The room they had given me was small, but mine.
A modest little chamber tucked just a few doors from Regina's, with a narrow bed, a wooden desk scarred by candle drippings, a wardrobe that creaked like an old man every time you touched it, and walls so close you could measure the silence with your breath. It wasn't much—just plaster, old wood, and a thin mattress stuffed with straw and dreams—but it was private.
Compared to everything else in this world—cult rituals and chanting lunatics, knights pointing swords at my throat, and one heterochromic sociopath who'd named me like a child naming a pet—this was paradise.
Here, I had peace.
Here, I had quiet.
Here, I had questions.
The System had been silent ever since Regina, in her usual detached cruelty, decided to christen me "Luna" after I'd taken a dagger for her. I hadn't even meant to move. One moment I was walking beside her, vaguely aware of her humming something soft and off-key, and the next, my body had lurched, intercepting a blade meant for her ribs. I'd disarmed the attacker with frightening precision, driven his own knife into his chest, and stood there like a marionette who'd just noticed its strings.
All while being subtly puppeteered by the girl who then looked at me like one looks at a tool freshly sharpened and said, "You'll be Luna."
And now?
Here I was, sitting on my bed, the taste of lamb soup still clinging to my mouth, exhaustion seeping into my bones, dread curling tight around my ribs. The translucent blue screen flickered into existence before me, casting its glow like a ghost trapped inside its own lantern.
---
[User Status]
Name: Luna
Age: 16
Class: ???
Attributes
Strength: 8
Intelligence: 15
Agility: 7
Endurance: 18
Health: 98 / 100
Mana: 100
Level: 6
EXP: 1000 / 1500
Alignment: Random
Protocol: Scholar's Mate – Active
User may summon, possess, and use 1 Pawn. Note: Mana is tied to stamina.
Abilities
White Pawn Summoning – Level 1
Possession (In Development)
---
The word Pawn blinked at me like it carried more weight than the rest. It wasn't just some RPG placeholder—it was a sentence, a symbol. The lowest piece on the board, expendable, nameless. That was me now.
"Hey, System," I whispered, my voice almost afraid to exist. "Who was Regina's mother?"
No reply.
I tried again. "Is the Church really a threat? I haven't seen a cathedral, haven't even smelled incense or heard a hymn. Do they even know I'm here?"
Silence.
The screen pulsed once, like a heartbeat. Then came the reply I didn't expect:
---
[Pawn Activated]
You may now summon a White Pawn.
Choose to summon or integrate its stats.
Note: Integration drains stamina; Summoning draws on mana.
World mana may sustain the unit after invocation.
---
My throat went dry.
"Summon pawn," I whispered.
The world shivered.
The air around me fractured like someone had taken a hammer to glass. Light bled through the cracks in reality, blue and cold, until the room itself seemed to bow under the weight of something being born. The faint smell of iron filled the chamber, mingled with candle wax and the faint musk of old straw.
And then she stepped out.
Me.
Or something dangerously close.
The same face, the same eyes—but where I was plain, she was polished. Regal. Her back straight, her expression calm, her presence commanding without ever raising a voice. She wore a deep blue doublet trimmed in silver thread, leather boots that clicked against the floor with authority, a thin iron cuirass polished to a dull gleam. A plumed helmet rested under her arm, and at her side hung a short sword and buckler.
The crest of a silver moon gleamed on her shoulder.
She looked at me with calm, courteous eyes—the kind you expect from someone who belonged, who was allowed to exist in halls like these.
---
Pawn – The Ambitious Footman
HP: 60
Attack: 12
Defense: 8
Speed: 14
Magic Resistance: 6
Mana Cost: 10 (Low)
Weapon: Iron Short Sword + Round Buckler
Appearance: Blue velvet, silver moon crest, light cuirass, plumed helmet
Abilities:
Interlock Formation (Passive)
Echo of Ambition (Passive)
---
I nearly toppled backward onto the bed.
"You summoned me," she said, voice soft but unwavering. Like me if I'd grown up noble instead of… whatever the hell I was now. "No need to panic. I've accessed your memory to catch up. You've had… quite a time."
I blinked at her. "Wait. You can access my memories?"
"Not all," she assured, with a faint, practiced smile. "Only the surface. Enough to orient myself and serve. It is part of the pawn bond. We exist to follow the Scholar's strategy."
The way she said Scholar's strategy sent a chill down my spine.
"Right," I muttered, trying to hide the panic edging into my voice. My eyes flicked back to the interface, where a new tab shimmered faintly. Pawn Skins.
Roman Legionnaire. Spartan Hoplite. Gurkha. Samurai. Modern Infantry.
All locked.
Only Basic was available.
"Great," I muttered. "A gacha system. Just what I needed."
She ignored my sarcasm, stretching like someone who had waited years to be born. The motion was so human it unsettled me. She smiled again, and this time there was something sharper in it—like she knew more than she should.
"There's more happening here than you realize," she said. "This system… someone built it. Someone shaped the rules and left fragments of themselves woven through it."
My skin prickled. "You're saying—"
"I'm saying," she cut in gently, "that Regina's mother—the Countess—might have known more about this than anyone alive. Including you."
The words fell heavy, like a chess piece dropped onto a wooden board in a silent room.
A chill wrapped around me, the room suddenly smaller, shadows stretching longer.
"I think she was like you," the Pawn added, her voice quieter now, but no less certain. "Another soul. Another… transmigrator. One who played the game too well—and paid the price."
Her words hung in the air like smoke.
I thought of Regina's silence, her flinching when I'd asked about her father, the flatness of her tone when she spoke of her mother's death. I thought of the Church, cowards in robes who had snuffed out a woman's fire because she dared say mana was not divine.
And suddenly, the mirror-edge of this reality felt sharper. Too sharp.
Because if the Countess had been like me, then what killed her wasn't just politics or assassins.
It was the game itself.
The Pawn stood there, smiling softly, waiting.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at her like a reflection that had stepped out of the mirror and refused to go back in. My little chamber no longer felt cozy. It felt like the first square of a chessboard.
I had a name now. I had a power.
But I wasn't the first to play this game.
And somewhere on this board of castles, knives, and gods pretending not to look—someone had already made their move.
Checkmate, huh?
Whose turn is it now?