Snow had stopped sometime before dawn.
By morning, the palace rooftops stood covered beneath pale layers of white while weak winter sunlight stretched across the capital through drifting clouds.
Inside his room, warmth from the brazier pushed gently against the cold air.
Rudura sat beside the low table near the window, one knee raised slightly while Échecs Humains rested open before him.
The room remained quiet except for the occasional crackle of burning charcoal.
For several moments, he simply stared at the title again.
Chapter IV, Always Say Less Than Necessary
The words carried a strange kind of weight after last night.
Especially after thinking about the intruder.
Rudura lowered his gaze toward the first page and began reading slowly.
When you speak too much, you surrender control over your image.
His eyes narrowed faintly.
That sentence immediately sounded more practical than philosophical.
He continued.
The more words a man uses, the easier it becomes to understand him.
Rudura leaned slightly back.
"…That's not entirely wrong."
People revealed things constantly while speaking.
Emotion.
Confidence.
Insecurity.
Intentions.
Sometimes without realizing it.
He turned another page quietly.
Powerful men rarely rush to fill silence.
That line made him pause longer.
Because instantly
he thought of his father.
Emperor Chandragupta rarely wasted words.
Even during formal discussions, he often listened longer than he spoke.
At the time, Rudura simply viewed it as discipline.
Now he wondered if silence itself carried influence.
He kept reading.
Silence forces others to reveal themselves first.
The brazier crackled softly nearby.
Rudura frowned faintly.
"…That sounds manipulative."
The thought came naturally.
Because the chapter almost treated conversation like positioning in combat.
Still
the more he thought about it, the less unreasonable it sounded.
In arguments, people often rushed to explain themselves.
To justify.
To defend.
Meanwhile, the quieter person usually observed more.
The realization lingered quietly in his mind.
Outside, distant footsteps echoed faintly through the corridor.
Rudura lowered his eyes back toward the page.
Men fear uncertainty more than direct opposition.
Another uncomfortable sentence.
Not because it sounded dramatic.
Because it sounded true.
Uncertainty created hesitation naturally.
When people lacked information, they filled gaps themselves.
Exactly like he had done with the intruder.
Rudura slowly exhaled.
"…So silence creates pressure."
The chapter continued calmly afterward.
No exaggerated claims.
Just observation after observation regarding speech, restraint, and human reaction.
The careless speaker reveals weakness without noticing.
Rudura immediately thought of several palace nobles.
Especially during gatherings.
Some talked endlessly trying to appear intelligent.
Others barely spoke at all.
And strangely
people often paid more attention to the quieter ones.
At the time, Rudura assumed it came from status alone.
Now he wasn't entirely sure.
He closed the book briefly against the table and stared toward the snowy palace gardens outside his window.
The chapter disturbed him less than expected.
Not because he fully agreed with it.
Because much of it already existed around him naturally.
The palace itself functioned through careful speech.
Measured wording.
Indirect meaning.
Controlled expression.
Even ordinary conversations often carried restraint beneath them.
Rudura opened the book again.
Words spoken carelessly cannot be reclaimed.
That line felt obvious.
Yet important.
Especially inside royal courts.
One careless statement could alter alliances, trust, perception.
Speech carried consequences more heavily around power.
Perhaps that was why experienced officials spoke carefully.
Not because they were mysterious.
Because they understood risk.
Rudura rested one hand lightly against his chin thoughtfully.
"…Speaking less alone doesn't make someone wise though."
That point still mattered.
Silence could also hide stupidity.
Cowardice.
Uncertainty.
The book occasionally treated restraint almost too positively.
Still
its observations remained difficult to dismiss entirely.
By midday, Rudura left his room and wandered toward the western palace corridors.
Cold sunlight filtered through the tall stone arches while servants moved quietly between halls carrying folded cloth and metal trays.
As usual, the palace never truly stopped moving.
Rudura walked slowly, hands resting behind his back.
His thoughts still lingered on the chapter.
Especially the idea of silence affecting interaction itself.
That sounded strange initially.
But now he wanted to observe it more carefully.
As he approached one of the inner administrative halls, voices drifted faintly through the open doorway nearby.
Several military officers stood around a long table reviewing reports.
Rudura stopped near the corridor entrance instinctively.
Not hiding.
Simply observing.
One officer spoke continuously while pointing toward a map spread across the table.
"…the southern routes remain inefficient because supplies continue arriving late from the outer checkpoints and if we continue delaying adjustments then—"
He kept talking.
Explaining.
Repeating.
