A boy with snow-white hair stirred in the shadows of a dense thicket. He stood up, dusted off his black trousers, and stared toward the horizon.
"So... where exactly am I?"
Through the canopy of ancient trees, a colossal Chess Queen loomed against the sky—a monument of impossible proportions standing at the edge of the world. Lowering his eyes, the boy began to pat himself down. In his pocket, he found a note written. It contained ten lines:
1. All murder, war, and robbery are forbidden in this world.
2. All conflict in this world will be resolved through games.
3. In games, each player will bet something that they agree is of equal value.
4. As long as it doesn't violate pledge three, anything may be bet, and any game may be played.
5.The challenged party has the right to decide the rules of the game.
6. Any bets made in accordance with the pledges must be upheld.
7. Conflicts between groups will be conducted by designated representatives with absolute authority.
8. Being caught cheating during a game is grounds for an instant loss.
9. In the name of god, the previous rules may never be changed.
10. Let's all have fun and play together!
---
A convoy of ten carriages, each drawn by five galloping horses, tore through the narrow road slicing through the coniferous forest.
Inside the lead carriage sat six men. They wore layered tunics and vests embroidered with a curious insignia: a coin marked with the number 16.
"Are you sure about this, Roman?" one asked.
Roman, a heavy-set man with a goatee and a receding hairline, nodded sternly. "Elkia lacks the resources to control such vast territories. We must grab as much as we can while we have the chance."
"But if the others—"
"STOP!"
The lead driver slammed the reins. The horses shrieked, and the entire column swerved violently to avoid a collision.
"What is it now?!" Roman barked, leaning out the window. "Another fallen log? If you've stopped us for a branch, I'll—"
"Aaaargh! The pain! My life... it's fading!"
The merchants scrambled out of their carriages to find a white-haired boy writhing on the ground in front of the horses, clutching his chest in agony.
"The brat jumped right in front of us!" the driver defended himself, looking at the gathering Imanity.
"So much blood... so little time..." The boy gasped. Then, as if on cue, he coughed a theatrical spray of blood onto his own collar. His eyes rolled back, and he fell limp.
A heavy silence fell. Fifteen grown men watched as the light seemed to leave the eyes of a child no older than twelve. The sun softened the bruises on his face. Someone reflexively took off their hat.
"..."
"..."
"His clothes are... strange," someone whispered.
Roman narrowed his eyes. He could have sworn the "corpse's" eyebrow just twitched.
"I saw something similar in the Federation," another merchant added. "High-quality fabric."
"Is it worth anything?" a driver asked, putting his cap back on.
Roman shook his head disapprovingly. "Too torn."
"YOU BASTARDS!"
The boy snapped upright like a spring, jumping to his feet with terrifying energy.
"You heartless ghouls! You were waiting for me to die just to loot my corpse?!" He stomped his heel into the dirt like a cornered bull. "You hit me! You nearly killed me! I demand compensation!"
Roman stepped forward from the crowd. As he passed, the others stepped back, emphasizing his dominance in the group.
He approached the boy, who was choking with anger, leaned down, and, looking him in the eyes, ordered,
"Get out of the way, clown."
Receiving only an angry snort in response, he frowned in irritation and continued,
"There's not even a trace of hooves on you. I don't have time for you. Leave while you still can."
And indeed, although the boy looked injured, covered in dirt and abrasions, aside from a bad tooth there was nothing serious.
"Bastard!"
"Stop standing here already!"
"You'd be better off dead."
The crowd began to murmur. The boy, however, remained unfazed. He seemed to be thinking about something. Lowering his gaze, he paid more attention to Roman's vest than to him. Slowly, his childishly puffed lips spread into a smile. Turning to the crowd, he looked them over intently. A slow, predatory grin spread across his blood-stained face.
"Oh? If only I could..."
Suddenly, the boy threw his arms wide and flopped onto his back, perfectly blocking the narrowest part of the road. He stuck his tongue out, playing dead again.
"What a shameless brat!"
"Get out of the way before you actually get run over!"
"Do you even know who you're holding up?!"
A wave of outrage surged again, but Roman cut it off sharply.
"Silence!"
His voice wasn't loud, but it was firm. Sighing, he rubbed his temples and sat down in front of the boy.
"How much?"
Unlike the previous farce, this situation felt more familiar to him. It was something probably every merchant in the world had faced. You're blocked on the road and demanded to pay for passage. A common form of racketeering used by governments.
You have only four options: go around, wait it out, pay, or attack.
The first isn't an option. For many reasons, but in short, it's unprofitable in most cases.
The second is viable only against poorly organized groups and if you have excess resources.
The third seems like the best at first glance, but supporting banditry always has its consequences.
The boy giggled, opening one eye. "Everything."
They become more and more brazen as they realize their power over you.
Roman's pulse throbbed in his forehead. "Be serious."
"I am perfectly serious," the boy sang.
