"Lord Marik."
Rishid entered the room and bowed respectfully.
"How many times have I told you? There's no need for that."
Marik, seated on the sofa, waved his hand impatiently.
"The Pharaoh has returned to the Underworld, and the Three Phantom Gods cards have vanished from this world. The mission of our Tombkeeper Clan ended long ago. Neither of us is bound by the shackles of the past anymore.
"From now on, we are just brothers. I am no longer a Master you need to serve."
But this was far from the first time Marik had said something like that. Rishid had grown up in the Tombkeeper Clan as well, and for the first half of his life, he had been Marik's utterly loyal servant. Habits forged over so many years were not something he could adapt away overnight.
"Forget it," Marik said. "Did you meet that person?"
"I did," Rishid said.
"You lost?"
"I was utterly defeated."
Marik nodded. "He is a man who earned the title of king. It would be strange if he lacked that level of strength."
Still, Marik was not the sort of man who would be intimidated by the title of Duel King alone. After all, he had once stood at the summit, commanded the supreme Egyptian God Cards, and contended with the strongest duelists of his era.
Though things had not gone as he wished in the end, he did not believe that had cast him out of the ranks of those at the pinnacle. He had always felt that, with a little luck involved, he might not be able to beat the Pharaoh, but he at least had a chance against Seto Kaiba.
It was simply that he no longer possessed the vengeful ambitions of his youth. He had no interest in