Chapter 189: The Card Sharp
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 189: The Card Sharp
"And you are...?"
Rat King Sam, who had been about to leave, paused and turned toward the man across the gambling table.
The man had removed his black formal suit and draped it over his arm, revealing a form-fitting gray waistcoat and a crisp white shirt. The garments were clearly the work of a master tailor, cut to accentuate the lines of his physique and making him appear even more imposing.
Under the brim of his top hat, his features were sharp and deep-set, bearing the distinct characteristics of a Northern Slav—though it was rare to see a Slav with eyes of such clear, pale blue.
In the shadow of his hat, however, it was difficult for Sam to discern what lay hidden within those eyes.
"Bruce Wayne."
The man touched the brim of his hat, offering a polite, refined nod.
"Good evening, the honorable Mr. Sam."
"Bruce Wayne?"
Sam frowned, chewing on the name. He had spent a long time in the Lower District; by all rights, he should have known everyone of any significance, yet he had never heard this name before.
Was he just some green kid who had heard of Sam’s reputation from somewhere?
"My apologies, but I’m calling it a night," Sam said with a dismissive wave. "Go find someone else to play with."
"Is that so?"
Muen let out a sigh of regret. "What a pity. I heard the famous Mr. Sam was a master of the craft, so I came prepared with a few extra chips."
A silver case clicked open. With a crisp, metallic clatter, a flood of exquisitely crafted chips poured out, piling into a small mountain on the table.
It was ten million Emiels' worth of chips—ten thousand individual pieces. It was a mystery how they had all fit into such a small case, but as they cascaded out, burying nearly half the table, the visual impact was staggering.
In an instant, every eye in the casino was drawn to them. Gasps of "nouveau riche" echoed through the room.
"Since Mr. Sam doesn't have the time, I suppose I’ll just have to—"
"Wait!"
Sam suddenly sat back down, a glint in his eyes like a rat spotting a block of aged cheese.
"Who said I didn't have time?"
"But—"
"No 'buts'."
Sam’s gaze swept over Muen again. This time, he noticed the extravagant gold embroidery on the black formal coat draped over the man's arm.
As if remembering something, Sam raised an eyebrow.
"You aren't from Belland. You're from the Northern Territory?"
"Spotted so quickly? As expected of the legendary Rat King of the back alleys."
Muen removed his hat, revealing a striking head of... silver-white hair. He smiled.
"Indeed, I am from the North. I only recently arrived in Belland to see the world."
"No wonder..."
Sam licked his lips, his eyes burning with greed.
The Northern Territory was famous for its rare mineral deposits. Consequently, it was also famous for the "upstart" tycoons who owned them.
More money than brains, a thirst for booze, a crippling addiction to gambling, and a penchant for dressing like clumsy aristocrats despite being barely literate—these were the labels the world slapped on those northern nouveau riche.
Everywhere they went, Northern tycoons were the most beloved of guests.
After all, no one... was easier to fleece.
"What are you all standing around for?"
Sam barked at the surrounding staff.
"Provide the best service for my most distinguished guest, the dear Mr. Bruce!"
The previously quiet casino surged back to life.
Elegant music began to play. Waiters scurried about, bringing red wine and cigars to the VIP table.
Beautiful female dealers—wearing necklines that plunged dangerously low and skirts that barely covered their thighs—began organizing Muen's chips, "accidentally" flaunting their curves as they worked.
"Now that’s more like it."
Muen held a cigar in one hand and gave a female dealer’s backside a playful slap with the other. He let out a boisterous laugh as she squealed in surprise.
"It’s a long night; a man has to have some fun, doesn't he?"
"Mr. Bruce is absolutely right."
Rat King Sam rubbed his hands together excitedly. "Shall we begin, then?"
"Begin, begin!"
Muen waved a hand impatiently. "Start right now."
So impatient.
A cold, mocking smile flickered in the depths of Sam’s eyes.
I hope you’re still laughing when you lose the very pants you’re wearing.
"Well then, Mr. Bruce, since it’s just the two of us, why don't we settle this with Belland’s most popular game: Bass Poker?" Sam suggested, his fingers deftly flipping a chip.
"That sounds fine to me," Muen agreed with a smile.
Bass Poker was very similar to the Texas Hold'em of Muen’s previous life, albeit simplified.
After the dealer dealt two hole cards, the players placed an ante. Then, community cards were dealt face-up. Bets were placed after each round of community cards; a bet could not be lower than the ante, and a player's bet could not be lower than the previous player's.
One could fold, but there was no betting ceiling.
After three rounds, if no one had folded, the players compared their hands by suit and rank. The winner took the entire pot.
Winner-takes-all, fast-paced, low house commission, and incredibly simple rules—even the dregs of society whose brains had been rotted by alcohol and forbidden drugs could understand it. This had made it an overnight sensation in Belland’s Lower District.
It was said that even many of the noble lords in the Upper District were obsessed with the game.
However, many gangs loved it for a different reason...
"Mr. Sam, a thought just occurred to me."
"Oh? Please, speak your mind."
"You wouldn't happen to be a card sharp, would you?"
Muen rubbed his chin, looking serious.
