The Gambler's Shackles
I looked down at Vargas with dry eyes. He was perched on an empty orc barrel, rolling a liquor bottle between his hands. From the pouch inside his coat, he pulled out a gold coin and flicked it lightly across his palm. The metallic tick, tick echoed low through the warehouse. This was the same lunatic famous for dumping every last copper he earned straight onto the gambling table. The weight of that pouch told me it was fresh, warm advance payment freshly squeezed from his client. He had already accepted the job.
“Vargas, I’ll speak in your language. Killing for money is business. But if you kill and the entire empire comes for your neck, that’s suicide.”
At my words, Vargas giggled and tucked the pouch back into his coat.
“Ooh, how scary. But Victor, you’re forgetting something. By the time the imperial army comes for us, we’ll already be in another city counting gold coins. Running away is one thing we’re better at than you.”
I leaned down until my face was inches from his. Close enough for my reflection to fill those unfocused eyes.
“Running? Sure, you’d manage that. But a newly appointed security officer sometimes throws out bait to rack up achievements. This is exactly that situation. What if that pouch now sitting in your coat is actually a noose tightening around your neck?”
Vargas’s fingertips stiffened almost imperceptibly. I fed information into his brain one piece at a time, letting suspicion poison him.
“First, you probably didn’t know those gold coins carry a ‘resonance tracking’ enchantment using mana. As long as they’re inside the empire’s borders, they can read your location like an open book. Second, the judge’s itinerary is far too detailed. That’s not a leak. It’s a trap designed to lure you to a specific point.”
Instead of answering, Vargas picked up a dagger and began roughly scraping under his own fingernails. Blood welled from the torn skin, but he didn’t stop. He was trying to cover his anxiety with madness. I drove in the final nail.
“Third, and most decisively… I received information that they’re moving at dawn today. To surround your hideout.”
It was all a lie, but my eyes were filled with such certainty that Vargas had no way to judge truth from falsehood. It was a lie, yet it was something that had actually happened in the past, and the level of detail made it impossible for him to call my bluff right then and there.
Vargas licked the blood off his fingers and laughed.
“Nice threat. Incredible imagination. As expected from the Ghost. But you see, there’s something I love far more than cold logic. It’s ‘luck.’”
Suddenly Vargas flipped over three drinking cups. A classic street shell game took shape.
“Want to bet? If you find the coin, I’ll wash my hands of this job. I’ll even hand you my life. But if you’re wrong, Victor, you’ll cough up a thousand gold coins and watch the judge’s head fly off. How about it?”
I had no use for this madman’s life, but I needed a solid shackle to bind his feet right now.
“Fine.”
I drew up the essence of the variant Twin Head Ogre. My blood vessels swelled, and my vision grew razor-sharp. In an instant, all the world’s noise receded and my sight became impossibly clear.
Vargas slipped the gold coin under one cup and began mixing them, but to my eyes every movement looked as slow as swimming through swamp water. With flashy sleight of hand he spun the cups, secretly palming the coin and hiding it. All three cups were empty.
“Vargas, do you know what happens to a gambler caught cheating in a bet?”
Vargas didn’t even blink as he giggled.
“Of course I do. Shoulders get cut off, or they make sure you can never gamble again. You have to accept it. But as you know, if the opponent doesn’t notice the trick, it’s the same as if the trick never happened. So, which one is it?”
I stared straight into his eyes and made a suggestion.
“How about we both step ten paces back from the cups so neither of us can cheat while checking?”
Vargas snorted.
“Aww, why so boring? The beauty of gambling is the deception happening right in front of your eyes, isn’t it? I refuse.”
At his brazen answer, I smiled and pointed at the second cup with my finger.
“The second cup. The coin is there.”
For a moment Vargas’s expression grew even more relaxed. After all, the coin was still in his hand.
“Oh, are you that confident? Looks like the Ghost’s luck ends here. I’ll kindly give you a chance to change your mind. Want to pick a different cup?”
I looked down at him indifferently and replied.
“Why would I need to change?”
Vargas excitedly slammed open the first cup with a flourish. It was empty, of course. He giggled, glancing back and forth between the remaining two cups, then snatched the third one with a confident hand.
Clink.
The moment he lifted it, an old gold coin rolled across the floor. Victory spread across Vargas’s lips.
“Oh dear, Victor. Looks like your luck really did run out here! Just surviving the imperial inspectors must have used up every bit of fortune you had for a lifetime. What a shame, what a shame, to fall apart right here!”
Vargas sighed theatrically and turned an empty liquor bottle upside down. He stuck out his tongue as if trying to lick even the last drop. He looked every bit the lunatic.
I watched him without moving a muscle and murmured quietly.
“Vargas. You haven’t opened the second cup yet. Shouldn’t you check?”
“Huh? Ah, the result’s already out. No need to rummage through a corpse, is there? Just prepare that fancy thousand gold coins of yours.”
He pranced over to the second cup in high spirits. But the moment he stood in front of it, his steps halted. Perhaps he felt the strange dissonance in the air. The playfulness slowly drained from his face, replaced by a rigid mask.
Vargas lifted the second cup with trembling hands, as if possessed. Beneath it, another gold coin gleamed.
“Putting two coins among three cups? How very generous of you.”