Roman raised a fist instinctively, but an invisible weight - the First Covenants - All murder, war, and robbery are forbidden in this world. Stopped his arm mid-air. He bared his teeth in a grotesque smile. "You're a real piece of work. Fine. Do you want to play?"
The Second Pledge: All conflict will be resolved through games.
The boy propped his head on his hand. "Is that a challenge?"
Roman hesitated.
Under these circumstances, the fourth option starts to seem more and more appealing. But it's a trap. Covenants 5: "The challenged party has the right to decide the rules of the game." The initiator almost always ends up at a disadvantage. But there are exceptions.
"…"
"…"
Stopping his piercing stare, Roman got to his feet and, after cautiously glancing at the whispering crowd a short distance away, extended an open hand with a solemn expression.
"We can't both stay here for long. Come on, we'll take you home, feed you, and give you something to drink on the way."
The secret fifth option: compromise.
The boy's stomach growled loudly. He took Roman's hand and stood up, looking up at the merchant with a deceptively sweet smile.
"And half of everything you're carrying."
"YOU LITTLE BRAT!" Roman exploded.
Compromise may seem like the best solution to an outsider, but it is the least commonly used path. The reason is simple: both sides tend to focus on what they stand to lose. And in their minds, even benefits they might not have gained under different circumstances can be perceived as losses.
"What did you expect, you damn merchant?! That you'd buy me food?!"
The subsequent negotiations, conducted strictly within the bounds of professional courtesy and mutual respect, led to the following:
The Agreement
Side A (Roman's Group): Must provide 1/10th of their cargo (Side B's choice), safe passage to Elkia in "maximum available comfort," and three meals a day. They also agree not to seek revenge for this incident.
Side B (The Boy): Must not obstruct Side A for 24 hours and must answer one question.
"How do I know you won't betray me?" the boy asked, crossing his arms.
Roman traced a 3x3 grid in the dirt. "We'll play Tic-Tac-Toe. The stakes are our promises. If it's a draw, both parties must fulfill their side."
The boy tilted his head. "What are the rules?"
"You don't know Tic-Tac-Toe?" Roman blinked.
"Of course I do! I just want to make sure you don't have 'merchant rules' to cheat me!"
They spent an unnecessarily long time defining the rules. Finally, Roman raised his hand. "Aschente."
The boy hesitated, then mirrored the gesture. "...Aschente?"
Tic-tac-toe is a matrix logic game with complete information. Every possible outcome is calculated. The total number of possible games is 255,168:
131,184 (51.41%) wins for the first player
77,904 (30.53%) wins for the second player
46,080 (18.06%) draws
Despite the overwhelming number of winning positions, almost all games between players other than three-year-olds end in a draw.
A game of tic-tac-toe almost always results in a draw (or saddle point), as both players employ a minimax strategy. They strive to maximize their winnings while minimizing losses from their opponent's actions. As a result, neither player can improve their outcome by unilaterally deviating from their chosen strategy. Theoretically, this applies to all zero-sum matrix games.
This was the case this time.
"Finally," Roman sighed, dusting off his pants. "Get in the carriage."
"What are you talking about?" The boy stood his ground, a triumphant smirk on his face. "From this moment on, you are obligated to carry me."
---
"WHY... AM I... DOING THIS?!" Roman roared, currently on all-fours on the dirt road.
"Easy there, pony," the boy whispered, balancing precariously on Roman's back and patting his bald spot. "Pay more attention to the wording next time."
"GO TO HELL!"
The other merchants watched in horrified silence as their leader acted as a literal mount.
Under the watchful, uneasy gazes of the others, the boy flashed a self-satisfied smile.
"Isn't it hard for you to live like this?"
"If you understand that much, then get down and move!" Roman shouted discontentedly..
The boy briefly considered offering to give him a ride on his own back, but decided that the highest comfort this little game allowed was reserved for riding on Roman. Interesting… he does realize I'm not getting off if I'm already in the carriage, he thought, casting a mock-sympathetic glance at his worn workhorse. I'll make it a surprise, he decided.
"I'm talking about this world," the boy went on. "A world where victory is absolute. A world where rigid rules force you to tolerate the whims of all sorts of bastards."
Roman added with a faint smirk, "One of them is currently on my back."
"Shhh—" Spreading his arms wide, he continued with theatrical triumph in his voice, "Don't worry. I, Nero, promise to free you from the oppression of God!"
Meanwhile, Roman was trying to climb into the carriage. Silent, head held high, with the air of someone who owed no explanations, he finally turned to the onlookers.
"We're leaving."
Three minutes of awkward attempts to climb the small steps in that position followed, accompanied by the snorting of horses. The boy, of course, refused to get down, even when he nearly fell a couple of times.
At last, someone had the sense to help the two of them, and the whole group set off.
---
The inside of the carriage was surprisingly cozy, though Nero was more interested in the oppressive silence than the upholstery. His "pony" showed remarkable restraint.
"You won't even ask me to dismount?" Nero asked curiously, settling more comfortably on the merchant's back.
