Chapter 15
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: The Match of the Century (2)
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The world of my past life and this current one were distinctly different realms.
It might sound like a tired cliché, but there were two moons hanging in the night sky.
Speculation that this might be another corner of the previous universe?
Who knows... Hard to say for sure, but the laws of physics were completely different anyway.
There was no such thing as mana, sword aura, magic, or spirits—none of those transcendent concepts existed back then.
But not everything was different.
For instance...
Chess.
The chess in this world followed the exact same rules as in my past life.
The movement of the pieces. Victory conditions. Castling. En passant.
64 squares. 16 white pieces and 16 black.
Everything identical.
I gazed down at the chessboard, lost in memories of my past life.
First-year college summer break.
Nothing to do.
I happened to download a chess app.
At first, it was just to kill time.
But... I got hooked.
Matches against the AI.
Started on beginner difficulty.
Won easily.
Bumped it up to intermediate.
Lost.
Played again.
Lost again.
Ten games.
Lost them all.
Eleventh game.
Won.
After about 100 games against the intermediate AI,
my win rate topped 60%.
Cranked up the difficulty.
Advanced.
Lost again.
Kept losing.
Took 30 games to snag my first win.
Once I'd conquered the advanced AI, I ditched my phone and installed a proper chess program on my computer.
It was leagues beyond any mobile app.
Difficulty adjustable in 50 levels, and anything above level 45 could crush even the world's top grandmasters.
And that was my sparring partner.
This elf in front of me was supposedly the empire's greatest chess master?
Fair enough, maybe.
Elves are an exceptional race.
Beautiful faces aside, their crowning glory in this world was their lifespan.
With centuries at their disposal, they could master anything.
Chess was no different.
Tens, hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of games.
Humans grapple with aging, stamina loss, mental decline, dementia—all those limits barely touched the elves.
But...
How many games had this elf played against opponents stronger than him—or even on his level—in all his years?
Once he'd reached a certain plateau, every game against Duke Sylvesta probably barely sharpened his skills.
It was just bullying, plain and simple.
"Poor young master..."
"A game he can't possibly win..."
Voices murmuring, utterly convinced of my defeat.
But I wasn't about to yield to Duke Sylvesta.
I might lag in quantity of practice, but in quality? I had the overwhelming edge.
A moment later, the two sat facing each other across the chessboard.
Adrian made the first move.
Advanced his central pawn two squares.
The most basic opening.
Sylvesta gave a slight nod and mirrored it with his own central pawn.
Adrian's knight stepped forward.
Textbook development.
'The basics are solid.'
Sylvesta muttered to himself as he positioned his own knight.
A few more moves passed.
Adrian sacrificed his central pawn, ripping the board wide open.
'Ho.'
A smile crept across Sylvesta's lips.
Not some novice blunder.
This was a pawn sacrifice to seize control of the center.
'At his age, pulling this off... If he's got a gift for strategy, then chess talent follows naturally.'
Sylvesta thought as he captured the pawn.
Adrian recaptured with a pawn.
Sylvesta checked with his bishop.
Adrian's hand paused for a moment.
'Think it over. Take your time. Of course... you'll lose anyway.'
3 seconds.
5 seconds.
10 seconds.
Adrian captured the bishop. A precise response.
An even trade on the surface.
But Sylvesta never dreamed of losing.
No matter what the boy played, a weakness would show in the middlegame.
It always had, these past 300 years.
Everything would tilt subtly, inevitably, in Sylvesta's favor.
'Still... give it your all.'
Sylvesta watched Adrian as he made his next move.
A ten-year-old boy.
Not a drop of sweat on his face.
Calm, steady eyes.
'Show me your true colors, Adrian.'
15 moves in.
Sylvesta's smile began to fade, bit by bit.
His fingers, reaching for a knight, hesitated—then gripped the rook instead.
"...Hm."
He lifted the rook... then set it back down.
The drawing room stirred.
"The Duke... touching a piece twice? Hasn't happened in decades."
One of the attendants whispered in disbelief.
Duchess Clara set down her teacup and leaned forward to peer closer at the board.
Her eyes scanned the position.
White and black pieces tangled in complex knots.
