AN INVITATION HE NEVER WANTED
Reivan sat at his desk, a fresh cup of tea steaming beside him, pretending he wasn’t staring at the elegant wax-sealed letter in front of him. The golden emblem of House Roderic glared at him like an executioner’s axe.
Gerald, standing by the window with his arms crossed, sighed. "It was only a matter of time before a noble took notice."
Reivan resisted the urge to slam his head on the table. "I was just trying to get away from mercenaries. Now I have nobles coming after me."
"Viscount Roderic is a cautious man," Gerald said. "He wouldn't call on you without reason. The fact that he’s reaching out directly means he either wants to use you… or test you."
Reivan ran a hand through his hair. "Great. Love that for me. What does he even want?"
Sylphy, who had been silent in the corner, finally spoke. "It says here he’s inviting you to participate in a strategy game alongside other nobles and military officials."
Reivan blinked. "Oh, that’s easy. I just say no."
Gerald and Sylphy exchanged looks.
"…Right?" Reivan asked, suddenly uneasy.
His father cleared his throat. "Refusing outright would make you look… uncooperative."
Sylphy tilted her head. "And weak."
Reivan sighed. "What’s the alternative?"
Gerald hesitated. "You go."
"That’s the worst alternative."
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THE EYES THAT SEE TOO MUCH
Despite his protests, Reivan soon found himself seated at an elegant wooden table in Viscount Roderic’s study, surrounded by nobles and military men. The strategy game was already set up—a detailed war simulation board, complete with carved figurines representing armies and supply lines.
As the game began, he noticed something strange. Every other noble in the room sat with a practiced air, their expressions unreadable, their hands carefully controlling their movements.
But they were watching him. Closely.
One of them, a well-dressed nobleman with sharp features, leaned toward his companion and muttered, "His posture is unremarkable. His clothes, too. A typical merchant’s son."
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
His friend nodded. "Yes, but… his eyes."
Reivan, unaware of the scrutiny, yawned and lazily examined the board. To him, it was just another strategy game. His brain, honed by years of gaming, automatically processed the best moves. Supply routes, choke points, reinforcement delays—he didn’t even have to think about it consciously.
But to the nobles watching him, it was unsettling.
His posture was casual, his actions sloppy, but his gaze? His gaze dissected the board like a hawk circling prey.
Viscount Roderic tapped a finger against the table. "Let’s begin. Each participant will take turns moving their forces. The goal is to control key trade cities while maintaining supply lines. Overextending will lead to collapse. Undercommitting will result in stagnation. A delicate balance, wouldn’t you say?"
Reivan barely heard him. His mind was already moving pieces like a machine.
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WINNING BY ACCIDENT
His opponents took their turns carefully, spreading out their forces with calculated movements. Nobles whispered about their strategies, analyzing supply line maintenance, troop morale, and political alliances.
Reivan’s turn came. He glanced at the board, scratched his head, and moved all of his troops aggressively toward the central city.
Silence fell over the room.
"…Bold," one noble murmured.
"No, reckless," another scoffed. "He’s leaving his flanks open."
Reivan yawned. "Yeah, yeah, but look. If I take the central city early, I control all these trade routes before anyone else. You guys will have to fight over scraps while I already have a stronghold."
Several nobles exchanged uneasy glances. It was a reckless move—but it was also correct.
As turns progressed, his initial push forced others to adjust their plans, disrupting their strategies. The military officers frowned as they realized Reivan had seized the economic backbone of the board, making it impossible for anyone else to gain enough momentum.
By the end, he had complete dominance.
"Unbelievable…" one noble muttered.
"A merchant’s son, and he controls the board like a war general."
Reivan, meanwhile, was just relieved it was over. "Cool. I win, right? Can I leave now?"
Viscount Roderic studied him, an amused smile tugging at his lips. "You… are quite interesting, Reivan Valcrest."
Reivan gulped. I don’t like the way he said that.
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THE HIDDEN FORCES STIRRING
That night, as Reivan returned home, he felt off. The game should have been a simple formality, but something about it felt bigger.
His suspicions were confirmed when, just before bed, Sylphy knocked on his door. "There was another noble watching you today. Someone who didn’t participate."
Reivan rubbed his face. "Let me guess. Bad news?"
Sylphy nodded. "He’s not from House Roderic. I believe he’s affiliated with the royal court."
Reivan groaned. "First mercenaries, then merchants, now royals?!"
Sylphy gave him a rare smirk. "You really should stop being so good at things."
Reivan buried his face in his pillow. Things were spiraling out of control.
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ELSEWHERE…
In a dimly lit chamber, the nobleman who had observed Reivan from the shadows sat before a desk, scribbling notes.
"A merchant’s son… yet his instincts are unnatural. His movements are unremarkable, but his eyes—those are the eyes of a man who has seen too much."
He leaned back, tapping the quill against the table.
"This Reivan Valcrest may be more dangerous than we anticipated."