ARC: Curse of the Royal Tribulation
Chapter 84: Hold on to Your Sword
Anker was blindsided by Thales’ statement; a glittering surprise passed over his face.
He beheld Thales with vacant eyes,
“His Majesty would be very pleased…”
The man from the Western Desert, lost in thought, twisted his head and murmured to himself.
“Really, is that so…?”
Thales frowned in response. “You know, this morning Zayen caved in before my father. He sliced off a hefty chunk of flesh to do so and then bolted back to Jade City, almost as if it had been planned. ”[1]
“What’s in it for him?” Thales locked his gaze on Anker, his voice laced with scepticism.
“Let me think… what would Zayen Covendier and his South Coast Hill get from this?”
“To make me look bad? To watch you get executed on the sidelines?”
Anker remained lost in thought, not speaking for some time.
“Anker!” Thales had to raise his voice to get his attention.
Byrael blinked and shook himself out of his reverie.
He looked at Thales with confusion, his lips trembling as he tried to speak, but he seemed unable to find the right words.
“Your Highness,” Anker finally broke the silence after a couple of seconds, but his words were not in answer to Thales’ question.
“If I were to die in a duel or at the hands of the guards, it would be my own doing and no one else would be to blame,”
Anker spoke, looking puzzled, “But you, you told me you wanted to give me a chance.”
“Do you realise that by stopping me, you’re taking on the weight of someone’s life?”
Anker’s gaze was empty as he continued, “That’s a brave thing to do, but also incredibly foolish.”[2]
He appeared to be engaged in a heated internal argument as his expression wavered and distorted.
‘Something didn’t feel right…’
Thales arched an eyebrow,
‘Something didn’t feel right about Anker’s behaviour.’
“How interesting,” said Thales calmly, as he continued,
“You see, many have called me this, but they have always done so after I have made them look foolish.”[3]
‘Nuven, Chapman, Kessel… all had made the same remarks.’
Byrael, however, ignored what the Prince said.
“Why did I agree back then? Why did I give you the sword?” He pondered, his words flowing seamlessly. “I am but a chess piece; why bother to think too much?”
As Anker became increasingly agitated, his words grew more passionate, until he was weeping in anguish.
“Perhaps… perhaps there is still a glimmer of foolishness left in me,” the wounded nobleman of the Western Desert said through clenched teeth, tears streaming down his cheeks. “A glimmer of cowardice, a glimmer of hope… Longing to trust… Longing to rely on…”
His response only added to Thales’ suspicions.
“But as they were handling me… it suddenly hit me,” Anker said, his voice thick with emotion as he bit his lip, tears welling up in his eyes, “You’re only human too.”
Thales had to work harder to calm him down and ease his distress.
“If I believe you and depend on you…”
“But then who can you trust and depend on?”
In the blink of an eye, Anker fiercely struggled to rise, disregarding the agony of his tightly bound hands and feet and the ghastly wounds that covered his body.[4]
With all his might, he pulled Thales towards him, who, taken aback, held onto the other side of the recliner chair to maintain his balance.
Thales suddenly found himself almost nose-to-nose with Anker, and to his surprise, he saw an unfamiliar expression in Anker’s eyes. Was it fear?
“Your Highness, you are just another chess piece, aren’t you?” Anker’s hand grasp was tight, and his trembling intensified.
another chess piece
“What else did Zayen tell you, Anker?”
“Why did he insist that I come to see you, given that the situation is already as you described it and there is no going back?”
The Duke of Star Lake fixed his gaze on Byrael.
“Does he have any other… chess pieces?” he asked.
“Who are they?”
Anker let out a pained whimper.
“My reason says it’s wrong. I should not cling to hope—the Desert God does not need to forgive the desert, but all lives in the desert are still spared!”
He breathed heavily, his words disorganised and unclear, “Your Highness, you shouldn’t be weak-minded either,”
“The Desert God does not deliver disasters, but all lives in the world still perish!”[5]
Thales firmly grasped Anker’s hand, watching tears flow over his wounded and vulnerable face, and became even more convinced of his own judgment.
Anker was just a piece on the chessboard, but Zayen… wasn’t the entire game.
“Anker!” Thales called out with determination and firmly held Anker’s head from both sides, locking eyes with him as if trying to peer into his soul.
“Think of your family; think of why you came to the capital!” Anker trembled everywhere.
“We are alike, you and I,” said the Prince in conviction, leaving no space for discussion, “Whatever you’re up against… Let me help you.”
Anker gazed back at the Prince, confusion and helplessness etched into his expression, while Thales held a steady and steadfast gaze that urged him forward, allowing no room for retreat. In the next instant, Anker breathed out a long breath, as if releasing all his strength, and faintly collapsed into the recliner.
But Thales stayed rooted to the spot, transfixed.
The sound of weeping filled the air. Before the Prince’s eyes, Anker, covered in injuries, lay slumped in the chair, his trembling form wracked with sobs.
Anker Byrael,
A lump formed in Thales’ throat.
This was the same individual who had fearlessly caused a commotion at the Royal Banquet, willingly sacrificing himself to safeguard the future of his loved ones…
And yet there he was, quivering with sobs.
Thales was suddenly reminded of Ralf—the lost soul who had wept before him on a night when all hope seemed to be gone. It was like watching Anker Byrael cry with abandon.
The Prince let out a heavy sigh and sank onto a nearby stool, his head hanging low in disappointment. In an instant, his curiosity had evaporated, and he no longer felt compelled to pursue the matter any further.
But then, Anker’s voice cut through the silence, “Tina.”
Thales raised his head.
Lying on the chair, Anker struggled to hold back his tears as he choked out the words from his throat, “Tina Amos.”
The Prince furrowed his brow and asked, “What?”
Anker took a deep breath, as if the act alone could grant him the courage he needed to speak. In a trance-like state, he began to stutter out the words. “Tina Amos,” he paused briefly before continuing, “daughter of the late Baron of Amos Town, is currently staying at the Byrael family estate in Crow Caw.”
Thales was left confused.
“I’m not sure I follow. What does this have to do with her…?”
Anker suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with despair.
“Five years ago,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “during the year when the ‘Tax Exemption for the Opening Up of Border Counties’ was causing the most controversy in the Western Desert Hill, the Baron of Amos Town returned from a trip to the Blade Edge Hill, only to contract the Mist Plague. He and his entire family perished, ending his family line.”
Thales was taken aback, his mouth agape in shock.
“But Tina survived,” Anker continued, his gaze never leaving Thales’s face. “For the past five years, she has struggled to forget her past and has been living with us as a maid, under a new identity, after I fled my father’s castle with my younger siblings.”
Amos Town…
entire family perished…
Thales felt a flicker of recognition in his memory, as if he had heard this before.
