Lane woke up the next morning and, as usual, made his bed the moment he opened his eyes. He changed his clothes, put on simple cleaning garments, and slipped on his gray gloves. He gave a brief glance at his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes had lessened; his shoulders had grown broader. His body was slowly becoming stronger—his muscles firm, his movements more controlled.
Today would be less demanding than yesterday. In recent days, he had learned to control lightning mana, and ever since that day, energy had been flowing constantly through his body. That energy, like a hidden vitality woven into his muscles, made everything he did easier.
He walked into the library. The shelves were covered in dust; even the fine layer that clung to his fingers vibrated like electricity. He picked up a cloth and slipped between the rows of shelves. As he touched the spines of the books, the breath of the past rose from between the pages. When he reached a few shelves in, he noticed an old box wedged between two books.
He pulled the box out and opened it. Inside was a chessboard made of smooth stones. The texture of the pieces felt familiar. Lane paused for a moment, then smirked. "I guess chess is universal; it shows up among different races too," he murmured to himself.
He cleaned the board, polished each piece one by one, and set them up. Then he took the board out from between the shelves and placed it on the table near the library's entrance. After that, he continued cleaning.
Half the day passed. The cabin now looked spotless. The shelves gleamed, and the floor reflected the light. Without waiting for his sweat to cool, Lane murmured, "I'm already warmed up anyway. Training mana shouldn't be a problem."
He stepped outside into the garden. The soil was soft; the morning's coolness still lingered in the air. Without removing his weights, he knelt down and began doing push-ups. His muscles were tense, his breathing steady. Then he stood and did a few stretching exercises; his body now felt like a weapon that belonged to him.
"My muscles are tightening," he thought. "That increases blood flow. If I want to grow stronger, I need to speed up the energy flowing through my body."
He trained nonstop for two hours. With every breath, lightning mana coursed through his veins, burning his tendons. His body ached, yet felt lighter. The pain was a kind of victory.
Eventually he sat down, pulled his knees to his chest, and entered mana circulation. Lightning mana flowed rapidly, sparks flickering in his chest. The energy cycled through him like a circuit—from his heart to his fingertips. He kept his eyes closed for two hours. In the silence, only the sound of his breathing could be heard.
When his training ended, his muscles burned, and sweat dripped from his forehead. Yet he was smiling. "That's enough for today," he said. "The mind needs training too."
As he walked back toward the cabin, he noticed the chessboard on the table near the entrance. He picked it up gently, brushed the dust off, and carried it to his room. After a cold shower—feeling the tremor of his muscles relax under the water—he put on simple clothes, combed back his hair, and sat down at the table.
He opened one of the books. The pages were thin, but the sentences were deep—filled with ancient wisdom. He began to read:
"Remember the things you have long postponed. How many times were opportunities laid before you, yet you ignored them? Even the gods showed you the path countless times, but you refused to walk it. Now, look into the moment you stand in. Which world do you belong to, which gear of which system are you? Understand that. Time is an invisible net that slowly wraps around you; every moment is a wave that will never return. If you fail to notice that moment, it too will pass without noticing you—and it will never return again.
Be honest in everything you do. Let there be love, self-respect, and independence within you. Hold fast to righteousness; never surrender to others' thoughts. Shape every action with the patience of a stonemason, with composure and dignity. For everything that dethrones you from the seat of your own mind—anger, envy, vanity, selfishness—pulls you toward the void.
True tranquility lies in staying away from those storms.
Life is shaped not by the gods, but by your own hands. To grasp its essence, you need nothing more—for to one who knows virtue, excess is nothing but a burden."
Lane read the passage two or three times. Finally, he murmured: "So, I'm supposed to be a good person, because God defined the good path; He separated good from evil. But I won't walk either of those paths. If your own interests aren't above all else, what difference does it make—whether you do good or evil?"
His expression was cold as he said it. Though the book's ideas conflicted with his own, he particularly liked the part about controlling emotions. The more he restrained his feelings, the more he felt a strange balance inside—a quiet strength.
The day passed that way. Lane cleaned, read, and spent time on mana training. As night fell, the cabin grew silent. Outside, only the sound of crickets remained.
When the sun set, Vaen returned. He opened the door quietly; the sound of his cane echoed on the stone floor. He went to his room to rest. Lane didn't even notice his master's arrival—his mind was lost in the chessboard.
A moment later, the door creaked open. "Son, what are you doing here?"
Lane looked up. Old Vaen was standing at the door, watching him. The old man's eyes caught sight of the board.