Expanding every point.
Meanwhile another older commander remained mostly silent.
Listening.
Watching.
Only occasionally responding with short questions.
At first, the younger officer controlled the discussion through sheer volume.
But gradually
something shifted.
The more the younger man explained, the more defensive he sounded.
More eager to justify himself.
Meanwhile the older commander barely reacted emotionally at all.
Finally, after nearly several minutes of explanation, the older man simply said:
"Then shorten the route."
Silence followed immediately.
The younger officer blinked.
"…Sir?"
"The western checkpoint is unnecessary. Remove it."
Short.
Simple.
Decisive.
Suddenly the entire conversation moved around the older commander's words instead.
Not because he spoke more.
Because everyone listened when he did speak.
Rudura stood silently outside the doorway.
Watching.
The chapter surfaced inside his mind again.
The more you say, the more common you appear.
He disliked how accurate that suddenly felt.
The older commander hadn't sounded mysterious.
Just controlled.
The difference mattered.
Rudura resumed walking afterward, thoughts growing heavier with every observation.
Throughout the afternoon, he began noticing speech differently everywhere.
Servants speaking quickly when nervous.
Officials carefully choosing wording.
Guards answering directly and briefly.
Even casual palace interaction carried patterns once observed closely enough.
Near sunset, Rudura entered one of the smaller dining chambers for evening tea.
Several nobles sat nearby discussing trade matters while servants moved quietly through the room.
Rudura took a seat near the side window silently.
One noble in particular dominated conversation almost constantly.
Complaints.
Predictions.
Long explanations.
Another older man beside him barely spoke.
Yet strangely
the table reacted more carefully whenever the quieter noble finally added something.
Short comments shifted discussion more effectively than long speeches.
Again
restraint altered attention.
Not magically.
Psychologically.
Humans naturally valued controlled speech differently.
The realization settled slowly inside Rudura's mind.
A servant approached his table quietly.
"Tea, Your Highness ?"
"Yes."
The servant poured carefully before bowing slightly.
Rudura noticed something else then.
Normally he answered quickly during interactions.
Today he paused slightly before speaking each time.
Not intentionally.
The chapter simply remained inside his thoughts now.
Making him more aware of words themselves.
That realization almost annoyed him.
Because again
Échecs Humains wasn't merely changing his opinions.
It was altering how he observed ordinary behavior.
The servant left quietly afterward.
Rudura stared into the steam rising from the tea cup.
Then thought back toward his father again.
Chandragupta never rushed speech.
Neither did Queen Devi.
Even Chanakya rarely wasted unnecessary words.
At the time, Rudura viewed it simply as maturity or authority.
Now he wondered if restraint itself helped create authority too.
Not silence alone.
Controlled silence.
There was a difference.
Night settled gradually across the palace afterward.
By the time Rudura returned to his room, darkness had already covered most of the capital beyond the windows.
The brazier still glowed warmly near the wall.
Rudura sat beside it quietly and reopened Échecs Humains once more.
The chapter's final pages remained shorter than usual.
Almost intentionally restrained themselves.
That detail nearly made him laugh.
He continued reading.
Men reveal themselves while attempting to impress others.
Another line followed beneath it.
The wise listener gathers more than the eager speaker realizes.
Rudura stared at those words silently.
Then suddenly remembered the military officer from earlier.
The younger man revealed frustration, uncertainty, defensiveness
all while trying to appear knowledgeable.
Meanwhile the older commander revealed almost nothing unnecessary.
Not because he hid everything.
Because he controlled what he exposed.
Rudura leaned back slowly.
The chapter's meaning finally settled more clearly now.
Speaking less wasn't about pretending to be mysterious.
It was about maintaining control over what others understood about you.
That idea felt far more reasonable.
And far more dangerous.
Outside, winter wind brushed softly against the palace windows while distant torchlight flickered faintly across the snow-covered courtyards.
Rudura lowered his gaze toward the final lines of the chapter.
Silence unsettles men because they rush naturally to fill it.
He closed the book slowly afterward.
Thump.
The room fell quiet again.
For several moments, Rudura simply listened to the fire crackling beside him.
Then he thought back toward every conversation he observed today.
The officers.
The nobles.
The servants.
Again and again
people reacted to silence instinctively.
They explained more.
Filled pauses.
Revealed emotion.
Not because silence possessed power itself.
Because humans disliked uncertainty.
Rudura exhaled slowly into the quiet room.
Then finally muttered to himself:
"…People fear what isn't revealed."
(Continued in Chapter 69)