Years later, upon seeing front-line news from the Great Crusade depicting a Primarch slaughtering countless xenos single-handedly, Enkidu-Sa would always recall that morning when Gilgamesh led a few dozen cavalrymen to shatter the Imperial Legion's formation.
Recalling it now, even as the High Chancellor of Babylonia, Enkidu-Sa could not help but puff out his chest with pride. After all, he was among the first to witness the awe-inspiring power of that First-Found Son—the Second Primarch—upon the field of battle.
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Despite the overwhelming strength of the Imperial host, the ferocious reputation of Gilgamesh, leader of the Auric Reclamation, had spread throughout every division of the central court.
Thus, although they had surrounded the Eanna Hills, the government troops did not dare launch a direct assault. No one wanted to be the first to step into a trap potentially laid by the Golden King.
This hesitation provided the rebels with a window to begin moving their supplies. Under Siduri's strict supervision, the officers worked frantically to dismantle the geometric pavilions and pack the scavenged archeotech.
"Please mount your horse immediately, Master Enkidu-Sa. Father will lead the veterans of the Immortal Battalion to spearhead the breakthrough. Once he succeeds, that is our cue to move," Siduri reminded him, her eyes scanning the horizon where the enemy's torches flickered like a dying galaxy.
"Yes, I appreciate your concern, Lady Siduri," Enkidu-Sa replied, bowing as he finished securing his crates of scrolls onto a pack-beast.
"Heh, if you weren't a rare man of letters who has earned Father's deep concern, I wouldn't bother being this attentive!" Siduri teased, though her hand remained firmly on the hilt of her blade.
"By the way," Enkidu-Sa asked, gesturing toward the gate, "who are those heavy-armored veterans accompanying the King?"
At that moment, Gilgamesh rode past them. He was encased in heavy, auric-chrome plate, mounted on a massive steed draped in iron barding that hummed with a low power-field. Behind him followed a few dozen cataphracts, armored as heavily as their leader. As these riders passed, other soldiers stopped their work, looking on with reverence and bowing their heads in a silent, rhythmic wave.
"You might not know, Registrar, but that is the elite of the elite—the Immortal Battalion," Siduri explained. "These veterans are the survivors of Uruk. Their hatred for the Empire runs deeper than the Alluvium, and their resolve is firmer than any conscript's. Under Father's personal tutelage, these former villagers became disciplined soldiers. They are elites second to none—not even the best the High Prefect has to offer."
"I see. This is the King's own guard—a loyal retinue that has followed him through life and death," Enkidu-Sa remarked, nodding.
"Indeed. For this decapitation strike, the Immortals will provide the anvil, allowing Father to focus entirely on the slaughter. Their casualty rate is high; a fraction of them fall in every engagement. That is why no one begrudges them their superior treatment." Siduri's voice dropped to a murmur as she watched the golden silhouettes move toward the gate.
"The Immortal Battalion is the backbone of the Reclamation," Enkidu-Sa whispered. "My mentor once taught us that the soul of an army is composed of the veterans raised personally by their general. Today, I have seen the spirit of Babylonia made flesh."
Curious, Siduri asked, "Your mentor seems to be a profound scholar. What is his name? Perhaps I have heard of him."
"I am but a humble, unworthy pupil," Enkidu-Sa replied with a bow. "My master's name is Hamilcar. He is a great scholar of the High Academies."
"I see. Once Father has stabilized the realm, we shall visit this Master Hamilcar, so you may return home in glory as the disciple he is most proud of," Siduri said, her expression softening as she offered a respectful salute.
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Gilgamesh held his power-spear in one hand and the reins in the other. Behind him, the dozen riders of the Immortal Battalion followed in a grim, metallic silence.
Before them stood the Imperial forces—a forest of halberds and shields arranged in an airtight, disciplined formation. Clearly, upon learning that Gilgamesh had emerged with only a handful of riders, the High Prefect had organized his regulars as if facing a massive host. The tales of the Golden King breaking armies single-handedly had turned into a terrifying ghost story among the ranks.
"Hmph. Is this all the Empire has to offer?" Gilgamesh sneered. "A grand legion, terrified of a handful of men?"
He turned to the silent veterans behind him—the survivors of Uruk who had seen him grow from a scholar into a god of war.
"Brothers, one more charge! We're going to crush these mongrels! When this is over, the finest wine of Babylonia is on me!"
Gilgamesh drew a longsword that shimmered with a pale, golden light and raised it high.
"Immortal Battalion! With me! CHARGE!"
"CHARGE!"
The riders gave a singular, thunderous roar that echoed off the hills like a landslide.