The Gambler's Strategy

As the Outer Gods, provoked by the taunts, declared their counter-bets one after another, the comment section was flooded in real-time with the Seven Calamities having a meltdown, veins popping in rage.

I narrowed my eyes, watching the chaotic mess of rowdy rascals on the monitor. "Maybe... this could be an opportunity."

I clicked to open the full map of this Sacrificial Festival attached to the announcement. Eight massive, creaky-looking wheels marked with red dots were scattered across the map, along with the locations of two steel gates where the survivors could escape.

"Hmm... eight wheels for eight mortals to turn and escape, huh..." I began ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to scan the map's flow and the flaws in its balance with a sharp, frantic gaze. And I discovered a few crucial facts.

If this map had been designed by a competent human game developer, they never would have overlooked such a fatal flaw in the pathing or the structural defect of the 'kiting' terrain that was far too advantageous for the survivors. There were areas that could clearly be called 'cheese spots'.

However, those arrogant Outer Gods in the gallery, who toyed with cosmic providence, were too busy designing the amusement of unilaterally playing with mortals—who were less than bugs in their eyes—to notice the shallow, trick-filled blind spots of the terrain. Only I, having spent thousands of hours diving into every kind of game like a total addict, could read those structural bugs and balance-breaking points.

Of course, there were plenty of game developers on Earth who would set up terrible balance and, when users complained, spout insane remarks like, "If you don't like it, go play another game," or "I think we did a pretty good job so far!" or those who were so overly steeped in ideologies like WOKE or DEI that they'd vomit on social media about "uneducated fools," only to "voluntarily resign"—which is to say, run away with their tails between their legs.

"If I can just properly exploit this flaw..." A sinister smile spread across my lips. "If I can offer a little advice to those survivors at the right timing... I could bet all my assets on a full survivor release, screw over the Seven Calamities, keep Aria alive, and sweep up ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all the divinity points from those arrogant bastards."

Of course, I couldn't let my guard down. "Sigh... come to think of it, I don't have an Apostle right now." I rubbed my forehead and let out a deep sigh. According to the system's damn rules, I could only issue an oracle if I had a formal contract with an Apostle. Since Aria had rejected the contract and I had burned it in a fit of rage, any way to directly instruct the survivors of the Sacrificial Festival or give them tips to run to the cheese spots was currently completely blocked.

"Besides, this isn't a game behind a monitor; for them, it's a bloody, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠real-life survival situation." I scratched my chin, recalling the horrific ecology of survival game users. Those Outer Gods were surely going to plaster the map with unfriendly, off-beat patterns and bizarre gimmicks, operating on a "You should've known better, right? ^^" mindset without even explaining them to the mortals experiencing it for the first time.

Even a party of high-level gamers would likely panic when faced with an unfamiliar situation. How much more so for these people from another world, forcibly kidnapped into this Sacrificial Festival where they had to run on their own two feet instead of using a keyboard and mouse? There would surely be plenty of them who would just go, "What do I do, what do I do..." and hide in the corner of a closet or a patch of grass all day instead of turning the wheels, only to get caught by the scruff of their necks and get 'bug-cut'.

Even if I, alone in my room, knew the flaws of the map, if they were too scared to move, the probability of a bet on all 8 people surviving would be overwhelmingly high.

"As expected, going all-in on a full release is too high-risk." I carefully calculated my remaining points. "Should I bet a small amount on a moderate, half-success condition—meaning 4 survivors? It'd be troublesome if I went all-in on one side and got liquidated by a crash. Even if the yield is lower, it's better to diversify risks for a safe bet."

Only after setting my betting strategy did a very fundamental problem hit me. "Ah, but I don't even have an ID in this gallery. I'm just a transparent, mobile user who can only lurk. Is it even possible to bet or write posts?"

Just as I was grumbling while aimlessly clicking the [Participate in Betting] button in the corner of the bulletin board announcement with my mouse, *Ding-!* As if it had read my mind, a new system notification popped up in the center of the monitor, dazzling with a golden glow.

I let out a dry laugh at the blatant advertisement text on the screen, dumbfounded. "What is this? It feels like it's filled with personal bias."

Phrases like "disguise yourself as an Asgardian" and "infinite trolling" were the very mindset of a malicious community user I'd seen somewhere before. Whoever it was, they were clearly desperate to get back at those arrogant Outer God gallery bastards. I touched my chin, lost in serious thought about whether to pay for the VPN.

"W-where am I?"

As soon as she regained consciousness, what pierced her nostrils was a sweet yet nauseatingly disgusting scent. The scenery all around had changed into something completely bizarre. The gloomy forest with the rising campfire from earlier was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she was in the middle of a vast orchard where hundreds of unknown, giant fruit trees stretched out endlessly, their branches twisted in grotesque shapes.

The problem was the fruit hanging from those trees. The fruits, the size of an adult's head, were covered in red and black spots and were already horribly rotting away. On the ground, the mushy pulp that had fallen from the trees was tangled with mud, emitting a putrid stench, and thick, deformed flies the size of thumbs were swarming over it in a black mass.

The sky was heavy, the ominous, burning blood-red sunset slowly fading away, with deep darkness pressing down on the orchard. Aria was flustered by the sudden spatial shift, but it was something she had somewhat expected. Suppressing her heart, which was beating wildly, she hurriedly looked around. Beside her, neither the large beast-kin, the boastful wizard, nor even Claudette could be seen. Only a chilling solitude and silence filled the orchard's rotten air.

"Buzz— buzz—"

A swarm of plump, mutant flies hovered annoyingly around Aria's sweat-drenched silver hair and face. Aria irritably shooed the flies away and quickly steeled herself. 'The flies aren't the problem. I have to find the waterwheel.'

There was only one thing she had to do for survival. Find that giant device, which must be lying around somewhere, and run like mad. When Aria cautiously turned her body, she saw a massive steel structure standing right in front of her.

"Ah... the escape route."

It was a giant steel gate that soared as if to pierce the sky. Beside the thick, tightly closed iron door was a bizarre lever with dried blood on it. Fortunately, the location of the escape route was, by some stroke of luck, right behind her starting point. But naturally, there was no way that door would open right now. Until all eight devices were turned and blood was supplied to that steel gate, the door was nothing more than a giant piece of scrap metal mocking her despair.

'Just what kind of horrific monster... no, what kind of minion of the Outer Gods will pop out of this darkness?' Aria gulped, her body shuddering at the terrible imagination. It was obvious that some unknown, cruel, and terrifying entity was roaming between those rotten trees, aiming for their throats.

She gripped the hem of her white priestess robe tightly and took a step. *Crunch. Rustle.* Every time she stepped on the rotten fruit and decayed leaves scattered on the ground, a chilling sound broke the silence of the orchard. Fearing that the small noise might reach the ears of that entity, Aria walked with bated breath, standing on her tiptoes.

Every time she saw a phantom of something slithering past behind the dark tree trunks, she was overcome with heart-stopping terror and hid her body behind the trees. In the bizarre orchard filled only with the stench of rot and the sound of insects, the young saintess's precarious and desperate game of hide-and-seek, piercing through the darkness to find the means of escape and survival, had just begun.