The sky above Misaki Town burned with golden light.
Raphael Arzenon descended like a falling star, landing directly in front of Gilgamesh before the King of Heroes could unleash another barrage upon the defenseless city below. Ash and soot clung to his torn clothes, his breathing still ragged from the earlier exhaustion, yet his eyes burned with unyielding resolve.
"Why are you attacking this town?" Raphael demanded, his voice steady despite the chaos around them.
Gilgamesh's ruby eyes narrowed, serpentine pupils contracting as he assessed the boy before him. Dozens of golden portals hovered behind the King like a crown of lethal stars, each one humming with divine wrath. For a long moment, silence reigned. Then Gilgamesh spoke, his voice deep and resonant as ancient stone.
"…This town was declared an abomination under a decree passed seven days past."
Raphael's brow furrowed in confusion. "And who created such a bullshit decree, huh?"
The air itself seemed to freeze. The golden portals flared violently, their light intensifying until they seared like miniature suns. Gilgamesh rose slowly to his full height, golden hair catching the firelight in an ethereal glow. No one had ever dared speak to him with such casual disrespect.
"You dare," Gilgamesh said quietly, each syllable sharp as a blade.
Inside Raphael's Inner World, Cielux's voice rang out urgently. Master, don't piss off the King of Heroes. He is—
"I don't care, Cielux," Raphael cut her off in his mind. "If he is a king or whatever, he doesn't have the right to hurt innocent lives in this town for no reason. Instead of yelling at me, I want you to activate Absolute Appraisal. Scan Gilgamesh's abilities and see which blueprints you can replicate and store in the incomplete Codex Akasha."
Cielux pouted like a scolded child in the inner world. You are still as annoying as ever, Master. But fine. I will analyze the Golden King's power and see which ones you can gain access to.
Back in the real world, Raphael locked eyes with Gilgamesh, his expression deadly serious. "You are a king of old, not the present era. Why should the people of the present suffer for your nonsense? You don't understand this era, so why don't you return to your period like the old king you are?"
The world seemed to stop. The portals froze mid-flicker. Even the distant screams of the city fell silent, as if reality itself held its breath.
Gilgamesh's regal features twisted with profound offense. No one—no one—had ever spoken to him like this. Not in ten thousand years.
"You speak," Gilgamesh said, his voice cold and precise, "as if history were written by children playing in dirt."
Raphael blinked, genuinely confused. "I don't understand the meaning of that speech. Can you speak in a normal way rather than metaphor?"
Gilgamesh blinked once, slow and deliberate, clearly thrown off balance by the boy's straightforward request. The golden portals dimmed slightly as the King recalibrated. "…I said," he began again, his voice flatter and more direct, "you're wrong."
Raphael smirked. "See? That was far easier to understand. And no, I just have to prove my point of view is correct by beating you, right? Or killing you. Not that it will be easy, but it's something I will try. After all, if I can't beat you, I can't come close to my own dream goal."
Gilgamesh stared, genuinely stunned for the first time in millennia. This boy wasn't boasting certain victory. He simply said he would try. The quiet resolve in those words carried more weight than any grand declaration.
"You wish to fight me," Gilgamesh said slowly, testing the concept, "to prove you're right?"
"Of course," Raphael replied simply. "Since knowing you, I can tell I can't stop you through words. So beating you is the only way to make you see reason."
Gilgamesh's lips parted slightly. Recognition flickered in his ancient gaze. This boy understood that some things could only be settled through strength.
"…You believe," the King asked carefully, "that beating me will make me change my mind?"
Raphael Arzenon looked straight into the eyes of the King of Heroes and spoke with pure, unfiltered honesty, completely clueless about normal social cues.
"No. Beating you would just mean you were foolish to create a decree to destroy this town and that you belong in your era instead of coming back to the present day like a parasite for the current era."
A sharp stillness fell over the battlefield.
The air didn't just tense—it crackled, as if reality itself had flinched at the word "parasite."
Gilgamesh's golden eyes flashed with something colder than rage. A glacial offense so deep it cut through ten thousand years of myth and ego alike. He had been called a king, a hero, a divine ruler… but never a parasite. Never someone feeding on an era that was not his own, leeching off the suffering of mortals like an uninvited pest.
No one had ever dared frame his very presence in such terms. Not gods. Not rebels. Not even fallen angels who had opposed him out of principle.
For several long seconds, Gilgamesh said nothing. He simply stared at the boy before him—the same boy who had called him old, nonsensical, and now this.
Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Not a smile. Not kindness. It was something far more dangerous—amusement. The kind that surfaced when a lion found a mouse bold enough to glare… and creative enough to insult.
Gilgamesh exhaled through his nose—a quiet sound, almost like suppressed laughter. It was brief, gone in an instant. But it had happened.
He lifted one hand, palm up. Above it, the golden portals shifted. This time they did not multiply or glow with destructive intent. One by one, several began to close. The hum faded as space folded back into silence where weapons had once hovered, ready to annihilate the town below.
The King of Heroes looked down at Raphael—not as prey anymore, but as someone who had done something utterly unexpected. He had made Gilgamesh pause his wrath with words alone.
Raphael met his gaze without flinching. "Why would I fear you? After all, my goal is to be a mage like the King of Magecraft Solomon himself. If I feared you, then I am not worthy to be a mage like him."
Gilgamesh's breath hitched—just slightly. In that fraction of a second, something ancient and deeply buried stirred within him: recognition of ambition.
Solomon… Gilgamesh thought to himself. The wisest man I ever knew. And this boy wants to walk his path?
He studied Raphael differently now—not as an insolent child shouting at gods, but as someone carving his way toward a throne through sheer willpower. His ruby eyes narrowed, not in anger, but in calculation. The remaining golden portals hummed softly, their glow dimmer, no longer poised for immediate destruction.
He took a single step forward. Then another. Not threateningly, but like a king inspecting something rare: a diamond buried in common dirt. A spark where fire was expected to burn out long ago.
"…Solomon," Gilgamesh said finally, the name rolling off his tongue with weight and reverence, "was the wisest man I ever knew."
A pause.
"And also one of the few who never bowed before me."
The admission hung in the air like an unexpected confession from divinity itself.
Raphael was surprised. Why did he praise Solomon like that? And what does he mean by 'I know' when they aren't from the same time period? Wait, what—I can't think about that right now. I should ask him why he hasn't attacked me yet.
His face showed clear confusion. "I expected you to attack me to see my strength level—if I was strong enough to follow that goal or not."
Gilgamesh tilted his head slightly, as if Raphael had said something both naive and strangely profound.
You think I test all challengers with battle? Gilgamesh thought to himself. I am not a gatekeeper who crushes fools on sight.
"…You think I test all challengers with battle?" he asked aloud, not mocking now, but genuinely curious. "I am not a gatekeeper who crushes fools on sight." He paused. "Solomon did not fight me to prove he was wise."
Raphael asked, "Then what next? Are you simply going to leave the town alone then?"
Gilgamesh exhaled—long and slow—as if weighing centuries of judgment in a single breath. The town below still smoldered at the edges, civilians huddled in shelters, smoke staining the sky like a bruise. He looked past Raphael, truly seeing the people trying to live their lives, now threatened by an ancient decree that might have been unjust from the start.
For a moment, the King said nothing.
Then…
"…I do not cancel decrees lightly," he admitted, his voice lower now, less regal and more reflective. "They are laws written with purpose." A pause. "But… I can delay enforcement."
His ruby eyes returned to Raphael's face, and something rare flickered there—consideration.
Raphael looked impatient in his thoughts. Fucking delay. Yeah, sue me with that bullshit. I am not waiting for this man. Who knows how long this will take—three years or fifteen? Yeah, nah. I have End him. Right now. Before he changes his mind. After all, If this fails… I die instantly. No second chances. Damn it… why am I smiling?
"For now, that means the decree can only permanently end if you are gone, right?" Raphael asked, seeking confirmation.
Gilgamesh's expression hardened. "You speak as though my will is absolute tyranny. As though I do not consider consequences."
Raphael's face remained serious. "While you haven't fully removed the decree, so for now all I can see is a potential threat. You don't take me seriously yet."
Inside the Inner World, Cielux spoke up. Master, I have completed the analysis. Two abilities from Gilgamesh have now been blueprint replicated and stored in Codex Akasha.
Raphael's excitement surged. Really? Which ones?
Cielux explained proudly, First is Gilgamesh's skill Golden Rule, but with some modifications. Golden Rule (Rank A): This makes it so you, Master, are fated to live a life of continuous wealth and financial success. Opportunities for profit, stability, and growth seem to naturally gravitate toward you, allowing you to accumulate and maintain riches with little risk of lasting loss. Even without extraordinary effort, your assets tend to increase over time, ensuring long-term prosperity. While not inherently combat-oriented, this trait provides a significant advantage by granting consistent access to resources, influence, and high-quality equipment.
