Snow fell quietly beyond the palace windows.
The night had grown colder again.
Even inside his chambers, warmth from the brazier only softened the edges of winter rather than removing it completely. Orange firelight flickered gently across the stone walls while shadows shifted faintly through the room.
On the low table beside him rested Échecs Humains.
Closed for once.
Rudura leaned back against the edge of his bed with another book resting in his hands instead.
Not military records.
Not palace documents.
Just a novel.
An older one taken from the palace library several days ago after wandering through the archive wing.
At first, he picked it up absentmindedly.
Mostly because he grew tired of reading administrative reports and historical records constantly.
The story itself followed a fictional noble family during a civil conflict between rival kingdoms.
Nothing extraordinary.
Still
the writing held his attention surprisingly well.
Tonight, Rudura had already read through more than half the book.
The brazier crackled softly nearby while he turned another page.
Inside the story, tensions between two noble brothers had slowly worsened for several chapters.
One patient.
One impulsive.
Rudura frowned slightly while reading.
The younger brother reminded him of several palace trainees he'd met recently.
Talented.
Emotional.
Desperate to prove himself.
Meanwhile the older brother remained calmer and politically careful.
The contrast felt intentional.
Rudura continued reading quietly.
The younger brother had just returned from a failed military campaign within the story.
Humiliated.
Frustrated.
And now a confrontation scene began inside the royal court.
Rudura adjusted slightly against the bed while continuing.
The younger brother entered the court already angry.
That much became obvious immediately from the dialogue.
Even before the argument itself began.
Every response sounded defensive.
Sharp.
Impatient.
The older brother, meanwhile, answered briefly.
Carefully.
Rudura narrowed his eyes faintly.
Without realizing it, he had already started analyzing the conversation rather than simply reading it.
The younger brother accused others quickly.
Explained himself repeatedly.
Raised his voice often.
The older brother barely interrupted.
Mostly listening.
Then responding with short statements.
As the argument continued, the younger brother gradually revealed more than intended.
His resentment.
His jealousy.
His insecurity toward his older brother's position.
Not intentionally.
Emotion simply stripped away restraint.
Rudura slowly lowered the book slightly.
Interesting.
The story suddenly felt strangely familiar psychologically.
He remembered another line from Échecs Humains immediately.
The more you say, the more likely you are to reveal weakness.
At first, Rudura assumed the chapter exaggerated things slightly.
Now
even inside fiction
he noticed how naturally emotion affected speech.
The younger brother in the story kept talking.
Trying to regain control of the conversation.
Yet with every sentence, he lost more of it.
Because his emotions became increasingly visible.
Meanwhile the older brother remained controlled throughout the exchange.
Short answers.
Measured wording.
Minimal reaction.
And strangely
despite speaking less, the older brother gradually dominated the entire scene.
Not through authority alone.
Through restraint.
Rudura leaned thoughtfully against the wall behind him.
The realization unsettled him slightly.
Not because the fictional scene was dramatic.
Because it felt believable.
Very believable.
He continued reading.
Eventually the younger brother shouted accusations openly in front of the court.
At that point, even other characters inside the story became uncomfortable.
Not because his arguments were entirely wrong.
Because he exposed too much emotion.
Too much desperation.
And once people noticed desperation
they stopped respecting the argument itself.
Rudura frowned faintly.
That part interested him most.
Humans reacted differently to emotional speech.
The moment someone appeared emotionally uncontrolled, people instinctively viewed them differently.
Less composed.
Less authoritative.
Even if their words still carried truth.
The fictional confrontation eventually ended with the younger brother storming out of the royal court after revealing more than he intended publicly.
Not secrets exactly.
Himself.
Rudura stared silently at the page afterward.
Then slowly closed the book against his knee.
The brazier crackled quietly nearby.
Outside, winter wind brushed softly against the palace windows.
For several moments, Rudura simply thought.
The younger brother lost control of the interaction the moment emotion overruled restraint.
