Hidden Pieces on the Board
"Eon, Brinda... how many subordinates of yours could be considered mages?"
Victor’s question lingered in the chamber like incense smoke after ritual.
For a mont, nobody answered.
Even the torch flas along the stone walls seed to quiet.
Eon leaned back, black eyes narrowing as if searching old mories buried beneath instinct.
Then he gave a rough snort.
"I don’t have anyone like that. If they had the capability to be mages, they wouldn’t be in the slums."
He was almost about to spit in contempt at the bitter truth of it, but stopped himself.
Perhaps because Victor sat before him.
Perhaps because old habits no longer fit the man who had just sworn away his life in blood.
His words were crude, but they carried the hard philosophy of the streets.
Magic was privilege.
The slums birthed knives.
Not scholars.
Not spellcasters.
Only survivors.
Victor gave no judgnt.
Only a thoughtful hum.
"Hm."
Then his golden gaze shifted.
To Brinda.
She had been waiting.
Of course she had.
At once her posture softened into practiced elegance.
She tapped a finger against her cheek and blinked in that deliberately cutesy way she used when trying to charm him.
"Hmmm..." she murmured, pretending to count.
"I have two girls who can be considered beginner level mages..."
Her lips curved.
"And one man who could be considered an interdiate-level mage."
She tilted her head.
Then added almost teasingly,
"Though if Sir Victor personally trained them... perhaps they could beco much more."
Lane rolled her eyes.
Clara looked away, suppressing a smile.
Videl rely watched Victor.
Always watching.
As if reading thoughts beneath his silence.
Brinda hoped—again—that Victor would notice her little performance.
But Victor had long since evaluated her.
Her beauty.
Her ambition.
Her utility.
And in the cold place where he judged won worthy of entering his deeper world...
she had not reached the standard.
So he ignored the bait.
Entirely.
Which sohow made Brinda want his attention even more.
Victor’s fingers tapped the armrest once.
Twice.
Then he spoke.
"I see."
His voice sharpened.
Command replacing reflection.
"Eon."
The forr Ox King straightened instantly.
"Call ten of your best n."
"And bring them here."
Victor turned.
"Brinda."
She sat up.
He said her, "Brinda, call the three mages you have... and eight more subordinates skilled in combat."
"Bring them here as well."
She blinked.
Not because she had not heard.
But because she wanted explanation.
Victor saw it.
And cut it off before it began.
"Huh?"
A dangerous softness entered his tone.
"Didn’t you hear ?"
A pause.
Then:
"Go now."
The air in the room shifted.
That was not a suggestion.
That was sovereign will.
The mont the two heard Victor say go now, Eon and Brinda said nothing further.
They rose.
Moved.
Obeyed.
As naturally as breathing.
Though Brinda paused half a second longer.
Long enough to glance over one shoulder.
Trying to read what sche brewed behind those golden eyes.
But Victor had already withdrawn into that unreadable stillness.
And she left.
The door shut.
A heavy wooden thud.
Then silence.
Only torch crackle.
Only breathing.
Only the sense that sothing vast had begun moving.
Clara was first to break it.
Her purple eyes narrowed.
"You’re building sothing military."
Not a question.
An accusation.
Victor smiled faintly.
"Perhaps."
Lane folded her arms.
"Perhaps ans yes."
Victor looked amused.
"I do enjoy how suspicious all of you have beco."
Brinda’s empty chair seed still to hold her perfu.
Videl finally moved.
Approaching Victor.
Softly.
Quietly.
"What is it you’re planning, Victor?"
Her voice carried no suspicion.
Only trust.
Which made it heavier.
Then she stepped closer still.
And lightly touched his shoulder.
A gesture so small others might miss its intimacy.
Victor looked up.
For a heartbeat the strategist vanished.
Only the man remained.
But then—
calculation returned.
"You’ll see..."
He said it almost gently.
But Videl did not move.
Her sapphire eyes searched his.
Not as subordinate.
As the woman who knew him best.
"Don’t be too hasty, Val..."
He used the shortened na only he used.
And Lane noticed.
Of course she noticed.
A faint jealousy flickered.
Victor continued.
"I’ll explain what I’m planning when those two return."
But before the silence settled, Clara crossed her arms.
"You enjoy making everyone dance in fog."
Victor raised a brow.
"Only because unveiling too early ruins theater."
Clara clicked her tongue.
"There you go again speaking like so villain."
Victor leaned back.
"History often mistakes visionaries for villains."
Eon’s absence made the room strangely lighter.
And yet tension remained.
Lane moved closer to Victor’s chair.
Lowering her voice.
"This has sothing to do with those rumors you’ve been gathering, doesn’t it?"
Victor did not answer.
Which was answer enough.
Clara saw it.
And exhaled.
"You really intend to turn Fantom City upside down."
Victor’s lips curved.
"No."
He looked at her.
"I intend to turn the kingdom upside down."
Silence.
Heavy.
Sacred.
Even the torch seed to dim.
Videl did not look shocked.
Only proud.
As if hearing destiny spoken aloud.
Lane’s black eyes glimred.
She whispered,
"And I thought the underworld was your ambition."
Victor answered,
"The underworld is rely the roots.
I intend to own the tree."
Clara stared.
Half disturbed.
Half enthralled.
This was why common sense failed around him.
Every answer only opened greater questions.
After a pause, Victor rose.
Slowly pacing.
Hands clasped behind his back.
Like a warlord before campaign.
He spoke, not fully to them.
Almost to himself.
"In war, people notice armies.
Fools notice crowns.
The wise notice supply lines.
Information.
Movent.
Invisible structures."
He stopped.
Turned.
"And I prefer building what cannot be seen until it is too late."
Clara muttered,
"That is an alarming thing to hear from soone smiling."
Victor laughed.
Then unexpectedly looked at Lane.
"And you?"
Lane blinked.
"What?"
"Do you trust enough not to ask?"
Lane stepped beside him.
Without hesitation.
"Yes."
Simple.
Absolute.
Sothing in Clara shifted seeing that.
A strange warmth.
Or envy.
She did not know.
Victor noticed.
He noticed everything.
Then deliberately lightened the mood.
"If all goes well..."
he said,
"I may have to make titles for all of you."
Clara snorted.
"Oh? And what would mine be?"
Victor pretended deep thought.
"The furious sword wife."
Clara nearly drew steel.
Again.
Lane actually laughed.
Even Videl hid a smile behind her hand.
The tension broke.
For a mont.
Then footsteps echoed faintly from beyond the hall.
Returning.
Pieces moving back to the board.
Victor’s expression hardened once more.
The playful young man vanished.
Only ambition remained.
And Videl, seeing that transformation, understood.
Whatever he was about to reveal when they returned...
would be another step toward sothing irreversible.
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