Episode 97 — Humiliation on the Board

Duke Daryl turned his gaze toward a corner of the hall. Small round tables were lined up there, each topped with a board and a set of exquisitely carved black and white pieces—the "Game of Intellect," as Gustav had called it.

"Hmph... Child's play."

Daryl let out a derisive snort and walked over to one of the tables. Up close, the craftsmanship of the pieces was indeed impressive—deep, lustrous ebony and smooth white porcelain. However, to Daryl, it looked like nothing more than a glorified version of the childish knight make-believe that children played with pebbles in back alleys.

"Lord Gustav. Your presentation is well done, but this is a bit tedious. Did you invite us here just to show off these magnificent toys?"

"Your Grace, it is only natural that you would feel that way. However, I recommend you try moving a piece for yourself. This is a battle of pure logic, completely devoid of luck."

A battle devoid of luck. At those words, Daryl’s pride as a military strategist reacted ever so slightly. He sat in the chair as prompted and received a brief explanation of how the pieces moved. It didn't take him long to grasp the rules.

"I see. You move a piece, and the opponent responds. You predict their moves and set traps. Interesting. I’ll play a match."

The first game began. Daryl was confident. He was a man who had survived countless battlefields. He advanced his pawns and sent his Knights on flanking maneuvers, bringing the standard strategies he had honed in real combat directly onto the board.

However, in less than ten minutes, Daryl’s King had nowhere left to run, falling before Gustav’s Queen.

"Checkmate, Your Grace."

"What? Ah, I see. I overlooked the movement of that Bishop. I’m simply not used to how the pieces move. Another match, if you please."

Daryl let out a wry smile and reset the board. In the second game, he grew serious. He attempted to replicate a "Three-Pronged Encirclement" on the board, solidifying his own defense while trying to seize the center.

But before Daryl could place his pieces where he wanted, Gustav struck with moves that seemed to have been foreseen. The moment Daryl tried to pivot to the offensive, Gustav’s hidden forces had already slipped behind him.

"Checkmate. You are cornered."

Daryl’s finger stopped in mid-air. Looking at the board, he saw he was surrounded even more miserably than before.

"Something is wrong. Did you know my objective? No, another match! I will win the next one!"

The third game began. Beads of sweat began to form on Daryl’s forehead. The surrounding nobles had stopped eating, watching the board with bated breath. Daryl took his time with every single move, considering every possibility. He had established a formation that, in a real battle, would have guaranteed victory.

And yet.

Every time Gustav moved a piece with a cool expression, invisible holes appeared in the wall Daryl had desperately built. It was a sense of despair—as if his opponent were already standing at the destination of his thoughts, waiting for him.

"Checkmate."

The quiet declaration echoed through the hall. Daryl gripped his King with a trembling hand. Three games, and three total defeats. What’s more, Gustav’s speed to victory was increasing with every match.

"Why... Why can I not win?! Even in the mountain battles of the West, I have triumphed against enemies many times my size! Why can I not even touch a youth like you in a game of moving pieces like tiny jar lids?!"

Daryl’s voice was closer to a scream than anger. The experience, intuition, and aristocratic pride he had cultivated were being discarded like worthless data on this black-and-white board.

"Your Grace, a battlefield is covered in mist, but on this board, everything is exposed. What you see here is the accumulation of pure calculation and theory... the 'correct' answer, so to speak."

Gustav’s words were a cold blade that sliced through Daryl’s pride. Daryl realized the truth. He and the others had fought by relying on luck and intuition within the mist. But the Master of Felsen lived in a world where the "correct answer" was visible from the start.

The physical discipline of the Knights. The cultural shock of the cheese. And now, this overwhelming gap in intellect.

Daryl slumped back into his chair, his strength gone. Not a single person in the hall could mock Felsen as a "muddy frontier" anymore.

"Your Grace, please take this set with you. And... if you would like, perhaps you could practice before our next banquet?"

What Gustav offered wasn't mercy for the defeated. It was a honeyed curse designed to plant a thirst for victory, making Daryl’s every thought dependent on the platform known as Felsen.

"I... Yes, I shall take it with me."

Daryl gripped the ebony Knight with a trembling hand. The contempt he once held for Felsen had been overwritten by a bottomless sense of defeat and an abnormal obsession to conquer this game.

Gustav signaled to the attendants waiting in the hall. Heavy wooden boxes were brought out and placed before every single invited noble.

"Your Grace, and everyone else. As a token of my gratitude for today, I present these sets to all of you."

Surprise spread through the hall. These were exquisite crafts; there was no telling how much they would cost in the Capital. The sheer financial power of Felsen to distribute them to everyone present was staggering. The nobles opened the boxes tentatively, unable to resist their curiosity, and stroked the ebony and porcelain pieces with affection.

"There may be value in simply displaying it in your study to admire its form. However..."

Gustav paused, looking over the nobles with a challenging light in his eyes.

"I hope to face you all on this board once again. If anyone appears at the next banquet who can shatter my 'theory,' there would be no greater joy."

(Next time... Next time, I’ll take that brat down a peg!)

The same thought crossed the minds of Duke Daryl and many other nobles. They could not leave things as a total defeat. They were now willingly stepping into the labyrinth of "theory" that Gustav had handed to them.

But Gustav’s "gift" didn't end there.

"Oh, and one more thing. You are free to spread the game of Chess within your own territories as you see fit. You may replicate the board and pieces, and you are welcome to manufacture and sell them in your lands."

The hall fell into a silence even deeper than before.

"Are you sane, Lord Gustav?" one noble asked, looking as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Are you saying you will open up the rights to such a magnificent game for free? If Felsen held a monopoly, you could amass a fortune!"

"There are plenty of other ways to earn a fortune. More than that, I hope that this common language called 'Chess' will become a bridge that connects our territories."

On the surface, Gustav’s words sounded like the idealism of a peace-loving young lord. But as of yet, no one noticed the cold calculation of Zect lying beneath them.

"How generous of you. Then I shall not hesitate to make it a trend in my territory."

"Certainly. I look forward to it, Your Grace."

Gustav gave an elegant bow and turned on his heel.

By planting fear with physical violence (the Knights), encouraging dependency with cultural shock (the cheese), and overwriting the system itself with an intellectual trap (Chess)...

The "Trial Version" released by the monster known as Felsen had brought the ruling nobles of the neighboring territories under its control in a single night.

***

From a high vantage point, Gustav quietly watched as the banquet ended and the nobles boarded their carriages, clutching their "treasures." Argo appeared beside him, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Argo. The seeds have been sown."

"Yes. Now we need only wait for them to grow the fruit and bring it back to us. As Mr. Zect said... greed and pride are more powerful than any magic."

The cityscape of Felsen, illuminated by the moonlight, continued to shine tonight—orderly, and with an eerily perfect glow.

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