Chapter 4: Did You All Come as a Group? (Part 1)

"Enough! Silence!" 

Gilgamesh's commanding voice echoed through the hall. 

The summoned Heroic Spirits turned their attention to him. Though some seemed displeased, they held their tongues. After all, this man was their Master, and souring relations with him right from the start wasn't a wise move. 

Reunions and casual chatter could wait. For now, they were Servants, sworn to serve the man before them. 

Their behavior—ignoring their Master and engaging in conversation among themselves upon summoning—was undeniably rude. It was natural for him to be upset. Judging by the hall's grandeur and decorations, it was clear this man was no ordinary individual but a king. 

Every Servant present (except Merlin) understood the gravity of such actions in the presence of a monarch. They themselves had been rulers in their time, so they knew well the implications of disrespecting a king's authority. 

Not every ruler was lenient with their dignity. If their Master had commanded them to take their own lives as punishment for the offense, it wouldn't have been entirely unreasonable. Closing their mouths was a small price to pay, and not all kings were as defiant as Gilgamesh in his youth. 

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"King Gilgamesh, are you all right?" Siduri asked worriedly, supporting him. 

"I'm fine. Just a bit of mana exhaustion. This king won't die so easily." 

Gilgamesh straightened himself, stepped back a few paces, and slumped onto his throne. 

*Damn it.* 

He cursed inwardly. 

Ordinarily, summoning Heroic Spirits wouldn't have posed any burden. The Uruk Chalice would've provided an endless supply of mana to sustain them. But the problem lay in the Beast Goddess of the north. Her beasts were far more numerous and powerful than expected. 

Even with the divine insignia (*Dingir*) fortifying the frontlines, Uruk's barriers were relentlessly attacked by her airborne units. This had drastically increased Gilgamesh's mana expenditure, leaving him drained even after summoning a few Heroic Spirits. 

"This king has no interest in listening to your meaningless chatter," Gilgamesh said, casting a sharp glance at the summoned Servants. 

*Only one capable of aerial combat? Can I even deploy them for large-scale strikes? Damn it, is my luck really this bad?!* 

"Hurry up with your introductions! I've got plenty of other problems to deal with once this is done!" 

Hearing this, the two female Servants among them exchanged glances, their eyes lighting up briefly. However, the woman bound by golden chains hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. 

While she was skilled in governance and strategy, this incarnation of hers was more inclined to prove herself through battle. 

Gazing at the shackles around her wrists and ankles, she bit her lower lip and clenched her fists. 

"…?" Cleopatra, who had been stealing glances at Caesar, noticed her behavior. She quietly walked over to Siduri, whispered something, and then left the hall. 

Gilgamesh, of course, saw this. He wasn't blind. But he merely glanced sidelong and returned his focus to the room. 

"Get on with it and get it over with! Isn't that what you want too?" he urged. 

"Then allow me to begin." 

The man with the laurel crown on his head, handsome but lacking in physical appeal, stepped forward. 

"My name is **Gaius Julius Caesar.** Though I don't know why I've been summoned in the Saber class again, here I am. If you wish to assign me to the frontlines, I have no objections. In fact, please send me to the frontlines alongside Lord Iskandar!" 

Caesar's tone grew passionate but quickly settled. 

"However, if you could station me with Cleopatra, that would be even better." 

He glanced around, trying to gauge Cleopatra's reaction, only to realize she had disappeared. 

*Wha… what? Is she avoiding me? Because of how I look now?!* 

"Servant Lancer! Leonidas, King of Sparta, at your command!" 

Ignoring Caesar, the muscular man who had been silent until now stepped forward and introduced himself. 

What could one say? Despite his stoic demeanor, his Spartan essence shone through. Boldly declaring "at your command" in front of Gilgamesh was no small feat. 

Gilgamesh sighed, waving dismissively. "Next." 

"Archer. Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra," a scantily clad woman bound by golden shackles introduced herself. Her alluring figure drew every man's gaze. 

"WOW!" Merlin whispered in awe from the corner. 

Her outfit was undoubtedly provocative. The tattered state of her clothing made it resemble little more than intimate apparel, exposing so much that it was almost painful to look at. Even in an era where skimpy attire was the norm, hers stood out. 

Perhaps sensing the attention, Zenobia explained awkwardly: 

"This form represents the most humiliating moment of my life. It is a reminder of the disgrace I must overcome, and perhaps why I have appeared this way. But do not worry. Despite my appearance, I am fully capable in battle, governance, and leading troops. Assign me any task, and I shall excel. This time, I will prove myself—the ideal queen I aspire to be." 

She bowed slightly, her expression resolute. 

*Is it humiliating? Of course.* 

But it was precisely because of this shame that she could not forget. It was this disgrace she sought to overcome. The defeated version of herself, the one who faced ruin—she refused to accept it. She had to conquer it. 

Gilgamesh listened silently. In his tyrannical youth, he might have ridiculed her and told her to cover herself, claiming, "This king has no interest in your filthy body." 

Such behavior was despicable. Part of a king's duty was to consider the emotions of his subjects. 

"There is no need for shame," Gilgamesh said calmly, his voice carrying undeniable authority. 

"In this era, there are others dressed similarly. Even the urban deities of Uruk often roam in outfits like this. Take pride in your form. If I were to announce you as a goddess incarnate, no one would question it." 

Zenobia's eyes widened, staring at him in stunned silence. 

At that moment, a pair of hands appeared from behind and draped a white robe over her shoulders. 

"C-Cleopatra?!" 

"I don't know what decision you've made or why you chose to dress like this, but no woman would ever take pride in such attire," Cleopatra said firmly, meeting Zenobia's gaze. "If you hate it, don't force yourself." 

"But let me be clear—I only helped you because I felt like it! Refuse me, and you'll regret it!" Cleopatra added, her tone sharp as she glared at Zenobia. Without waiting for a reply, she turned to Gilgamesh and approached. 

"Assassin. I am Cleopatra VII Thea Philopator, the last Pharaoh," she said, smoothing her teal hair as her cheeks flushed slightly. "And… also the wife of Caesar…" 

Her voice trailed off, and she avoided looking in Caesar's direction. Her earlier confidence deflated like a punctured balloon, revealing her insecurity. 

"Oh, Cleopatra! So you don't despise me after all?!" Caesar exclaimed in delight. 

"Of course not! Saying things like 'even with this figure, you're still so charming'—what's that supposed to mean?!" Cleopatra cried, burying her face in Zenobia's chest. 

"That's enough! Next!" Gilgamesh interrupted, cutting short the foolish banter. 

"What?! It was just getting good!" Merlin protested loudly.