Chapter 68: Chess as a Game

Chapter 68: Chess as a Game...

Torlin Berith took in a deep breath, preparing himself. The Berith Clan heir was mentally going through everything he had planned for the upcoming fight. The Sagan had been arrogant in his challenge, but that was something that was appreciated in the underworld, not condemned, provided he could back it up.

Torlin saw through the ploy though, the trap that had been laid by the arrogant upstart. He was ready to tear down the facade and reveal that the Sagan were rightfully cast down, that they could not stand up to the might of a Duke of Hell. The rules were intricate and impressively thought out, he could admit, but the trick was obvious once realised.

It was bait. The Bishop, Sagan’s mongrel sister, had demonstrated incredible avoidance and defensive capabilities in the Kingless Game against the Astaroth. The rule set meant that taking her out was a victory, something that appeared to be easier than removing the Sagan himself from the board. This was the trap that the Sagan had laid.

Utilising her defensive prowess with his support, they could exhaust the 15 minute limit and sweep away the challengers with the Sagan’s power. However, that same trap could be turned around on the one who had placed it.

The Sagan was completely unable to act offensively for those 15 minutes, a significant handicap. Enough of one that Torlin knew that should he focus all his efforts on taking out the King, victory would be easily within his grasp. Damocles was using this show as a way to increase his own standing in the Underworld, while at the same time maintaining that he was ‘better’ than the rest of the 72 Pillars, above their petty games and politics.

It was infuriating, but it was effective. The only problem is the moment a crack was shown, the whole edifice would quickly be torn down, revealing the Sagan for what they were; Jumped up runts holding onto misplaced pride from their past glories.

Pandora died in the Civil War, the daughter of Remora not at all living up to the legend of her mother. The Sagan’s star had faded, Remora’s power was due to her being Remora, not a Sagan. All this rubbish about ‘Princes being better’ was just hot air.

Torlin would prove it.

All he would have to do is touch the Sagan once, and it would be over. The Berith Power of Transformation would once again show its might to the Underworld.

He looked over, where the white haired upstart and his filthy sister were waiting, holding each other’s hands. His eyes narrowed, his regal training kicking in as he examined the body language of the two. Said tells could be faked, of course, but there were ways to see past such obfuscations, ways that his tutors had taught him.

The hand holding could be seen as reassurance, or a sign of nervousness, but Torlin saw through the surface. They were simply holding hands because they wanted to, their demeanours completely relaxed. Oh, they were alert, but there was not even a hint of nervousness or anticipation to be seen.

Torlin snorted, arrogant to the end.

Becca, his Queen, sauntered up to him, draping herself to his side as she spoke, “My King, the match is soon to begin. However, Augustus would like to have a word with you first.”

He noticed that a Rating Game receptionist had walked over to the Sagan and was speaking to him, likely letting him know the same thing as well. Smirking, he took his queen’s lips in a fierce kiss, groping her rear as he did so to establish his claim on her. Parting, he shrugged.

“Very well. Duty calls, it’s time to meet our opposition.” His Queen smiled at his words, sadistic glee in her eyes as she fell into step behind him.

They moved towards the elderly looking Devil, who was known to have chosen his appearance for gravitas. He looked more mature than Torlin’s own father, despite the fact that Heir knew for a fact he was several centuries younger.

“Augustus, you asked to speak with us?” He quickly spoke, pre-empting the Sagan from talking deliberately.

Looking at the white-haired Devils reaction, all he got was a slightly raised brow.

His attention was turned back to Augustus as the Games Master spoke, “Indeed I did. The terrain layout for the games are traditionally decided by a coin toss, which is what I wished for us to do now.”

“I see.” Torlin shrugged, “I have no complaints.”

He already knew this, of course. Major Games between the top 100 were on preset terrain layouts, but under that it was chosen by the method the Master had just spoken about. Of course, with his fear of participating, the Sagan would not have known that.

“There is no need.” Lord Sagan spoke, surprising Torlin, “My opponent can select his preferred terrain.”

Was he underestimating House Berith? Torlin frowned, anger rising. Very well, if the Sagan wished to play it that way then he would find no argument from him.

“Open Meadow.” Torlin spoke, picking the optimal terrain for his strategy.

Open Meadow was an artificial, flat, grassland terrain. It was completely devoid of obstacles or cover, both Peerages starting with direct sight of the other. There would be nowhere for the Sagan to run, nowhere for him to hide.

“Agreed.” Was all the Sagan said when Augustus looked to him for confirmation.

“Very well then, I shall let the technicians know. You should both also be aware that I shall be the Referee for this match, to prevent accusations of preferential treatment. Are there any objections?”

“Of course not, Games Master. Your impartiality is widely renowned.” Torlin spoke, getting a small smile and a nod from the older Devil.