“But if you go to my house and find Tina,” Anker gasped for breath, fear and pain evident in his voice, “she would be the living and most compelling evidence. Her lineage, survival, existence, and testimony could prove that the Amos family did not perish from the plague five years ago.”
Anker’s voice turned bitter and ice-cold.
“But it was a group of powerful figures from the Western Desert who conspired together and silenced them in secret.”
Thales’ mind raced as he recalled everything.
“Afterward, the Amos Town was handed over to others, and the incident was hushed up without any disturbance or commotion.”
“The three most prominent families in the know were the Brave Souls Fort, the Wing Fort, and even the Fakenhaz!”
He had heard of the incident.
Thales stared blindly into space.
It was on the way back to Eternal Star City from the Blade Fangs Camp.
From the mouth of Kohen’s cousin, the Count of Wing Fort, Derek Kroma.
But…
“Why?”
Thales reacted quickly and pressed for an answer,
“Why?!”
Anker, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, let out a laugh that was both joyful and enraged.
“To turn the Blade Fangs Camp into a shield, to make the sharpened blade a part of everyday life, to slow the extending hand of the Renaissance Palace towards the west,
As a result, the people of the Western Desert have to endure the pain of having a sharp blade thrust into their hearts, and lower and middle-ranked nobles have to sacrifice their interests. It is clear that Baron Amos could not bear the pain—the King’s decree had dealt him a devastating blow.”
“His determination was such that he planned to abandon the agreement with the Three Great Clans and act alone, even going so far as to threaten to lead troops in protest. It was his intention to unleash conflict and force the Western Desert to take a clear stand, rebelling against the Renaissance Palace.”
Thales became pale, calling to mind the words of a certain Duke,
“You must understand, when your suzerains and subordinates are indignant, when all of them stand tall and fearless, besides going along with the flow, you do not have many other choices when you stand in front of the tide.”
“If you cannot be their leader, you become their enemy. You will be the first to collapse when you are attacked by both internal and external forces.”
“The Amos family’s tragedy will be a chilling tale of mass extermination throughout the Kingdom—the Three Great Clans, consumed by self-interest, are willing to sacrifice their vassals’ interests and resort to wiping out the born and legitimate nobles of the realm to consolidate their power. It will expose the world to the delay and the cruelty of the Western Desert.”
Anker closed his eyes with anguish and leaned over his seat.
“This presents the opportunity and leverage His Majesty has been longing for,” he stated.[6]
“It offers a chance to finally settle the stalemate afflicting the Renaissance Palace.”
Thales felt a chill run down his spine.
“The evidence is undeniable, and the crime is so serious that it would create a huge outcry across the nation. The Three Great Clans would be trapped in a state of internal and external unrest, defenceless, whereas the Western Desert would be fragmented and unable to unite.[7]
“They can either comply with the Renaissance Palace’s demands and accept whatever punishment His Majesty deems appropriate,”
Anker’s face turned pale,
“Or…”
Thales was in shock, incapable of expressing any response. Byrael held the trump card that King Kessel had longed for—the key to fully subjugating the Western Desert.
‘But why? Why…'
A flood of unintelligible thoughts poured upon him, causing deafening pain in his head.
The room fell into silence for a long while.
“In any case, obtaining this key piece will certainly make His Majesty very pleased.”
“Indeed, very pleased…”
Anker struggled to sit up, causing the restraints to creak against the chair.
“Use it, Your Highness, use this piece,” he urged.
“Use it to appeal to His Majesty,” Anker gritted his teeth as though he could crush diamonds between them,[8]
“I am certain of my death, but please spare the Byrael family and protect my younger siblings in exchange for this key piece.”
As Thales took a deep breath and regained his composure, he began to consider the underlying reasoning behind the situation.
“Why now? Why did you wait until this moment to reveal this information?” He asked the troubled soul with a feeling of confusion.
“If you had already made up your mind, why didn’t you take this matter to the Secret Department or even negotiate with my father sooner?”
Anker’s expression crumpled, and the madness and desperation in his gaze instantly disappeared.
“And what would have been the cost, Your Highness?” Anker replied in a bewildered way.
Thales understood and looked at him sadly, “Everything.”
The young man displayed a desolate and apathetic smile, nodding his head in agreement.
“The Byrael family will become the scapegoat and the target of public criticism,” he stated.
“In this vast chessboard that is the Western Desert, we will have no other options, no more freedom, and no… future,”
Thales placed his hand on Anker’s shoulder.
In the following moment, Anker’s eyes grew distant, and his voice oozed boundless anguish and remorse.
“And Tina, Tina…” he trailed off.
“She will never, ever, ever forgive me.”
As Byrael’s voice drifted away, he stood still, with empty eyes in space, motionless…
like a hollow shell.
reduced to utter silence.
After a while of silence, Thales spoke haltingly, “This girl, Tina. Who is she to you?”
Anker didn’t respond. He simply gave Thales a red-eyed glare, slammed back into his chair, and emitted a pained whimper through his clenched teeth.
In that moment, Thales felt transported back to the cramped confines of the Ballard Room.
“How is she?” asked the Prince, his mind lost in thought.
Anker gasped for air, his mind hazy and unfocused.
“The best,” he replied.[9]
“However, it doesn’t matter now,” Anker said, averting his gaze and speaking in a detached tone. “It no longer matters.”
There was a quiet moment in the cell, but Thales’ mind was in turmoil.
‘Was Zayen aware of everything? Or did he simply realise Anker had some sort of leverage?’
“So that’s… that’s what Zayen said you should tell me?”
“A powerful key piece. An opportunity to completely crush the Western Desert from which the Royal Family cannot resist?”
“Yes.” Anker nodded vaguely.
“But, at the same time, not entirely.”
Thales’ brown crinkled in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Anker lifted his head and gazed at Thales with bitterness. “To save my family, I did ask Duke Covendier for help to get into the banquet,”
“But it wasn’t him,” Anker said softly, “he was just another piece on the board.”
Zayen was just… another piece?
Thales was caught off guard.
“I don’t understand.”
Anker was breathless for a few seconds, his face writhing with pain as the effects of the Chaca wine slowly faded away.
But Thales could no longer afford to be concerned.
“Even before that, when I was searching everywhere, I sought help from someone else,” Anker continued.
someone else
“They… they were the ones who suggested… the plan to attend the banquet… with a sword and openly challenge to a duel… to safeguard my family’s future.” Anker’s words were heavy with sorrow and despair.[10]
“What?” Thales suddenly felt that he had touched the reverse side of this chess game.
attend the banquet with a sword
duel
“Who?” The Prince shook Anker’s shoulder in a state of shock and asked, “Who was it?”
