Chapter 410

"Evidently it's been proposed that I be named a God." Ainz said, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his throne. "Tell me, Jircniv, how should I react to this?" 'I wonder what he'll advise, it's always a good idea to gauge the thoughts of smart people.' Ainz thought, 'And it's a convenient way to give him a way to feel in control.'

The former emperor felt the weight of a test crash down on him. 'So, that's how it is, prove my wisdom and my worth.' But first he had to ask, "Is your Majesty averse to godhood?"

"No. Titles are just titles. In the end it is what someone can do that matters. By the reckoning of this world, I suppose I could be called a god." Ainz answered, and Jircniv felt his affection meter rise exponentially. 'A pragmatist after my own heart!'

Now knowing for sure the nature of the man he dealt with, Jircniv gave a pragmatic answer, he spread open his hands and arms and said, "My Lord, in my experience, titles are paths to power. When people revere a title, it gives reverence to the one who bears it. So? I would say embrace the title, it will help keep your people in awe of you even without you having to demonstrate reasons for that awe to exist."

It was indeed a pragmatic answer, and Ainz saw the sense in it almost immediately. He rubbed his chin and gave it a thought, nodding as he reached the same conclusion.

"No wonder you ruled." He finally acknowledged. "You are as wise as your reputation suggests."

Jircniv bowed his head. "I thank you, Your Majesty."

With that, Ainz settled on another course. "It's a shame to waste a talented man in idle retirement. What if I were to offer you a place in my government?"

"My Lord?" Jircniv asked, he didn't have to be a genius to see that something was amiss with the Allfather. Something new was developing before his eyes.

"We will give you a new face and identity as planned, but… suppose instead of simply living in idle retirement, you act as a mobile advisor? You will travel to the royal courts of my subordinate regions, live for a year or three in each location… borrowing from the Emperor and Empress of Baharuth, but somewhat longer. Each place you go to, you help instruct the young and upcoming leaders, and assist the current leaders with their projects and shortcomings. Then you move on. As your children come of age, they can join you in this task, a kind of mobile bureaucracy bringing uniformity of method to the whole of my Empire so that everyone does things the same way. You can train the whole army of desks to make it run smoothly. What say you?"

Jircniv's mind boggled at the casual revolution, it was a potentially tremendously powerful position, one that would also create tremendous power for the Allfather and for those who managed his empire for him.

"I-I accept! But what would you call such a position?" Jircniv asked.

Ainz snatched a title from the air, "General Secretary of the Empire of Nazarick seems suitable. I'll have the notices drawn up at once, we'll provide you a new face and give you a few weeks to choose a name, new insignia, new house title for yourself, and help the other houses understand what you will be handling. In the meantime, you can develop a uniform model of procedures and have them approved by the Allmother. After that, we'll give you suitable luxury, a budget, an escort, and you can begin a life without walls around you at all times."

It was a casual statement, but for Jircniv who had been living in a prison of his own making to preserve his life for all this time? It was a gift of life… and almost like the promise of paradise. His loyalty meter instantly maximized. "My Lord, I am your true servant." The former emperor bowed his head.

And the meeting was over.

The work ahead would be copious, but in Jircniv's own mind, the life that would follow it was almost dreamlike.

Raids of the sort Vargas had undertaken were plentiful, that much the Holocaust Scripture member knew. Since taking on the small handful of elven slaves after his most recent raid, he'd conducted several more himself, there was little doubt in his mind that the others were no different.

And yet somehow his had turned out differently.

Very differently.

Since the first misunderstanding, his colleagues had assumed he intended to liberate every rescued elf on his raids, and now…?

He sat at his desk writing out a report trying to ignore the whining of a half elf infant, in front of him was a series of benches and long tables to make an improvised work area. The benches themselves were almost impossible to see because there was an elf or half elf seated on every inch of space, all of them working at the tasks he'd set them to.

'Now I've been saddled with this.' He mentally rolled his eyes as he gave his account of the raid. It was the second page of his report, most usually contained only one page.

This one however, would require several, because now?

'Now I'm in too deep, if I admit I never intended this, I'll look like a complete idiot!' Vargas told himself, and as word spread that the Holocaust Scripture leadership was setting free every elf and half elf along with the ones that had been 'stolen' from King Mare I's country, he had to explain it.

To give the elves something to do, he set them to copying his explanation for his 'decision'.

This was the fourth such occasion, and they seemed happy enough. As a practical matter, they now wore the black uniforms of Holocaust trainees, though sans the indicators of rank. They rarely bothered him, save for keeping their brats close at hand.

