Lord of Disease (JP-GL) 401

401: In the Sunlight

“—Liz, Liz, what’s wrong? It’s over.”

I was pulled back to the present, as if from a memory of the past that I had wandered into.

I took the bundle of documents that was offered to me.

“Ah… yes, good work, Master.”

“Yes, I’m tired…”

The Lord of Disease’s private room. The master of the room collapsed onto her desk.

“Hah, the desk is so warm and comfortable…”

She pressed her cheek to the top of the desk, which was warmed by the sunlight, closed her eyes, sighed, and relaxed her shoulders. And she went limp.

It was a familiar sight. When she was on guard, she was composed and cool, but the gap between that and when she was relaxed was extreme.

…But among the members of the Sixth Army, the latter was actually more popular. I, too, didn’t dislike it.

Not much had changed in our lives, even after we had gotten married the other day. Officially, my room was still next door. But since we had become lovers, I had moved most of my clothes here, and we spent almost every night together.

Master said, “I kind of like the sound of the word ‘love nest.’” I had replied, “Ah, you’re like a bird in that respect,” but in my heart, I had agreed.

She tried to spoil me, whenever she had a chance. …I accepted some of it, and I rejected some of it. Her feelings were so heavy, so sweet, that if I were to let my guard down—I felt as if I would be spoiled rotten and melted.

…I sometimes wondered what would happen if I were to let my guard down a little and let myself be spoiled.

But that was not the kind of being I had once wished for.

I had wanted to be a perfected assassin. I had wanted to be a single dagger. I had wanted to be a trusted tool.

I didn’t know how close I had come to that ideal. But I was proud of the fact that I had contributed to the training of personnel, as a member of the Royal Guard. And as an assassin, I had ‘contributed’ to intelligence gathering, guarding… and even assassination.

My ‘senior’—the Royal Guard had no formal hierarchy, and since the commander was Your Majesty the Demon King, we were officially of the same rank, but she was, in effect, the top assassin—had said, “I think you’re a little too much of a frontal assault type,” but since there had been many such situations, I thought it couldn’t be helped.

An order was absolute. Of course, if it was a situation where I couldn’t leave any evidence of a homicide, then I would do so, but if it was just a matter of killing, then I thought that breaking through with the guards was the fastest way—or so I had said.

My senior had muttered, “The fact that you can break through is strange, and the fact that you don’t think it’s strange is strange. You’re skilled, but it’s rather unsettling.”

I had been able to hear and remember a little, but the soliloquy, which still didn’t sink into my head, and whose meaning I couldn’t quite grasp. I wondered what it meant.

And thanks to that, I had come to be called by the nickname of the Darkling Blade, even though I was an assassin.

Originally, to be called by a nickname in Listrea was a status symbol. But for an assassin, it was equivalent to being branded as a second-rate. That said, this was also a decision from ‘above.’ If you were to turn against the nation, a blade would come from the twilight. Later, it was promoted with that kind of a threat.

To give substance to a whispered rumor—in that sense, it was similar to the Lord of Disease.

A flashy name concealed the reality. We assassins were inhabitants of the twilight. If I stood out, then the others would not. That was my role.

When I had been told that the name of the Darkling Blade would not be erased, but rather, would be spread. My senior had said, “It’s a flashy name, but what you do is even flashier, so I think it’s just right. Of course, I’ll back you up, so try not to break through as much as possible.”

I should have been able to understand the meaning of that, since it had been said so normally… but I was still a little confused.

I had just done the job I had been ordered to do, in the way I could.

Now, I was often spoken of in the same breath as the Lord of Disease. Especially since we had gotten married. From time to time, I was asked about same-sex marriage by my former colleagues in the Royal Guard and the daughters of the civilian officials, but I couldn’t say anything very witty. I just told them that I was happy. And that in this country, there were multiple races… and that gender was just one factor.

“…You’ve worked hard.”

I reached out and stroked Master’s hair. Silky hair. —Even though she was a Greater Wraith, her hair and her skin felt no different from before.

“…Hehe. Somehow, when you stroke my hair, Liz, it feels like my fatigue is melting away…”

Master’s lips curved into a smile, and she opened her eyes a little and looked up at me.

“So even a Greater Wraith gets tired.”

“My shoulders don’t get as stiff as they used to. But I do get mentally fatigued.”

“…Shall we take a break?” I placed the documents on the desk.

(You can learn other things.)

I sometimes remembered Marta’s words. But I hadn’t thought it was necessary.

It was after I had met Master that I had wanted to learn something other than how to kill.

I had thought I could do all the housework—cooking, laundry, cleaning. But that was just enough to get by in a dormitory or an inn, as a soldier. Or the skills needed to infiltrate for a short period of time or to camp, as an assassin. I had been made to realize that it was not at all enough, as a maid.

But Master had never complained. Even when I had burned the food, even when the seasoning was clearly strange… even the one time I had mistaken salt for sugar, she had, for some reason, seemed strangely happy.