Anker’s voice was strained by pain, but he managed to speak with a bitter smile. “They were indifferent. Even when I threatened them with this key piece, they refused to help me. All they did was laugh…”
“In the end, they said that the only chance to save the Byrael family could be found in the capital, with one person,” Anker’s bloodshot eyes fixed on Thales. “They also said that if I failed, if I had to use this key… I had to give it to you.”
“And only to you.”
Zayen was merely a chess piece…
There was another person involved.
The one who orchestrated this chess match…
was someone entirely different.
Thales could no longer contain his anger, and he tightened his grip on Anker’s shoulder. “Who was it?”
The person who brought Anker to his death…
The person who coldly manipulated the pieces on the chessboard…
The person who forced him and D.D. into a corner…
The Prince’s eyes were smouldering with rage. “Who is behind this farce at the banquet?”
Thales’ outburst caught the attention of Norb and Raphael, who rushed up from behind and asked, “Your Highness, what’s going on?”
Thales, however, paid no heed and kept Anker within his grasp, awaiting his answer.
The one…
behind the scenes,
watching with frigid detachment,
nudging Zayen and leading Anker to encourage him to find this alleged ‘key piece that His Majesty would be very pleased with’, even though it meant bringing all the Kingdom’s unresolved conflicts to light…
“He wanted me to pass on a message to you, Your Highness…”
Anker gasped in pain, mustering up the last of his strength, and leaned close to Thales’ ear,
“The horse carriage is about to fall apart; what would you like to do, my lord?”
Thales was shaken to his very core.
‘What?’
In that heartbeat, time came to a standstill.
So did his thoughts.
The horse carriage… is about to fall apart.
‘The horse carriage?’
Yet…
Thales gaped at the barely breathing Anker in utter disbelief.
‘This is not right.’
‘This cannot be.’
How could it be…
“It’s too dangerous, Your Highness; stay away from him!” Footsteps from behind grew louder and closer.
Anker Byrael put together a weak, deafening smile, “He also said… “
“Since it has been given to you, hold it tightly…”
Thales felt his eyes widen.
With mere seconds left, Anker strained to speak into Thales’ ear and uttered his final words hoarsely,
“Hold on to… your sword.”
Drifting Sands Palace, Ruins, Western Desert
In the timeless and austere room, Derek Kroma set his teacup down with a gentle clink and directed his gaze to the chessboard before him.
“So, are you going to make a move or not?” he asked in a refined and gracious manner. “Your Grace?”
He got a dismissive grunt in response.
On the other side of the chessboard, Cyril Fakenhaz, the suzerain of the Ruins, gazed at it with ease, deep in thought that belied his intimidating aura.
“Patience, young man, patience,” he said, completely indifferent to his opponent’s presence. “Good chess moves are never made in haste.”[11]
The Duke of the Western Desert remained impassive, adjusting his posture and tracing his fingers along the edge of his cup of tea, releasing a feeling of self-assured calm.[12]
Derek’s stoic expression lingered as he stayed silent for some time,
“But…”
The young Count of Wing Fort was forthright as he waved to the black king on the chess board, hopelessly encircled by white pieces.[13]
“You have only this piece left.”
Fakenhaz’s hand, until then relaxed on the teacup, froze.
Derek, inflexible and insensitive, stressed a certain outcome,
“No matter which way you move, I will checkmate you on my next turn.”
Fakenhaz’s brows knit together in response.
“You do not understand,” he countered.
As he surveyed the overwhelming advantage of ten white pieces against a lone black king on the chessboard, the Duke of Western Desert discreetly cleared his throat and concealed his visibly flushed, aged face.
“The board’s state is superficial; what is truly important are the chess players,” he said, pointing his finger meaningfully at Derek and then to himself.
“As they say, chess is about facing your opponent. Remember, Derek, my boy, we are playing against people, not chess pieces.”[14]
chess players
Derek narrowed his eyes.
Fakenhaz gave a sardonic smile and placed his piece gently.
The king moved,
majestic and mighty.
Derek eyed Fakenhaz’s play with a glint in his eye, exhaled a deep breath, and was about to make his own move.
“Wait!”
Out of nowhere, Fakenhaz let out a bark. Derek’s hand froze in mid-air, unsure of whether he should continue with his move.
The Duke of Western Desert hunched over, his face furrowed in deep concentration, as he studied the pieces before him.
“I need to think this through some more…”
To Derek’s amazement, Fakenhaz then calmly picked up the sole king piece and placed it back in its original position.[15]
“Hmm, I need to think a lot more… a whole lot more.”
Derek’s hand fell limply to the side, disappointment etched on his face,
“Your Grace, there’s only one move left, and you keep hesitating…”
The young Count Kroma wept a deep sigh.
“Otherwise, we’ll have to call off the game—”
“What! That isn’t acceptable!
Fakenhaz slapped his thigh in frustration.
“We’ve got a bet on this game!”
He silenced the Count of Wing Fort in an authoritative and unwavering tone with his sharp eyes and impressive presence.[16]
“And it is an exceptional sword!”
Fakenhaz pointed to the sword that lay at stake in the distance, speaking with utmost seriousness.
“Don’t you know I just handed over my own sword?”
‘Pfft, who in the whole Kingdom doesn’t know?’ thought Derek, but he refrained from saying so out loud.
“But even if it is a great sword, it won’t make a damn difference to you since you’re about to lose.” He delivered the ruse with a calculated smile, piercing the Duke’s soul.
To Derek’s surprise, Fakenhaz only responded with a menacing smirk and a casual stroke of his cane, returning to his usual stern demeanour.
“The board’s state is superficial; what is truly important are the chess players…”
“As they say, chess is about facing your opponent. Remember, Derek, my boy, we are playing against people, not chess pieces…”
Derek shook his head in confusion, wondering if time had somehow rewound, and let out a pained sigh while helplessly covering his forehead.
Fakenhaz, seeing that, narrowed his eyes and seized the opportunity to reach out his hand.
“Sneaking my pieces won’t do you any good, Your Grace,” the Count of Wing Fort with his head buried in his hands, not bothering to look but already knowing,[17]
“You only have the king left.”
Fakenhaz, caught red-handed, stayed composed and smoothly withdrew the hand that had sneaked over to move his opponent’s chess pieces.
Completely unruffled.
Without a trace of guilt.
Derek raised his head, his expression grave and serious,
“To be frank,” said the Count of Wing Fort, no longer looking at the chessboard, “you should count yourself lucky for my good temper, letting such a huge wager slip away like this…”
“If Count Bozdorf were here, he would have led his army straight to Crow Caw and burned that Amos girl to ashes.”
