Chương 18: Pride of the Strong

"I must say… that was a magnificent battle." Sairaorg Bael's voice carried no hostility as he approached Gilgamesh, his steps calm and measured. There was neither arrogance nor caution in his posture—only honest admiration. Needless to say, the heir of House Bael was genuinely astonished. He had been summoned under contract, expecting to deal with a dangerous rampaging Longinus.

What he found instead was a young man standing amid devastation—craters carved into the land, scorched earth stretching for kilometers, and at the center of it all lay the unconscious Lion King Regulus Nemea, defeated. And not sealed. Defeated. By someone barely past adolescence. Sairaorg had seen many prodigies in his life. Devils, reincarnated heroes, sacred gear wielders—yet none of them had given him this feeling. This boy fought a Longinus head-on… and won.

Gilgamesh turned toward him, a composed smile forming on his lips.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Devil," Gilgamesh replied politely. There was no mockery in his tone, no sense of superiority—just courtesy toward someone he respected.

"My name is Sairaorg Bael," the devil said, placing a fist to his chest.

"And this is my Queen, Kuisha Abaddon." Kuisha stepped forward and gave a small wave, her cheeks faintly pink.

"It's nice to meet you, Gilgamesh," she said. Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow slightly.

"So… you heard my name?"

"Yes," Sairaorg answered without hesitation.

"And I couldn't help but be surprised to learn that a descendant of that being exists." Of course he knew the name Gilgamesh. There were few in the supernatural world who did not. The King of Heroes. The strongest mortal to ever live. The human who had once stood at a height where even gods hesitated to look down upon him.

"Haha… people say that a lot," Gilgamesh replied lightly.

"So, what do I owe the heir of House Bael this visit?" Sairaorg's lips curved upward—not smugly, but with open anticipation.

"I was wondering," he said slowly, "if you would consider joining my peerage." The words struck like thunder. The exorcists nearby froze. Siegfried's eyes widened. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Jeanne gasped. The Church members immediately stiffened—panic flashing across their faces. They couldn't allow it. A being like Gilgamesh—someone capable of defeating a Longinus—joining the Devils would upset the balance of the world. Siegfried moved first.

His hand closed around the hilt of Gram, the Demonic Emperor Sword, its blade humming with restrained power. But before he could even take a step— Golden chains erupted from the air. They wrapped around his arms, torso, and legs, binding him completely and yanking him back.

"You must release me!" Siegfried shouted, struggling violently.

"I can't allow the Devils to take a Hero to their side!" Jeanne moved instinctively to help— And stopped. Both froze. The pressure had changed. Enkidu and Sebas stood still—but the power rolling off them now was overwhelming. What had once felt like Middle-Class Devil strength now surged far beyond that. Satan Class. Borderline God Class. Cold sweat ran down Jeanne's back.

"This is Gil's decision," Enkidu said calmly, eyes unwavering.

"Do not interfere." Siegfried clenched his teeth—but he knew. They couldn't move. Gilgamesh looked back at Sairaorg, his expression neutral.

"I'm sorry," Gilgamesh said plainly, "but I have no interest in becoming a Devil." Sairaorg's shoulders sank just a fraction.

"I see," he said softly. Then his eyes sharpened.

"But that leads me to my second request." Gilgamesh raised an eyebrow.

"I want to fight you," Sairaorg said.

"Here. Now." Silence fell. Kuisha's eyes widened. The exorcists stared in disbelief. Even Enkidu blinked in surprise. Gilgamesh himself was taken aback. He knew Sairaorg was direct—but this? Then Gilgamesh laughed. A deep, genuine laugh.

"Hahaha… you really are something else, Sairaorg Bael," he said, stepping forward.

"Very well. I accept." Sairaorg's face split into a wide grin.

"Kuisha," he said, "do not intervene." Gilgamesh turned slightly.

"Same goes for you two," he said to Enkidu and Sebas. They nodded. The atmosphere changed. Warmth vanished. Gilgamesh's expression smoothed into something cold and impassive. No arrogance. No hostility. Just absolute focus. The air grew heavy—so dense it felt difficult to breathe. Neither spoke. Neither moved. They simply stared at one another. Those watching didn't understand why nothing was happening. But Sairaorg did. He's ready.

Despite Gilgamesh's relaxed posture, his body was coiled tight—like a serpent ready to strike. His muscles were tense, weight perfectly balanced. Sairaorg felt exhilaration surge through him. Then— He vanished. To most observers, it looked as if Sairaorg had disappeared from existence. In less than a second, he reappeared at Gilgamesh's flank, his fist already drawn back. The punch came with brutal precision—aimed directly at the right side of Gilgamesh's head. The air cracked.

But before impact— Gilgamesh's hand snapped up. He caught the punch inches from his face. The shockwave rippled outward, flattening grass and rattling the ruins around them. Gilgamesh hadn't even turned his head. Sairaorg blinked. His attack—one that had shattered High-Class Devils—had been stopped effortlessly. Gilgamesh felt it. Fast… absurdly fast. Without [Observation Haki], he would've taken that hit. Sairaorg barely had time to register the counter. Gilgamesh's leg whipped upward. A perfect kick.

It struck Sairaorg's head and sent him skidding backward across the ground. When Sairaorg regained his footing, he saw Gilgamesh still holding his leg extended—calmly retracting it as if posing. Sairaorg wiped his mouth. Blood. He laughed. When Gilgamesh smiled back—sharp, teasing, defiant—Sairaorg felt his heart race. Then they moved. The clash erupted. Fists. Kicks. Elbows. Knees. Each strike met with another. Shockwaves rippled with every collision. Sairaorg fought with raw power—his fists relentless, crushing.

Gilgamesh danced—his footwork precise, kicks surgical and deadly. Neither held back. Minutes passed in a blur of violence. Then— Sairaorg drove a heavy body blow into Gilgamesh's ribs. Gilgamesh's expression twitched—pain flashing briefly— But he answered with a brutal punch to Sairaorg's face. Blood sprayed. Sairaorg laughed. They pressed harder. Defense abandoned. Only offense remained. Two warriors. Two kings of will. And the battle had only just begun.