Strongest Pawn Of The King Project

Osaia's gaze snapped back to him, sharp and skeptical.

"Oh? And how do you figure that?"

His grin widened—wolfish and knowing.

"I'll be changing my name and my appearance with an artifact. Even if my methods are eventually found out... once I become King…" his smile widened, "…I'll fix it."

Her eyes narrowed, her amusement vanishing like smoke in the wind.

She leaned forward slightly, pipe resting in the tray.

"If you had it all figured out," she said coldly, "I doubt you'd have come here. So. What do you want, Lucian?"

He folded his hands together atop her shimmering desk, then spoke.

"A list, Director. How else will I find my new members?"

Her lips pursed.

"I need the rosters... of all registered Pawns enrolling at the academy in Valtharen this semester. Every name. Every origin. Every potential."

Lady Osaia narrowed her eyes, the corner of her lips twitching as she leaned back into her chair.

"And what's in it for me?"

Lucian smiled, slow and smooth.

"The future King will owe you a favor."

For a moment, the room was silent—then Osaia burst out laughing.

A full, throaty laugh that echoed off the high stone walls. She slapped the desk with an open palm, nearly knocking over her ashtray.

"Ha! Gods, Lucian, you really don't change!"

She wiped the corner of her eye, still chuckling. "You're something else. You walk in here like you own the place, spin a tale of treason dressed as genius, and then top it off with a crown you haven't even touched yet!"

She shook her head, grinning as she reached for her pipe again.

"You really think you'll pull it off? You, out of all the mad bastards clawing their way through the King Project? You think you'll be the one standing on top?"

Lucian didn't answer. He didn't need to.

Osaia watched him for a long second, her amusement slowly fading to something quieter. Warmer. A flicker of belief, cautious but real.

"Normally," she said softly, "anyone who says they want to be King… seems a bit delusional."

She raised the pipe to her lips and took a long drag, eyes still locked on his.

"But if it's you…"

She exhaled slowly, smoke curling like mist between them.

"…I'm willing to take that chance."

Then, with one last look—half fond, half dangerous—she added:

"Don't disappoint me."

...

Lucian sat quietly as the carriage rumbled along the path, its wheels cracking over old stones and patches of dried mud. The curtains were half drawn, allowing golden rays of sun to slice across his face in narrow beams.

In his hand, he held a small black envelope—thin, sealed with a wax crest that had already been broken. Inside was the list.

He unfolded the parchment slowly, eyes scanning the names written in clean, crisp ink.

"As expected of Lady Osaia," he murmured with a faint smile. "She never disappoints."

Dozens of names. Dozens of hopefuls. But only one made him pause.

Aris.

His brow lifted slightly as he read the entry beside her name.

Aspect Talent: Heartflare

Rank: S

Description: Subject exhibits intense emotional resonance. Grows stronger when fighting for things she believes are right. Tendency for violence noted. Excessive sweet tooth. Unusual obsession with cake.

Lucian blinked once. Then twice.

"A prodigy… with a sugar addiction?" he muttered, eyes narrowing with amusement.

He leaned back in the leather seat of the carriage, letting the parchment rest on his lap as he stared out the window.

"Seems I've got something special on my hands."

Lucian glanced at the passing trees, then muttered under his breath:

"Open status window."

With a soft chime and a flicker of blue light, a translucent holographic panel unfolded in front of him, etched in silver circuitry and faint pulses of arcane energy.

[STATUS WINDOW: LUCIAN GREYVEIL]

Name: Lucian Greyveil

Age: 23

Race: Human

Aspect: Otherworldly Blood

Your origins are shrewd and mysterious. Whispers claim you were never meant to be bound by this realm. Some of the restrictions of this world do not apply to you, though the cost and benefit of such freedom has yet to reveal itself.

Aspect Rank: Pawn

Aspect Talent: Insight (Rank F - Non-evolvable)

Level: 99

Aspect Restriction:

Due to hyper-evolved cognitive systems, user possesses significantly reduced physical capabilities. Body cannot sustain prolonged high-intensity combat without external support. Physical strain risk elevated. Recommend tactical over direct engagement.

[Core Attributes]

STR (Strength): 213

VIT (Vitality): 228

AGI (Agility): 239

DEX (Dexterity): 251

INT (Intelligence): 442

MP (Mana): 417 / 417

CHA (Charisma): 264

LCK (Luck): 0

[System Notes:]

Talent [Insight]: Grants real-time probability threads, high deductive foresight, battle foresight, and momentary precognition during high-pressure tactical decisions.

Lucian studied the numbers with a faint, unreadable smile.

He raised a brow as he flicked through the tabs with a lazy finger. The numbers hadn't changed—he wasn't expecting them to—but seeing them again reminded him just how lopsided his build truly was.

"A mind sharp enough to cut gods," he muttered, "and a body that would lose a foot race to a baker's apprentice."

He smirked, then dismissed the window with a wave.

No matter.

He wasn't here to win with brawn.

He was here to outplay them all.

"And since that is the case... I believe it necessary that my first piece on this new board be my brawn."

He smiled as he continued on to look at a picture of a pink-haired girl with blue eyes beside the name.

"Aris, I'm already looking forward to our first meeting."

The carriage kept rolling forward, the road bending ahead toward Valtharen—and toward a new beginning.

One that would shake the board clean.

And maybe, just maybe... start checkmate early.