In the fireplace of Professor Flitwick's office, flames crackled, casting warm orange light across rows of books and trophies on the walls.
The air was filled with the mixed scent of aged parchment and polished wood.
It should have been a leisurely weekend afternoon.
Yet, on the small wizard chessboard in front of the fireplace, a silent war was unfolding, one that sent a chill deep into the mind of this world-class dueling master.
Flitwick's stunning "Magical Programming" demonstration had completely cemented Alan's perception of the diminutive professor as his only intellectual soulmate in this world.
Since then, Alan had become a frequent visitor to Flitwick's office.
Their exchanges had long surpassed the boundaries of teacher and student, resembling instead two scholars across generations, exploring the boundless ocean of magical theory together. They would marvel at the shared logic between runes and spells, and argue passionately over the nature of transfiguration and illusions, sometimes blushing and nearly shouting in the heat of debate.
Today's wizard chess match was simply an invitation born of Flitwick's whim.
His chess was as precise and swift as his magic, imbued with the aesthetics of classical dueling. Every move had clear purpose; the flow of attack and defense was as elegant and deadly as flowing water.
At the opening, Flitwick quickly controlled the central area of the board using classical tactics, his queen and rooks forming a sturdy barrier, poised for action.
But Alan's strategy completely overturned Flitwick's understanding of the game.
Alan abandoned any conventional contention for the center. His bishops and knights did not engage in frontal battles; instead, they became ghostly daggers, silently maneuvering along the board's edges, constantly harassing Flitwick's defensive flanks in what seemed like futile gestures.
What baffled Flitwick even more was Alan's disregard for the value of pieces.
He would exchange a powerful rook for a seemingly insignificant pawn.
One move, in particular, remained vivid in Flitwick's memory: Alan's rook swept across more than half the board, aiming directly at a lone pawn in the corner of Flitwick's defense. It was a move that defied all logic, one any ordinary chess player would call foolish.
Flitwick's pawn captured the rook.
The pieces clashed with a crisp sound.
For a moment, Flitwick even doubted his own senses.
But he quickly realized something was wrong.
With every piece he captured from Alan, a tiny, almost imperceptible structural flaw appeared in his formation. Each of Alan's "sacrifices" was not meaningless death but a form of contamination.
The rook that was captured pushed Flitwick's pawn forward one square, subtly blocking another of his pieces. A seemingly trivial change.
Flitwick had not paid much attention at first.
But as the game progressed, this insidious "contamination" continued to spread.
He captured one of Alan's knights, and his queen was lured into a seemingly safe zone, yet subtly constrained by several small opposing pieces.
He captured one of Alan's bishops, and a new gap appeared in his defense, allowing another of Alan's pieces to slip through.
Alan's pieces seemed to carry a virus of thought.
Their purpose was not survival but to infect Flitwick's pieces through their "deaths," undermining the internal logic of his entire defense system.
The game entered the mid-phase.
Flitwick looked down at the board, fine beads of sweat forming on his brow.
From the perspective of raw power, he had overwhelming superiority. Only a few of Alan's pieces remained, while his own queen, rooks, and knights were still strong and numerous.
Yet he felt an inexplicable panic.
Horrified, he realized that his king was already trapped in an invisible web—
And the pieces forming this web were not Alan's pieces, but his own!
His mighty queen blocked one path, his solid rook sealed another. His knights and bishops, seemingly guarding the king, had instead become unwitting pillars of his confinement.
Each piece was like a spy "turned" by Alan—loyal in appearance, yet sealing every escape route for the king.
On the chessboard, Alan's lone remaining pawn trembled, moving forward step by step toward the back rank.
Flitwick watched helplessly, unable to stop it.
All of his powerful pieces were trapped by their own allies, frozen in place.
Finally, that most insignificant pawn reached the back rank.
Checkmate.
Throughout the entire game, Flitwick's king had not moved a single step. It sat on its throne, yet had been transformed into an inescapable, logic-based prison by the very pieces that had been most loyal to it.
"I… I've lost…"
Professor Flitwick exhaled slowly, his voice tinged with hoarseness. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the unbelievable endgame. There was no trace of frustration on his face—only a complex mix of astonishment and admiration.
"Alan, the way you… the way you played… I've never seen anything like it."
He lifted his head, eyes blazing as he stared at Alan.
"It doesn't feel like a tactic… more like… an algorithm."
"I call it the 'Information Virus' attack pattern," Alan explained calmly, as if merely stating a fact.
"Information… virus…"
Flitwick murmured, chewing over the unfamiliar phrase. A fragment of memory, buried for decades, was instantly activated by the word.
He suddenly rose from his chair, moving with a speed uncharacteristic of his age, and strode to the cabinet along the wall. His hands trembled slightly as he retrieved a square object wrapped in thick velvet.
Returning to the fireplace, he carefully placed it on the table and slowly unveiled the velvet.
"Alan, look at this."
Beneath the velvet lay a palm-sized fragment of a stone tablet.
The material was neither metal nor stone, its surface dark and muted. Several ancient runes, now fragmented, were etched into it. The strokes of these runes twisted in inhuman beauty, exuding an aura of madness.
Flitwick's voice trembled with uncontainable awe.
"This is something I discovered in my youth, in an ancient ruin. All references suggest that this is a fragment of a rune weapon designed for 'mental attacks'."
He paused, lowering his voice even further.
"I studied it for decades, poured endless effort into it, and yet could never understand how it worked. Its energy circuits do not conform to any known runic logic.
"But today, seeing your chess moves, I finally understand."
His fingers trembled slightly from excitement as he traced the intricate connections between the ancient runes.
"Look—the structure of these runes… mirrors the logic by which you sacrificed your pieces and 'infected' my defensive system…"
"Astonishingly so!"
~~----------------------
Patreon Advance Chapters:
[email protected] / Dreamer20