The overly sweet stew that had resulted had been adjusted by her, who was clearly more used to cooking than I was, even though she was unfamiliar with the kitchen equipment… and that stew had had a gentle taste.

She had never complained to me. When I had asked her if she had any complaints, she had said, with a smile, “Just having a maid is enough to fill my heart,” and I had been at a loss for words.

And yet—especially in the first year, when she would fall ill at the slightest thing, I had wanted to do what I could.

There were probably several reasons for that. The fatigue from the paperwork she had been doing so diligently, a task that was not befitting of a supreme commander. The fact that her life was in danger, from the assassins of both humans—and demons—who were sometimes sent after her.

…And probably, the nutritional balance of her meals had been poor.

She was not a dark elf, nor a beastman. The more mana you had, the more stable your bodily functions were, but still—the basic structure of her body was different. While she only spoke of it in a rather vague way, the country she had come from was probably warmer. At first, she had even been hesitant to ask me to make the fire in the fireplace stronger, so that was even more so.

We had both been a little hesitant to close the distance, and after a period of feeling each other out. She had had a fever, as usual, and after she had recovered, she had seemed so lonely, and she had tugged on my sleeve, as if by accident… and I hadn’t been able to shake her off, and I hadn’t been able to look away, and I had slept with her… and she had become attached to me.

After that, when I had pushed her away, when she had come closer than usual, she had looked so dejected that if she had been a dog, I would have seen her tail droop. And when I had said a few kind words to her, she had been so happy. And she would smile at me, as if I were the most precious thing in the world.

I had grown attached.

Come to think of it, she had been almost alone. She had been under house arrest… no, she had been confined, and she had spent her time in a room in the royal castle.

When we had first met, she had said, “I wanted someone to talk to.”

…What had we done to her? Even now, when I thought back, my chest ached.

That room in the royal castle was sometimes used as a guest room, but it was a surveillance room. It was so empty that it could even be called a luxurious prison.

She—had had nothing. Without anything to rely on, except for a letter from the commander of the Dark Knights, her sister. Not even a resident of this world, her memories stolen, and after a terrible experience… she had been about to be ‘used’ as fuel, like a piece of firewood or oil, by the humans.

And her, who had come with only the desire to do something for this country—for us—even if it meant abandoning the few human relationships she had finally built.

We had locked her up. We hadn’t even given her a book.

We had left her all alone.

And even after that, the doppelgangers and the civilian officials had been clearly frightened and wary at first, so there had been no friendly atmosphere like there was now.

Now, there were even those from other armies who were envious of the atmosphere in the Sixth Army. She had even been at the top of the ‘ranking of the officers you would want as your superior,’ which had been created after the war. But… all of that had been cultivated over time.

And after she had left the royal castle, as a ‘decoy,’ in this large mansion… almost all alone…

At first, I had thought it was a rational choice. This person had defined herself as a tool. …Just like me.

And yet, I had not noticed, because the words she spoke were so cruel, so ruthless… and the operations that were derived from them were so effective. That she was a ‘mere human,’ who had not received any combat training, or any education as a soldier, unlike me, who had volunteered for the army.

And yet, she was the supreme commander of the Demon King’s army, the Lord of Disease. And I, though a vice-commander, was just an assassin.

A human, and a dark elf. Just a superior and a subordinate.

I had drawn a line between her and myself.

And every time she had noticed that line, she had looked a little sad. And yet, she had continued to protect my position.

…Until I could no longer suppress my own feelings.

“So, Master, if you would…”

What I had once wished for was a sensible master. Whether Master was that was questionable. But she did plan her operations with the risks and the returns in mind, and she gave her orders in a proper written form… and she spoiled her assassins.

There might be a more sensible master.

“Will you listen to an old story?”

But the only one I wanted to hear this story from was her.

A person who would not see me as a tool. And yet, a person who would acknowledge me as an assassin. A person whose orders I would gladly risk my life for.

The ideal master I had once dreamed of? …No, she was not that.

—I had sworn, in Itria, to survive and to return to this person.

And yet, I had not favored myself. I had told all of the assassination squad, including myself, to die. To take as many commanders as possible, to throw the battlefield into chaos… and to weaken the pressure of the enemy army that was swarming towards the Lord of Disease. I had honestly conveyed that objective, and everyone had smiled and nodded.

That had not come to pass, but. This person had come back to me.

Harken had once said. —‘An ideal is, after all, just a beautiful, vague picture in one’s mind’… or something like that.

I had never thought of her as an ideal master. If I were to imagine an ideal master from scratch, she would definitely not be like her.

But we all loved her.

Master sat up and, taking my hand, which had been stroking her hair, she held it with both of her hands, as if it were something precious. It was an expression she had not shown me when we had first met. …And to think that she was showing it to me now, alone, made me happy.

“Of course, Liz. Will you tell me?”

My master smiled, her pale, translucent face.