Revising

[ Capitano POV ]

I currently sat amidst the labyrinthine shelves of the Great Library of Nazarick, Ashurbanipal. This magnificent repository of knowledge was tucked away on the tenth floor, and I had only recently stumbled upon its wonders. For now, it was my sanctuary—a place to think, plan, and, in this case, cram.

The table before me groaned under the weight of books, all of them dedicated to a single subject: chess. I leaned back in my chair, letting out a long sigh, my storm-gray eyes skimming the chaotic pile. My initial goal had been simple: learn the game well enough to hold my own against Demiurge. But now, as I sat surrounded by volumes with titles like The Art of Sacrifice in Chess and Hypermodern Openings: A Study in Psychological Warfare, I felt a pit of despair growing in my stomach.

"This… this is too much," I muttered, running a hand through my dark hair as I flipped through yet another overly complex tome. Every page seemed to introduce a new strategy with an even more confusing name. "The King's Gambit? The Sicilian Defense? The Alekhine's Gun?" My voice rose slightly with each term until I slumped forward, burying my face in my hands. "Who comes up with this stuff?"

The book in front of me—a dense, leather-bound volume titled The Psychology of Chess Mastery—felt particularly cruel. The diagram on the current page showed a position labeled Zugzwang, with an annotation stating, "A position where every possible move worsens the player's position." I stared at the board diagram, trying to decipher why moving a pawn forward would spell doom, but it was like trying to read an alien language.

"Why is this a bad move?" I groaned aloud, slamming the book shut. I'd barely scratched the surface, and my brain was already begging for mercy. Was this what chess was about—memorizing countless patterns and terms, only to be punished for every misstep?

I grabbed a simpler book from the pile, its title Chess for Beginners: A Practical Guide. It promised to teach "basic principles" in a "clear and concise manner." That sounded promising enough. I opened it to the first chapter, skimming through the introduction about controlling the center of the board. "Okay, controlling the center. That makes sense," I murmured, nodding to myself. "Keep your pawns in the middle, develop your pieces, protect the king. Simple enough."

But the simplicity didn't last. By chapter three, I was staring at something called the Fried Liver Attack, which, despite its absurd name, was apparently a lethal move involving a knight sacrifice.

"Why would anyone willingly give up a knight?" I muttered, frowning at the diagram. "Isn't the whole point to keep your pieces alive? How is this a good idea?"

I read the explanation three times, but the logic still eluded me. My hand drifted to another book in the pile, this one titled Winning Like the Grandmasters. It detailed a match where one player sacrificed both rooks and a bishop to deliver a checkmate. I blinked at the page, struggling to understand how losing nearly half your army could lead to victory.

"So, the key to winning is… losing everything first?" I asked the empty room. "That can't be right."

My frustration grew as I continued flipping through the books. Every strategy seemed to contradict the last. One book insisted that pawns were "the soul of chess" and should never be wasted. Another argued that sacrificing pawns was a vital part of gaining control over the board. Demiurge probably understood all of this with ease, his devilish intellect perfectly suited to unraveling complex patterns. Meanwhile, I could barely tell a fork from a skewer.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. "Maybe I should just challenge him to something simpler," I joked bitterly. "Like arm-wrestling Cocytus."

Still, I wasn't about to give up. My pride wouldn't let me. Demiurge would expect me to approach the match with strategy and thought, and I couldn't afford to disappoint him—or myself. If I showed up unprepared, it wouldn't just reflect poorly on me; it could undermine the perception of my competence in Nazarick.

I returned to the beginner's guide, forcing myself to focus on the fundamentals. "Okay. Control the center. Develop the knights and bishops early. Castle to protect the king. Got it," I muttered under my breath, trying to burn the basics into my mind. My thoughts drifted to Demiurge, imagining the Arch-Devil sitting across from me, his sharp gaze analyzing my every move. I needed something more than basics to compete with him.

I picked up another book, this one titled The Ruy-Lopez Explained. The first few pages introduced a series of moves called "the Spanish Opening," which was apparently one of the oldest and most effective ways to start a game. The diagrams made my head spin, but I forced myself to follow along.

