"Which move did you plan to make?"
The old man hunched over, burying his face deep within the shadow of his hood. Only a few strands of silvery-white hair hung down from either side of his cheeks, listlessly draped across the chessboard.
"All in."
"...We're playing chess, not gambling."
"I'd like to play chess with Them—"
The middle-aged man, whose eyes gleamed with an inscrutable light, spoke in a full, vigorous voice. A sly curve formed at the corner of his lips.
"But you and I both know those pieces of trash won't play chess with us. Better to drag in the biggest gambler among Them. Winner takes all; if we lose, it's no more than thirteen returned for nine."
"..."
The old man suddenly hurled the black piece in his hand. It struck the chessboard with a crisp clang!
"Madman! Do you know what you're doing?! It's all gone wrong—everything will be thrown into chaos! Forget the Imperium and humanity for the moment—do you still intend to become the Dark King?!"
"Slowly suffocate to death in an airtight, cramped room, or try detonating a bomb inside it—Malcador, I will always choose the latter."
"Madness..."
Malcador shook his head. The stubborn fool opposite him had already left.
"A complete madman... I never should have urged him to rebel in the first place."
Malcador muttered to himself, his voice eventually dissolving into the boundless darkness.
"For the madness and victory you so single-mindedly desire—how many more people must be sacrificed? I know, I know—you don't care."
Other than "all humanity," he cared about no one.
That fucking bastard.
Happy ten thousand years!
Falling, falling at terrifying speed, as though plunging through endless darkness, descending into a bottomless abyss. Before a baby could hit the ground, it would become an old