Roman cast a venomous glance over his shoulder:
"I already realized that a scumbag like you wouldn't dismount voluntarily. You're the kind of person who considers other people's suffering 'maximum comfort.'"
Nero calmly crossed his legs and shook his head:
"You're mistaken. There's just something... ergonomic about your peasant hump. Fate itself decreed that you sit on it."
Roman exhaled loudly, feeling his nerve cells burning out one by one.
"I want to exercise my right to ask questions," he muttered. This was the key point of their agreement. That's why the rest of the group maintained a deathly silence: any casual outburst could be counted as a "question from the group," wasting their only chance for information.
"How did you guess we couldn't wait, how did you know we had valuable cargo, how did you even track us down on this empty road, and finally, what country are you from?" Roman blurted out in one breath.
Nero lazily counted on his fingers.
"Whoa, easy there. That's at least four questions."
Roman grinned, and if he hadn't been on all fours at the time, it would have looked impressive.
"Ha, brat. One sentence. Grammatically, that's one complex question. Answer."
Nero rested his chin on his palm, pretending to be deep in thought.
---
And who slipped me this?
Having read the contents of the note, Nero began searching for a way to the road. He wasn't doing very well, and along the way, he was convinced several times that the animals had not heard of the rules from the paper. After some painful wandering, he finally found that very road on the third day. However, after walking along it for the duration of the day, he realized the cruel reality of the lack of traffic. And finally, on the fourth day, someone appeared on the horizon, heading toward him.
Stepping behind a tree, Nero decided to think a little. Experience suggested to him that two types of people travel in carriages: noble lords who would raise your child as their own even if you tried to rob them, and vile noblemen who steal other people's wives. Hoping for the former, Nero timed the moment and jumped out in front of the lead carriage, shouting. This frightened the horses, and the coachman stopped, trying to calm them.
Why not just stand on the edge and attract attention? A stupid question, in Nero's opinion.
There are four paths of action in such situations: Pass by, Stand on the edge, Stand in front, or Jump under the wheels.
The first option is not considered.
With the second, you might be ignored or picked up, but you remain in the position of a debtor, even if you are not asked for money. You will be morally obligated. And Nero hated being a debtor or, even worse, having to give thanks.
The convoy stopped; the coachmen and passengers began to disembark and talk among themselves.
No guards?
Faking the agony of pain, Nero roughly estimated the number of people. He assumed that guards would come out to him first, but there were none. Also, the communication between the passengers and the coachmen, and their general appearance, seemed strange to him.
Ah, it seems I am truly lucky! This is a generous lord with a group of servants. His noble excellence doesn't need guards. All the better for me.
The third option is no more profitable than the second, but it has more pluses. At first glance, this way you are guaranteed to stop the transport. But what then? A bad person will not give you a ride anyway, and before a good one, you will find yourself in an even greater debt, because you show your need with such a desperate step.
When the people gathered, Nero assessed the total number and decided to look for the leader.
Strange.
Before him stood no more than twenty people. None were clearly from the nobility.
Ten carriages with a coachman for each, plus another six or seven servants. Is this some kind of noble showing off, even if you don't really have servants?
Faking a dying man, Nero waited for help, parallelly calculating who these people actually were.
Wait, are they discussing my clothes? And what 'Federation'? Isn't it the Middle Ages here? At best, the Early Modern period—where would sneakers come from?
The fourth option, on the contrary, puts you in the position of a victim. A good person will certainly feel guilt, while a bad one might ignore you, or if he is very evil, finish you off. High risks bring the greatest profit.
Flaring up against the greed of the group before him, Nero was already standing in front of Roman.
Judging by the behavior of the others and him, he is clearly the leader. But he doesn't look like an aristocrat. Maybe they stole this carriage? Though they are too peaceful for robbers.
Looking down while thinking, Nero noticed the symbol on Roman's chest.
A coin of 16. If you think about it...
Nero looked up at the others, observing and smiling wildly. He remembered the pledges from the paper.
They are from a guild or another community, it doesn't matter. The main thing is the carriages are not theirs, or only partly so. Maybe it will work... or I will be kicked.
Falling to the ground, Nero held his breath. By nature, he was a gambler.
The secret fifth path: Robbery. The most risky and difficult to execute, but the reward is corresponding.
Roman approached and sat down nearby, offering money. Nero could not hold back a smile.
Jumped straight to money. That's why they were so worried. They have no time, and the pledges don't allow them to kick me out. What a pathetic people. Well, let's see how much can be squeezed out of them!
In his greed, Nero completely forgot that everything Roman and his people were carrying was useless to him. He doesn't know how to ride, how to drive a carriage, and he certainly won't carry away all their contents.
.........
Remembering this, Nero chuckled.
Luckily this merchant is also quite a greedy one. It seems he didn't realize that out of everything he has, I would only take food, clothes, and what can fit in a pocket.
In the end, the situation turned out in the best way for Nero.
"I fell from the moon and got lost."