Despite Derek’s pointed threat, Fakenhaz seemed to pay no attention. He simply stared intently at the chessboard, focusing on his only remaining king as if he could will a miracle to happen.
“Although it may seem like you have overwhelming forces on my border and I appear to have no chance,” the Duke was completely absorbed in the game, murmuring to himself, “there must be a turning point, but where is it…?”
Derek gave him a sideways glance, testing the waters as he spoke,
“Of course, if Black Lion found out about this, he’d probably lead his troops straight to these Ruins and break your other leg, too.”
Fakenhaz continued to ruminate while rubbing his chin, “I’m doomed no matter which way I turn. You little bastard, it’s no surprise that Karabeyan trained you…”
Derek grunted softly, sneering at Fakenhaz, “Are you certain this is the best course of action?” He questioned,
“What if the King demanded that we disband our army, raise taxes, and give up our right to appoint officials after publicly announcing a list of charges against us tomorrow? What if it happens and Count Bozdorf can’t stand the humiliation and begins a rebellion?
The Count of Wing Fort looked coldly at Fakenhaz, but the Duke ignored him.
“It doesn’t matter; chess skills are not the key, not the key,” Fakenhaz acted as if in deep thought, rubbing his palms together as if trying to squeeze out a chess piece. “The key is the player…think, Cyril, think, there must be a way…”
Derek’s attitude changed in a heartbeat.
“But just so we’re clear, Your Grace,” he said darkly, eyeing the muttering Duke of Western Desert, “if things don’t turn out well, I’m not planning to die with you.”
“Wing Fort has its own way out.”
However, Derek’s words fell on deaf ears as Fakenhaz stayed focused on his chessboard, staring intently at his bare and vulnerable king.
“It’s alright. Keep thinking. Keep thinking. Until the sun sets or the sun rises, there must be a way to break this stalemate…”
the sun sets…
the sun rises…
Derek looked up and checked the sun’s position, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
“All right, Duke Cyril,” he said, having lost interest in the game. He impatiently knocked over his own white king, “It’s just a game of chess. I surrender.”
All of a sudden, there was a loud snap—Fakenhaz slammed his palm on his thigh.
“Do you see?!” he exclaimed.
The Duke, who had been lost in the game, suddenly sprang to life and returned to reality.
“See—” he pointed to the toppled white king and picked up his black king, laughing with excitement.
“Didn’t I win?!”
Derek’s expression twitched as he watched the ecstatic Duke of the Western Desert laugh uncontrollably.
‘You win, my ass…’
Fakenhaz savoured his triumph, laid down his chess piece with a feeling of accomplishment, and breathed a deep sigh. “Perseverance truly pays off, and hard work is always the key to success…” he murmured.
Derek’s facial expression contorted even further into an exaggerated grimace.
While Fakenhaz peered out of the Drifting Sands Palace, he was met with the stark and unyielding Ruins, as if nature had etched its harsh and unforgiving features into the very fabric of the land.
With a bang, he hit the table with a burst of emotion.
“This scenery, this game, this victory—it calls for a grand celebration!”
The Count of Wing Fort couldn’t bear it any longer and let out a resigned sigh, burying his face in his hands once again.
“Playing chess, playing chess. Indeed, what is being played is not a game or a piece,” Fakenhaz chuckled to himself. “It’s the chess player.”
Derek responded with a polite yet helpless smile.
‘Chess player, your mother!’
“You, my boy, you are too inexperienced, too eager to give up,…”
Derek finally ran out of patience,
“We played for two hours, and you took one and a half hours just to do your last move!”
He stood up and stormed off, muttering a curse under his breath, “Who the hell can beat you, anyway?”
Fakenhaz chuckled softly as he watched Derek’s temper flare.
Returning his attention to his chessboard, he gazed at his unshakeable black king. “My uncle could,” the Duke sighed, “and so could Midier.”
The Duke’s face became pale as a thought struck him.
He hurriedly rose and shouted, “Wait, wait, leave me the sword!”
“I won it fair and clean!”
[1] ‘割下了一大块肉’, lit. ‘Cut off a big chunk of flesh’. It’s used to describe the act of offering a significant sacrifice or making a large concession. In ancient cultures, cutting off a piece of one’s own flesh was a symbolic gesture of submission and remorse.
[2] ‘empty’, ‘行尸走肉’, (idiom) walking corpse—one who vegetates; utterly worthless person.
[3] ‘made them appear foolish’, the phrase “灰头土脸” literally means “ashen-faced and dusty” and is often used figuratively to describe someone who has suffered a humiliating defeat or setback.
[4] ‘ghastly’, ‘令人发指’, ‘to make one’s hair stand up in anger’ (idiom); to raise people’s hackles.
[5] These inserts are from the official translation, as the all others in this chapter.
[6] ‘longing for’; ‘梦寐以求’, (idiom) crave sth. So much that one even dreams about it—long (or yearn) for sth. Day and night; try to find even in sleep.
[7] ‘trapped internally and externally’; ‘内外交困’, (idiom) ‘beset with difficulties both at home and abroad’.
[8] Is ‘as if he wanted to crush the most precious thing in his mouth’ in the original, in the sense of intense determination or frustration, as if Anker is so fiercely determined that he would destroy something valuable in the process.
[9] This is a more literal translation. There’s a misinterpretation, Anker’s towards Thales’ question or mine towards this whole sequence ( I vote on this one). Like this: ‘Is she worthy? / Is she well’ to Anker’s reply ‘Absolutely/ The very best’. Anyway ‘她很好？; 最好的’
[10] ‘they’, 他 and 她, PY tā The pinyin is the same for both of genders. The 他 (in the raws) can be used for either sex when the sex is unknown or unimportant.
[11] ‘…never made in haste’; ‘一蹴而就’, (idiom) reach the goal in one step; accomplish one’s aim in one move.
[12] ‘calm assurance’; 胸有成竹, ‘to plan in advance’ (idiom); a card up one’s sleeve, forewarned is forearm.
[13] ‘hopelessly encircled’; 孤苦伶仃 ‘solitary and impoverished’ (idiom), 水泄不通 ‘not one drop can trickle through’ (idiom); fig. impenetrable (crowd, traffic).
[14] ‘棋逢对手’; (idiom) meet one’s match in a game of chess—be well-matched in a contest. I used an equivalent to the idiom here.
[15] ‘calmly’; 泰然自若, cool and collected (idiom); showing no sign of nerves.
[16] ‘authoritative and unwavering tone’; 斩钉截铁, ‘to chop the nail and slice the iron’ (idiom); fig. resolute and decisive.
[17] ‘already knowing’; 未卜先知, (idiom) know without consulting the oracle—have foreknowledge; be a seer.