“I have no objections, Augustus. Thank you for agreeing to do so.” Lord Sagan replied, getting his own nod before he walked back to the spot he had claimed for himself, his sister following closely behind him.

Becca snorted from her own spot behind the Berith Heir, “His inexperience is showing. An open field while outnumbered? Idiocy.”

“Perhaps, but underestimating him could be dangerous. We will need to crush him decisively. Let us brief the others.” Torlin responded, eyes still following the retreating figures.

The rest of the lead up to the Game was quick, the arena being set up efficiently and their teleportation circles prepared. Soon enough, with a flash of light, the Berith Peerage found themselves in the Artificial landscape of Open Meadow.

The grass was barely long enough to sway, the gentle breeze blowing through the open air carrying a soft, earthy smell. Torlin took in a deep breath, his chest expanding as he loosened his muscles, preparing for the upcoming conflict.

“Remember, we need to eliminate the Sagan himself.” Becca spoke, getting nods of confirmation from the rest of the Peerage, “The Bishop is worthless, watch out for any tricks she might pull but otherwise focus on taking down the King quickly.”

She went into further depth to their strategy, assigning roles and getting the Peerage into formation as Torlin stared at his opposition. The Bishop had just finished a whispered conversation with her brother, nodding along with a serious expression for she kissed his cheek and stepped forward. The sight was almost enough to make him retch.

Reincarnated Devils were an amazing innovation, as his own Peerage could attest, but they could never be equals. They were the property of their King, proof of his discernment and power, but still tools in the end. Adopting one? Treating them as equals? As family? It was anathema to everything they stood for.

The Pillars were better. They were the creation of Lucifer himself. To say that a human who no one had ever heard of before the Sagan decided she would make a sweet plaything was their equal, was worthy to stand among their ranks, was a slap in the face.

Arrogance. Disrespect. Hubris. All of that were words that followed Lord Sagan like a shadow, his every step calculated to be as insulting as possible. Well, that ends now. Torlin Berith would reclaim the Pride of the Devils, show everyone the this ‘Lone Prince’ was merely riding high on undeserved ego.

The Bishop reached into the pouch by her side, taking something out, but Torlin ignored her, focusing solely on the only actual Sagan in front of him. He would not fail.

The voice of the announcer sounded out, “Everyone ready? I hope so~! Then on your marks, Ready, Set, Go!”

The Sagan Bishop raised her hand, a single black object resting on her palm. A small flicker of energy started to build around her fore-arm, Her eyes filled with determination.

“Move!” Becca ordered.

His peerage tensed, their motions only beginning to occur, before there was bright flash from the hand of the Sagan Bishop. His eyes barely had time to widen before Torlin’s world went dark.

---XXX---

She stared in the announcer’s booth, hearing the rumble of Shiro’s attack die down. Below her, there was carved a wide furrow from the earth, the dirt torn to shreds from the violence of the passing shock wave. Ripped up grass fluttered in the wind, drifting along the path of destruction like confetti, burning slightly from the aftermath.

The effects on the targets was even worse. The shock wave had blown the Berith pawns off their feet, tossing their bodies aside like dolls. The main pieces fared better, Shaken and knocked down, but at least not landing in painful tangles. The same could not be said for their King and Queen.

Torlin Berith had his chest blasted apart. Serafall’s eyes could follow the glowing projectile as it flew, and watches as it had impacted just above his sternum, at the root of his throat. His entire upper torso had been ravaged by its effects, his head being separated from his body from the force. The grisly scene lingered for a second, showing briefly just how deadly such an attack would be outside of the arena.

The calculations that displayed just what would have occurred should the wards not have acted was plenty of proof enough.

The queen had not escaped unharmed either, being close to her King when the ball had hit, The side of her body facing towards the impact had been torn, sending her tumbling through the air, her arm flopping and useless. Just as she finished her flight, landing with a painful crack, the telltale golden glow of the wards shined over the injured Berith, removing him from the arena.

Remembering her job, Serafall’s body moved towards the microphone, “The Berith King has been retired. The Sagan Peerage is victorious!”

She was thankful for the way the wards functioned, saving them from having a politically messy death on their hands. Still, this situation was plenty messy already, she mused as she stared down at Damocles Sagan.

She had wondered why he didn’t protest her commentary of the match, The bad blood between them was still there, unaddressed. He wanted nothing to do with her or her family, not even accepting meeting her when Loki had attacked him, preferring to speak with Falbium instead.

She didn’t wonder any longer, now she knew, just as she knew what the purpose behind this whole game he had set up was.

He looked up at her, despite the visual camouflage that covered the commentator’s booth, seemingly staring directly into her eyes. Then he confirmed her suspicions through a humourless smile, his eyes reflecting nothing but cold promise.

This Rating Game he had set up? The myriad of rules and restrictions, to put himself in a disadvantageous position? It was not a demonstration, or a publicity stunt. No, it was a pure display of just what would happen should anyone else attempt to target the ‘weak link’ like Loki had.

