Standing with his arms crossed against the courtyard pillar, Samael watched Medusa shed her mature disguise and reveal a livelier side. He couldn't help but nod in satisfaction.
Setting up the spirit particle communication had indeed been a difficult task.
It relied mainly on the Mother Goddess's true body, drifting in the Sea of Imaginary Numbers, serving as a satellite base. The Larva acted as the antenna, while the sacred relics in his possession handled positioning. Without these, breaking through the technical limits with magic alone to connect two world eggs might have taken him centuries of research.
After all, his abilities only went so far.
But looking at it now, everything had been worth it.
Even so, as Samael's thoughts circled back, his gaze swept over the light pillar. A trace of regret remained.
This reunion was far from perfect—many friends were missing for all sorts of reasons.
Like the Jaguar Warrior, always good at livening the mood. Or the big sister Quetzalcoatl, who could get along with anyone. Then there was the cheerful and dependable Leonidas, and the wise, profound old man Ziusudra…
The first two weren't impossible. Given enough time and longevity, there was a chance he might reach the Mayan civilization and meet them again.
But the latter two—one hadn't even been born yet, and the other appeared and vanished without warning—made things far more difficult.
Oh, and wasn't there someone else too?
Tch, forgotten.
Well, whatever. This was good enough.
After a brief moment of nostalgia, the ancient serpent stretched comfortably, then carried over the prepared fruits and crystal dew from the chamber shelves.
Friends from the two world eggs sat together around the spirit particle communication's light pillar, eating and talking in a relaxed mood. It really felt like a kind of video tea party.
Of course, not everyone there was so at ease.
Samael's eyes drifted toward the two baskets stuffed with clay tablets behind Siduri, and then to the tireless figure seated on the steps, writing furiously without even pausing to speak. His expression grew strange.
"How come there are still so many? Has he been slacking lately?"
Enkidu immediately defended his friend, his voice firm.
"Impossible. Gil has always been diligent in his work."
Shamhat tossed a date into her mouth, chewing as she nodded.
"I can testify to that! Even without ruling on Mesopotamian soil, he's still a wise and diligent king."
Samael, a bit dazed, raised his hand as if to call time out.
"Then how can his rare vacation be taken up like this? No need to work himself so hard, right?"
Siduri shook her head lightly, pressing her hand to her forehead with a bitter smile.
"A vacation… just means working from home."
At that, Samael froze, a chill running through him.
Good grief. This was even worse than when he was in Uruk.
"Is the Underworld really that busy?"
Medusa asked, puzzled.
"Not just busy—super, super busy!"
Ishtar, for once, wore a serious expression. Facing the two outsiders, she counted off on her fingers the changes on the surface.
Since the Divine War, the Black Tide had receded, allowing city-states like Uruk to be rebuilt.
But after a few generations, internal conflict grew fierce. The desert nomadic tribes of northern Mesopotamia rose to power, founding the Akkadian Empire and driving the old Sumerian city-states into defeat.
At first, Ishtar and Ereshkigal, still holding some affection for the Sumerians, wanted to return to the surface.
But Gilgamesh refused to allow the goddesses to interfere excessively in human civilization. Even Sumerian culture, if it could not keep up with the times, deserved to be cast aside.
As for bloody wars, humanity was a race that advanced through competition. The flowers of civilization, watered by blood and fire, would only bloom brighter and more splendid.
At the Hero King's repeated insistence, Ereshkigal and Ishtar had no choice but to step back.
Samael, for his part, could understand Gilgamesh's decision.
His love was for humanity as a whole, not for a single people.
If civilization's competition was fair, then the Hero King, who had already passed along with the Age of Gods, had no reason to interfere in mortal wars.
And besides, after so many generations, what ties remained? By blood alone, every spirit who entered Paradise Lost in the Underworld had descendants stretching across countless branches of lineage.
Since humanity had chosen its own path, Ishtar and Ereshkigal could only invite a select few Sumerians—those with ties and worthiness—into Paradise Lost.
That was their final act of favoritism toward that land and that civilization.
Once they cut the last thread linking them to the surface, Ereshkigal, Ishtar, and the others devoted themselves earnestly to tending their modest domain in the Underworld.
Not long after, the Akkadian Empire's brief glory came to an end when the Gutians invaded, toppling them and taking control of southern Mesopotamia.
After that, other human tribes rose one after another—the Third Dynasty of Ur, the Old Babylonian Kingdom, the Assyrian Empire, and so on—all taking turns upon the stage.
With the gods severed from mankind, Mystery waned. Humanity's numbers soared, but their lifespans grew short.
Endless wars sped up the cycle of generations.
In other words, people were born quickly, and died just as quickly.
Every day, countless souls of the dead poured into the Underworld.
To keep the world in balance, the Underworld had to sort through these souls' sins, judge them, and reassign them into the cycle of return to the Greater Source.
Lacking experience, groping forward step by step, Ereshkigal and Ishtar had long since cut ties with their divine past. Burdened by human limitations, their power was constrained.
In the middle of it all, Gilgamesh, as Chief Justice of the Underworld, was forced to take on nearly everything himself, working to the point of exhaustion.
Even Shamhat and Enkidu, who had only wanted to idle away their days in peace, were dragged into the grind. One could easily imagine how chaotic things were.
If not for most of them consuming the Herb of Immortality—collapsing from overwork, coughing blood, then bouncing back the next day—they would've been long dead.
Even now, the surface world continued to be ravaged by wars of every scale.
For those in the Underworld, such struggles between civilizations had already become something familiar, even numbing.
"By the way, Mesopotamia is now ruled mostly by the Assyrian Empire. The new ruler is a woman—Semiramis, I think..."
"I heard she was stolen away for her beauty, but later seized her chance to kill that useless royal husband of hers. Now she runs the state herself and has made quite a name."
"Well, she even built the magnificent Ishtar Gate in honor of this goddess. Sometimes she's even treated as my incarnation. Seems my faith is the most enduring of all!"
"I feel like we'd get along really well. What do you think? If I showed up, wouldn't she obediently hand over her treasures and pray to me?"
Ishtar lifted her chin proudly, golden light flashing in her eyes, pleased that her name still echoed across the surface world.
Samael had no words, only a silent grumble.
You're the Goddess of War. They built the Ishtar Gate to celebrate military victories.
As for being "compatible," that's nothing to brag about.
Your old divine body, the one Marduk erased, was notorious among male creatures.
She only killed one husband. You, on the other hand, went through five or six, didn't you?
And all this boasting—aren't you really just eyeing the treasures of the Assyrian Empire? Faith, my foot.
Wait… Semiramis? The Assyrian Empire?
Could it be her?
The ancient serpent stroked his chin, his expression faintly startled.