The Last Chess Game

ter of unparalleled skill, he had dominated the game for over three decades, his matches

ch-just one forfeited game and

e predictable: a morning walk along the Thames, a quiet breakfast, then afternoons spent in the local café, watching others play the game he had abandoned. Occasio

m something. He had never spoken about his abrupt retirement,

e letter

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e handwritten in perfect calligraphy. No return address, no postage

awaits. Midnight.

d the letter. Blackwood Manor. H

gy and games. The manor was rumored to have hosted secretive tournaments, where only the greatest minds were invit

nce-long ago. And he ha

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etter away. Burned it. Pret

mething uns

looked familiar, though he couldn't place it. More than that, it felt like

buttoned tightly against the London chill. He called for a cab, gave the driver an address he had

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desolate countryside. The iron gates creaked as they opened, as if welcoming an old friend. A lon

g open before

f aged wood and candle wax, as if t

stepped

standing at the far end was a butler in a

man said. "We have

wned. "Who

rd a set of double doors lead

have alrea

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e chess table, already set for play. The fire in the grand fireplac

caught as he r

nce Victor's fiercest rival. His cold blue

champion, now in her fifties,

had dethroned champions in his twent

professor who had once been

ster known for unpredictable p

far end of

tor did not

a sleek bun, her eyes unreadable. She looked at Victor as

ng back in his chair. "I was begi

pulse quickened. "Would have been rude

of you know who sent th

d all received identical letters. The

were already set up-but the position was o

n unfini

ga

e years ago-the match that had mad

tched. This was

butler stepped forward. "Th

ough the room. The candles flickered. And then, s

final gam

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