Death's Chinchiro
We followed Richel into the camp commander's office. She slipped back into the military uniform she'd discarded earlier and began buttoning it up. Damn, what a waste. I could've enjoyed the view a little longer.
"Oh my, I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Captain Ersebet. As you can see, I'm the warden of the Xeno Prison Camp."
"Sergeant Major Richel, ma'am. I've heard plenty about your reputation."
"Oh? Was I that famous? By the way, who's the cute human guy and girl standing behind you?"
"I'm the mercenary Marquelon. This is my companion, Tirga."
Ersebet stepped close, leaning in until her face was right in front of mine, peering intently into my eyes. Another inch forward and we'd have been kissing. She lifted my chin with her index and middle finger, like she was petting a puppy.
"Hands off my master, elf."
"My, how scary. I was only playing around. Sorry about that."
If Ersebet had crossed the line or done anything stupid, Tirga would've turned her into an electric roast on the spot. Yet the warden showed no fear at Tirga's killing intent and replied with a breezy smile. As for me, I didn't mind a pretty elf lady getting this close. Her long black hair covering one eye and her seductive looks made her the perfect femme fatale. In short, she was gorgeous but extremely dangerous. Get tangled up with a woman like that and a man's life could go straight to hell.
"Anyway, let's get straight to business. Thanks for coming all this way, but the camp's at full capacity right now. I can't take any more prisoners."
"Is that so? Then we'll try another camp—"
"No, the others are in the same situation. Still, it would be a shame to waste the effort of our capable Imperial Guard member who went through all that trouble to bring us this trash, wouldn't it?"
"Thank you, Warden."
"So how about we play a little game for once?"
Ersebet pulled three dice and a rice-bowl-shaped container from her drawer. The game she suggested was Chinchiro. I wasn't sure if some transmigrator from Japan had spread it here, but dice gambling had been common even in the medieval era, so it didn't feel out of place.
Chinchiro was a simple dice game and a form of gambling. You rolled three dice at once and compared the results to see who got the better combination.
"But why the sudden game, Warden?"
"It's very simple. Normally people bet money in gambling, right? Here at Xeno Prison Camp, we gamble with the prisoners' lives instead. Think of it as chips that happen to be living things."
As expected, as expected, as expected—but she really wasn't your average crazy bitch. Using dice gambling to thin out the overflowing prisoners? And yet… why did that sound fun? My excitement spiked, and something down below stood at attention.
"Sounds entertaining."
"Oh? Interested, Marquelon?"
"I couldn't possibly pass up a game this fun."
So the three of us left the office and moved to a wide open space that looked like a parade ground. Prisoners in shackles brought over a large round table and two chairs. Three dice and one bowl sat on the table. Tirga wore a sour expression and refused to join, claiming no interest, while Richel said she had an urgent report to make to headquarters and disappeared somewhere.
Now that I looked closer, every prisoner had a vicious-looking bomb collar around their neck. The elves' technological prowess in this world must be considerable. Come to think of it, Ibre had mentioned something about devouring dwarven technology too.
Ersebet and I sat facing each other. Behind each of us stood roughly a hundred prisoners lined up in neat rows. Armed guards from the Imperial Guard, compound bows loaded with magazines, stood watch with cold eyes. Any wrong move and they'd shoot to kill on the spot.
"Now, does everyone know the rules of Chinchiro?"
"Yes, we do, Lady Ersebet."
"Good. In normal gambling, the winner takes chips equal to the bet. But our camp has different rules. You get to blow up as many of the opponent's prisoners as you bet. If you're unlucky, your own neck might go flying… just like this!"
Ersebet snapped her fingers. The collar on the orc standing right behind her exploded. The orc's head burst apart, scattering across the ground, and the headless body collapsed limply.
I've seen this in movies before. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I could almost hear the triumphant march playing.
There was a brief commotion, but Ersebet paid it no mind and continued explaining the hand rankings.
The best hand was 1-1-1. You could blow up five times as many prisoners as you bet. Next came any triple except 1s—2-2-2, 3-3-3, and so on. That let you blow up three times the bet. Third was 4-5-6, worth twice the bet. Fourth was a pair with one different die—for example, 3-3-5 was called "a 5 with eyes." Fifth was "no eyes," meaning no valid combination, or if any die rolled out of the bowl. The worst hand was 1-2-3. Rolling that meant you lost twice what you bet.
