59: A Discussion of Rank with Samarkand
That night, the day Rebecca arrived…
I summoned Samarkand to my room.
“Samarkand… um… this is about… ranks within the organization.”
“Yes.” Samarkand knelt, bowing his head respectfully.
“I understand. I currently hold the third rank. However, Rebecca-sama is a transfer from the Undead Army, and she is responsible for training the undead in the assassination unit, as well as the future bodyguard unit. She also possesses leadership qualities. Therefore, after you, my master, at first rank, and Liz-sama, your vice-commander, at second, the third rank is suitable for her. As for me—would fourth rank be appropriate? Or perhaps fifth? Even lower, if that is your command.”
He’d voiced everything I’d been thinking.
“…Yes. I’m considering placing you at fourth rank. It will only slightly reduce your official authority, but your treatment and your position in the bodyguard unit will remain unchanged.”
He’d also voiced all the things I’d been hesitant to say.
He’d joined my unit under… unusual circumstances.
He’d come to assassinate me. But because he’d ultimately refused, I’d survived.
So, I’d created the bodyguard unit and placed him under Liz, who had been my sole bodyguard until then. He was a greater demon—and even if that wasn’t ideal for a bodyguard—his combat abilities were undeniable.
Hence, his ‘third rank.’
During the previous attack, the closest I’d come to death as the Lord of Disease, he’d bought us valuable time, even though he’d been outmatched.
Literally using his entire being as a shield.
So, demoting him, even for strategic reasons, weighed heavily on my mind.
“Is that acceptable?”
“I said I would accept anything. —However, allow me to speak freely.”
“Not just ‘one thing.’ Say whatever you wish.”
“The rank you bestowed upon me is my pride. But it is also a title to serve you, and the number itself is a trivial matter. —I simply ask for your continued trust.”
“…Of course, but…?” I wanted to point out that ‘bestow’ wasn’t a word one should use casually.
“That is all I require. I shall continue to serve you faithfully as the fourth in command.”
“Thank you, Samarkand.”
I was relieved that the delicate conversation was over.
“Please be careful. I will be your shield against any threat to your life.”
“Um, please be careful yourself, too.”
“Of course. I would not be forgiven if I died before fulfilling my duty as your shield.”
“…Do you remember… what I said when I first called you my subordinate?”
“Yes. You said, ‘You are my subordinate. Do not mistake that. You are not a tool.’” Knowing him, he’d probably remembered it verbatim.
“Then…”
“With all due respect, my master, you underestimate your own value.” Samarkand shook his head slowly.
“I believe it is my greatest fortune to serve you as your subordinate, to be your shield.”
“You haven’t been… brainwashed… or anything, right?”
While this was the usual Samarkand, his words were always so… intense… that I occasionally got worried.
“That question is meaningless. If I were brainwashed, I wouldn’t admit it. —However, let me assure you. There is no mind magic that can override my loyalty.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“It is my greatest joy.” That’s a lot.
It was nice to be appreciated.
I was the Lord of Disease, a supreme commander. A position of considerable power. Only His Majesty outranked me. Beside me were five other supreme commanders. And beneath me were my subordinates.
Samarkand was one of them. And he held a unique position, having come to assassinate me, then entering into a rather… intense… employment contract, sealed with a blood oath.
The weight of his trust was the weight of my position.
So, every time Samarkand showed me such unwavering, almost unconditional trust… I wondered if I was worthy of such devotion.
“Samarkand.”
“Yes, my master.”
I hesitated.
I’d wanted to ask, “Am I a good master?”
I’d wanted to hear him say, “Yes, you are.”
He would have given me the answer I wanted.
“It’s nothing. —I’ll do my best. To be worthy of your loyalty.”
So, I couldn’t afford to indulge in such questions.
“Yes, my master. I will lend you my strength, however insignificant.”
He believed in me. He’d come to kill the Lord of Disease, and yet, he’d stopped.
He’d believed in the possibility.
He’d even risked his own life.
“Thank you, Samarkand. I look forward to continuing to work with you.”
His trust wasn’t blind.
“Yes, my master. I will dedicate my everything to making your words a reality.”
It was just… his words were so intense that I wondered if I should suggest counseling.
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