The Iron-Bound Cathedral stood like a jagged tooth against the gray horizon. Once a place of worship for the Old Gods of the Board, it had been repurposed into a tactical resupply outpost for the Military Academy's border patrols. Its stained-glass windows were now reinforced with hex-mesh plating, and the scent of prayer had long been replaced by the sterile tang of coolant and gun oil.
"There are four guards at the southern perimeter," Lyra whispered, crouching behind a rusted transport hull. She winced, clutching her side where her Knight-core flickered like a dying candle. "Two Bishops on the bell tower with long-range pulse rifles. We'll be picked off before we hit the stairs."
Itachi didn't look at the guards. He was looking at the ground.
"The wind is blowing north-northwest at twelve knots," Itachi murmured, his voice as flat as a dead calm sea. "The Bishop on the left has a nervous tic; he adjusts his visor every forty-two seconds. The one on the right is distracted by a localized heat signature—likely a faulty generator in the courtyard."
Lyra stared at him. "How do you even notice that from here?"
"I don't notice it," Itachi replied, his dark eyes never wavering. "I observe it. Observation is the only truth a Pawn has."
He reached into his pack and pulled out a handful of discarded brass casings he'd scavenged from the battlefield. "When I move, stay exactly three paces behind me. Do not deviate. Do not jump. If you use your power now, your core will shatter."
"And if we get shot?"
"We won't."
Itachi stood up. He didn't crouch or sneak. He simply walked toward the cathedral's main entrance, his pace steady and rhythmic.
One. Two. Three.
"Target spotted!" a voice barked from the tower.
A high-velocity pulse round streaked through the air, aimed directly at Itachi's lead leg to cripple him.
[Skill Activated: Stubborn Advance]
The blue text flared in his mind. The pulse round struck his shin with a crack like a whip, but the blue aura around Itachi's boots shimmered. The kinetic force evaporated, halved by his forward momentum. He didn't stumble. He didn't even slow down.
"He's still coming!" the Bishop yelled, the panic audible even from the ground. "Open fire!"
A hail of pulse fire rained down. Itachi's mind became a cold grid of probability. He tossed a brass casing to the left; the Bishop's eyes reflexively tracked the metallic glint for a millisecond, causing the next shot to veer wide. Itachi stepped over a tripwire he hadn't even looked at, his movement so precise it felt mechanical.
He was a ghost walking through a storm of lead.
By the time they reached the heavy steel doors of the nave, the guards were scrambling, their formation broken by the sheer impossibility of a Pawn who refused to fall.
Itachi placed his hand on the cold iron of the door. He didn't try to force it. He felt the vibration of the internal locking mechanism. Three pins. Hydraulic seal. Managed by a low-level Rook piece on the other side.
"Lyra," Itachi said, not turning back. "When the door opens, there will be a Rook with a suppression shield. I will take the impact. You will find the Core-Spring in the altar's alcove. You have ten seconds before the Bishops reposition."
"Itachi, you can't take a Rook's shield bash head-on," Lyra hissed, her hand trembling on her sword. "Even with your skill, that's suicide."
"It is a calculated risk," he said. "And the math favors me."
The door hissed open. A massive, armored Rook stood there, his suppression shield glowing with orange energy. With a roar, the Rook lunged, intending to crush the small Pawn into the stone floor.
Itachi didn't move back. He stepped into the shield.
The impact sounded like a car crash. The stone beneath Itachi's feet cracked from the pressure, but he remained upright, his shoulder buried in the Rook's energy field. His internal "Stubborn Advance" meter hummed at maximum capacity, absorbing the brunt of the divine physics.
"Now," Itachi grunted, his face turning pale from the strain.
Lyra didn't hesitate. She blurred past him, her boots skidding on the marble as she dove toward the altar. She grabbed a glowing vial of Pure Core-Fluid—the "Medicine of the Gods"—and slammed it into the port on her chest armor.
A surge of golden light erupted from her. The tremors in her hands vanished. Her eyes flared with the sharp, lethal light of a Knight fully restored.
The Rook blinked, realizing his shield was being held back by a boy half his size. He raised his mace for a finishing blow, but he was too late.
Lyra was already behind him. Jump.
A flash of silver steel, and the Rook's armor fell apart in three clean pieces. He slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Silence returned to the cathedral, broken only by the hum of the electronic equipment. Lyra stood tall, her breath steady, her sword gleaming. She looked at Itachi, who was leaning against the doorframe, breathing heavily. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose, but his eyes were as sharp as ever.
"You're insane," Lyra said, though there was a new note of respect in her voice. "You really are just a Pawn, but you play like you own the Board."
Itachi wiped the blood away with his sleeve. He looked up at the stained glass, where the image of a King looked down on them.
"I don't want to own the Board," Itachi said quietly. "I want to break it."
He walked toward the altar, his eyes landing on a high-tech terminal embedded in the ancient stone. His secret plan was already moving to the next phase.
"The Academy will be sending a 'Knight-Captain' to investigate the silence here," Itachi said, his fingers flying across the terminal keys. "We have twenty minutes to vanish. But first... I need to see their deployment map."