"Pawn to e4," I whispered, mimicking the moves on an imaginary chessboard. "Knight to f3, bishop to b5…" The sequence seemed logical, though I had no idea what to do next. "And then… hope for the best?" I chuckled weakly.

Hours passed as I dove deeper into the world of chess, alternating between moments of clarity and utter confusion. By the time I finally set the books aside, my head was pounding, and my stomach growled in protest. The library was silent, save for the faint hum of magical torches illuminating the shelves.

As I stood to leave, I glanced at the mountain of books still left unread. "I'll figure this out," I promised myself, my voice firm despite my exhaustion. "Demiurge won't know what hit him."

I wasn't entirely sure if that was true, but for now, it was enough to keep me going. If I could learn even one strategy to hold my own against Demiurge, I'd consider it a victory. With a final glance at the chess books, I turned to leave the library, eager to escape the mountain of tomes that had left me more confused than enlightened. My head throbbed from the effort of memorizing openings, strategies, and counterattacks.

My plan was simple: retreat to my quarters, rest, and return tomorrow with a clearer mind.

But, as always, plans never seemed to go my way.

"Capitano."

The soft, lilting voice behind me sent a chill down my spine. It carried its usual teasing edge, an unmistakable mix of affection and amusement.

I turned slowly, already knowing who it was. Shalltear Bloodfallen—elegant, unpredictable, and endlessly determined to test my composure—emerged from between the towering shelves. Her crimson eyes sparkled with a playful glint, and the shadows cast by the library's dim lighting only enhanced her otherworldly beauty.

She smiled, the curve of her lips equal parts sweet and mischievous. "What a surprise to catch you here," she purred, taking a graceful step closer. "You seem rather troubled, oh humble knight. Is this chess match catching up to you?"

Her words struck a nerve, though I did my best not to show it. Shalltear had an uncanny ability to make me feel as though I were standing on trial, my every thought and action laid bare before her.

"Shalltear," I greeted evenly, folding my arms to steady myself. "I'm not troubled, merely... focused. Preparation is key, after all."

Her smile widened as she took another step forward, closing the distance between us. "Focused? Is that what they call it now?" she teased. "You looked ready to bolt just now. Surely this humble chess match isn't enough to rattle the great Capitano?"

I sighed inwardly, knowing there was no easy way to escape her scrutiny. "The match with Demiurge is... a matter of pride," I admitted cautiously. "He's an intelligent opponent, and I want to ensure I don't embarrass myself—or Nazarick, for that matter."

Her gaze flicked to the chessboard and the stack of books behind me. A sly smile tugged at her lips as she stepped around me, picking up one of the books with a delicate hand.

"Ah, Chess for Beginners," she remarked, her tone dripping with amusement as she skimmed the cover. "A classic choice. I see you've chosen to start at the very beginning."

I straightened, my pride flaring. "A strong foundation is the key to success," I replied firmly. "Even the most advanced strategies build upon the basics. Surely you can appreciate that."

Her melodic laugh echoed softly through the library. "Oh, Capitano, always so composed. Very well, let me help you build that foundation. Sit."

She gestured to the chair opposite the chessboard, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, I complied, lowering myself into the seat. Shalltear followed suit, her movements graceful as she settled into the chair across from me.

"Let's start with something simple," she said, sliding a pawn forward. "This is the Glamour Opening. A strategy of elegance and misdirection, much like myself."

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "Glamour Opening? That's not in any of these books."

"Of course not," she replied, her crimson eyes gleaming with pride. "It's my own creation. Observe."

She began demonstrating the opening, her movements deliberate yet swift. At first, the positioning seemed chaotic—reckless, even—but as she explained her reasoning, a pattern began to emerge. Shalltear's pawns and knights created an unassuming formation that quickly morphed into a devastating counterattack.

"This strategy works best when your opponent underestimates you," she explained, her tone turning almost instructional. "The key is to appear vulnerable, to bait them into attacking prematurely. And when they do..." She moved her queen across the board with a flourish, positioning it directly in front of the opposing king.

