Liam's Perspective
"Chess reveals more about a person than a year of conversation," Michael Ashworth remarked, sliding his bishop across the board.
We sat in his private study at the Oceana City villa, the evening breeze carrying the salt tang of the nearby sea through open windows. The golden invitation to Brightheart Island rested on the table beside us.
I studied the board carefully. Michael had backed into a corner again. "You're quite skilled for soone who claims to play rarely."
"At my age, young man, one accumulates many skills." His eyes twinkled as he watched contemplate my next move. "Your strategy interests ."
"My chess strategy?"
"No." He tapped the table aningfully. "Your approach to saving my granddaughter."
I moved my knight, sacrificing it to protect my queen. "I don't follow."
"This feigned weakness—pretending your dantian is ruined." Michael captured my knight with a swift movent. "It's like purposely crippling your strongest piece. You're drawing in smaller predators while trying to avoid the attention of larger ones."
My jaw tightened. "It's worked so far."
"Has it?" He raised an eyebrow. "You've defeated so minor enemies, yes. But the real powers—the Ashworth family, the Blackthornes—they remain untouched by your actions."
"I need ti to grow stronger."
Michael's weathered hand hovered over the board. "Ti is precisely what Isabelle may not have. Check."
I moved my king out of danger. "What would you suggest instead?"
"Sotis, the best defense is to create such chaos that your enemies cannot focus on a single target." He captured another of my pieces. "The more fires they must extinguish, the less attention they can devote to hunting you—or using my granddaughter."
The implications of his words sank in. "You're suggesting I abandon stealth entirely?"
"I'm suggesting that playing small invites small responses. Playing large..." He smiled thinly. "Well, that forces your enemies to respond in kind, revealing their true capabilities."
"It also paints an even larger target on my back."
Michael nodded. "True. But a moving target is harder to hit than a stationary one. And you've already demonstrated how lethal you can be when cornered."
His reference to my killing of Joseph Nelson and his n hung between us. I hadn't ntioned the incident again, and neither had he.
"There's sothing else," Michael continued. "Dashiell Blackthorne."
Just hearing that na made my blood boil. "What about him?"
"You think defeating him at the wedding was enough?"
"I humiliated him publicly."
Michael shook his head. "You wounded his pride, nothing more. The noble families of Veridia City don't forgive such insults. If you truly defeated Dashiell—killed him, for instance—every family with ties to the Blackthornes would hunt you down. Their combined might would crush you like an insect."
His words struck like a physical blow. I'd been naive. Again. Thе mоst up‑tо‑dаtе vеrsiоn is оn
"So what's the alternative? Let him have Isabelle?"
"Of course not." Michael moved his queen. "But understand the ga you're playing. This isn't about individual battles. It's about shifting the balance of power. Checkmate, by the way."
I stared at the board in disbelief. He'd cornered my king while I wasn't paying attention.
"Think about what I've said," Michael stood, using his cane for support. "Now, I believe we should both get so rest. Tomorrow promises to be eventful."
---
Morning arrived with perfect weather for our departure to Brightheart Island. The harbor buzzed with activity as servants loaded supplies onto the luxury vessel. I stood at the dock beside Michael, who had insisted on seeing off despite my concerns for his safety.
"Rember," he said quietly, "observation before action. Study your enemies before revealing your hand."
"I will." I bowed slightly. "Thank you for everything, Elder Ashworth."
His kind eyes t mine. "Bring my granddaughter ho, Liam. Whatever it takes."
"I swear it."
As I turned toward the boarding ramp, a chill ran down my spine. A sudden, intense pressure weighed on —the unmistakable sensation of killing intent.
I scanned the crowd, my senses heightened. There, scattered among the passengers and dock workers—five distinct auras of Grandmaster level strength. Each one radiated barely concealed hostility.
One of them I recognized imdiately: Kendrick Langley, the assassin who had tried to kill during the Celestial Apothecary Guild ceremony. He stood half-hidden behind a stack of crates, his eyes fixed on like a predator tracking prey.
The others remained in the shadows, but their presence was unmistakable. Five Grandmasters. Here. Targeting .
"Is sothing wrong?" Michael asked, noticing my tension.
Before I could respond, a familiar voice called out, "Well, if it isn't the miracle doctor himself!"
Evelyn Norton approached, her erald dress fluttering in the sea breeze. Beside her walked a tall, broad-shouldered man with a perfectly trimd beard and eyes that seed to evaluate everything in terms of monetary worth.
"Liam Knight," Evelyn said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "allow to introduce Dudley Lowell from Central Plains. He's quite eager to et you."
Dudley extended his hand. "The famous potion master who cured the incurable. Your reputation precedes you."
I shook his hand, feeling calluses that belied his wealthy appearance. This was no soft rchant—he had trained in martial arts.
"Strange that we should both be headed to Brightheart Island," he continued. "What business draws you there? More rare ingredients for your miraculous potions?"
Behind his polite inquiry lay sothing darker—a probing question, testing my knowledge and intentions.
"Simple curiosity," I replied. "I've heard the island's beauty is unmatched."
"Indeed." His smile tightened. "Though its dangers are equally renowned."
Our eyes locked, and in that mont, I knew Michael had been right. The ga had changed. My strategy of playing small had failed—I'd attracted not just one powerful enemy, but a coalition of them.
Dudley Lowell wasn't just a rchant. And those five Grandmasters weren't here by coincidence.
I felt the weight of the invitations in my pocket and the Terpsichore Fan tucked in my belt. Michael's words echoed in my mind: "Creating chaos might be more effective for Isabelle's safety."
As we boarded the ship, I caught Kendrick Langley's eye across the deck. He made no attempt to hide his hatred, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.
The cruise to Brightheart Island would be anything but peaceful. And perhaps that was exactly what I needed.
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