A thunderous roar echoed across the dried and lifeless earth. The raging pallid storm slammed again and again against the barrier that had bloomed in an instant, shrieking with a piercing cry.
The refugees who had just been fleeing stared in speechless shock.
Who… was that…
Who could, with mere flesh and blood, stand against a calamity!?
Stunned, stupefied—until another voice reached their ears. Low, hoarse, ancient:
“It seems… your destinies have not yet arrived.”
They turned and saw him—an old man in a tattered black cloak, hood drawn, leaning on a wooden staff. He had somehow appeared at their side without their notice.
“Y-you are…?” someone stammered.
Even a fool would understand by now: this man was connected to the one holding back the disaster. Neither were ordinary.
“Who this old one is, does not matter.” Ziusudra lifted his hood, revealing a beard-shrouded face, and looked upon them once. “What matters is that you remember the one who let your fates endure—”
His staff rose, pointing upward.
The people followed the gesture.
Up there, Rovi stood, robes whipping, arms flung wide, bracing under unbearable pressure.
After his recent study, Rovi wielded the [Key of Heaven] with far greater mastery.
To merely block, he had no need of Gilgamesh’s [Gate of Babylon].
The Key alone was enough—closing the “gate” of space before him, transfiguring it into a vast barrier.
Truthfully, confining the Bull of Heaven like this wasn’t difficult.
It had not yet fully manifested.
The Key’s power could easily limit its domain.
But—
That wasn’t what Rovi wanted.
This was a rare chance. He would not waste it. Merely restraining it would never vent the fury boiling in his chest.
One who longed for death had every right to be reckless.
The roaring storm grew wilder, deafening.
But Rovi only held the barrier with one hand—
And with the other, he pointed skyward.
Ripples opened. In an instant, they spread.
The [Gate of Babylon] unfolded—tens of portals flaring open. Countless blades jutted forth.
They fell, vertical and absolute!
Swords flared as chains burst from their hilts, weaving, twisting, piercing straight into the storm.
Like spikes into flesh, they anchored tight.
Bound.
Moo—!
Though not yet complete, the Bull of Heaven had descended with its true body, and even this storm bore its essence.
It bellowed.
The storm, bound in the [Chains of Heaven], twisted into the outline of a colossal bull, cloud-flesh taking form.
Vast horns split the sky, hooves stamped against the earth.
Its glaring eyes locked upon Rovi.
The people below, already terrified, quailed further—tongues frozen.
“Wait… that golden light, those chains… Could that be Rovi, the royal advisor who subdued the Monster Forest in the west!?”
“The same Rovi who is rumored to be the King’s friend? The one who destroyed an entire nation in a single night!?”
“Could it really be… that Rovi-sama!?”
Recognition spread.
Ziusudra said nothing, only leaning on his staff at the side.
Recognition was inevitable.
Rovi’s name was already widespread—after the “annihilation of a nation,” it had become legend. None could claim not to have heard.
But beneath his hood, the elder thought only:
“Rovi… you intend to exceed your own limits, to wound the Bull of Heaven?”
His eyes glimmered faintly blue.
Having lived since the Flood, his sight was sharp. He saw it clearly: the raging force inside Rovi, wild, uncontrollable.
Not the flow of one preparing to release it safely.
Rovi—was ready to burn himself out.
Even if it killed him—
He would purge the Bull’s influence completely.
Resolute, unhesitating—even if it cost his life.
“Those who seek life shall die. Those who seek death shall live.”
“Such courage… small wonder he is fated to be a savior of calamity.”
Ziusudra understood.
But he could not know the exhilaration pounding in Rovi’s heart.
The delight of venting his rage.
The thrill that here, now, was the perfect place to die.
To push himself beyond his limits—
To fall from exhaustion—
And force the Bull of Heaven to strike down his most fragile, broken self.
Only such a being could make it natural—inevitable—for him to pour everything out.
Robes flared, hem whipping.
“Fuhahaha… beast. Are you afraid?”
He laughed.
Seeking death—arrogant, wild.
Moo—!
The Bull’s cry indeed trembled with fear.
It feared Rovi’s madness.
It had not fully manifested. Its forming could not be interrupted. Yet that did not mean it could not be harmed.
If the impact was great enough—
The Bull of Heaven would feel pain. It would bleed.
It might even—die.
Lacking true wisdom, but driven by instinct, the great cloud-bull turned to flee.
But it could not move.
It was chained fast.
Even divine beasts carried divinity. And in this stage, the Bull lacked the strength to break free.
At that instant—
Rovi raised the hand holding the barrier.
Ignoring the ruin of his body, pushing beyond his limits, he poured all into the [Key of Heaven].
The ground beneath his feet became a vast “gate.”
And from that gate, he gathered all its dust—its concept of drought—into his palm.
The people below lifted their eyes—and realized the air had grown moist.
Some staggering across the desert saw fountains burst from the earth.
Some who collapsed from thirst felt rain on their faces. Torrential rain fell from the heavens.
The ground sprouted green, riverbeds darkened with wet.
And high above—one man stood against disaster.
Who was he?
They did not know.
But they would remember that, in this moment, one had stood in flesh and blood against the storm.
Rovi believed—
Centuries later, some would still remember.
Remember there was once one who held the vast earth in his hand, who turned the stars.
That would be enough.
Boom!
The swollen power burst free, like floodgates shattering. Light and brilliance drowned the world.
MOOO—!
The Bull screamed, an anguished roar, forced into desperation. Instead of retreating, it hurled itself forward, horns like clouds, striking headlong!
Dazzling radiance.
Falling sparks scattered like fire, blooming like a hundred flowers.
The Bull of Heaven vanished.
The storm it had gathered was torn apart, blown away.
Only a single wisp of cloud remained.
And falling to the earth—
A lone figure stood.
Robes still billowing.
He did not collapse.
But his eyes were closed.
And his breath was gone.
“Rovi-sama… what happened?” someone whispered below.
“He—died.”
Rovi was dead.
Dead without hesitation. Dead without regret.
And that death—
Brilliant, yet warm as the sun.
The crowd was aghast, unable to comprehend such an ending.
Only Ziusudra remained calm.
For he knew—
He died like fireworks.
And will rise again with the dawn.
…
“Rovi… why are you here?”
A clear voice reached his ears.
Rovi, helpless, opened his eyes.
Before him—A throne, piled from the wreckage of the world. A golden-haired girl sat upon it, crimson eyes bright, gazing at him.
She blinked, surprised, almost delighted.
“You… came to see me?”
“Rovi?”
Rovi: “…”
—
T/N: LMAOOOOOO anyways gramps said those who seek death will live so… its over for Rovi
This is a fan translation of 求你让我上英灵座吧 by 洛州白马 All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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