"After all, I’m a stranger in a strange land. If you cheat, I’ll be completely helpless."
"Of course not."
Sam shrugged nonchalantly.
"You can rest easy, Mr. Bruce. According to the rules of this casino, anyone caught cheating is beaten to death."
"Oh? Does that include you?"
"Indeed. It includes me."
Sam held up one hand. It was only then that Muen noticed the man was missing a finger. "This was the price I paid for my arrogance and conceit when I was young. So, Mr. Bruce, you have nothing to fear. Of course, if you’re still worried, you are free to inspect all the equipment. You can even deal the cards yourself. If I cheat, my life is yours."
"I see..."
Muen pondered for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs.
"Forget it. I trust you, Mr. Sam. We have no grudge between us; you have no reason to screw me over."
"Naturally, Mr. Bruce. You will always be a friend of this casino."
Sam looked touched by Muen’s trust, but out of Muen’s line of sight, the corner of his mouth curled into a sneer.
What an idiot.
...
The game began.
The hole cards were dealt. Before a single bet was even placed, Sam saw a flash of joy on Muen’s face—poorly concealed and painfully obvious.
Did he get a good hand?
He’s an open book.
In that case, following the old rules, I’ll give him a little taste of victory first.
Sam’s eyes flickered. He didn't even look at his own hole cards; he simply tapped the table almost imperceptibly with his finger.
...
"First round: the winner is Mr. Bruce."
...
"Second round: the winner is Mr. Bruce."
...
"Eighteenth round: the winner is Mr. Bruce! Congratulations, sir, you have broken our casino’s consecutive win record!"
Amidst flowers, applause, spraying champagne, the admiring gazes of the crowd, and the soft flattery of beautiful women, the atmosphere in the casino reached a fever pitch.
The "New King of Gamblers," who had broken the record on his first visit, now had his feet propped up on the table. He had an arm around a scantily clad beauty and was reclining against a mountain of chips far larger than the one he had started with. He looked at Sam with pure disdain.
"Mr. Sam, you don't seem nearly as formidable as the rumors suggest."
"Haha, it’s simply that Mr. Bruce is too strong."
Sam "forced" a smile and wiped non-existent sweat from his brow.
"I have never faced an opponent as powerful as you. I’ve truly met my match."
"Hmph. True enough. Back in the North, I was invincible. They called me the Little Gambling King of the South," Muen bragged, swaying his head arrogantly.
"It’s only natural that you’d lose to me."
Are all Northerners such morons? Sam sneered inwardly.
But it seemed the fish was now firmly on the hook.
"Well then, Mr. Bruce, do you wish to continue? You’ve already won several million."
"Of course! My luck is hot right now. Keep 'em coming!"
...
Nineteenth round: Winner, Sam.
"Oh, what a shame. My streak is broken."
Muen didn't seem to care, pushing a large pile of chips forward.
"Again."
...
Twentieth round: Winner, Sam.
"It seems my luck is finally turning," Sam said with a laugh.
"Hmph, it’s only two rounds. What does that prove?" Muen said dismissively.
"Again!"
...
Twenty-fifth round: Winner, Bruce.
"See? See! I told you, those were just minor setbacks."
Having finally won again after several losses, Muen’s arrogance returned in full force. However, he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that his winnings this time were pitifully small.
"Again!"
...
As the night deepened, the atmosphere in the casino grew more intense.
Everything seemed to be moving toward a predestined conclusion.
Fortieth round: Winner, Sam.
"This... how is this possible?"
By now, "Gambling King" Bruce had lost all his earlier bravado. He stared at his cards, his face turning pale.
He had lost again. And this time, due to his own greed, he had lost a staggering five million!
The mountain of chips beside him had mostly vanished, leaving only a barren little hill.
Even the girls who had been throwing themselves at him moments ago had drifted away, to say nothing of the spectators, who were now jeering and booing.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Bruce?"
Sam asked with feigned concern as he enjoyed a shoulder rub from a female dealer.
"Are you feeling unwell? If you’re not up to it, we can pause..."
"Again!"
Muen’s eyes were bloodshot, like a beast that had lost its reason. "The next hand... I’ll definitely turn it around in the next hand."
"Very well."
Sam licked his dry lips, his mouth curling into an involuntary grin.
The kid looked like he still had plenty of money, but there was no need to take it slow anymore. It was time for the harvest.
Everything was going according to plan.
First, give him a taste of sweetness, make him feel like winning is easy. That way, he’ll always harbor the delusion that he can turn things around.
Then, gradually push him toward the abyss. And finally, in that moment of despair, give him a glimmer of hope.
Preferably a brilliant, incomparable hope.
At that moment, he would...
"All in! I’m going all in!"
With an excited roar, Muen shoved every single chip he had left into the center.
He stared at his cards, his body trembling uncontrollably. His eyes shone with a light that suggested he could already see a future where he won everything back.
And for good reason—the hand he held was Four of a Kind.
In this game, Four of a Kind was one of the strongest hands possible. An ordinary person could gamble away their entire family fortune without ever seeing one.
And now, on the brink of losing everything, he had drawn it...