Seemed balanced at a glance.
But...
'Something's off.'
Clara murmured inwardly.
Adrian's pieces... they were strange.
Following opening theory, yet subtly twisted.
'He knows the book. But he's deliberately deviating from it.'
Why?
What was the intent?
Sylvesta finally committed.
Slid his bishop to the long central diagonal.
A powerhouse position.
That single bishop could pin Adrian down.
Adrian didn't even think for three seconds.
Boldly thrust his queen to the center of the board.
Click.
The sound of the piece hitting the square.
"...!"
Sylvesta's eyes widened.
The butlers held their breath.
Queen forward.
To the center.
In the opening.
"Insane..."
Duchess Clara muttered softly.
A classic beginner mistake.
Featured in every chess primer.
'Don't bring out your queen too early.'
But...
Sylvesta stared at the board again.
He could capture the queen.
'But...'
His gaze flicked to Adrian's bishop.
If the central pawn moved to recapture... that diagonal would open.
And that bishop would...
'Check.'
It would threaten the king directly.
Not reckless.
Calculated.
"Hmm..."
Sylvesta ultimately left the queen alone.
A defensive move.
Adrian's queen still dominated the center.
Right after Sylvesta's defensive play, Adrian's queen snatched a pawn.
The balance... tilted ever so slightly.
Move 25.
Even, aside from that one pawn advantage.
But a single pawn wasn't decisive; the true edge remained unclear, thought the onlookers.
Many still favored Sylvesta's victory.
Adrian was holding his own better than expected, but that was it.
And they had reason.
300 years undefeated.
In those 300 years, Sylvesta had even started down a pawn, or bishop, or knight—and still never lost.
A draw at worst.
But...
A bead of sweat formed on Duke Sylvesta's brow.
Elves sweating was a rare sight.
Their thermoregulation far surpassed humans'.
They didn't falter in cold or heat.
Especially not this elf.
The attendants held their breath.
Clara's pupils quivered.
Eighty years of human eyes.
Eyes that had watched decades of imperial power struggles.
A seasoned politician who'd snagged silver instead of gold—and survived.
A formidable mage, too.
But now, they shook like a child before a beast.
'That ten-year-old boy... holding his own against my teacher?'
Impossible.
Couldn't be.
"Check."
A quiet voice.
Flat, emotionless, serene.
But that single word froze the entire drawing room.
Sylvesta's king was under threat.
Clara leaned even further forward.
Walter thought to himself.
'Measuring military talent with chess? That's the pointy-eared geezer's delusion.'
He'd fought hundreds of battles on real fields.
Less than a twentieth of Sylvesta's age, but over ten times the campaigning experience.
To him, chess prowess didn't equal warcraft.
He knew the rules, barely, but didn't enjoy it. Better to swing a sword once more or charge on horseback, slicing the wind—that held true worth for Walter.
Walter didn't bother eyeing the board.
The faces of the other dukes said it all.
Sweat trickling down Sylvesta's forehead. Clara's trembling eyes. Adrian's calm face.
'First time seeing the elf rattled, though. Worth watching. Granny might even keel over if this keeps up.'
Clara's complexion had gone ashen.
Adrian's hand moved again.
The queen.
Sliced across the diagonal, sliding before the king.
"Check again."
Second check.
Consecutive checks.
Sylvesta counterattacked.
Checks clashing in sharp exchanges.
"Check."
"Check."
"Check."
But... Adrian's calls came more frequently.
"Check."
"Check."
"Check."
Sylvesta scrambled to defend.
King shuffled.
Rook interposed.
But Adrian's assault didn't relent.
"Check."
Bishop blocked.
And in that instant.
Thud.
Adrian's knight devoured Sylvesta's pawn.
A mere pawn.
But it was the beginning.
"Check."
Sylvesta shifted his king.
Adrian's bishop snatched another pawn.
"Check."
Sylvesta's face paled.
Sweat streamed to his jaw.
This time, not a pawn—a knight was in peril.
Clara's hands shook.
The grip of an octogenarian slipped the teacup.
Crash.
Porcelain shattering on the floor.
But no one looked.
All eyes locked on the chessboard.