Yuder could feel the emotions flowing from Kishiar. They were too numerous and complex to read entirely, but far more comprehensible now than ever before.

He could sense the stunned disbelief that came from realizing Yuder's words were the truth. Then came the deep sorrow, a directionless anger—but within it, Yuder also recognized the same pain and joy that he himself had felt.

Though faint and secretive, like light tucked away in the depths, Kishiar’s joy and happiness had never extinguished. And they were born—because of Yuder Aile.

That realization alone was deeply satisfying.

Yuder exhaled deeply as he looked at the man who was likely feeling all of Yuder’s emotions in return. Then he opened his mouth again.

“If I know your style... you probably intended for your chosen special piece to stay hidden until it was ready to act. You would’ve made all the preparations, and if things had gone according to plan, perhaps everything would have unfolded just as you’d hoped.”

“......”

“But the piece didn’t move.”

Kishiar had arranged things to protect the Cavalry through Yuder—but also to protect Yuder through the Cavalry. In other words, it was a relationship where both sides would benefit and grow together—and, in part, it had worked. As Commander, Yuder gained experience and unshakable honor. And the Cavalry, led by the continent’s strongest Awakener, grew powerful enough to prove to the world that Awakeners were valuable.

But... had Kishiar placed him there just to live out his life as a Commander? Yuder didn’t think so. From the countless strategy games they had played, Yuder knew—Kishiar wasn’t the type to want his special piece to remain on a single path.

He probably thought that once I matured enough, I’d eventually leave the Cavalry.

Would someone like Kishiar ever see some hidden potential for greatness in Emperor Kachian? Unlikely. If Yuder grew enough to realize the truth, he’d pierce through the walls that protected him and step out into the world. Kishiar had likely bought time while harboring that hope.

Of course... the bait he dangled to do that was himself.

Back when he had nothing—no title, no honor—Yuder had built up fame as Yudrain Aile, faced down political enemies, and learned how power moved. At that point, leaving the Empire wouldn’t have been difficult. By then, the Cavalry had become indispensable to the Empire. The utility of Awakeners had spread across the continent, and the climate of blind persecution had faded.

Even if Emperor Kachian had tried to stop him—what could he do? Yuder could’ve gone anywhere, done anything.

But he didn’t choose any of that.

No one told him to stay, yet he clung to the Cavalry until his death. He had no real hunger for wealth or honor, and yet—just one thing. He wanted to preserve what the man he’d killed had left behind.

So he became the Empire’s human weapon. Kachian’s dog.

That was probably the moment everything Kishiar had hoped for began to go awry.

A special piece can move wherever it wants and attack from anywhere. With luck, it might even take down both of the king’s pieces. And a substitute piece, standing in for a fallen king, could perform attacks only available to the king.

But what happens if that piece—meant to move freely—refuses to act?

Then it’s just a piece on the board. No better than a dead one.

“I think... if a piece didn’t move, then that’s the fault of the piece. That’s how I see it.”

“......”

Kishiar’s lips twitched beneath Yuder’s hand, as though he wanted to speak. Understanding the gesture, Yuder finally removed his hand.

Those flushed lips, still warm from the lingering heat, parted slowly.

“...Do you know the origin of the special and substitute pieces?”

“No.”

It was an unexpected question, but Yuder wasn’t surprised. Kishiar had always been like this.

“The concepts existed long ago, but the names and rules varied by region. The one who unified the terminology and formalized the rules... was the Grand Chancellor Parnassisis.”

Information on that name flashed through Yuder’s mind.

“The man who said, ‘No tool explains life better than a strategy game’?”

“Yes. A brilliant politician and a master strategist—but privately, he lived a life filled with misfortune. His lover, Shelanaria, was assassinated by political rivals. The only one who recognized his talents, Emperor Secrite, was gravely wounded in battle and fell into a coma for seven years. With no empress to step in, Parnassisis had to manage the Empire alone during that time.”

“Sounds like... quite the unlucky man.”

“But Shelanaria left behind intel and evidence to protect him even as she died. And the Emperor, once he woke, expressed deep gratitude to the Chancellor who had safeguarded both him and the Empire.”

He didn’t die, kept his honor, and was rewarded. In the end, it could be said all had turned out well. When the Emperor offered him a reward, Parnassisis declined everything—asking instead for help in spreading strategy games more widely.

“As part of that effort, he unified the rules of strategy games and gave singular names to the pieces that had gone by many. Among them...”

“Were the special piece and substitute piece.”

“Yes. There were others, but those two were most significant.”

Kishiar let a small smile rise to his lips.

“The rules and abilities he set for the special piece... were modeled after Shelanaria. To honor the one who’d thrown herself into enemy territory, fought with courage, and died when her identity was discovered. And the substitute piece—can you guess?”

A piece that could temporarily stand in for a fallen king.

That would be—

“Parnassisis himself.”

“Correct. A bastard born of nobility, yet risen to Chancellor on merit alone. The man who served in the Emperor’s place during those seven dangerous years, never wavering in his loyalty. He was the substitute piece, through and through.”

Most would’ve succumbed to ambition, acting as if they were Emperor. But Parnassisis remained steadfast, guiding the Empire wisely even in peril—and because of that, he earned the title of a true Chancellor.

“......”

While Yuder sank into thought, Kishiar finally continued.

“The reason I told you this is because... that’s the very reason those two pieces can exist in one.”

As Yuder had said earlier, there were no rules against one piece being both special and substitute. It was rare and extremely difficult—but not impossible. If successful, it would result in a wildly powerful piece—one so unbalanced that most assumed it was simply too hard to use.

But Kishiar shook his head.

“Parnassisis knew full well that combining those two roles could create a piece that would break all the rules. And he allowed it. He wrote the conditions in painstaking detail. In his autobiography, he recorded it like this—”

Kishiar’s quiet voice echoed softly in Yuder’s ears.

“When we were together, we could do anything. But now, our paths have parted—this world and the next. All we have left is this little board, and a {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} moment of eternity to meet again.”

A moment of eternity, for lovers split between life and death to reunite. The contradiction of that phrase embedded itself in Yuder’s mind. He repeated it silently under his breath.

Kishiar exhaled slowly and rested his forehead against Yuder’s.

“The fact that I know this story means... that the ‘me’ who placed his hopes in you also knew it. Even if I never showed it on the surface... doesn’t that make me a shameless man?”

“......”