I Became the Dark Knight in the Game - Chapter 83: Heroes (3)

As Dale charged in menacingly, the scribe hurriedly spread his arms wide. He then started reciting an incantation.

The old books that had been piled up like a mountain began to float gently into the air and a strong magical power was released.

A mage?

Dale had not thought the scribe a mere ordinary old man, but he turned out to be a mage of a higher caliber than expected.

With a swing of his arm, Dale knocked away the floating books.

At the same moment, books that had been hanging on the bookshelf came tumbling down and rained down on Dale’s head like a torrent.

Thud! Thump!

Heavy books pummeled Dale and attempted to cling to him as if the books themselves possessed a will of their own.

Yet, Dale remained unfazed. Such attempts were not enough to inflict damage on him.

Dale turned his head to the side. Suddenly, a carpet slithering like a snake crawled toward him and tried to wrap itself around his body.

Dale pierced the carpet with his cursed sword, then stepped on one hem of the carpet and tore it in half.

And as if it was actually alive, the carpet writhed in agony before collapsing lifelessly to the floor.

The scribe cried out,

“No! My carpet!”

Strangely enough, the voice seemed to come from above.

Dale lifted his gaze upward.

Atop the highest shelf of the wall cabinet stood the old scribe.

“You brute! You must listen to the end when someone is speaking!”

The scribe lashed out and started waving his arms furiously in indignation.

Dale looked up at the scribe and retorted,

“But did you not propose a fight?”

“Who said anything about brandishing weapons in a fight, huh? People should use their heads and engage in a battle of wits!”

“……”

Dale paused for a moment and then said.

“Can’t we just fight with weapons? It’s simpler that way for me.”

“Shut up! If you’re not going to do as I say, then just leave!”

Dale swallowed a sigh and conceded,

“Alright, come down from there.”

The scribe glanced down below and then spoke in a quiet voice.

“I… can’t come down.”

“And why is that?”

“I’ve used up all my magical power just now.”

“For just that?”

“Just that? Even this much is quite an achievement! And, battle magic isn’t my specialty!”

Dale spread his arms wide while offering,

“Jump down. I’ll catch you.”

“Are you really going to catch me? You’re not planning to let me fall and die on purpose, are you?”

“You can stay up there if you prefer.”

The scribe cleared his throat once, as if he wasn’t happy about that, then swallowed hard and jumped down.

Thud.

Dale skillfully caught the scribe under his arms.

The old man was thin and light as a feather and hardly weighed anything.

“…. Put me down.”

When the scribe spoke sheepishly, Dale gently set him on the ground.

As he took a closer look at the old man, Dale noticed how short he was. It was unusually so unless he was a dwarf.

The scribe seemed to have noticed that gaze and said.

“Just so there’s no misunderstanding, I’m a half-gnome and half-human. I’m actually quite tall for my kind.”

Dale thought about the height of Leon, the gnome he had met a while ago. The scribe didn’t seem particularly taller than Leon, but he chose not to mention that.

Instead, he asked another question,

“You’re a mage?”

“Why would I wear such a ridiculous hat if I weren’t a mage?”

The scribe pointed to the large pointed hat perched on his head.

Dale had to agree.

“That’s a fair point.”

“You could have at least pretended the hat was stylish over there!”

What was he supposed to do about that?

“Seriously, that’s the problem with the youth these days.”

Dale was beginning to tire of dealing with this old mage. Before the conversation could stray further, he steered it back to the main topic.

“So, what exactly is this challenge you’re proposing?”

“Ah, yes, we were discussing that, weren’t we?”

The scribe stroked his white beard with a smug air.

“Records hold immeasurable value. Everyone overlooks this fact, but paper and ink are the true drivers of our society’s progress. I can’t just hand over something so precious to just anyone.”

Typical of a mage to be so wordy.

“Can we get to the point, please?”

“Tsk. You have no patience. Here it is. I have no intention of passing my valuable knowledge on to those less intelligent than myself, especially not to bastards who carry swords at their waists!”

The scribe clenched his fists.

Dale asked with a hint of indifference,

“So, what are you proposing?”

“I have hundreds of ways to make a fool out of you. But that wouldn’t be fun, nor would it be a fair contest. What we’ll compete in is this!”

With a flick of his finger, the stack of old books slid aside, revealing a wooden board that rolled out as if it had been waiting just beneath.

Arranged neatly on the board were pieces made of white and black stones.

It was a game Dale was very familiar with.

Chess.

The scribe boasted,

“This is a game modeled after war. It includes strategies and tactics that you sword-bearing folks might appreciate. How about it? Fair enough?”

He briefly explained the rules, which were not much different from what Dale already knew.

Dale asked him.

“So, I just need to win at this?”

“Yes, win, and I’ll grant you anything.”

The scribe smirked with the mischief of someone who had just pulled off a prank while thinking to himself,

Of course, you won’t stand a chance!

The scribe was an undefeated champion in chess. He had bested all the 299 challengers who came here before Dale.

And not once was he at a disadvantage during those games.

In the end, this battle is about reading your opponent’s moves and psychology.

Thoughts were revealed in moves.

And by reading the enemy’s thoughts and psyche, victory could be surprisingly easy to grasp.

There’s no move I can’t decipher. Even the most skilled mages couldn’t defeat me. No human can beat me, at least!

The scribe was brimming with the boundless confidence typical of old mages and he arrogantly declared,

“Come on, give it your best shot!”

***

The librarian guarding the entrance was sorting books when he suddenly thought of something.

Now that I think about it, a dark knight came by earlier.

The librarian tilted his head to the side.