"You strike," she finished, her smile wicked. "I call this the Kiss of the Crimson Queen. It's a sacrifice, yes, but one that leaves your opponent with no way out."

I leaned back in my chair, studying the board with a frown. "A bold move. But what if the opponent doesn't take the bait? Wouldn't this leave you exposed?"

Shalltear's grin widened, her crimson eyes gleaming. "Ah, Capitano, that's where creativity comes in. A true strategist is never without options. But don't worry—I wouldn't expect you to use such an advanced tactic against Demiurge. It's far too... refined for someone so brutish."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. "And what, pray tell, would you suggest for someone of my... practical style?"

Her smile softened as she began resetting the board. "Practical, hmm? Very well. Let's focus on defense. A strong fortress can outlast even the most cunning of assaults."

Over the next hour, Shalltear guided me through various defensive strategies, her explanations surprisingly clear despite her penchant for theatrics. She pointed out my mistakes with a teasing tone, but her advice was undeniably effective.

"You're too rigid," she remarked at one point, tapping the board with a pale finger. "Chess, like battle, requires adaptability. Learn to think three moves ahead, and don't be afraid to sacrifice a piece if it means gaining the upper hand later."

By the end of our session, I felt a newfound sense of confidence—not just in chess, but in my ability to face Demiurge. Shalltear, for all her teasing, had proven to be a skilled teacher.

As she stood to leave, she gave me one last smile, her crimson eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Remember, Capitano," she said, her voice soft but firm. "Chess is not just a game—it's a battle of wits. And you, my dear knight, have far more wit than you give yourself credit for."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at my lips. "Thank you, Shalltear. Your... unique perspective has been enlightening."

Her laughter left me as she stepped out of the library, the sound lingering in the air like a faint melody.

Perhaps this match with Demiurge wouldn't be as impossible as I'd feared. If nothing else, I had learned one invaluable lesson: even the most intricate games can be won with the right allies by your side.

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The hours stretched endlessly, the flicking of pages becoming almost mechanical. My eyes scanned each diagram and annotation, but I was no closer to unravelling the complex web of moves and counter-moves laid before me. It felt like trying to carve understanding into the unyielding stone of my thoughts. The weight of the task pressed down on me—a suffocating reminder that I wasn't just trying to succeed. I had to compete with Demiurge.

I rubbed my temples, trying to ease the headache that had taken root. The hours blurred together, every page filled with theory, notation, and strategies—all written in the dry, unrelenting language of a game I barely understood. My palm pressed against my forehead in frustration, but my eyes inevitably returned to the most recent opening I had attempted to grasp: the Ruy López. On the surface, it seemed straightforward—a series of methodical moves with calculated responses. Yet, when I replicated the position on the board before me, it felt... alien.

I stared at the pieces, meticulously arranged according to the book. Their silence mocked me. I moved my knight forward, then hesitated, unsure if I had followed the sequence correctly. Was this truly how it was supposed to look? Was I playing it right?

This has to work, I told myself, my hand lingering in the air above the board. I had studied the moves, absorbed the reasoning behind them, yet the logic remained elusive. It was as if I was trapped in a fog, unable to see the clarity promised in the diagrams.

The flickering candlelight danced across the pages, casting shifting shadows that mirrored the chaos in my mind. I adjusted the pieces again—a rook here, a pawn there—trying to force the board into the shape the text described. But something was always off. It was like cramming the wrong puzzle piece into a space where it refused to fit.

Why do I care this much?

The answer came quickly, uninvited. I couldn't afford to lose. The stakes of the match with Demiurge were too high. Yet, as the hours dragged on, it began to feel like more than that. Something deeper. Why was I so obsessed with mastering this game? Was it because I genuinely wanted to? Or was it because I couldn't bear to fall short of the expectations—those imposed by my settings or even by myself?

Is this truly me? I wondered. Or am I just trying to live up to some preordained ideal?

Leaning back in my chair, I pressed my hands against my face, as if to block out the intrusive doubts. Frustration gnawed at the edges of my resolve. This was supposed to be a simple game, a means of engaging intellectually. But it felt like much more—a crucible, a test not of skill alone but of my identity and worth. The match against Demiurge wasn't just about intellect. It was about proving to myself that I could rise to meet him.

