Once Rimuru left, Mjöllmile called over his retainers and servants.
“What did Sir Rimuru want from you, Sir Mjöllmile?” asked Bydd, the former C-level adventurer who was now the merchant’s personal bodyguard.
“Bydd,” Mjöllmile replied with an elated nod, “things are about to get very busy.”
“Oh, did he give you another impossible task? I like all the ideas he has, but I wish he understood how much he puts you through the wringer, huh?”
He laughed, but he didn’t really mean it. Just like Mjöllmile, Bydd owed Rimuru his life. He was one of the demon lord’s greatest fans, and while he described it as a wringer, Bydd probably enjoyed the wringing more than anyone else.
Mjöllmile chuckled back at him. “Bydd, this is gonna be nothing like you’ve ever seen before. Everything I’ve done up to now was like selling pencils on the street corner compared with what’s coming. I’ll be wagering my destiny on this one.”
He already looked like a mob boss, but Mjöllmile’s smile only added to his foreboding presence. His retainers were used to it, but none could hide their surprise upon hearing this declaration.
“What d’you mean by that, Boss?” his chief butler asked. His boss gave him a quick recap—running a battle tournament alongside the Founder’s Festival, together with a test run of their upcoming fast-food concept. The festival itself would be a show of force for the newly ascended Rimuru, an effort all of Tempest was pitching in for, and the scope of it was likely beyond even Mjöllmile’s imagination. His excitement at receiving such a vital assignment was plain as he explained to the staff.
“Thus, I’ve decided,” he concluded, “that I want to become part of Rimuru’s team. No matter what, I have to make sure this is a huge success!”
His servants began to chatter among themselves. Mjöllmile, it seemed, had no intention of returning to Blumund. It caused quite a stir.
“Heh-heh… You ain’t planning on going alone, are you, Sir Mjöllmile? Maybe I’m just some punk off the street, but I’m still your bodyguard. The gang I got under me practically worships Sir Rimuru. Take me along with ya!”
“You wouldn’t be able to guard so much as a flea over there.”
“Aw, come on!”
“But if you would like to assist me in other ways, I suppose I could bring you alone.”
“Sure thing, Boss! I’ll do anything for you! I ain’t exactly intelligent, but I got street smarts, you know.”
Bydd likely did, given his swindler past, although it left Mjöllmile less than convinced.
“Bahhh, all right. The more the merrier, I suppose! And I bet that gang of yours could provide at least a little security, if they know they’ll get a meal out of it. Let’s take ’em along. Now,” he continued, turning toward his retainers, “what about you? You’re free to continue using this manor if you like.”
“Let us join you, sir!” they said in near unison. There was no hesitation among them; after all, Mjöllmile had trained them. Nothing was keeping them in this nation.
It was decided…and now, the real work began. As a full-fledged citizen of Blumund and member of the Free Guild, Mjöllmile had the freedom to travel to other nations. But as a man who believed in fast action once he made a decision, he felt a duty to the business he had remaining in town. There was no need for anxiety about the future.
“You,” he said, pointing out one of his most talented employees. “You’ve proven yourself qualified enough. D’you think you could run things here for me?”
“S-Sir?! This is so sudden…”
“Well, I mean… I appreciate that you’d like to join me, but think about it. We’ll be starting completely from scratch in Sir Rimuru’s domain. I’m planning to be a big success and win over his trust, but I don’t want you to run that gauntlet, too.”
This was a cover story. In truth, he didn’t want to sell this manor and lose his base of operations in Blumund. Ideally, a few of his people would remain here, keeping the lights on whenever his work brought him back.
The leader he picked, a man named Bach, was brought here by his father, a relative of Mjöllmile’s who’d asked him to train his son in the business. He proved quick-witted enough to live up to his end of the bargain; however, Bach’s family had faced difficulty after his father’s business failed, leaving him with nowhere to return to, so Mjöllmile decided to formally hire him as head clerk. At the moment, that family was living off Bach’s income, and Mjöllmile felt too guilty about having him go off on this risky venture. He had no complaint about his work; no doubt the business would work fine under his watchful eye.
“B-Boss… I couldn’t be happier to receive this offer from you. But I hoped that we could perhaps join you…”
Bach, no doubt, was too young to readily accept this. He was reluctant to go fully independent yet; perhaps he thought he still had things to prove to Mjöllmile. It was cute of him, but Mjöllmile didn’t like it. If Bach wanted to stand out on his own, he had to be let out in the wild sooner or later. This was a golden opportunity.
“Bach, I am not your father. I’m offering you a position running this business, but I’m not giving it to you. Listen: Even after I leave here, you better not do anything that puts this business on the rocks, all right? In fact, once you’re able, I’d like to see you buy this outfit out from under me! So make it a big success and bring your parents back here someday, all right?”
He gave him an affectionate smile and patted him on the shoulder. It was a tender
