Chapter 477: The Winner of the Wager
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 477: The Winner of the Wager
"He actually managed to escape?"
Once the explosions subsided and the flames died down, Gentleman Gro hurried anxiously to the breach in the cabin, poking his fat head out to scan the surroundings.
But the calm surface of the river revealed nothing but the cargo ships docked at the port.
The occasional ripple was merely the work of a restless little fish, venting its nocturnal energy upon the water.
"Stop looking. Sam has always been an excellent swimmer," Old Ghost said, snuffing out the last of the rainbow light before him until not a speck of ash remained. "The Gulain River is a hundred meters wide at its broadest point and winds through the entire city. Finding him in these waters is next to impossible."
"Then what do we do?" Gentleman Gro turned back, his voice rising in accusation. "This isn't what we agreed upon! We said we’d use the Rat King’s resources and channels to open up a market for my goods! Do you have any idea how important this is? This concerns—"
"I don't need a lecture from you!"
With a sharp wave of Old Ghost’s hand, the chair behind him disintegrated into sawdust. Gentleman Gro instantly pulled his neck in, falling as silent as a cicada in winter.
"The Rat King escaped, but the Rat Society can't. As long as he’s dead, the Rat Society will still fall right into my lap."
"But he’s already gone..."
"He can't stay underwater forever. Besides..." Old Ghost looked at Gentleman Gro with a half-smile. "If you want me to help you regain control of the Lower District, isn't it time for... no, for what your people promised to make its appearance?"
*
That night, unlike the Upper District which remained ablaze with lights, the Lower District looked exceptionally peaceful under the shroud of darkness.
An unmarked, ordinary carriage rolled through the pitch-black streets. The rhythmic clop-clop of hooves broke the silence of the alleys, yet behind the tightly closed doors and windows, not even a candle flickered.
Inside the carriage, Seniel sat with his eyes closed, resting his mind while stroking the long flute in his hands.
However, the slight furrow in his brow suggested that his inner state was not as tranquil as his outward appearance.
"Have you made up your mind, Mr. Seniel?"
Suddenly, the sound of fluttering wings filled the air. A red-breasted, white-crowned robin perched on the carriage window, looking down at the pensive man.
"Time is running out. You need to give me an answer."
"..."
Seniel rubbed the flute forcefully, his voice raspy. "The Royal Mage Corps should only act on behalf of His Majesty."
"Yes, quite right. You are indeed a prestigious Royal Mage now, Mr. Seniel." The robin hopped once, tilting its head with a mocking glint in its eyes. "But you seem to have forgotten: after your father’s business went bankrupt, whose patronage allowed you to continue studying expensive magic at the finest academy?"
"Those were loans!" Seniel’s fists clenched abruptly, the veins on the back of his hands bulging. "I will pay them back!"
"Heh, Mr. Seniel, the mere willingness to lend you money was already a tremendous favor, wasn't it? Besides, His Majesty wouldn't be so generous as to gift you such a fine thing."
The robin glanced at the bone-white flute in Seniel’s hand, its expression growing even more derisive.
Sensing the bird's gaze, Seniel’s expression turned indignant. He jerked as if struck by an electric shock, looking as though he wanted to hurl the flute away.
But his hand only rose slightly before he hesitated, seemingly unable to part with such a precious object. Instead, he gripped the flute tighter, his fingers tracing it with a lingering tenderness.
"I will act for you in a private capacity. Just this once," Seniel said, his head bowed.
"Heh, very well. I look forward to your performance." The robin spread its wings and took to the sky. "I wish you success, the 'promising' Royal Mage Seniel. A bright future awaits you."
*
"Cough... Dammit... I nearly froze to death in that river. I haven't been this pathetic in a long time. Has my stamina really dropped this much?"
On a remote stretch of the riverbank, the Rat King struggled to crawl out of the water. After spitting out several mouthfuls of river water, he collapsed onto the shore as if drained of all strength, panting heavily as he looked up at the darkening sky.
In his youth, he could have easily swum in this river for hours. But now, just to evade Old Ghost’s pursuit, he had swum a bit further than usual, and the bite of the icy water had left him feeling like his body couldn't keep up.
"Damn it. When I get back, I’m making up for every missed workout."
The Rat King irritably rubbed the belly he had grown during these past few months of comfort, then rolled over and sat up.
