Chapter 16
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 16
Chapter Title: Clash of the Century (3)
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Once the balance of the scales began to tip, there was no turning it back.
Tak. Tak. Tak.
The pieces vanished from the board.
Half were even trades, but the other half was nothing short of Adrian's one-sided plunder.
Sylvesta's rook swapped places with Adrian's knight, and a pawn was sacrificed without meaning.
The air in the parlor grew heavy.
The attendants held even their breaths.
Duke Walter and his loyal knights paid more attention to the attendants' darkening expressions than to the chessboard itself.
Shards of the broken teacup still littered the floor, but no one dared to clean them up.
43rd move.
Sylvesta's hand trembled over his queen.
A desperate dilemma. Protect the queen, and the king dies. Protect the king, and the queen falls.
Click.
Adrian shoved forward his rook. An exchange of queen for rook.
44th move. 45th. 46th. 47th.
As the pieces dwindled on the board, Adrian's advantage grew ever clearer.
Sylvesta's king was driven into the corner. Its room to maneuver shrank.
48th. 49th. 50th.
And then, the 51st.
"Checkmate."
A clear, resonant voice shattered the silence.
Adrian's hand halted above the chessboard.
The victor's prerogative was to topple the loser's king, but the ten-year-old boy dared not trample the pride of that ancient elf.
He simply withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair.
Sylvesta slowly exhaled.
His long, pale fingers lifted his own king. They hovered in the air for a moment before gently laying it on its side.
Tok.
It was a small sound, but it rang out like thunder.
"A remarkable display of skill. This is my utter defeat."
"It was only thanks to your mercy. I eagerly await the day we meet as teacher and student at the academy."
The silver-haired boy, victor Adrian, offered a polite bow before exiting the parlor.
Not until the sound of his footsteps fully faded at the end of the corridor did the three dukes break their silence.
"Well then, shall we get down to business."
Duchess Clara spoke as she sipped her freshly poured tea in place of the shattered cup. Her voice had regained its composure, but her fingers still trembled faintly.
The discussion on dungeon development continued.
The size of the investigation team dispatched from the Imperial Academy, troop deployments for security, profit-sharing ratios... These were matters already exchanged in writing.
This meeting was little more than a ceremonial final confirmation.
"An appropriate division."
"With this, both the Empire and the duchy will prosper further."
There were only three dukes aligned with the imperial faction. Outwardly, all was harmonious.
An hour later, Sylvesta's group rose first.
"Then, we'll be off. Ah, and Duke Walter. Please convey my regards to your son. Tell him the history department awaits."
Sylvesta turned at the door.
"I'll take my leave as well. The reports for the palace are piling up."
Once the two dukes had fully departed, Walter spoke curtly.
"Adrian's in danger."
"Indeed. Duchess Clara's gaze upon the young master... it was far from ordinary."
The butler's reply.
"I'm not speaking solely of that old princess. In her case, she 'won't touch him for the time being.' This is my territory, after all—and more importantly, he's earned Sylvesta's favor."
He didn't need to say who would kill Adrian.
The answer was obvious even unspoken.
"See to it that the boy doesn't die."
Walter's voice lowered.
For the first time, the man who showed indifference even to his legitimate son Ernst had directly mentioned a bastard child's survival.
"What measures shall we take?"
"Give Adrian 'that thing' we obtained last time."
The old butler bowed deeply.
"As you command."
Too brazen.
That was my personal assessment of yesterday's actions.
Servants' voices drifted in from outside the window. They'd tried to speak softly, but their excitement betrayed them, carrying all the way here.
"I can't believe it. The ten-year-old young master beat Duke Sylvesta..."
"Three hundred years—three hundred! They say the imperial archives are in an uproar."
"Does that mean our young master will be the next duke?"
"Chess decides that?"
"But a great chess player is a great army commander, right?"
"Well, that's true..."
The door opened quietly. Lize entered carrying tea.
"Is young master regretting it~?"
Her signature drawl. But her gaze was sharp.
"...Busted."
I sighed as I took the teacup.
"You broke a three-hundred-year unbeaten streak. Wouldn't it be fine to rejoice a little more~?"
Lize walked to the window and pulled back the curtains a bit further. The murmurs from outside persisted.
"I stood out too much. I wanted to live quietly."
"But your enrollment at the academy at fifteen is confirmed now, isn't it~?"
"True, but... this drew way more attention than I wanted. And unlike what those fools think, chess skill has nothing to do with commanding armies."
"Nothing at all~?"
Lize tilted her head. It felt like the eye hidden behind her eyepatch was scrutinizing me.
"Yeah, zero relation."
Take Napoleon Bonaparte, one of Earth's greatest generals in my past life.