Naturally, he would bet it all.
This was the gambler’s psychology. As a veteran of the pits, Sam understood this better than anyone.
From the very beginning, everything had been under his control.
"Not just these chips! I have deposits in the Imperial Bank, and several properties in Belland worth at least ten million. I’m betting it all!"
Crystal cards, land deeds, even his gold pocket watch—the man calling himself Bruce seemed to have gone mad, piling everything onto the table.
According to the rules, the stakes had to be equal.
"You... you aren't going to fold, are you?" The man suddenly looked up, realizing the madness of his actions, and stared nervously at Sam.
"No. Of course not."
Looking at the tens of millions in wealth laid out so easily, Sam’s mouth stretched into an exaggerated grin.
"To tell you the truth, my hand is also very strong. Why would I fold, Mr. Bruce?"
"Then your stakes..."
Sam’s current ten million or so in chips wasn't enough.
"The casino. I’ll bet this casino against you." Sam clapped his hands. As if they had been prepared all along, his subordinates placed the deed to the casino on the table.
The casino...
The man’s gaze swept over the room, his expression growing even more manic.
He seemed to see a future where he owned this gold mine of an establishment.
He couldn't wait a second longer to throw his cards down.
"Four of a Kind! I have Four of a Kind! Sam, you lose!"
At this, Sam’s smile grew even broader, his eyes filled with mockery.
What a fool.
Under normal circumstances, you would indeed win. After all, I made sure the dealer gave you those four cards.
But these are not normal circumstances.
The Rat King lowered his eyes to his own cards.
Perhaps the dealer had made a mistake; the hand was terrible, not even a pair.
But that didn't matter.
He extended a finger and gave one of the cards a subtle rub.
The value on the card instantly changed. And with that one change, the entire hand was transformed.
It became the highest-ranking hand in the game!
It wasn't magic; it was pure sleight of hand. Mana was too easy to detect. In contrast, these street-performer tricks, if practiced to perfection, were far harder to notice.
As for... cheating?
Heh. This wasn't cheating.
How can it be called cheating if you don't get caught?
Kid, let me show you the cruelty of the Lower District.
You don't even know how to palm a card. How did you expect to win against me?
"Mr. Bruce, I am truly sorry."
Sam laid his cards down gently, revealing the ultimate hand—one so rare that some players never saw it in a lifetime. He smiled with absolute confidence.
"It seems I was just a bit more skilled."
"..."
In that moment, the entire casino fell into a deathly silence.
It was as if everyone was stunned by the hand Sam had revealed.
This gave Sam immense satisfaction. He turned his gaze toward "Mr. Bruce," savoring the moment.
Watching the despair of others was his favorite pastime.
...
However, he did not see despair in those pale blue eyes.
Instead, he saw... amusement.
Pure, unadulterated amusement.
As if a grand performance had just concluded, the man calling himself Bruce placed his top hat back on his head. In an instant, he seemed to become a different person. The exaggerated, outward emotions were swallowed by the shadow of his wide brim, becoming inscrutable once more.
Only the mocking curve of his lips remained clear.
"Mr. Sam, what are you talking about? The winner... is me."
"You? Impossible! I have a—"
Sam looked down, and his expression instantly froze.
Before his disbelieving eyes, the hand that should have crushed everything had become humble and weak once more. It wasn't just weaker than Four of a Kind; it couldn't even beat the smallest pair.
Because...
The card he was supposed to have swapped away using his trick had somehow returned.
It sat there, crookedly tucked among the other cards, an eyesore of a failure.
"This... how is this possible?" Sam shrieked in horror.
It was back?
How the hell was it back?
He had swapped that card out!
Did the damn thing grow legs and walk back into his hand?
"Your highest card is an Ace. Mine is Four of a Kind. I believe it’s quite clear who won and who lost."
Muen pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Despite the heated atmosphere, the casino wasn't actually that hot, yet he was drenched as if he had just finished a grueling workout.
"In that case, all of this belongs to me."
Click.
The cold sound of a crossbow being cocked echoed through the silent casino.
Muen withdrew his hand and calmly looked up. He stared at the Magic Repeating Crossbow in Sam’s hand. His pale blue eyes, shrouded in shadow, remained as still as a deep pool.
"Mr. Sam, what is the meaning of this?"
"No! This is wrong!"
Seeing nearly fifty million in assets about to vanish into Muen’s pockets, Sam waved the crossbow, screaming desperately. "I was the winner! I swapped that card! My hand was the strongest!"
"Swapped?"
Muen cocked his head, as if hearing the word for the first time. He asked softly:
"Are you saying... Mr. Sam, that you were cheating?"
"Fuck you! You’re the one who cheated!"
Sam’s eyes were bloodshot as he glared at Muen.
"You must have done something! There’s no way I would have messed up! I never mess up!"
"Heh. Mr. Sam, if you’re going to accuse someone of cheating, you need evidence. Besides, by saying you 'swapped' a card, aren't you admitting to cheating yourself?"
Muen smiled. It was the brilliant, cold smile of a hunter who had finally seen the rabbit hop into his snare.
"Which means... not only the casino and the money, but your life... is mine as well."