That grated on the ruddy faced Scripture member, but he did his best to ignore it and focus on what he wrote…

'In the course of human events, there comes a time when radical measures must be undertaken because the times themselves are radical. Such ages do not allow for half measures, nor can we afford the antagonism of our neighbors. We who would call ourselves the leaders of humanity must demonstrate our resolve, our commitment to peace in times of danger, for though passions may have inflamed, they must not allow us to break the bonds of the brotherhood of man. If the whole of mankind stands against this one single thing, are not we the transgressors? To call an elf brother, or neighbor, may seem strange, alien, even immoral. But let it not be forgotten that the gods themselves once allied with the elven people, nor that we once were at peace before their late King struck at us.

If we in times of peace will raid their lands for our desires, are we not less powerful monstrous little kinglets as he? So, to my brethren, I say, embrace my action as if it were your own idea…'

Vargas finished his last line and in his mind added only, 'So that I don't appear to be a complete idiot!' It sounded persuasive at least, and he droned on a little, relating how useful the recovered slaves were in copying his work and in the general administration of the facility in which they now worked.

And that part wasn't even a lie. The elves proved more than willing to work, as long as it was a task he believed was important.

Within a week since settling in after the last raid, the Holocaust Scripture member had a de facto company of attendants which he ended up assigning to various other squad leaders and even nonmilitary employment around their base of operations.

He held out the paper and a young elf woman approached, as was now his custom, or habit, really, he did not look at her when she came close. Looking at their adoring, devoted, even worshipful faces sent his gut to roiling. "Here." He said, and she accepted it. He pretended to be staring down at the next blank page for another report of actions, though he could feel her seeking his eyes, he said nothing. Only waited until she took it and moved away, retreating to her place at the head to slowly read while her comrades copied down his words.

She had a lilting, sweet voice, and with her back to him, he raised his head to get a look. In human terms she would have appeared to be in her early twenties, which probably meant she was a few hundred years old. Which also probably meant she hadn't been born in the Theocracy.

Her ears were cut in the usual fashion, and the uniform she wore was a little tighter than usual. For reasons he didn't entirely know, elves seemed to prefer their clothing to be tight against the skin, rather than loose as humans tended to wear it. It was a point of curiosity, but not one he cared enough to ask about at that moment.

Worse, it would mean 'talking' to them. And talking to them, left Vargas with a deep discomfort he could not quite explain.

It was a relief when the day ended, and when, after a few more errands, he returned to the private quarters afforded to him as a result of his position. It wasn't much, really just a one room cabin with a bed, a desk, an oil lamp, a wardrobe, a trunk, and an elf.

'Wait? An elf?! I didn't have an elf there…?' It was, by Vargas's own reckoning, the single dumbest thought he'd ever had in his entire life. However, by that same reckoning, he didn't feel like he could be blamed, as how common could it be to return to one's home and find a random person in one's bed?

He lit the oil lamp and recognized the face of the one who lay there. She was still wearing the uniform of a Holocaust trainee, though it had been unlaced somewhat at the top. He reflexively reached for his knife. "Assassin!" He exclaimed, and she froze, shooting upright a moment later and shaking her head.

"No!" She cried, "I would never harm the liberator!"

Vargas paused, he removed his hand from the knife. "What are you doing here?" He snapped out the question without hesitation.

"I have nothing but myself to show my gratitude-" She began, but she did not get far.

"No." Vargas answered.

She blinked dumbly several times, then glanced away from him and toward the window, thanks to the lamplight, she caught a glimpse at her reflection, and was again sure that she was herself.

It wasn't hard even for Vargas to read her expression, disbelief. That disbelief was certainly understandable. By any standard, she was the picture of loveliness, a sylvan frame and apple face with piercing blue eyes and short blonde hair that was only starting to grow out again.

"I don't need your gratitude. I need my sleep." Vargas said and yanked the door of his cabin open, he tilted his head toward the exit. "Get out."

"My name is Aola Sanfaseh." She said by way of introduction.

"Fine. Now you've given me your name, that's plenty, go." He said.

She slid off of his bed. "Are you one of those humans who prefers their own sex?" She asked as he averted his gaze.

"Yes. That." He grabbed hold of the lie at once as she got to her feet.

"You're lying." She said after a moment.

"So what?" He retorted.

"Why won't you at least look at me?" She asked, then reached up to touch the severed places of her ears, "Is it these? I've seen how you don't look at us, not with love, not with contempt, not at all. Is our mutilation so strange? Surely you've seen it countless times…"

"Don't ask me to explain. Just leave me." He said, and she strode over to where he stood at the door.

"Whatever your reason for your actions, they were good ones. A lot of pain stopped because of you, a lot of happiness will be born because of you. Keep that in mind, liberator." She said and placed one warm hand on his chest before walking out.

He shut the door behind him and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Now for a good night's sleep." He said as he got himself ready for bed. But when he laid down, he didn't sleep. Not a wink in the whole night.