Not because anger itself was weakness.
Because uncontrolled emotion exposed vulnerability naturally.
Jealousy.
Fear.
Insecurity.
Speech carried those things visibly once restraint disappeared.
Rudura opened the book again.
This time, he reread parts of the confrontation more carefully.
Now he noticed details differently.
The younger brother constantly tried explaining himself.
Meanwhile the older brother rarely explained anything unnecessarily.
That imbalance alone shifted the power within the scene.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Rudura rested one hand lightly against his chin.
Then another thought surfaced.
People often spoke most when emotionally unstable.
He had already observed similar things recently within the palace.
Nervous attendants overexplaining mistakes.
Nobles speaking too much while trying to impress others.
Officials becoming defensive during discussions.
Emotion weakened restraint constantly.
The fictional story simply made the pattern easier to recognize.
Rudura kept reading.
Later chapters showed consequences from the argument spreading through the court.
Rumors.
Embarrassment.
Political damage.
The younger brother's emotional outburst changed how others perceived him afterward.
Not entirely because of what he said.
Because of how he said it.
Rudura exhaled slowly.
"…So even truth becomes weaker when emotion controls it."
The thought lingered heavily in his mind.
The older brother inside the story wasn't necessarily kinder.
Or morally superior.
Simply calmer.
And because of that, others viewed him as more reliable.
The realization felt frustratingly realistic.
After another hour of reading, Rudura finally placed the novel aside beside the brazier.
His thoughts remained fixed on the confrontation scene.
Especially one moment near the end.
The younger brother shouted:
"You always wanted me beneath you!"
That line changed everything inside the scene immediately.
Because suddenly his insecurity became visible to everyone.
Before that moment, his anger still looked political.
Afterward
it became personal.
Emotional.
Transparent.
Rudura stared quietly into the firelight.
The entire argument collapsed after that sentence.
Not strategically.
Psychologically.
Because once people understood the emotion beneath his words, they stopped viewing him the same way.
The thought connected sharply with Chapter IV again.
Almost too perfectly.
Eventually, Rudura reached for Échecs Humains beside the table.
The familiar dark cover reflected faint orange firelight.
He opened it quietly.
Frrt.
The pages shifted softly beneath his fingers until his eyes settled once more on Chapter IV.
The emotional man reveals himself faster than the observant man realizes.
Rudura stared at the line silently.
Then reread it again.
Outside, snow continued drifting through the darkness beyond the palace windows.
The brazier cracked softly nearby.
He thought back toward the fictional confrontation once more.
The younger brother probably believed speaking passionately would strengthen his position.
Instead
his emotions exposed him completely.
Not because passion itself lacked value.
Because uncontrolled emotion weakened restraint.
And restraint controlled perception.
The realization settled deeper into Rudura's thoughts now.
Not coldly.
Not cynically.
Just realistically.
Humans revealed themselves most when emotions overcame awareness.
Anger.
Fear.
Jealousy.
Pride.
Those emotions pushed words outward carelessly.
The quieter person often gained advantage simply by remaining composed longer.
Rudura leaned back slowly against the bed.
Then suddenly remembered several conversations from recent weeks within the palace.
The noble who kept boasting repeatedly.
The nervous servant overexplaining mistakes.
The military trainee proudly repeating praise from instructors.
All of them revealed more than intended emotionally.
Not because they were foolish.
Because emotion naturally pushed people toward speech.
The fictional story simply made the pattern impossible to ignore.
For a long while, Rudura sat quietly listening to the fire.
Then eventually lowered his eyes toward the novel resting nearby again.
Strangely enough
he almost felt sympathetic toward the younger brother.
The character wasn't evil.
Just emotional.
Human.
And perhaps that was exactly why he failed.
Rudura slowly closed Échecs Humains afterward.
The room fell silent again except for the brazier's soft crackling.
Finally, he muttered quietly to himself:
"…The moment he became emotional, he stopped controlling the conversation."
(Continued in Chapter 72)