ARC: Curse of the Royal Tribulation
Chapter 84: Hold on to Your Sword
Anker was blindsided by Thales’ statement; a glittering surprise passed over his face.
He beheld Thales with vacant eyes,
“His Majesty would be very pleased…”
The man from the Western Desert, lost in thought, twisted his head and murmured to himself.
“Really, is that so…?”
Thales frowned in response. “You know, this morning Zayen caved in before my father. He sliced off a hefty chunk of flesh to do so and then bolted back to Jade City, almost as if it had been planned. ”[1]
“What’s in it for him?” Thales locked his gaze on Anker, his voice laced with scepticism.
“Let me think… what would Zayen Covendier and his South Coast Hill get from this?”
“To make me look bad? To watch you get executed on the sidelines?”
Anker remained lost in thought, not speaking for some time.
“Anker!” Thales had to raise his voice to get his attention.
Byrael blinked and shook himself out of his reverie.
He looked at Thales with confusion, his lips trembling as he tried to speak, but he seemed unable to find the right words.
“Your Highness,” Anker finally broke the silence after a couple of seconds, but his words were not in answer to Thales’ question.
“If I were to die in a duel or at the hands of the guards, it would be my own doing and no one else would be to blame,”
Anker spoke, looking puzzled, “But you, you told me you wanted to give me a chance.”
“Do you realise that by stopping me, you’re taking on the weight of someone’s life?”
Anker’s gaze was empty as he continued, “That’s a brave thing to do, but also incredibly foolish.”[2]
He appeared to be engaged in a heated internal argument as his expression wavered and distorted.
‘Something didn’t feel right…’
Thales arched an eyebrow,
‘Something didn’t feel right about Anker’s behaviour.’
“How interesting,” said Thales calmly, as he continued,
“You see, many have called me this, but they have always done so after I have made them look foolish.”[3]
‘Nuven, Chapman, Kessel… all had made the same remarks.’
Byrael, however, ignored what the Prince said.
“Why did I agree back then? Why did I give you the sword?” He pondered, his words flowing seamlessly. “I am but a chess piece; why bother to think too much?”
As Anker became increasingly agitated, his words grew more passionate, until he was weeping in anguish.
“Perhaps… perhaps there is still a glimmer of foolishness left in me,” the wounded nobleman of the Western Desert said through clenched teeth, tears streaming down his cheeks. “A glimmer of cowardice, a glimmer of hope… Longing to trust… Longing to rely on…”
His response only added to Thales’ suspicions.
“But as they were handling me… it suddenly hit me,” Anker said, his voice thick with emotion as he bit his lip, tears welling up in his eyes, “You’re only human too.”
Thales had to work harder to calm him down and ease his distress.
“If I believe you and depend on you…”
“But then who can you trust and depend on?”
In the blink of an eye, Anker fiercely struggled to rise, disregarding the agony of his tightly bound hands and feet and the ghastly wounds that covered his body.[4]
With all his might, he pulled Thales towards him, who, taken aback, held onto the other side of the recliner chair to maintain his balance.
Thales suddenly found himself almost nose-to-nose with Anker, and to his surprise, he saw an unfamiliar expression in Anker’s eyes. Was it fear?
“Your Highness, you are just another chess piece, aren’t you?” Anker’s hand grasp was tight, and his trembling intensified.
another chess piece
“What else did Zayen tell you, Anker?”
“Why did he insist that I come to see you, given that the situation is already as you described it and there is no going back?”
The Duke of Star Lake fixed his gaze on Byrael.
“Does he have any other… chess pieces?” he asked.
“Who are they?”
Anker let out a pained whimper.
“My reason says it’s wrong. I should not cling to hope—the Desert God does not need to forgive the desert, but all lives in the desert are still spared!”
He breathed heavily, his words disorganised and unclear, “Your Highness, you shouldn’t be weak-minded either,”
“The Desert God does not deliver disasters, but all lives in the world still perish!”[5]
Thales firmly grasped Anker’s hand, watching tears flow over his wounded and vulnerable face, and became even more convinced of his own judgment.
Anker was just a piece on the chessboard, but Zayen… wasn’t the entire game.
“Anker!” Thales called out with determination and firmly held Anker’s head from both sides, locking eyes with him as if trying to peer into his soul.
“Think of your family; think of why you came to the capital!” Anker trembled everywhere.
“We are alike, you and I,” said the Prince in conviction, leaving no space for discussion, “Whatever you’re up against… Let me help you.”
Anker gazed back at the Prince, confusion and helplessness etched into his expression, while Thales held a steady and steadfast gaze that urged him forward, allowing no room for retreat. In the next instant, Anker breathed out a long breath, as if releasing all his strength, and faintly collapsed into the recliner.
But Thales stayed rooted to the spot, transfixed.
The sound of weeping filled the air. Before the Prince’s eyes, Anker, covered in injuries, lay slumped in the chair, his trembling form wracked with sobs.
Anker Byrael,
A lump formed in Thales’ throat.
This was the same individual who had fearlessly caused a commotion at the Royal Banquet, willingly sacrificing himself to safeguard the future of his loved ones…
And yet there he was, quivering with sobs.
Thales was suddenly reminded of Ralf—the lost soul who had wept before him on a night when all hope seemed to be gone. It was like watching Anker Byrael cry with abandon.
The Prince let out a heavy sigh and sank onto a nearby stool, his head hanging low in disappointment. In an instant, his curiosity had evaporated, and he no longer felt compelled to pursue the matter any further.
But then, Anker’s voice cut through the silence, “Tina.”
Thales raised his head.
Lying on the chair, Anker struggled to hold back his tears as he choked out the words from his throat, “Tina Amos.”
The Prince furrowed his brow and asked, “What?”
Anker took a deep breath, as if the act alone could grant him the courage he needed to speak. In a trance-like state, he began to stutter out the words. “Tina Amos,” he paused briefly before continuing, “daughter of the late Baron of Amos Town, is currently staying at the Byrael family estate in Crow Caw.”
Thales was left confused.
“I’m not sure I follow. What does this have to do with her…?”
Anker suddenly looked up, his eyes filled with despair.
“Five years ago,” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “during the year when the ‘Tax Exemption for the Opening Up of Border Counties’ was causing the most controversy in the Western Desert Hill, the Baron of Amos Town returned from a trip to the Blade Edge Hill, only to contract the Mist Plague. He and his entire family perished, ending his family line.”
Thales was taken aback, his mouth agape in shock.
“But Tina survived,” Anker continued, his gaze never leaving Thales’s face. “For the past five years, she has struggled to forget her past and has been living with us as a maid, under a new identity, after I fled my father’s castle with my younger siblings.”
Amos Town…
entire family perished…
Thales felt a flicker of recognition in his memory, as if he had heard this before.