Raphael's jaw dropped. No way. I thought you would analyze his combat abilities, but you went ahead to ensure I will potentially have endless wealth too. Cielux, you truly act like a long-term wife, you know that? Even I didn't think of this money-making ability.
In the Inner World, Cielux blushed deeply but wore an absolutely smug smirk. Of course I am, Master. What can you expect from the best? I am amazing, after all.
Raphael sighed at her ego but pressed on. What is the second ability from Gilgamesh you analyzed?
Cielux's face turned serious. While it is part of Gilgamesh's Gate of Babylon, it is not the Noble Phantasm itself. Master… allow me to explain. I have replicated the function, the mechanism of the Gates themselves—the act of calling forth apertures that connect a higher vault to the present world. I integrated it into your Codex Akasha.
Codex Akasha is not just a repository. It is the SE.RA.PH Core embedded within your soul. I created what I call Execution Gates. These are instantaneous output nodes where compiled blueprints are deployed directly into reality. When you will it, golden apertures will manifest around you. The constructs are not summoned—they are executed. A single thought, and they fire. Continuously, flawlessly, without interruption.
Raphael was speechless. Thank you, Cielux. He grinned. "I want to try out something else before using my Execution Gates, alright?"
Cielux nodded in acceptance.
In the real world, Raphael reconstructed the Zelretch Jewel Sword, its infinite mana flow pulsing within the blade. He held it firmly. "This will be my main weapon."
Gilgamesh's ruby eyes locked onto the sword. Recognition stirred within him. "…You forged this?"
Raphael grinned. "I will answer that question in the potential future—after I defeat you."
Gilgamesh's lips parted. Not in anger. Not in laughter or disbelief. But something closer to respectful anticipation.
This boy claims he will defeat me… and only then will he answer? Gilgamesh thought to himself. That is no small confidence.
He uncrossed his arms. For the first time since arriving, the King of Heroes took a single step back, creating proper distance between them. The air grew thick with the weight of an impending clash—godhood against fierce, unyielding ambition.
His golden eyes burned into Raphael's with focus. Not cruelty. Not dismissal.
But the look of one champion recognizing another.
Raphael fired a magical energy beam straight toward Gilgamesh, the attack crackling with infinite mana from the Jewel Sword. A streak of golden light tore through the air like a miniature sun, aimed directly at the King's chest.
For an instant, Gilgamesh did not move. No portal opened. No weapon was drawn. No shield formed.
He simply stood there and watched the attack come.
The beam struck him squarely in the center of his chest—a collision that should have vaporized mountains.
But all that happened was a brief flash. A ripple across his golden cloak, as if wind had briefly ruffled fabric. No damage. Not even a scorch mark.
Raphael observed calmly, "So that is armor conceptual in nature with high resistance to magical output below your level, huh?" It wasn't really a question—just genuine interest.
Gilgamesh didn't flinch. He knew his essence was protected by something far beyond physical armor—a divine conceptual barrier that rejected magical assaults unless they surpassed god-tier output. This beam had not.
He tilted his head slightly, curious, reassessing Raphael not as an opponent who could hurt him, but as someone whose attack was still impressive for one so young.
Raphael smirked. "Okay then. Plan B."
He slipped the Zelretch Jewel Sword into his pocket, using it only as a mana battery. Closing his eyes for a moment to focus, he opened them again. Gray-colored Execution Gates manifested around him—100 portals in total. Each one held different magecraft: Divine Curses, Elemental attacks, summoned beasts, necromantic entities, and gemstones storing magical energy, all ready to fire.
"This is what I call my Execution Gates," Raphael declared.
Gilgamesh stared with genuine recognition of a rival's craft. The boy had not only replicated the concept but adapted it uniquely.
Raphael smirked. "I would recommend you get your gates open as well. It wouldn't be fair if I am the only one attacking."
Gilgamesh exhaled slowly. The air behind him rippled as dozens of golden portals unfurled, each containing legendary weapons from his treasury.
The battlefield ignited.
Raphael's Execution Gates unleashed a devastating barrage—cursed flames, shadowy beasts, lightning spears, and more—each attack precise and layered.
Gilgamesh answered in kind. Golden weapons met gray constructs in a symphony of clashing powers. Shields absorbed firestorms. Spears impaled charging beasts. Swords carved through elemental assaults.
No clear advantage emerged yet. Only an endless, escalating dance between two extraordinary wills—one ancient and divine, the other young and fiercely ambitious.
The skies above Misaki Town blazed with their exchange, as if the heavens themselves had come to witness the birth of something extraordinary.