Vargas looked down at his own palm in shock. The coin he should have been clutching was still there. Yet at the same time, a second coin glittered beneath the second cup on the floor.
“Th-this can’t be! I definitely…!”
Vargas lunged forward in a frenzy, but I slammed killing intent into him instantly. The air inside the abandoned brewery froze solid, and he stiffened as if a blade were pressed to his throat.
“This… this is fraud! Two coins means the bet itself was invalid! It’s null and void, do it again!”
Vargas panted, pleading his grievance. If he revealed the coin hidden in his palm himself, it would prove my technique, but Vargas could never do that. It would be the same as confessing he had cheated. He knew better than anyone what happened to a shell-game hustler caught using tricks.
The burden of proof was on Vargas, but he didn’t even have the right to open his mouth. I coldly crushed his desperate logic.
“When did we ever agree that two coins would make the bet invalid? The cup I pointed to had a coin, and so did yours. I simply chose the cup that contained a coin.”
Vargas’s face flushed red then purple. He twisted his features, clearly hating to admit he had fallen for his own scheme.
I whispered softly into his ear.
“Do you remember the terms? If I found it, you agreed to become my dog. Or… should I just kill you here? That might be cleaner for someone who follows luck like you.”
The madness vanished from Vargas’s face, replaced by a terrible thirst. It was the look of a gambling addict who would go insane if he didn’t know the answer. He grabbed my trouser leg and clung to me.
“Please, how did you do it? Huh? Why did the coin come out there? Was it magic? Or some god’s prank? Tell me, please tell me!”
I looked down at his ugly, contorted face.
“You want to know the method? Then accept my proposal. Report to your client that surveillance is too tight and it will take time. Keep pretending to attempt the assassination while blocking information so no one else can interfere. Hold out for four months, and I’ll tell you the secret of that coin.”
“Four months? No, that’s too long! One month—no, just fifteen days!”
“That won’t do. Then let’s make it five months.”
Vargas’s face turned deathly pale. He seemed to instinctively realize that if he opened his mouth again, the period would stretch into years.
“Ah, no! Four months! I’ll stay dead quiet for exactly four months! So please, you have to tell me!”
He shouted desperately and clutched the gold coin on the floor as if it were precious. Then his eyes flashed again with a sly smile.
“Alright, then how about one more bet to shorten that period—”
“Shut your mouth.”
I cut him off sharply.
“Four months is simply the price for the technique that put the coins there. Remember the result of the bet. I hold your life in my hands. Don’t forget it.”
Vargas made a strange expression as if he still had some other scheme in mind, but he eventually nodded. I knew his obedience wasn’t sincere. It didn’t matter. In the end, he would never be able to escape the bait of the answer I had thrown him.
Before leaving the brewery, I stopped as if something had just occurred to me and asked.
“Vargas, how many men do you have under you right now?”
“About ten. All pretty useful scraps.”
“Tell every last one of them. For this job, everyone must move in perfect sync. The moment even one of you acts out or moves independently, the ‘technique’ you’re so desperately waiting for will go with you to the grave.”
At my warning, Vargas’s eyes widened instantly. He nodded frantically, afraid I might change my mind.
“Got it, I got it! I’ll keep my brats on a tight leash, so don’t worry. Four months, right? For four months we’ll be quiet as dead mice.”
It was late at night, and faint moonlight flowed down the heavy outer walls of the mansion. The combat slaves guarding the main gate bowed with military precision, offering silent greetings. I headed straight for the bedroom.
When I opened the door, a peaceful scene unfolded beneath the soft moonlight. Rua was snoring quietly in her place, fast asleep, while Silvia sat beside her, gently patting the child’s back. Her rhythmic touch calmed the air.
Silvia, sensing my presence, lifted her head. She rose without a sound and approached, then with familiar hands took the heavy coat from my shoulders. The damp night air, the stench of the tavern, and the musty smell of the abandoned brewery clung to the fabric and touched her fingertips, but Silvia showed no reaction and continued her work.
“I want to wash. Prepare it.”
At my quiet command, Silvia met my eyes and bowed her head.
“May I attend you, Master?”
“Do so.”
With that short reply, I moved ahead to the bathhouse. I submerged myself in the tub where hot steam rose in thick curls. As the tension melted and my taut nerves began to loosen, I heard the door open followed by quiet footsteps.
When I turned my head, Silvia stood beyond the steam. Water droplets clung to her shoulders, barely covered by a single thin towel, glittering in the light of the magic lantern. She carefully bent at the waist outside the tub, and the towel—too small to contain her—revealed the full, curving lines of her body through the white mist.
She had shed her usual neat maid uniform and now knelt at the edge of the bath, wearing only the posture of one awaiting my command.
“Is the temperature to your liking?”
Silvia calmly prepared to wipe my body from outside the tub, watching my expression. I stared at her moist eyes and murmured softly.
“Come in.”
For a moment Silvia’s shoulders visibly flinched. Her normally calm eyes wavered, unable to find their anchor. She was clearly flustered, but she could not dare disobey my order. She gripped the edge of the towel tightly, then, as if having made up her mind, slowly stepped into the tub.
With a splash of water, warm heat drew near. Whether from the heat or something else, Silvia’s cheeks were flushed redder than usual.
“…Excuse me, Master.”