"Well, well. So you're playing chess, huh? Do you even know how to play?"
Lane, seeing the teasing expression on his master's face, answered flatly, "Yes, I know. I used to play sometimes."
Vaen grinned. "Then shall we have a match, what do you say?"
Lane immediately understood that the old man was trying to provoke him.His lips didn't move, but there was a glint in his eyes. "Alright," he said simply.
They moved to the main hall. They took the chessboard from the table, pulled up two chairs, and sat facing each other. They set the pieces. The silence was heavy; only the crackle of the fireplace could be heard. Lane looked at the board, then spoke calmly: "You can be white. Enlighten me—open my mind."
Vaen smiled, placing his pieces. "Chess strengthens the mind, refines strategy. But above all, it teaches not a single perspective—but many. Don't forget that, boy."
Lane bowed his head slightly. "I understand what you mean," he thought. "The old man knows the meaning of the board well. He could be a tough opponent."
Vaen pushed a pawn to the center. Lane, without hesitation, advanced the pawn before his queen.
A man's style of chess reflected his character. Vaen was cautious in the opening, setting his pieces into a defensive formation. Lane, on the other hand, was fast—as if he were moving thoughts, not pieces.
Time passed. A silent war unfolded over the board. After an hour, only two sounds remained in the room: the pieces sliding and their breathing.
Vaen murmured to himself, "I think this boy is either trying to sacrifice his piece… or he doesn't know how to play. I'd better play more carefully."
But he was wrong. Lane's eyes didn't flicker; every move was calculated.
After an hour and a half, many pieces were gone from the board, yet neither had gained the upper hand. Vaen was deep in thought, sweat trickling down his forehead. Lane, in contrast, was calm and confident.
"He's a solid opponent," thought Vaen. "Hard to counter."
Lane waited patiently. He wouldn't move before seeing the old man's next play.Because he knew the moment he was waiting for would come. On the board, there was a pawn that hadn't seemed important so far—but that pawn would end it all.
Lane thought to himself:
"Life is like a chessboard. With every move, you feel excitement, emotion, and change—and that's what makes life interesting. People panic in those moments of excitement, worrying about what might come next instead of embracing it. Those who act without thinking are often called brave, but that's merely the courage of fools. The ones who act and then regret it are weak. Whatever move you make, stand by it until the end—even if it's wrong—for only then are courage and confidence truly forged."
Vaen moved his knight toward Lane's king side to open an attack route.
At that moment, Lane slightly lifted his head. He looked silently, then bowed it again. A devilish grin curved on his lips. The entire board was in his grasp now.
First, he used his dark-square bishop to give check. Vaen was startled and reflexively pushed his pawn forward. Lane had sacrificed the bishop—but that sacrifice triggered another chain.
Vaen didn't see it and captured the piece.
Then Lane sacrificed his first rook. Vaen could no longer follow the logic of the moves; the game was slipping out of his control. He captured the rook with his king and pulled back to the edge of the board—facing one white pawn and Lane's black pawn across from it.
Then Lane moved his second rook and gave check. Vaen hurriedly moved his king aside. Lane sacrificed that rook as well. Vaen, confused and tense, just kept taking pieces.
And then—Lane advanced his queen. "Check," he said quietly.
Vaen's eyes widened. Only then did he understand the move. He had lost his three most important pieces; his entire defense was gone. Lane's queen could deliver checkmate in one move.
Vaen stared at the board in disbelief, then turned to Lane. "Boy, where did you learn to play like that?"
Lane didn't lift his hand from the pieces as he answered, "By playing against myself, of course."
Then he raised his head; his eyes were dark but cold. "The one who knows how to defeat himself—no matter who sits across from him—will never see an opponent as a true rival."
Silence fell. Even the sound of the fire seemed to fade.
Lane thought inwardly: "Chess is a philosophy. It reveals the inside of a person. They say there are three playing styles: cautious, aggressive, and snake-like. But in truth, there are four. The fourth is the one who commands the board itself—the one who moves both sides, black and white alike. The true power lies in the one who manipulates his opponent, who foresees every move before it's made."
Vaen couldn't accept his defeat. His eyes were distant. "Boy," he said at last, "tonight you'll stay in the forest. You'll fight the wolves."
Lane didn't raise his head, but a spark lit in his eyes. The old man was angry; he had sent Lane into the forest as punishment.
That night, the wind blew hard.Lane quietly gathered the chess pieces and placed them back in the box.The board was no longer a game—it was a mirror.