“But if you go to my house and find Tina,” Anker gasped for breath, fear and pain evident in his voice, “she would be the living and most compelling evidence. Her lineage, survival, existence, and testimony could prove that the Amos family did not perish from the plague five years ago.”
Anker’s voice turned bitter and ice-cold.
“But it was a group of powerful figures from the Western Desert who conspired together and silenced them in secret.”
Thales’ mind raced as he recalled everything.
“Afterward, the Amos Town was handed over to others, and the incident was hushed up without any disturbance or commotion.”
“The three most prominent families in the know were the Brave Souls Fort, the Wing Fort, and even the Fakenhaz!”
He had heard of the incident.
Thales stared blindly into space.
It was on the way back to Eternal Star City from the Blade Fangs Camp.
From the mouth of Kohen’s cousin, the Count of Wing Fort, Derek Kroma.
But…
“Why?”
Thales reacted quickly and pressed for an answer,
“Why?!”
Anker, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, let out a laugh that was both joyful and enraged.
“To turn the Blade Fangs Camp into a shield, to make the sharpened blade a part of everyday life, to slow the extending hand of the Renaissance Palace towards the west,
As a result, the people of the Western Desert have to endure the pain of having a sharp blade thrust into their hearts, and lower and middle-ranked nobles have to sacrifice their interests. It is clear that Baron Amos could not bear the pain—the King’s decree had dealt him a devastating blow.”
“His determination was such that he planned to abandon the agreement with the Three Great Clans and act alone, even going so far as to threaten to lead troops in protest. It was his intention to unleash conflict and force the Western Desert to take a clear stand, rebelling against the Renaissance Palace.”
Thales became pale, calling to mind the words of a certain Duke,
“You must understand, when your suzerains and subordinates are indignant, when all of them stand tall and fearless, besides going along with the flow, you do not have many other choices when you stand in front of the tide.”
“If you cannot be their leader, you become their enemy. You will be the first to collapse when you are attacked by both internal and external forces.”
“The Amos family’s tragedy will be a chilling tale of mass extermination throughout the Kingdom—the Three Great Clans, consumed by self-interest, are willing to sacrifice their vassals’ interests and resort to wiping out the born and legitimate nobles of the realm to consolidate their power. It will expose the world to the delay and the cruelty of the Western Desert.”
Anker closed his eyes with anguish and leaned over his seat.
“This presents the opportunity and leverage His Majesty has been longing for,” he stated.[6]
“It offers a chance to finally settle the stalemate afflicting the Renaissance Palace.”
Thales felt a chill run down his spine.
“The evidence is undeniable, and the crime is so serious that it would create a huge outcry across the nation. The Three Great Clans would be trapped in a state of internal and external unrest, defenceless, whereas the Western Desert would be fragmented and unable to unite.[7]
“They can either comply with the Renaissance Palace’s demands and accept whatever punishment His Majesty deems appropriate,”
Anker’s face turned pale,
“Or…”
Thales was in shock, incapable of expressing any response. Byrael held the trump card that King Kessel had longed for—the key to fully subjugating the Western Desert.
‘But why? Why…'
A flood of unintelligible thoughts poured upon him, causing deafening pain in his head.
The room fell into silence for a long while.
“In any case, obtaining this key piece will certainly make His Majesty very pleased.”
“Indeed, very pleased…”
Anker struggled to sit up, causing the restraints to creak against the chair.
“Use it, Your Highness, use this piece,” he urged.
“Use it to appeal to His Majesty,” Anker gritted his teeth as though he could crush diamonds between them,[8]
“I am certain of my death, but please spare the Byrael family and protect my younger siblings in exchange for this key piece.”
As Thales took a deep breath and regained his composure, he began to consider the underlying reasoning behind the situation.
“Why now? Why did you wait until this moment to reveal this information?” He asked the troubled soul with a feeling of confusion.
“If you had already made up your mind, why didn’t you take this matter to the Secret Department or even negotiate with my father sooner?”
Anker’s expression crumpled, and the madness and desperation in his gaze instantly disappeared.
“And what would have been the cost, Your Highness?” Anker replied in a bewildered way.
Thales understood and looked at him sadly, “Everything.”
The young man displayed a desolate and apathetic smile, nodding his head in agreement.
“The Byrael family will become the scapegoat and the target of public criticism,” he stated.
“In this vast chessboard that is the Western Desert, we will have no other options, no more freedom, and no… future,”
Thales placed his hand on Anker’s shoulder.
In the following moment, Anker’s eyes grew distant, and his voice oozed boundless anguish and remorse.
“And Tina, Tina…” he trailed off.
“She will never, ever, ever forgive me.”
As Byrael’s voice drifted away, he stood still, with empty eyes in space, motionless…
like a hollow shell.
reduced to utter silence.
After a while of silence, Thales spoke haltingly, “This girl, Tina. Who is she to you?”
Anker didn’t respond. He simply gave Thales a red-eyed glare, slammed back into his chair, and emitted a pained whimper through his clenched teeth.
In that moment, Thales felt transported back to the cramped confines of the Ballard Room.
“How is she?” asked the Prince, his mind lost in thought.
Anker gasped for air, his mind hazy and unfocused.
“The best,” he replied.[9]
“However, it doesn’t matter now,” Anker said, averting his gaze and speaking in a detached tone. “It no longer matters.”
There was a quiet moment in the cell, but Thales’ mind was in turmoil.
‘Was Zayen aware of everything? Or did he simply realise Anker had some sort of leverage?’
“So that’s… that’s what Zayen said you should tell me?”
“A powerful key piece. An opportunity to completely crush the Western Desert from which the Royal Family cannot resist?”
“Yes.” Anker nodded vaguely.
“But, at the same time, not entirely.”
Thales’ brown crinkled in confusion.
“What do you mean?”
Anker lifted his head and gazed at Thales with bitterness. “To save my family, I did ask Duke Covendier for help to get into the banquet,”
“But it wasn’t him,” Anker said softly, “he was just another piece on the board.”
Zayen was just… another piece?
Thales was caught off guard.
“I don’t understand.”
Anker was breathless for a few seconds, his face writhing with pain as the effects of the Chaca wine slowly faded away.
But Thales could no longer afford to be concerned.
“Even before that, when I was searching everywhere, I sought help from someone else,” Anker continued.
someone else
“They… they were the ones who suggested… the plan to attend the banquet… with a sword and openly challenge to a duel… to safeguard my family’s future.” Anker’s words were heavy with sorrow and despair.[10]
“What?” Thales suddenly felt that he had touched the reverse side of this chess game.
attend the banquet with a sword
duel
“Who?” The Prince shook Anker’s shoulder in a state of shock and asked, “Who was it?”