Now was not the time to rest. Given Old Ghost’s methods, his plan to return to the Lower District wouldn't be as simple as luring Sam onto a boat for a few threats.
Intimidation and action would surely happen simultaneously. Perhaps in the few minutes he had spent lying here catching his breath, Old Ghost was already plotting how to deal with a leaderless Rat Society.
The Rat King’s mind raced. Knowing that Old Ghost must have planted moles in the Lower District, he considered which trusted subordinates to contact first. He hugged the shadows of the walls, masking his presence as he moved swiftly toward one of the Rat Society’s safe houses in the area.
Whatever happened, he had to ensure his own safety first...
"Ooh..."
Suddenly, the Rat King froze.
He snapped his head up, looking around with a grim expression.
The secluded alley was empty of any other figure.
And yet, a plaintive, weeping flute melody drifted through the air, mingling with the wind.
The music seemed to be searching for something, leisurely weaving through the streets and alleys. When a low, shallow note drifted near the alley where the Rat King stood, the flute suddenly surged, erupting like a clap of thunder.
"Damn it! A mage!"
The Rat King cursed under his breath, dragging his exhausted body into a faster pace.
He knew he had been found, but the enemy’s position shouldn't be too close yet. He had to put distance between them immediately. Once a mage’s spell fully locked onto him, he would truly be trapped.
But before he had gone far, the flute music grew even clearer.
Though he knew nothing of music, he could actually see countless wisps of green smoke rising from the melody. He saw scantily clad beauties posing seductively, approaching him with graceful, swaying dance steps...
"To hell with this! You think I haven't seen a woman before?"
The Rat King shook his head violently to clear his mind, then unhesitatingly raised his military repeating crossbow, aiming at the distant figure playing the flute.
Thwip—
The bolt flew.
But the scene before the Rat King’s eyes flickered, and he saw the expensive magical bolt disintegrate in mid-air, failing to even get within ten paces of the figure.
"Shit... sending a mage of this caliber to kill a commoner like me... Old Ghost really went all out..."
Seeing his life-saving crossbow fail for the second time that day, the Rat King only had time to mutter a few words.
Then, as the flute music surged, the light in front of him distorted. An invisible force struck him squarely in the chest with pinpoint accuracy.
"Pfft..."
The Rat King was sent flying back pathetically, slamming into the wall behind him before collapsing into a heap on the ground.
He coughed up bright red blood. His chest showed a faint indentation; there was no telling how many ribs were broken.
Had the opponent intended to take his life, he would likely be a corpse by now.
Even so, it was a devastating injury for the Rat King. As his strength ebbed away, his vision began to blur.
At the threshold of death, countless images flashed before his eyes. He saw himself kneeling respectfully, groveling like a dog before Old Ghost, the noble lords, and those high-and-mighty figures.
He also saw his brief, hard-won brilliance within the "red line" after expanding the Rat Society using his status as the "Emperor’s Confidant."
Finally, the images circled back and, for some reason, settled on a figure in a black formal suit and a tall top hat.
"Cough, cough... Dammit... what kind of stupid fantasies am I having? If he hasn't shown up by now, he’s probably never coming."
The Rat King’s lips curled in a self-deprecating smirk.
Just as Old Ghost had said, the so-called Dark Emperor was nothing more than his own naive, childish hope.
In this cold Lower District, he was only fit to die a cold death, just like the countless rats that died in the gutters.
"It looks like... this time... I lost the bet."
Unsure if he regretted his recent choice, the Rat King slowly closed his eyes.
And then...
"Sir, would you care for a pleasant game of poker?"
The Rat King forced his weak eyes open, snapping them wide as he searched his surroundings. He could only make out a blurry figure standing beside him, though he hadn't noticed when the person had arrived.
The figure said nothing more, simply taking out a deck of cards and casually drawing two.
One was placed before the Rat King.
One was placed before himself.
"High card wins. Simple as that. Flip!"
He turned the two cards over.
Before the figure lay a King of Spades—a very high card. Drawing such a card meant it was almost impossible to lose.
And before the Rat King lay the Ace of Hearts.
The highest card in the game.
"Ah, I lost," the Rat King heard him say.
"Congratulations, Mr. Sam. It seems you’ve won this wager."