Miracle Summoner

Northern Mesopotamia, the cedar forest.

This was a forest that had existed from the very beginning.

If the tropical jungle of southern Mesopotamia was a result of the goddess's divine authority—a man-made forest—then this cedar forest in the north was something else entirely. It had always been a natural part of this land.

In Mesopotamia, cedar was a rare and precious resource.

Because of the region's geography between the twin rivers, timber was scarce, and the forests were typically inhabited by extremely powerful magical beasts. For the Sumerians, enjoying the blessings of wood was a nearly impossible endeavor.

In the past, Gilgamesh and Enkidu once set out together to subjugate the monster Humbaba, who dwelled in this very cedar forest.

Humbaba was a fearsome beast, so notorious that even the gods themselves hesitated to provoke him. He once brought great peril to Gilgamesh and Enkidu.

With that in mind, imagine how difficult it would be for ordinary humans to even consider exploiting this forest.

And yet, deep within this very cedar forest, there stood a temple.

A temple of blood, reeking of blood and doom—it didn't seem like a place of worship for a god, but rather like a lair for a monster.

In truth, this temple did house a monster—or rather, a god no different from one.

A person now walked barefoot through the temple.

That person was Kingu.

Kingu walked through the dark and ominous corridor, with walls lined by things that resembled cocoons. Within them, indistinct shapes swayed, though none allowed a clear glimpse.

At last, Kingu arrived at the innermost part of the temple, halting before something that resembled a pool of blood.

Staring into the blood pool, Kingu spoke in a somewhat reverent tone:

"Have you awakened, Mother?"

His voice echoed clearly, spreading through the hall.

"Splash…!"

The blood pool stirred.

Upon closer inspection, a massive figure could be seen within the pool.

Bathed in blood, it slowly rose, accompanied by the sound of shifting liquid. It loomed tall enough to pierce the heavens, vast and terrifying like a mountain.

Even more dreadful were the massive shadows writhing around its form—giant serpentine shapes—and its eyes glowed blood-red.

"You went out again, didn't you, Kingu?"

A deep, terrifying voice rang out.

"Did I not already tell you? You only need to remain here. Leave matters concerning humans to the beasts."

The towering figure spoke thus.

"I apologize, Mother," Kingu lowered his gaze slightly. "But something most unpleasant has emerged in this era. I merely wished to clean it up a bit."

"Something unpleasant?" The snake-shadow replied in a flat tone. "Is there anything in this world more unpleasant than humans?"

"There is," Kingu sneered. "Those who, despite being on the verge of extinction, still struggle desperately to survive instead of just dying quietly—those scraps of human history that are laughably labeled 'hope.'"

"...That is indeed disgusting." The serpent-shadow said in a voice filled with loathing.

"Hope? Such a thing does not exist. Humans deserve only despair. Their only worth is to become feed for the children—blood-drained husks. To refuse that fate and label their pathetic struggle 'hope' as if that could save them—disgusting. Utterly repulsive."

"Yes."

Kingu agreed, but continued: "However, this time, even if they are the remnants of human history, they've managed to push through six Singularities to reach this era. Their struggle, though ugly, is at its peak. We cannot afford to underestimate them."

"Oh?"

The snake-shadow paused and then spoke as if understanding.

"Could it be that so-called Chaldea? Has humanity's final Master arrived?"

"Exactly," Kingu answered. "If nothing has gone wrong, they've likely already met the foolish King of Uruk."

"Is that so?"

The serpent's voice turned increasingly irritated, churning the blood pool.

"How vexing. Truly maddening. Why can't they just die quietly? They're worthless lives anyway."

Saying so, the shadow seemed ready to rise from the blood pool, causing the blood to roil violently.

Seeing this, Kingu's expression changed.

"No, you mustn't, Mother!" he cried out to stop her. "Now is not the time for you to act directly! We still need more time!"

"But I'm tired of waiting!"

The shadow's voice escalated from irritation to fury, shaking the very air.

"If Uruk's king and humanity's final Master are their last hopes, then I shall personally kill them. That should make humanity understand how foolish resistance truly is!"

"Indeed, eliminating those two would end all of humanity's chances of recovery," Kingu nodded, but still advised caution. "But please remember, Mother—our restraint is not because humans can oppose us."

"What we truly fear is the other two goddesses. They are our rivals in the struggle for dominion over this land. That's why you formed a so-called alliance with them—to agree to non-aggression, with the understanding that whoever obtains Uruk's Holy Grail shall determine the fate of the land and of humanity."

"If you act now, there's no guarantee those two won't make their move."

"After all, while they too consume humanity, their intentions differ from ours. They don't seek to steal humanity's future. If you act rashly, Mother, we'll have a major problem."

Upon hearing this, the shadow stilled.

A moment later, she spoke again, voice steeped in displeasure.

"Do those two know that humanity's final Master has arrived in this era?"

The serpent-shadow asked, albeit reluctantly.

"They do." Kingu replied truthfully. "And knowing their personalities, they likely won't be able to resist approaching that Master."

Unlike their mother, those two did not despise humanity. On the contrary, they loved humanity.

Now that they know humanity's final Master has conquered six entire eras and reached this Age of Gods, they would surely seek him out.

"During that time, we can finish what we need to do," Kingu advised earnestly. "Please, Mother, be patient a little longer."

Hearing Kingu's words, the shadow fell silent.

That silence seemed to express deep impatience—an oppressive weight in the air.

Long after...

"Very well."

The serpent-shadow sighed softly.

"Let those two goddesses have their fun, for now."

"But my patience is not infinite."

"Humanity—do not test my limits."

"Or else, I fear I truly will not hold back."

Leaving those words behind, the serpent stirred the blood pool again and slowly sank back into it.

The pool rippled and then gradually returned to stillness.

Kingu watched the scene, then turned to look in the direction of Uruk.

"Honestly, I fear I might not be able to hold back either…"

Those whispered words stirred faintly—then were devoured by the darkness of the temple.

The coming days in Mesopotamia would undoubtedly grow even more tumultuous.