He loved chess, but his skill was mediocre at best.
His signature play was deploying his queen in just two moves—something only a beginner would do.
Later generations even dubbed that pathetic gambit the "Napoleon Attack."
Rumor had it that during his days as emperor, his subordinates threw games to flatter him, boosting his win rate. But after exile to Elba, with no one yielding on purpose, his record plummeted.
Yet few denied that man's place among the top five war geniuses in human history.
In other words, there's no serious correlation between being a genius general and chess prowess.
If there were, the world's defense ministries in my past life would've been scouting chess champions.
Sadly, most in this world couldn't shake that misguided notion.
Even after watching the esteemed Duke Krushtein collect the heads of fools who learned warfare from chess.
Hell, even the servants of House Krushtein thought that way.
"I'm worried my brother might get strange ideas."
"Your brother~?"
"Yeah."
My plan to live quietly was shaking at its roots.
"It's fine~. I'll protect you~."
Her voice was sincere.
But... honestly, it wasn't much reassurance.
"Thanks."
Still, I appreciated the sentiment.
As Lize and I walked the corridor, something caught my eye.
A black cat.
It sat on the windowsill, staring right at me.
Its blue eyes gleamed.
Ugh...
A chill ran down my spine.
Seeing a black cat means bad luck—a superstition from my past life.
Of course, it was just superstition.
No scientific basis whatsoever.
But... somehow, it felt ominous.
Especially here, in a fantasy world where swords and magic breathed life.
True, this world seemed to lack any myths about black cats, but...
"Young master? What's wrong~?"
"Nothing. It's nothing..."
I lowered my head and quickened my pace.
When we reached my room, a familiar face waited.
Ernst's valet.
"Young Master Adrian. The young duke invites you to the parlor."
An invitation from my brother.
Since the orc subjugation, he'd requested audiences several times.
To give credit for the dungeon discovery to brother.
But refused every time.
With excuses of being busy.
And now, a direct summons?
"Got it. Tell him I'll be there soon."
The valet departed, and I looked to Lize.
"...Come with me."
"Yes~."
Lize nodded.
I steeled myself as we walked the corridor.
It's fine.
If brother wanted me dead, he wouldn't summon me so formally.
Probably.
I stood before the parlor door.
Took a deep breath and opened it.
"Brother."
Ernst sat on the sofa.
Sunlight from the window illuminated his golden hair.
I bowed at the waist.
"You called for me?"
Lize bowed deeply beside me as well.
Stiffened, as if facing a stranger.
"It's been a while, Adrian. Sit."
Brother gestured to the opposite sofa.
I sat cautiously.
Lize remained rigid behind me.
"You seem to like the gift I gave you last time. You're always with her."
The gift.
He meant Lize.
"Of course. She's been a great help."
The conversation with brother was ordinary.
Weather talk.
House history.
Chess.
"They say you broke a three-hundred-year unbeaten streak. Impressive."
"Just luck."
"So humble. Aren't you hungry? I had some light refreshments prepared."
Brother beckoned, and the valet arrived with a silver tray.
Sandwiches sat atop it.
Thinly sliced bread with ham, cheese, and fresh vegetables visible between.
"Made with fine ingredients from Duchess Clara. She was impressed by your performance. Consider it a gift of sorts."
Duchess Clara.
That old princess who'd glared at me coldly.
"...Thank you."
I picked up a sandwich.
The moment I brought it to my mouth.
"Wait, young master!"
Lize's shout.
At the same instant.
A black shadow streaked across my vision.
Swish.
The sandwich vanished from my hand.
The black cat.
The same one from the corridor earlier.
Mouth full of sandwich, it leaped onto the windowsill.
Then hopped out the window.
The sandwich crumbled midair, scattering into the garden below.
"......"
Silence fell.
I looked at brother.
His expression stiffened for an instant.
Truly a fleeting moment.
So brief you'd miss it if you blinked.
But I saw it.
The flicker in brother's eyes.
Anger?
Shock?
Disappointment?
"Looks like a stray got in. I'll tell the servants to tighten security. What a waste of good ingredients."
"...Yes, brother."
"A shame. They were tasty. I'll prepare more next time."
"Thank you."
Brother stood.
"I must be going. I have urgent business."
"Yes, brother. Farewell."
Brother left the parlor.
The door closed.
Footsteps receded.
I sat there for a long while.
Unable to move.
"Young master."
Lize's voice reached me.
"You need to... look outside."
Her voice trembled.
I rose slowly and walked to the window.
Below the sill.
On the garden grass.
Sparrows lay scattered.
Five of them. All dead.
They'd pecked at the sandwich crumbs dropped by the cat and died.
That's right.
I'd just nearly been poisoned.