It was a warning.

A warning that ha been received loudly and clearly.

---XXX---

The pen tumbled from her numb fingers as she stared at the magical display. The replay function was quickly used, the Agares Heiress frantically pouring over the footage frame by frame, desperately searching for any clue as to what the hell had just happened.

Reversing the footage, she spotted it. At the crest of the bolt of light that had struck the Berith, was a glowing shape different from the light surrounding it. Some type of projectile? Reversing to the beginning of the attack, she struggled to see just what the Sagan Bishop was doing. She appeared to be holding something up… A ball? Something round and dark anyway.

Did she shoot that at the King? Was that what had caused so much damage? How?

Going forward to the frame she had found, she could now pin down what the shape was. A heated piece of metal. So Shiro had launched it as a projectile. But that made no sense. You couldn’t shoot objects that fast with pure magic, at least not without large magical circles and expenditure of energy. There must have been some trick to it.

The light before the strike… Lightning? Electricity, electricity meant magnetism, magnetism…

Seekvaira’s eyes widened, her embarrassing hobby providing her the answer. Railguns, just like the ones mechas used. The Sagan Bishop had developed a Magical Railgun.

Her stunned silence did not go unnoticed, the voice of her Queen pulling her from her surprise, “Seekvaira? Are you alright?”

“Alivan.” She breathed, deliberately relaxing her tense shoulders, “Shiro Sagan is a larger threat than we thought. Could you fetch Remus for me?”

Her Queen nodded, leaving to do just that, allowing her a moment to regather her thoughts. The new information that the fight had revealed might not seem like it revealed much, but it did. Holes were present in her original plans that would have been fatal without accounting for just how deadly the Sagan Bishop was.

Focusing her down within the 15 minute window was swiftly becoming the only viable strategy in her mind. How to do so was still an unanswered question, but she was coming up with ides. She picked up her pen, crossing out several things on the page in front of her, creating a new chart, but was soon interrupted by Alivan returning with Remus, as requested.

Remus would be acting as a Knight for the Agares Peerage in the upcoming Game, his master training his Peerage to be High Class fighters that were then lent out to other Peerages as mercenaries for exorbitant fees. Still, when some of their members could compete close to the top Ten of the Rating Game circuit, such a prize was more than reasonable.

“You called, Boss?” Remus spoke, the werewolf looking bored.

“I did. I must admit that my physical capabilities pale in comparison to High Class knight like yours, so I wanted to consult with you on something.” She rewound the image being displayed on the wall, waiting as Remus took in the scene.

“That’s the Sagan kid, so the brat next to him must be his Bishop. You watching our opponents before the fight, seeing what they are made of?” Remus asked.

“I am, any information I can get could be pivotal in winning.” Seekvaira frowned, “You disapprove?”

“Nah, it’s the smart thing to do. Know thy enemy and all that. I’m not much of a planner, though. Don’t know how much help I’ll be here.” The werewolf shrugged, muscles rippling at the movement.

“I do not need assistance planning. I merely want you to watch the attack used by the Sagan Bishop and let me know if you believe you can dodge it.” She replied, hitting the play button.

Alivan and Remus watched, the attack in question happening almost instantly. She noticed Alivan tensing his jaw, but he held his tongue. Remus was not nearly so composed.

“Fucking hell.” He swore, “That’s some devious shit she’s cooked up. That much speed and power, must be a bitch and a half on her reserves, especially as young as she is.”

Seekvaira disagreed with his assessment, thinking that it was a lot more efficient than the werewolf likely thought, but she was interested in another facet of the spell.

“Can you dodge it? You are the fastest member of the team I have assembled.” She reiterated her question.

The werewolf chewed his cheek, thinking, before he sighed, “I don’t know. Click back a frame?”

She did so, watching his eyes as he calculated the speed of the projectile. He asked her to click forward a frame, so she did so.

“Hmm, judging by the arena camera’s framerate and the distance it travelled, you are looking at about 2 clicks a second.” Seekvaira choked at that, she knew the attack was incredibly fast, but two kilometres a second?!

“Are you sure?” She pressed, panicked.

“Sure as I can be with just eyeballing it. To answer your question Boss, I can’t dodge that fast. I might turn a centre mass blow into a graze, but that sort of power? I’m gonna get fucked up either way.” He shrugged, unconcerned as he got paid regardless, “So blitzing the brat probably won’t work, at least in open ground. Don’t know how fast she can adjust her aim, so we could try that, but it would be risky.”

“I thought you weren’t good at planning.” She sighed, sinking into the couch as she looked up at the ceiling.

Remus chuckled, “I’m good at finding and making problems. Not so much fixing the fucking things.”

“Well, this is certainly one hell of a problem.” Seekvaira acknowledged.