Outside Castle Edelstein, a carriage gleamed like a polished threat. Its frame was black lacquer, edged with steel fittings that caught the sun and flared like a blade. On its doors, the obsidian sunburst of the Holy Church glared at the world—a symbol meant to remind everyone that shadows could shine, and faith could burn.
The morning air was crisp, but the sight of that crest made it taste bitter.
Inside the Count's study, the air was no less sharp. The atmosphere hung tighter than a drawn bowstring, the kind that creaks just before it snaps. A fireplace burned low, filling the room with the tang of smoke and old ash. Bookshelves pressed in from every wall, heavy with volumes on history, strategy, and magic—each spine another witness to the scene unfolding.
Count Aurelius von Edelstein sat behind his oak desk, posture straight, blue eyes sharp behind a pair of reading glasses. He looked every inch the noble, but his finger betrayed him, tapping the armrest in a slow rhythm. Calculated. Controlled. Dangerous.
Across from him sat the nun.
She was young—too young for the authority she carried—but her poise made her seem carved from marble. Her robes were pristine white slashed with scarlet, the fabric gleaming faintly as if no dust or dirt dared cling to it. She sipped her tea with practiced delicacy, as if this were a polite chat about garden arrangements instead of politics and power. Her calm wasn't innocence. It was a veil, thin as silk and twice as deceptive.
Behind her loomed a knight. Silver armor, sunburst engraved across the chestplate, visor down. He hadn't moved since he entered, but his presence filled the room like a drawn sword. Silent, but not passive—just waiting for an excuse to strike.
"You found her during a heretic cult ritual," the nun said, her tone polite, her words a knife dressed in ribbon. "The Church formally requests custody of the girl. She may appear docile, but she's clearly a summoned entity. Our resources are better suited to her purification and containment."
Count Aurelius said nothing. His jaw twitched once.
"This is an act of goodwill," she continued, setting her teacup down with surgical grace. "To protect your County and strengthen our relationship."
Silence stretched. The only sound was the slow crackle of firewood.
Finally, the nun rose. She smoothed her robe, her smile as pale and cold as wax. "How is Regina? Still painting, I imagine."
Aurelius' knuckles turned white against the armrest. His face remained a mask of composure. "She's doing fine."
The nun's smile deepened, just a fraction. "I see. Farewell, Count Aurelius von Edelstein."
The knight followed her out, the weight of his steps thudding like judgment.
When the door shut, the air seemed to release. Rose, Commander of the County Guard, let out a scoff that bordered on a growl. "The nerve of those bastards."
Aurelius removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping him—the long, tired kind that suggested he'd sighed like this too many times before. "It seems the Church's patience is thinning. We may become their next target."
Rose dropped into the chair across from him, armor creaking. Her eyes were sharp as cut glass. "Regina and her maid were attacked yesterday. A lunatic screaming holy nonsense. Likely Church-sent. Regina… handled it. In her way."
Aurelius' mouth tightened, not quite a frown. "Still pulling people's strings, I see." He leaned back, gaze distant. "Maybe a change of scenery will do the girl some good."
---
Meanwhile, I was in my room.
My tiny sanctuary. My closet-sized kingdom. The one place in this world where the walls didn't seem to whisper.
I glanced at the blue screen still hovering in front of me, numbers and terms glowing faintly. And then at her—the White Pawn. My mirror. My shadow. My soldier. My other self.
---
[Pawn Code: H2]
Position: King's Side
Alignment: White
Status: Active
---
"The Countess really had a lot of skeletons in her closet," I muttered, running a hand through my hair, "and I don't mean her grave—"
Stomp.
"Ow!" I yelped, hopping.
The Pawn had stepped on my foot with unnerving precision, her expression tight. "Have some respect."
I glared at her. "Seriously?"
The System chimed in, smug, like a voice in the back of my skull: I like her. Finally, someone with a spine.
I squinted at both of them—the pawn standing there prim and proper, and the phantom words curling like smoke in my head. "Great. I've got a backseat driver and a body double. Lovely."
The Pawn only arched an eyebrow. "If you're done sulking, I'll need a change of outfit. Let's not terrify Regina by showing up in armor."
---
We knocked on Regina's door.
She was lounging on her bed, book in hand, posture lazy but her mismatched eyes gleaming like a cat about to toy with its prey. When she saw the Pawn—now dressed in one of the spare maid uniforms—I swear her entire face lit up. Like a child catching sight of an unwrapped gift.
"Oh?" she purred, sliding off the bed in a single motion. "Interesting. Explain."
I opened my mouth, fumbling for words.
But she was faster. She closed the distance in three steps, circling us both like she was deciding which mouse to dissect first. Her eyes flicked between me and my twin, and I could feel the weight of her curiosity pressing down.
From the corner of my mind, the System chuckled.
"Tea first," Regina said finally, dropping into a chair with theatrical grace. "And cookies. I expect answers after sweets."
---
I fetched the tea. My hands worked automatically, but my thoughts were a storm.
The Pawn. The attack. The nun. The knight's silent menace. The eyes of the Church peering into the County like a knife waiting for an excuse to twist.
And the drills I'd seen in the yard. Too modern. Too precise. Cadences I knew from Earth. Formations that didn't belong here. Words that didn't belong here.
I thought I was the first. The only.
But the Countess—Regina's mother—had rewritten this world's military, had declared mana was energy, not divinity, had challenged the Church.
She'd been like me. One of us.
And now she was dead.
Checkmate, huh?
I glanced at the Pawn. She sipped tea with practiced calm, like she'd always belonged in this world.
The game's already started.
I just haven't figured out if I'm the player…
…or the piece.