Lucen and Robert were playing the first game of reversi or territory war. As expected of Robert, with a simple explanation, he quickly understood how to play the game.
Even though he was a newbie, he didn’t play like one. If he were up against an average opponent, he might have won. But he wasn’t. He was playing against Lucen, a lifelong gamer with a love for traps and endgame reversals.
"Wait, what just happened? I was dominating, and then I lost!"
Robert couldn’t believe his eyes. The board, which was once filled with black discs that were his, was replaced by white.
"GG ez." Lucen suddenly blurted out, which confused Robert even more.
"Gee-gee ee-zee? What does that even mean?"
"It’s nothing, don’t worry about it."
"Don’t worry about it! No, I can’t accept a loss . Come on, another game, this time I will show you what I’m capable of."
A few minutes later, Lucen once again won, but Robert did improve ever so slightly.
"Again!" Robert demanded, and Lucen shrugged and humored him. Another match. Another win for Lucen.
By now, a small crowd had gathered. Carpenters peered over shoulders, and even blacksmiths from the nearby forge came in, drawn by the noise.
"How can this be?! Another rematch! This time, I’ve calculated your every possible move."
Lucen and Robert played once more, and the result was the same as the other games, with Lucen winning.
"Damn it, what went wrong?!... Did he make me move to take the side and use that against me?!"
The crowd that was watching found that the game looked interesting and asked Lucen what it was.
"This is a game I created called Territory War. I’m planning to sell this, but you can play with the prototype, if you want."
"Wait, I want another rematch!" Robert suddenly spoke.
"Sorry, Robert, but I have other things to do. If you want, you can teach others and play with them. I think you need a bit more experience before you take me on again."
Lucen smirked, leaned in, and whispered, "Get good."
"FINE! I’ll surpass you and crush you beneath the weight of my intellect!"
Robert, who had completely forgotten his original intention when coming here, burst out and started teaching the craftsmen how to play the game. Seeing his reaction, Lucen wanted to say good luck with that, but decided not to and simply smiled and then spoke to Holz.
"Master Holz, can you make another one? This time, put the insignia of my regiment, Thornefang, on the side of the board. A silver thorn curling around the fang of a dragon."
"I could, young master, just give me an hour." Holz and his apprentices got to work, and to Lucen’s surprise, finished even faster than expected.
"Here you go, young master," Holz said, handing the board with the insignia of Thornefang alongside the colored pieces that were in a cloth bag.
"Thank you, Master Holz."
"If you don’t mind me asking, young master, how do you plan to sell these? Which merchant group are you going to visit?" Holz could not hold his curiosity and asked.
"I won’t be going to any of the merchant groups, I’m going to wait for them to come to me instead."
"How do you plan to do that, young master?"
"By playing," Lucen answered with a vicious-looking grin on his face.
Thornefang had finished their training for the day, and their entire bodies were aching in pain. The group then dragged themselves to their favorite tavern, surely a drink of ale, and a warm meal, while sharing stories of their adventure would cheer them up.
When they got near the tavern, they couldn’t hear the bustling noise within. Usually at this hour, someone would be doing something stupid, or someone’s being loud because they’ve drunk too much.
Not even the sound of a bard singing could be heard, which was quite surprising. As the group grew even more confused, they suddenly heard cheering, which startled them.
The group entered the tavern and saw a large group surrounding someone, in the middle of which was their little leader, doing something on a wooden board, facing a familiar face, Derrin, one of the guards who usually dozed off during patrol.
"Young master, one more game, please!" Derrin was practically begging.
"Enough, your turn is done. I want to try next." Another man pushed Derrrin out of the seat and sat in front of Lucen, who was now clearing the board.
"Little leader, what’s happening here?" Harlik squeezed through the crowd and asked Lucen.
"Oh, Harlik, it seems like training had gone better than expected. Good thing Sir Thalos held back."
"Held back?! Sir Thalos made us do a ton of stuff, my body is screaming in pain, do you know that? How is that holding back?" Harlik couldn’t help but raise his voice when he heard what Lucen said.
"Well, since you’re able to move about and even raise your voice, then he definitely held back."
The moment Harlik and the others heard Lucen’s reply, a chill ran down their spines. Who knew that Sir Thalos was still holding back with what they’ve been through?
"Okay, let’s stop talking about that. What is this? What are you doing, little leader?"
"Oh, this, it’s a game I invented."
"... So... Not only can you make weapons, you’re good at fighting, strategy, and alchemy. You’re telling me now that you also know how to make games? Is there anything you can’t do?" Harlik sounded exasperated as he continued.
"To top it off, you’re the heir of the Iron Duke, the future Duke of Stellhart. Do you have any more hidden skills that I should know about?"
"Who knows?" Lucen shrugged as he changed the topic. "So want to try playing?"
"Why not?" Harlik and Lucen changed positions. "Can someone bring drinks over here?!" Harlik spoke as he sat down.
Lucen then began teaching Harlik the game rules. It didn’t take the former mercenary leader long to get the hang of how the game was played. The other members of Thornefang also listened in while Lucen was explaining how to play territory war.
Once everyone was caught up, Harlik and everyone else in the tavern were having fun taking turns playing the game.
While everyone was focused on the game, someone approached Lucen. A man stepped forward, wrapped in a thick, weather-worn cloak of patched wool and fur, the kind meant to survive long roads and colder nights.
Snow clung to the hem of his travel-stained boots, and a faded satchel marked with a modest merchant’s seal hung at his hip.
His gloves were mismatched, one of leather, the other of knit wool, and his scarf looked like it had seen better seasons. Despite his worn appearance, his eyes were sharp, alert, hungry, and calculating.
"Excuse me, young sir, I heard that you were the one who created that game they’re playing right now."