subtle dissonance that likely would have been unsettling to those without magical training.
"Fascinating acoustic architecture," Gilgamesh observed, apparently immune to the discomforting effects. "Similar to the Whispering Canyons in my world's eastern territories, though the underlying mechanism appears different."
Serra led them cautiously into the valley proper, her experienced hunter's movements even more measured than usual. "The locals believe this place was created during a battle between sound-wielding deities," she explained, voice hushed despite their being seemingly alone. "The echoes are said to sometimes carry words spoken centuries ago."
"A temporal resonance effect," Flamme suggested, her scholarly interest evident. "Certain magical frequencies can indeed become trapped in appropriate geological formations, creating replay phenomena under specific conditions."
As they progressed deeper into the valley, the unusual acoustic properties intensified. Occasionally, they would hear fragments of sounds with no discernible source—a distant laugh, the clash of metal, or whispered words in languages none of them recognized. The effect created an atmosphere of perpetual unease, as if invisible presences accompanied them through the narrowing passage.
"The echoes grow stronger near the center," Serra informed them, her voice barely above a whisper yet somehow carrying clearly to her companions. "We should reach the heart of the valley by evening, camp there, and complete our passage tomorrow morning."
They continued in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they navigated the increasingly eerie surroundings. Frieren found herself extending her magical senses to their limit, trying to distinguish between the valley's natural phenomena and any potential threats that might be using the unusual conditions as cover.
It was during one such careful scan that she detected something odd—a magical signature that didn't match the ambient patterns of the valley, yet didn't register as immediately threatening either. She was about to mention it to Flamme when Gilgamesh suddenly stopped, his posture shifting subtly to alertness.
"We're being observed," he announced without preamble, his casual attire shimmer