"Whoever loses all their living chips is defeated. We keep going until only one remains. Simple, right?"
This was practically a dark duel, or rather a dark game. Countless lives hung on each roll of my dice. The only difference was that even if I lost, my own life wasn't on the line…
"I have a question. What happens to the loser who loses all their chips?"
"Good question, Marquelon. There has to be a penalty for the loser."
Ersebet chanted something, and a vicious-looking dog collar and leash materialized in front of us. Surely that collar would explode too if things went wrong?
"The loser becomes the winner's dog for one full day. A dog must faithfully obey its master's commands."
"That sounds fun."
"Doesn't it? I think you and I get along quite well, Marquelon. I can see a faint but beautiful madness in those eyes of yours."
Thus began the deadly game of Chinchiro, played with prisoners and other races as stakes.
Being the gentleman I was, I took the first turn. "First" was also called "parent." You won the first roll with a 6, or 4-5-6, or any triple. Conversely, you lost with no eyes or 1-2-3. If you rolled a pair like 3s or 4s, the turn passed to the other player. Going first was high risk, high return.
"Alright, let's place our bets. I'll wager ten heads."
"Warden, is there an upper limit on bets?"
"No, but let's take it slow and enjoy ourselves."
She meant don't go all-in without thinking. I matched her and bet ten prisoners as well. I fiddled with the dice for a moment before tossing them into the bowl. They landed with a clear sound: 1-3-5. Not a valid hand. But I still had two rolls left. In Chinchiro, you could roll up to three times if you didn't get a hand.
The second roll came up 4-4-2. A pair of 2s. Too weak.
"Hmm, a pair of 2s. Going for the double, are we?"
"A woman's breasts come in pairs too, don't they?"
"That they do."
After that crude joke, Ersebet rolled. The dice left her hand, floated in the air, and dropped cleanly into the bowl. Hers showed 3-5-5. A pair of 5s. I had a pair of 2s; she had a pair of 5s. Since her hand was higher, I lost as the first player.
The moment the game ended, explosions rang out behind me. Ten sequential blasts later, the ten prisoners I'd bet were headless ghosts. Other prisoners dragged the headless corpses away like luggage. The survivors' faces showed a mix of emotions—fear that they might be next, or relief at still being alive.
"Well? How do you like the camp's version of Chinchiro?"
"I-it's… interesting."
Even I couldn't easily get used to a death game where necks kept exploding. Yet I didn't feel any revulsion or horror. Instead, adrenaline surged through me and I felt strangely excited.
"Let's keep going."
"Sure, Marquelon. My turn to go first this time. I'll bet ten again."
"Then I'll bet twenty."
"Oho, bold."
Ersebet rolled the dice around in her palm before tossing them with a confident flick. 1-2-5. No eyes, so she rolled again. The second roll was 2-5-1. Another no eyes.
"Last chance!"
With grim determination, Ersebet rolled once more. The final result was 1-1-4—a pair of 1s. The turn passed to me again.
My roll came up 3-2-5. No eyes. I rolled again and got 5-3-5—a pair of 5s. So close!
"Too bad, Marquelon."
Ten more died, then another twenty collars detonated in sequence. The staggered explosions were clearly intentional on Ersebet's part, maximizing the prisoners' terror for dramatic effect.
Losing twice in a row only made me more determined.
"I'm winning this time!"
"Good attitude. How many are you betting?"
"Twenty again."
"Alright. I'll match you."
I prayed to whatever god might be listening, just like when pulling a gacha, and threw the dice. 3-5-3. A pair of 5s. Again, just one off!
"Why couldn't it have been a clean 6 so I could win for once?!"
"My turn now. Prepare yourself, Marquelon."
Ersebet tossed the dice high. They all landed neatly in the bowl. The result was shocking.
"6-6-6?!"
"Looks like today's my lucky day."
The second-strongest hand. Any triple except 1s let you blow up three times your bet. Since she'd wagered twenty, that meant sixty of my prisoners would lose their heads in an instant.
The triumphant march played in my head once more. Some prisoners panicked and struggled, screaming they didn't want to die, but without removing the collars there was no escape. Nearly a hundred had been reduced to barely a dozen in moments.
So this was why real gambling was terrifying. If those had been money instead of prisoners, I'd have gone broke in seconds. Thank god it wasn't money. But if I kept losing like this, I'd end up as that scheming elf's dog. What the hell was I supposed to do?