Gyurie's hand grasped a piece and placed it back on the board without hesitation.
"Mm."
Across from him, his opponent let out a small grunt at the move.
A brief stretch of silence passed.
"I resign."
And without moving a single piece, the opponent surrendered.
"My, my. I was rather confident in my skills, but to be so thoroughly demolished like this is strangely refreshing."
The words didn't seem to be masking frustration—they came from the heart. Despite having lost, Fodoui wore an amused smile on his face.
The old man reached out to return the pieces on the board to their starting positions.
"You want to keep going?"
Gyurie asked with a mildly exasperated voice as Fodoui, positively beaming, prepared to continue the game.
He had come to meet
"You have more than enough time, so surely spending a little of it on a poor old man nearing the end of his days won't incur any divine punishment."
It was true. As a dragon, Gyurie had time to spare in abundance.
Even if he indulged Fodoui until the old man was satisfied, he wouldn't consider it time wasted.
Dragons and humans simply experienced time differently.
An entire human lifetime was but a moment to a dragon.
Humans saw time as finite; dragons saw it as infinite.
As the man himself had said, he could very well sit here and serve as a game partner for the remainder of this old man's dwindling days.
That said, Gyurie thought as he looked at Fodoui—the man spoke of a short remaining life, yet he seemed stubbornly unlikely to die anytime soon.
Gyurie conceded and decided to continue playing along.
The game the two were engaged in was an ancient board game.
It was something akin to chess or shogi as they existed on Earth.
The difference was that it had more piece types and a larger board, making it far more complex.
As a result, a single match required a long time to play.
Professional matches could stretch on for five days.
This particular contest was already their seventeenth game.
Naturally, that many rounds couldn't be completed in a single day.
Over the past several days, Gyurie had been requesting an audience with Sariel, and each time, he had been made to face Fodoui across the board.
Fodoui's objective was transparent.
He was keeping Gyurie from meeting Sariel.
It was so blatant that anyone would have seen through it.
And Gyurie, fully aware of the old man's scheme, had no choice but to play along.
It was because of everything that had come before.
Without demonstrating his sincerity, he would never earn Fodoui's trust.
If he truly wanted to, he could meet Sariel regardless of Fodoui's interference.
No matter how much the old man tried to obstruct him, there was no means of stopping a dragon like Gyurie.
But that wouldn't do.
Gyurie needed this old man's approval.
Not as a dragon—as a person standing on equal ground.
He had to convince this old man on the same footing, or he would surely never earn the right to see what Sariel saw.
That was what Gyurie believed.
"Mm."
On the board, of course, he had already achieved a crushing, absolute victory.
"No take-backs, now?"
"Take-backs are a corruption of the game. There are few moments in life where you're allowed a do-over. That is precisely why humans fear making mistakes."
Now that he thought about it, Gyurie recalled that Fodoui had never once asked for a take-back.
"Yet humans make mistakes. No matter what, mistakes will occur. They accumulated those mistakes, established rules to prevent new ones, and gradually reduced the number of errors. Human history is, in other words, a history of mistakes. And the present exists because those mistakes were learned from. Still, mistakes never disappear entirely, do they?"
As he spoke, Fodoui moved a piece.
Gyurie responded immediately, moving his own piece, and the turn passed back to Fodoui.
But Fodoui sank into deep thought, his hand hovering motionless for a time.
"And I, too, have not racked up pointless defeats. I have failed, I have lost, and each time I have treated those failures as lessons. I will apply that lesson here—and make this move!"
Fodoui declared grandly and moved a piece.
In response, Gyurie moved one of his own pieces without a heartbeat's delay, sealing off the move completely.
"No matter how thoroughly one eliminates mistakes, it doesn't necessarily lead to the best outcome. This is a fine example of that."
"That's one way to put it."
Seventeen games had taught him one thing: Fodoui was, above all else, a man who could talk.
From idle banter to insights that left even Gyurie impressed, the old man spoke freely on all manner of topics throughout their matches.
"It is said that language itself is humanity's greatest invention, after all. Human history is, in truth, a long stretch of time spent twisting sophistry into every possible shape."
"No, that's not right."
Fodoui had a habit of saying things like this—impossible to tell whether he was serious or joking—and it was easy to get drawn into his smoke.
"There's nothing wrong about it at all. Because dragons exist as absolute beings, we humans have never had to rely on brute force. The last word may belong to violence, but the real contest was always the verbal sparring that led up to it. Twisting logic, finding ways to talk your opponent into submission—that's all we've ever done, and that's why we've become such glib-tongued creatures."
"Don't blame your own sharp tongue on history. And please, don't casually drag us dragons into it as well."
In contrast to Gyurie's weary expression, Fodoui laughed with open delight.
"Truly. I must bow before that silver tongue of yours."
"I don't think I can win against you in a battle of words."
His sarcastic remark was effortlessly brushed aside. If anything, Fodoui looked smug as he moved a piece.
Gyurie moved his piece in turn, wiping that smug look right off the old man's face.
"I don't expect to win against you in a game, but I certainly can't beat you with words either."
"Indeed. As expected, the speed of thought differs between humans and dragons. No matter how many times I challenge you, it seems impossible for me to win at this game. It's a curious thing. We use the same minds, and yet I have no chance of winning at the board, while I feel I cannot lose in a debate. In raw computational ability, dragons are superior, but when it comes to cunning, humans have the edge."
Fodoui stared at the board, yet still seemed somehow amused.
"There is no question that dragons are magnificent. But no matter how magnificent a dragon may be, there must be some area where it falls short of other beings. Dragons lack the petty cunning of humans. They never needed it, because they were powerful enough without it. They could face any opponent head-on, with dignity and honor, and still come away victorious—so there was no need to play dirty. But that very complacency is a dragon's weakness. By scorning humans as beneath them, they are tripped up by human ruthlessness. And so, right here before me, is a dragon who—having been led by my silver tongue—voluntarily stepped onto a human's playing field and is now struggling."
Fodoui spoke with palpable amusement.
Despite winning on the board, Gyurie was made to taste an inescapable sense of defeat by the old man's words.
It felt as though he were dancing on the palm of this frail old man's hand—from a dragon's perspective, a utterly insignificant creature.
And objectively, that assessment was not far from the truth.
He, a dragon, was being handled like a puppet by an inferior human.
"Humans are cowardly. And they are far more foolish than dragons imagine. Despite having accumulated mistakes throughout history and learned from them, they still make mistakes. Again and again and again they err. And the worst part is that each time they err, they grow more cunning, so the damage from each mistake only increases. Despite the lessons being meant to reduce that damage. What an absurd thing."
Even as he was rolled about on the old man's palm, Gyurie chose to face Fodoui on a human's terms—because this was, in its own way, a trial.
A qualifying exam before facing Sariel.
"You have learned the human perspective despite being a dragon. But even so, I cannot say you truly understand humans. As I said before, humans are far more foolish than dragons believe. And Sariel has spent all this time confronting that foolishness head-on."
Fodoui moved a piece.
Gyurie moved his own piece in the instant Fodoui's fingers left the board—or perhaps even before they had fully released it.
"I resign."
Fodoui acknowledged his defeat with a bright, open expression.
"A being that holds both the divine and the human perspective—if anyone can bring change to Sariel, it may well be you. Humanity alone is no longer enough. Yet a god cannot do it either. What is needed is a being who is divine, yet capable of understanding humans."
It was the greatest advice a defeated opponent could offer a victor.
And a plea.
"Please—take care of Sariel."
Gyurie offered neither affirmation nor denial to the old man's earnest wish.