I picked up a pawn and placed it forward, initiating a Queen's Gambit. It had seemed simple enough when Shalltear had demonstrated it. But now, with my fingers poised over the board, it felt like a leap of faith.

I can do this. I just need to keep trying.

But doubt crept in, insidious and persistent. Strategy had never been my strength. I had always relied on instincts, on my ability to read people and circumstances. Now, I was forcing myself into the role of a tactician—someone I wasn't sure I could ever truly be. Demiurge was a natural, a mind built for foresight and precision. And I was just... trying to imitate that brilliance without fully understanding it.

What if I'm just pretending to be something I'm not? What if my own limitations doom me before the match even begins?

The thought lingered as I stared at the board. Each move was supposed to carry meaning and purpose, yet I struggled to grasp it. The calculations and foresight needed for chess felt foreign, like trying to hear music through static. Still, I pushed the doubts away. I didn't have the luxury to falter.

And then, something shifted—not in the board, but in my thoughts. The frustration that had weighed on me began to lift, just slightly. For a fleeting moment, I saw the game differently. It wasn't about memorizing every perfect move or forcing myself to emulate a master. It was about adapting, about finding fluidity within the structure.

I exhaled, leaning back in my chair as my fingers brushed the back of my neck. A small clarity settled over me. Perhaps I had been approaching this the wrong way. Chess wasn't about perfection. It was about intention—about understanding the flow of the game and responding to its rhythm. The match against Demiurge wouldn't be won in the opening moves, nor in how well I followed a textbook strategy. It would be decided in how I adapted to the unknown.

The hours continued to pass, but the frustration no longer felt insurmountable. Instead, it became a challenge I was willing to face. The more I studied, the more I began to see the game—not as an obstacle, but as a mirror. It wasn't a test of intellect alone. It was a test of resolve.

As I moved the pieces again, another thought settled in my mind: This isn't just about mastering chess. It's about mastering myself. My doubts. My determination.

I leaned forward, my fingers brushing the edge of the board. The match with Demiurge would be unlike anything I'd faced before. But I no longer felt as lost as I had at the start. If anything, I felt ready—ready to face him, ready to face whatever came next.

The pieces were ready. The board was set. And soon, I would be too.

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Omake Episode: "Chess Lessons with Shalltear and Capitano"

The Library of Nazarick had been temporarily repurposed. At the centre of the grand labyrinthe, where the shelves once exuded its imposing aura, there was now a small wooden table. Upon it sat an ornately carved chessboard, its black and white pieces gleaming under the light of magical chandeliers.

Capitano, in full armour despite the casual setting, sat stiffly in one of the chairs, his posture almost military in its rigidity. Across from him, Shalltear Bloodfallen leaned over the table, her crimson eyes glittering with a dangerous combination of smugness and enthusiasm.

"Now," Shalltear began, her voice taking on a lecturing tone that dripped with superiority. "Chess is a battle of wit, strategy, and absolute domination. A game befitting an intellect like mine, don't you think?"

"Umu," Capitano responded with a solemn nod, as if she had just delivered a profound revelation about the mysteries of the universe.

Shalltear tilted her head, clearly revelling in her self-proclaimed brilliance. "Good, you understand. Now, let's begin with the basics. This is the king." She tapped the piece delicately with a manicured finger. "He is the most important piece. If you lose him, you lose the game."

"Umu," Capitano said again, nodding as if absorbing ancient wisdom.

"And this," Shalltear continued, picking up the queen with a flourish, "is me."

Capitano blinked. "You?"

"Yes, me! The queen is the most powerful piece on the board, able to move any number of squares in any direction. Obviously, this is a perfect representation of my unmatched capabilities."

"Umu," Capitano repeated, nodding. "The queen is... Shalltear."

Shalltear grinned, her fangs peeking out as she placed the queen back on the board. "Exactly. Now, these pawns here…" She gestured dismissively at the line of pawns. "They're the lowest of the low. Like humans. Expendable and weak."

