2 Live as a Human or Dream to Be a God!

In the shadowy corner of what appeared to be an inn, in a room with weathered wooden walls that seemed frozen in time, the gnarled beams and roughly carved walls painted a picture of poverty and wear.

The daylight filtered through small slits in the wooden shutters, creating a play of light and shadows that danced upon the room's walls like magical spirits whispering of something enchanting that had occurred.

At the center of the room, a solid wooden bed lay under a worn linen blanket. Yet, it was the bed itself that drew attention, tainted with crimson stains that marred its purity.

Upon that bed, stained by what seemed to be blood, lay a child of barely ten years, their body motionless but their appearance striking. Their golden hair, like a halo of light, framed their head like a blazing flame.

The child's face, pale as the full moon, contrasted with the intensity of their golden locks. Their slightly parted lips seemed to murmur forgotten dreams of different worlds, while their small and delicate hands rested upon the blood-streaked quilt that had already dried. The child's body was decently dressed, though the crimson mark on their chest disturbed the tranquility of their image.

The room, with its medieval air, seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself had halted its march to observe this child in their eternal repose. And when that child opened their eyes, they revealed a crimson hue that seemed to shine with intensity.

"I... Where am I?" Were the first words that escaped the young one's lips as they attempted to focus their gaze on the wooden ceiling of an unfamiliar room.

The last thing they remember is dying after the battle they had against the gods, something they now consider an act befitting any human life. In that battle, very few could harm them, and their death was merely described as entirely mortal.

"I smell blood, could that be my blood?"

The sticky sensation on the child's body grew increasingly uncomfortable, and their hands lifted to cover their eyes, a look of surprise flashing in their gaze.

"Am I a child again?"

There was no sensation of pain in their body, nor discomfort, for their awareness had settled into the immature body that now belonged to them. Clearly, they hadn't arrived at this place by mere coincidence, just like the last time.

The blood on their body had to belong solely to their body, but the strangeness of it all was that there wasn't a single open wound. Perhaps someone had healed them after injuring them, and that meant they were not in a safe place now. With these concerns in mind, the child struggled to get up from the bed and, still dizzy, made their way to the window of their room.

There was nothing out of the ordinary—normal people walking civilly at this time of day. The medieval touch was quite evident. The way people dressed and how they carried swords at their hips.

Along these cobblestone streets, the facades of houses leaned toward each other, creating a sort of architectural embrace that provided shade and a sense of proximity. The windows were small, framed with carved wood or hewn stone, allowing only glimpses of the bustling life within.

The scent of freshly baked bread mingled with chimney smoke and the sweetness of dried herbs hanging from doorways. The clinking of blacksmiths and the chants of wandering vendors filled the air, creating a unique symphony that enveloped every corner.

"Prince Gilgamesh!"

"Has anyone seen Prince Gilgamesh?"

"That's my name, yes, the very name of my previous life..." Gilgamesh let out a faint sigh and stepped away from the window to avoid being seen. As he had heard, he was a prince, and it seemed they were looking for him.

Despite this, he remembered nothing more than his name and where he came from in this life. It was evident that this world was not his own, as the setting was different and here appeared to be a place far less advanced than his own kingdom. With this in mind, it seemed he had reincarnated, and the body he had taken as his own had serious enemies, considering he had been killed in this room.

How did he arrive at this conclusion so easily? It was simple, this method of reincarnation was within the purview of deities entering the human world, taking bodies that were injured or dead minutes before they took their place.

He wasn't foolish, but he knew that if the previous owner of the body he had taken was dead, the circumstances of their death should be questioned before it was too late.

"My powers haven't returned yet, and my connection to my treasure continues to strengthen. It would be foolish to waste the glory of being a prince of a kingdom that could be mine if it's splendid enough." Gilgamesh's words were arrogant, a result of his unique personality acquired through his previous experiences.

Having made a decision, he opened the door to the room and saw numerous corpses on the floor. Judging by their clothing, they were likely the ones who had kept him in this place, following the orders of someone who wanted to kill him.

"This will do for now..." Gilgamesh held a steel sword in the hands of one of the corpses. Indifferently, his bare feet stepped on the cold blood as he walked downstairs using the wooden stairs.

With a calm stride, Gilgamesh moved through the grim scene of the massacre. The bodies lay scattered as if they were mere trash, their worth reduced to nothing, all of them wearing expressions defined solely by disbelief.

"They were killed by someone they knew, possibly the same one who ordered them to eliminate me," Gilgamesh murmured as he examined the wounds on the bodies strewn across the floor.

The poison coursing through the victims' veins had twisted their faces in agony, a grim testament to the lethality of the poison that had been used.

Without any hint of emotion, Gilgamesh's cold eyes rested upon the lifeless forms, his countenance undisturbed as he crossed the field of death with an indifference that seemed carved in stone—a manifestation of his experiences from past lives.

"You are not worthy of living in my kingdom; you died like the trash you are." Gilgamesh's bare feet moved through the blood and slid across the corpses without issue, as if death itself was not worthy of disturbing his emotions.

The shadows of the fallen bodies became his silent carpet as he advanced towards the inn's door. The creaking wooden threshold bore his weight, marking his departure from this unfamiliar world.

Outside the inn, the sound of horse hooves echoed rapidly through the cobblestone streets as they searched for Gilgamesh, who was nonchalantly exiting the inn.

As Gilgamesh opened the door, the strong sun caused him to narrow his eyes slightly, and the knights outside who were eagerly searching for the missing prince turned their gazes toward the door's creak.

"Prince Gilgamesh!"

"The prince has been found, quickly, call the doctor to examine him immediately!" The knights rushed toward where Gilgamesh had appeared, and one quickly bent to one knee and asked, "My prince, are you well?"

"There is nothing in this world that can harm me. So, Sir Knight, thoroughly inspect the inn and find the culprits who made me soil my feet and hands with their blood," Gilgamesh extended his hand, holding the heavy sword.

When the knights saw this action, a sense of death filled their souls, and their bodies froze in terror. They, the royal knights of the Kingdom of Asura, were immobilized by a simple movement from Prince Gilgamesh.

"What is happening?" Gilgamesh locked eyes with the first knight, who held the sword with rigid movements. "I want to go home, I've had enough of wasting my precious time here."

"Y-Yes, Prince Gilgamesh."

"Where is the carriage?"