Anker’s voice was strained by pain, but he managed to speak with a bitter smile. “They were indifferent. Even when I threatened them with this key piece, they refused to help me. All they did was laugh…”
“In the end, they said that the only chance to save the Byrael family could be found in the capital, with one person,” Anker’s bloodshot eyes fixed on Thales. “They also said that if I failed, if I had to use this key… I had to give it to you.”
“And only to you.”
Zayen was merely a chess piece…
There was another person involved.
The one who orchestrated this chess match…
was someone entirely different.
Thales could no longer contain his anger, and he tightened his grip on Anker’s shoulder. “Who was it?”
The person who brought Anker to his death…
The person who coldly manipulated the pieces on the chessboard…
The person who forced him and D.D. into a corner…
The Prince’s eyes were smouldering with rage. “Who is behind this farce at the banquet?”
Thales’ outburst caught the attention of Norb and Raphael, who rushed up from behind and asked, “Your Highness, what’s going on?”
Thales, however, paid no heed and kept Anker within his grasp, awaiting his answer.
The one…
behind the scenes,
watching with frigid detachment,
nudging Zayen and leading Anker to encourage him to find this alleged ‘key piece that His Majesty would be very pleased with’, even though it meant bringing all the Kingdom’s unresolved conflicts to light…
“He wanted me to pass on a message to you, Your Highness…”
Anker gasped in pain, mustering up the last of his strength, and leaned close to Thales’ ear,
“The horse carriage is about to fall apart; what would you like to do, my lord?”
Thales was shaken to his very core.
‘What?’
In that heartbeat, time came to a standstill.
So did his thoughts.
The horse carriage… is about to fall apart.
‘The horse carriage?’
Yet…
Thales gaped at the barely breathing Anker in utter disbelief.
‘This is not right.’
‘This cannot be.’
How could it be…
“It’s too dangerous, Your Highness; stay away from him!” Footsteps from behind grew louder and closer.
Anker Byrael put together a weak, deafening smile, “He also said… “
“Since it has been given to you, hold it tightly…”
Thales felt his eyes widen.
With mere seconds left, Anker strained to speak into Thales’ ear and uttered his final words hoarsely,
“Hold on to… your sword.”
Drifting Sands Palace, Ruins, Western Desert
In the timeless and austere room, Derek Kroma set his teacup down with a gentle clink and directed his gaze to the chessboard before him.
“So, are you going to make a move or not?” he asked in a refined and gracious manner. “Your Grace?”
He got a dismissive grunt in response.
On the other side of the chessboard, Cyril Fakenhaz, the suzerain of the Ruins, gazed at it with ease, deep in thought that belied his intimidating aura.
“Patience, young man, patience,” he said, completely indifferent to his opponent’s presence. “Good chess moves are never made in haste.”[11]
The Duke of the Western Desert remained impassive, adjusting his posture and tracing his fingers along the edge of his cup of tea, releasing a feeling of self-assured calm.[12]
Derek’s stoic expression lingered as he stayed silent for some time,
“But…”
The young Count of Wing Fort was forthright as he waved to the black king on the chess board, hopelessly encircled by white pieces.[13]
“You have only this piece left.”
Fakenhaz’s hand, until then relaxed on the teacup, froze.
Derek, inflexible and insensitive, stressed a certain outcome,
“No matter which way you move, I will checkmate you on my next turn.”
Fakenhaz’s brows knit together in response.
“You do not understand,” he countered.
As he surveyed the overwhelming advantage of ten white pieces against a lone black king on the chessboard, the Duke of Western Desert discreetly cleared his throat and concealed his visibly flushed, aged face.
“The board’s state is superficial; what is truly important are the chess players,” he said, pointing his finger meaningfully at Derek and then to himself.
“As they say, chess is about facing your opponent. Remember, Derek, my boy, we are playing against people, not chess pieces.”[14]
chess players
Derek narrowed his eyes.
Fakenhaz gave a sardonic smile and placed his piece gently.
The king moved,
majestic and mighty.
Derek eyed Fakenhaz’s play with a glint in his eye, exhaled a deep breath, and was about to make his own move.
“Wait!”
Out of nowhere, Fakenhaz let out a bark. Derek’s hand froze in mid-air, unsure of whether he should continue with his move.
The Duke of Western Desert hunched over, his face furrowed in deep concentration, as he studied the pieces before him.
“I need to think this through some more…”
To Derek’s amazement, Fakenhaz then calmly picked up the sole king piece and placed it back in its original position.[15]
“Hmm, I need to think a lot more… a whole lot more.”
Derek’s hand fell limply to the side, disappointment etched on his face,
“Your Grace, there’s only one move left, and you keep hesitating…”
The young Count Kroma wept a deep sigh.
“Otherwise, we’ll have to call off the game—”
“What! That isn’t acceptable!
Fakenhaz slapped his thigh in frustration.
“We’ve got a bet on this game!”
He silenced the Count of Wing Fort in an authoritative and unwavering tone with his sharp eyes and impressive presence.[16]
“And it is an exceptional sword!”
Fakenhaz pointed to the sword that lay at stake in the distance, speaking with utmost seriousness.
“Don’t you know I just handed over my own sword?”
‘Pfft, who in the whole Kingdom doesn’t know?’ thought Derek, but he refrained from saying so out loud.
“But even if it is a great sword, it won’t make a damn difference to you since you’re about to lose.” He delivered the ruse with a calculated smile, piercing the Duke’s soul.
To Derek’s surprise, Fakenhaz only responded with a menacing smirk and a casual stroke of his cane, returning to his usual stern demeanour.
“The board’s state is superficial; what is truly important are the chess players…”
“As they say, chess is about facing your opponent. Remember, Derek, my boy, we are playing against people, not chess pieces…”
Derek shook his head in confusion, wondering if time had somehow rewound, and let out a pained sigh while helplessly covering his forehead.
Fakenhaz, seeing that, narrowed his eyes and seized the opportunity to reach out his hand.
“Sneaking my pieces won’t do you any good, Your Grace,” the Count of Wing Fort with his head buried in his hands, not bothering to look but already knowing,[17]
“You only have the king left.”
Fakenhaz, caught red-handed, stayed composed and smoothly withdrew the hand that had sneaked over to move his opponent’s chess pieces.
Completely unruffled.
Without a trace of guilt.
Derek raised his head, his expression grave and serious,
“To be frank,” said the Count of Wing Fort, no longer looking at the chessboard, “you should count yourself lucky for my good temper, letting such a huge wager slip away like this…”
“If Count Bozdorf were here, he would have led his army straight to Crow Caw and burned that Amos girl to ashes.”
