Episode 114 — The Festival of New Logic, Commences

Inside the heart of the new city of Felsen stood Casino Felsen. Its grand ballroom, located on the upper floors, was currently enveloped in a peculiar mixture of frenetic energy and heavy silence—a stark contrast to the banquets of the past.

"Match sixteen, concluded. Winner: Count Rohm. Post the record to the board."

The voice of a Felsen official serving as a referee echoed through the hall.

Aligned against the walls were massive chalkboards. On them, the Arabic numerals introduced by Zect and the algebraic chess notation—treating the squares as coordinates—were inscribed with clinical precision. The status of every match was being updated in real-time.

"Unbelievable... You’re telling me that just by looking at those rows of numbers, they can grasp exactly what kind of battle is unfolding at any table at a single glance?"

"To think that a void like 'Zero' could make the concept of place-value so clear. Felsen’s administrative capacity far exceeds anything we imagined..."

While the civil servants from the neighboring territories watched over their lords' matches, they found themselves transfixed by the "standardized information" appearing on the boards. To them, Felsen’s method of discarding complex, archaic notation in favor of describing the universe with only ten symbols was a tool of civilization more shocking than magic.

It wasn't merely a record of games. it was a silent invasion—a demonstration of the "thinking resolution" possessed by the state of Felsen, held right at the throats of the surrounding nations.

The first "Felsen Cup." This tournament, which would determine the intellectual ranking of the neighboring lords, had finally reached its final match—the most anticipated card of the event.

The matchup was between the host, the young Lord Gustav, and the fierce general of the West, Duke Daryl.

"Lord Gustav... for these past few months, I have not left this board even in my dreams."

Daryl placed his ebony bishop onto one of the sixty-four squares with a sharp, decisive click.

In his move, there was none of the confusion he had shown during his previous defeat. Instead, there was an incredibly sophisticated offensive form—the culmination of exhaustive research and the obsession of a military strategist.

"An excellent move, your Grace."

Gustav responded with a faint smile.

Gustav’s play was a flawless defense based on "Standard Theory." As he traced the "correct answers" provided by Felsen, the surrounding nobles let out sighs of resignation, muttering that Gustav was indeed unbeatable.

But Daryl was different. Having studied the "correct answers" presented by Zect, he had dared to set a "human trap" that played specifically against that logic.

"There!"

Daryl leaped his knight forward. From the perspective of Standard Theory, it was a slightly "inefficient" move. However, it was a move like a battering ram, designed to force open the ramparts Gustav had built to derive his logical optimal solution.

"...! You’ve overwritten the logic of the board with military momentum..."

The composure vanished from Gustav’s face. A few moves later, amidst a complex, tangled board, Gustav’s king found itself with nowhere to run.

"Checkmate. Your Grace, that was a masterful performance."

As Gustav bowed his head quietly, the hall erupted in thunderous applause. "Duke Daryl won!" "Human wisdom has surpassed Felsen's 'correct answer'!"

The nobles shouted in a state of unprecedented exhilaration, seeing their representative defeat the host.

"So, even Felsen has its limits. No matter how much they spread their fancy new games, they are no match for his Grace's strategy forged in real combat."

"A brat from the frontier can try to act big all he wants, but he cannot best our traditional wisdom. This is the end of the Felsen myth."

The hall was filled with a mixture of relief and contempt toward Felsen. Seeing Gustav’s defeat, the nobles sought to reconfirm their own superiority.

Gustav waited for the mocking voices to settle, then spoke in a voice that was quiet, yet carried to every corner of the room.

"Everyone... please, do not misunderstand. Felsen has not yet been defeated."

The hall fell silent. Gustav leaned back comfortably in his chair, a provocative light igniting in his eyes.

"My own skill is nothing more than tracing the standard solutions provided by the Felsen system. However... there exists a true powerhouse in Felsen to whom I don't even hold a candle. ...Your Grace, I believe I made you a promise? That I would show you the 'Monster of Intellect' who governs the abyss of Felsen."

Daryl gasped. Gustav gave a signal, and the large doors at the back of the hall slowly swung open.

Stepping out from the shadows was a middle-aged man dressed in finely tailored official robes, wearing a pair of intellectual-looking glasses.

But the moment his figure was revealed under the lights, a wave of shock bordering on a scream rose from the gathered nobles.

"That dusky skin... there’s no doubt, he’s a Demon!" "What?! A Magic Race member?!"

The man’s skin had the dull, orange-tinted dusky hue characteristic of the Magic Races.

Argo. The man who served as Zect’s right hand in Felsen, governing all calculations, walked toward Duke Daryl with an almost mechanical gait.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Duke Daryl. My name is Argo... I am the one who handles the terminal end of the logic constructed by Felsen."

The man’s quiet, yet ice-cold voice resonated through the hall.

If you find any errors (non-standard content, ads redirect, broken links, etc..), Please let us know so we can fix it as soon as possible.