Capitano leaned forward slightly, his helm reflecting the board. "So, they're… useless?"

Shalltear's expression froze for a moment. "Well, not entirely. If they make it to the other side of the board, they can be promoted. Usually to a queen. Which, again, represents me." She smirked, her ego clearly swelling with each word. "It's like they aspire to be as great as I am."

"Umu," Capitano said, nodding sagely. "The pawns are inspired by Shalltear."

Shalltear gave a delighted giggle, clapping her hands. "Oh, Capitano, you're such a good student! Not that I expected any less, of course. Now, let's play a game so I can show you how this all works."

The Game Begins

Shalltear made the first move, pushing a pawn forward with deliberate precision. "A bold advance," she declared, despite it being the most basic opening move possible.

Capitano stared at the board for an uncomfortably long time. Finally, he reached out with his gauntleted hand and grabbed one of his knights, moving it forward in an awkward L-shape. "Umu," he said, as if validating his own move.

Shalltear raised an eyebrow. "Interesting choice. Perhaps a bit… reckless, but I'll allow it."

The game continued, with Shalltear making dramatic proclamations about every move she made, such as "I've outflanked your defences!" and "Your position is crumbling under the weight of my genius!" Capitano, for his part, responded to everything with his trademark "Umu," nodding as if he had foreseen every move she made.

The Turning Point

As the game reached its midpoint, Shalltear leaned back in her chair, a smug grin plastered across her face. "Checkmate is inevitable, Capitano. You've played well—for a novice—but there's no escape from my brilliance."

Capitano stared at the board in silence, his visor obscuring any hint of emotion. Then, with deliberate slowness, he moved a pawn forward.

"Umu," he said.

Shalltear frowned. "That's... a pawn. What could you possibly—"

She stopped mid-sentence as she realized the pawn was one square away from reaching her side of the board. Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me…"

Capitano moved the pawn again, reaching the far edge of the board. "Promote to… queen," he said, his voice calm and resolute.

Shalltear's jaw dropped. "What?! How dare you! There can't be two queens on the board! There's only one queen, and it's me!"

Capitano tilted his head slightly. "Umu. Rules say… two queens possible."

Shalltear slammed her hands on the table, causing several pieces to wobble precariously. "This is an outrage! A travesty! Do you think you can usurp my title as queen?!"

Capitano raised a hand in a placating gesture. "No. Shalltear is… queen. This is… temporary queen."

"Temporary queen?!" Shalltear shrieked, standing up so abruptly that her chair toppled over. "I'll show you a 'temporary queen!'"

The Aftermath

The chessboard had been overturned in Shalltear's fit of rage, pieces scattered across the throne room floor. Capitano sat calmly amidst the chaos, his armoured hands resting on his knees.

"Umu," he said thoughtfully. "Chess… very exciting."

Shalltear stood over him, her crimson eyes blazing. "Exciting?! That's all you have to say after insulting my dignity?!"

Capitano looked up at her, tilting his head. "Learned much. Shalltear… good teacher."

For a moment, Shalltear froze, her fury deflating slightly. "Well," she said, crossing her arms and looking away, "of course I'm a good teacher. That's only natural for someone as perfect as me."

"Umu," Capitano replied, nodding.

Shalltear's lips twitched, and though she tried to maintain her scowl, a small, satisfied smile broke through. "Just don't get any ideas about promoting more pawns to queens in the future. I won't be so lenient next time."

Capitano nodded again, his voice steady. "Understood. Shalltear… only queen."

The compliment seemed to mollify her, and she gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine, then. I suppose I can forgive you this once. But next time, Capitano, you'd better remember—everything you do, you do under my watch."

"Umu," Capitano said, his nod slow and deliberate.

As Shalltear began gathering the scattered chess pieces, muttering to herself about her brilliance, Capitano leaned back slightly in his chair. Despite the chaos, he couldn't help but think that chess was… oddly enjoyable. Even if it came with the added challenge of navigating Shalltear's fiery personality.

End Scene.

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A/N: Our boy is learning, *sniffles* I'm so proud. A fun little omake episode to describe one of the many things that could've happened during their lesson.