Despite Derek’s pointed threat, Fakenhaz seemed to pay no attention. He simply stared intently at the chessboard, focusing on his only remaining king as if he could will a miracle to happen.
“Although it may seem like you have overwhelming forces on my border and I appear to have no chance,” the Duke was completely absorbed in the game, murmuring to himself, “there must be a turning point, but where is it…?”
Derek gave him a sideways glance, testing the waters as he spoke,
“Of course, if Black Lion found out about this, he’d probably lead his troops straight to these Ruins and break your other leg, too.”
Fakenhaz continued to ruminate while rubbing his chin, “I’m doomed no matter which way I turn. You little bastard, it’s no surprise that Karabeyan trained you…”
Derek grunted softly, sneering at Fakenhaz, “Are you certain this is the best course of action?” He questioned,
“What if the King demanded that we disband our army, raise taxes, and give up our right to appoint officials after publicly announcing a list of charges against us tomorrow? What if it happens and Count Bozdorf can’t stand the humiliation and begins a rebellion?
The Count of Wing Fort looked coldly at Fakenhaz, but the Duke ignored him.
“It doesn’t matter; chess skills are not the key, not the key,” Fakenhaz acted as if in deep thought, rubbing his palms together as if trying to squeeze out a chess piece. “The key is the player…think, Cyril, think, there must be a way…”
Derek’s attitude changed in a heartbeat.
“But just so we’re clear, Your Grace,” he said darkly, eyeing the muttering Duke of Western Desert, “if things don’t turn out well, I’m not planning to die with you.”
“Wing Fort has its own way out.”
However, Derek’s words fell on deaf ears as Fakenhaz stayed focused on his chessboard, staring intently at his bare and vulnerable king.
“It’s alright. Keep thinking. Keep thinking. Until the sun sets or the sun rises, there must be a way to break this stalemate…”
the sun sets…
the sun rises…
Derek looked up and checked the sun’s position, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
“All right, Duke Cyril,” he said, having lost interest in the game. He impatiently knocked over his own white king, “It’s just a game of chess. I surrender.”
All of a sudden, there was a loud snap—Fakenhaz slammed his palm on his thigh.
“Do you see?!” he exclaimed.
The Duke, who had been lost in the game, suddenly sprang to life and returned to reality.
“See—” he pointed to the toppled white king and picked up his black king, laughing with excitement.
“Didn’t I win?!”
Derek’s expression twitched as he watched the ecstatic Duke of the Western Desert laugh uncontrollably.
‘You win, my ass…’
Fakenhaz savoured his triumph, laid down his chess piece with a feeling of accomplishment, and breathed a deep sigh. “Perseverance truly pays off, and hard work is always the key to success…” he murmured.
Derek’s facial expression contorted even further into an exaggerated grimace.
While Fakenhaz peered out of the Drifting Sands Palace, he was met with the stark and unyielding Ruins, as if nature had etched its harsh and unforgiving features into the very fabric of the land.
With a bang, he hit the table with a burst of emotion.
“This scenery, this game, this victory—it calls for a grand celebration!”
The Count of Wing Fort couldn’t bear it any longer and let out a resigned sigh, burying his face in his hands once again.
“Playing chess, playing chess. Indeed, what is being played is not a game or a piece,” Fakenhaz chuckled to himself. “It’s the chess player.”
Derek responded with a polite yet helpless smile.
‘Chess player, your mother!’
“You, my boy, you are too inexperienced, too eager to give up,…”
Derek finally ran out of patience,
“We played for two hours, and you took one and a half hours just to do your last move!”
He stood up and stormed off, muttering a curse under his breath, “Who the hell can beat you, anyway?”
Fakenhaz chuckled softly as he watched Derek’s temper flare.
Returning his attention to his chessboard, he gazed at his unshakeable black king. “My uncle could,” the Duke sighed, “and so could Midier.”
The Duke’s face became pale as a thought struck him.
He hurriedly rose and shouted, “Wait, wait, leave me the sword!”
“I won it fair and clean!”
[1] ‘割下了一大块肉’, lit. ‘Cut off a big chunk of flesh’. It’s used to describe the act of offering a significant sacrifice or making a large concession. In ancient cultures, cutting off a piece of one’s own flesh was a symbolic gesture of submission and remorse.
[2] ‘empty’, ‘行尸走肉’, (idiom) walking corpse—one who vegetates; utterly worthless person.
[3] ‘made them appear foolish’, the phrase “灰头土脸” literally means “ashen-faced and dusty” and is often used figuratively to describe someone who has suffered a humiliating defeat or setback.
[4] ‘ghastly’, ‘令人发指’, ‘to make one’s hair stand up in anger’ (idiom); to raise people’s hackles.
[5] These inserts are from the official translation, as the all others in this chapter.
[6] ‘longing for’; ‘梦寐以求’, (idiom) crave sth. So much that one even dreams about it—long (or yearn) for sth. Day and night; try to find even in sleep.
[7] ‘trapped internally and externally’; ‘内外交困’, (idiom) ‘beset with difficulties both at home and abroad’.
[8] Is ‘as if he wanted to crush the most precious thing in his mouth’ in the original, in the sense of intense determination or frustration, as if Anker is so fiercely determined that he would destroy something valuable in the process.
[9] This is a more literal translation. There’s a misinterpretation, Anker’s towards Thales’ question or mine towards this whole sequence ( I vote on this one). Like this: ‘Is she worthy? / Is she well’ to Anker’s reply ‘Absolutely/ The very best’. Anyway ‘她很好？; 最好的’
[10] ‘they’, 他 and 她, PY tā The pinyin is the same for both of genders. The 他 (in the raws) can be used for either sex when the sex is unknown or unimportant.
[11] ‘…never made in haste’; ‘一蹴而就’, (idiom) reach the goal in one step; accomplish one’s aim in one move.
[12] ‘calm assurance’; 胸有成竹, ‘to plan in advance’ (idiom); a card up one’s sleeve, forewarned is forearm.
[13] ‘hopelessly encircled’; 孤苦伶仃 ‘solitary and impoverished’ (idiom), 水泄不通 ‘not one drop can trickle through’ (idiom); fig. impenetrable (crowd, traffic).
[14] ‘棋逢对手’; (idiom) meet one’s match in a game of chess—be well-matched in a contest. I used an equivalent to the idiom here.
[15] ‘calmly’; 泰然自若, cool and collected (idiom); showing no sign of nerves.
[16] ‘authoritative and unwavering tone’; 斩钉截铁, ‘to chop the nail and slice the iron’ (idiom); fig. resolute and decisive.
[17] ‘already knowing’; 未卜先知, (idiom) know without consulting the oracle—have foreknowledge; be a seer.