There, a group of women were gathered around a desk, laughing merrily as they read through a thick novel.

It was a novel that had recently become quite popular among the ladies of the upper districts.

Wasn’t the protagonist of that novel a dark knight too?

Regrettably, the librarian had little interest in novels.

His thoughts were more on his superior, the old scribe.

I wonder if he’ll be alright. That guy was armed too.

Dealing with that eccentric old man was no easy task. He himself had had his fair share of frustrating encounters.

It wouldn’t be surprising if that dark knight had already drawn his weapon.

Well, it’s probably nothing to worry about.

The librarian was aware of the scribe’s strength as a mage and soon eased his concerns.

By now, the scribe would likely be engaging in chess after using any excuse to challenge and utterly defeat the dark knight.

Mocking an opponent as foolish after defeating them in chess was one of the scribe’s unpleasant hobbies.

All this talk about the importance of records was just an excuse, really.

The librarian remembered the pain he had endured playing unwilling games of chess when he first started working here.

Maybe I should go have a look.

He could hardly imagine the imposing dark knight quietly sitting down to a game of chess.

The librarian filled a tray with tea and snacks and walked up the stairs.

It’s quiet?

He tilted his head in puzzlement.

The silence was unusual.

By this time, he expected the sounds of a chess game being won and the subsequent taunting of the old man.

The librarian stuck his head out and took a stealthy glance inside.

There they were, squatting on the floor and deeply engrossed in their chess game. But something about the atmosphere felt off.

Dale sat expressionless in stark contrast to the scribe whose forehead was drenched in sweat.

The librarian looked at the chessboard and his eyes widened in shock.

“!”

It was the old scribe, not Dale, who was being destroyed.

The board was dominated by Dale’s white pieces, with only a few black pieces left standing.

In fact, this was virtually a decided match.

Despite this, the scribe was unable to concede defeat and fidgeted with the pieces in denial.

The librarian looked at Dale with admiration.

To actually beat the old scribe… renowned for his unmatched intellect in the city…

The stereotype of knights as brutish and dim-witted was shattered in his mind at that moment.

The librarian watched the progress on the chessboard as if he was spellbound.

After a few more moves, the outcome was clear. Dale then declared,

“It seems the match is decided.”

The scribe said through gritted teeth.

“…. Best two out of three.”

“?”

“That’s right! The true victor is determined by winning twice!”

“…….”

Both Dale and the librarian looked at the scribe with a mix of pity and disbelief.

Despite his face turning a bright shade of red, the scribe stood firm on his words.

He refused to back down and stubbornly started resetting the pieces on the board.

It seems both mages and giants are a stubborn bunch.

Dale shook his head and lined up his white pieces.

The scribe had underestimated Dale, who actually possessed a chess skill level that was quite advanced.

This was the natural outcome.

After all, there wasn’t much else to do at the time.

Dale often played with the children at the orphanage and spent time with them along with his grandfather.

However, the entertainment options suitable for the orphanage children were limited.

They played football during the day, and at night, they resorted to chess or Go.

Naturally, playing every day led to significant improvement. Over time, the children’s skills rose.

But the children didn’t stop there.

One day, a particularly bright child memorized the chess moves on a computer.

At that time, chess had already been conquered by computers.

Memorizing such computer moves essentially meant becoming unbeatable in the orphanage.

From that day forward, all the children began memorizing the moves and striving to win. And Dale was no exception.

Chess was no longer about fun and fostering friendships; it was about playing to win with a cold and mechanical approach.

This chess craze continued in the orphanage until a day arrived when it eventually faded.

I really went through a lot back then.

It was such an absurd event at the time.

Dale’s grandfather, who was not familiar with the new trends of the world, would click his tongue in disapproval and start wondering what bizarre antics these children were doing.

But in hindsight, all of that too became a fond memory for Dale.

I wonder how the kids are doing now.

And the efforts made back then shone through in such a place, after all this time.

Dale moved his pieces without much hesitation.

Each time he did, the scribe’s eyes would wildly dart around.

The scribe swallowed hard.

What in the world… What could possibly be the meaning behind this move…?

Cold sweat ran down his forehead.

Until now, no opponent he faced before had ever made such a move. The scribe found it impossible to decipher Dale’s intentions.

He tried to read Dale’s psychology through his facial expressions, but that too was no easy task.

Because no emotions could be discerned from Dale’s impassive face.

The scribe, who was confident he would never lose to a human, thought the previous game was lost due to a momentary lapse in concentration.

However, the scribe felt something different this time.

It’s like there’s no thought in the moves, as if I’m playing against a rock.

It was like facing a massive wall.

With each move, the scribe’s hands slowed down, and the situation on the board grew increasingly dire.

And the result was a crushing defeat just like before.

The scribe stared blankly at the chessboard and then Dale spoke.

“It seems I have won.”

“……”

“Now is the time to keep your promise. I trust you’re not considering changing your words at this point.”

“Grrr.”

Seemingly in frustration, the scribe gritted his teeth and extended his hand to the side.

Following this gesture, several books scattered carelessly on the floor flew into his hand. The scribe presented the books.

“These are records of factual events involving the heroes; they’re compiled solely from verified incidents. I have recorded these myself, so there should be no falsehoods.”

Dale took the books and he grew surprised by their volume. It looked like the events were recorded in great detail.

Having achieved his goal, Dale was about to leave when the old man grabbed the hem of his cloak.

“What is it?”

The scribe cleared his throat sheepishly before speaking.

“Play one more game with me. I think I’m starting to grasp your strategy. I believe I could win if we played again!”

Dale looked intently at the scribe and asked.

“For free?”

The scribe’s face contorted wildly.