Rome Must Perish

"Horace." Maximus looked at the plain-faced Roman veteran and reminded him in a deep voice, "I’ve assigned you five subordinates, not to have them follow you around to rescue the wounded, but to assist you in managing the entire tribe’s medical affairs, overseeing all the doctors and nurses within the tribe.

If war breaks out, they will help you temporarily summon all the doctors and nurses from the tribe to rescue the wounded. You and your subordinates only need to supervise them and allocate personnel efficiently.

If multiple battles occur simultaneously, you can also personally appoint a doctor to serve as the temporary head of a medical camp for the aftermath of a specific battle... This is the role your Medical Department should play. Do you understand?"

"Oh..." Horace suddenly realized, but his face immediately clouded with concern. "But if that’s the case, won’t some people slack off and neglect to treat the patients?"

Maximus confidently replied, "They will do their best because the Twenty Peerage System will make them take their work seriously. Perform well, and they’ll rise in rank; perform poorly, and they’ll be demoted. Their performance will be recorded by you and your subordinates—that’s also one of the tasks of the Medical Department."

Horace’s eyes widened in surprise. "The Twenty Peerage System has demotions as well?"

Maximus asked with equal surprise, "Have I not mentioned this before?"

"You haven’t." Horace answered with certainty.

"That was my oversight!" Maximus smacked his forehead and explained, "Perform well, and you’ll be promoted. Perform poorly, or worse, break the decrees, and you’ll certainly be demoted. There’s no such thing as promotion without demotion in this world, right, Horace?"