The Bloodied Bull

"Death Roulette?"

Sabo looked at the silver revolver; only one of the six chambers was loaded with a bullet.

"You should know the rules of the game, right? One for you, one for me... Actually, I think the odds of this thing have always been fifty-fifty. Either you die, or you live."

Lorenzo muttered to himself. The revolver was placed in the center of the table, facing the poker cards Sabo had laid out, like a lone rider charging against an army of thousands.

"Actually, I don't have to play with you."

Sabo suddenly shook his head. This was his kingdom, and he held an absolute position of advantage. Lorenzo was merely a pawn who could be easily crushed.

"No, you have to."

It was another gun. The wooden grip was carved with exquisite textures, and the silver parts were engraved with floral patterns, with a line of poetry inscribed among them.

Eve watched the gun in a daze. She was certain there wasn't enough space under her skirt to hide such a weapon, so where on earth had Lorenzo gotten it?

However, Lorenzo didn't seem to intend to explain. Dear Winchester pointed at Sabo, the distance so close that if Lorenzo pulled the trigger, Sabo's head would explode into a spray of blood right before his eyes.

"Is this what you originally intended?"

"Yes. Find you, put a gun to your head. But the risk is high. You're the boss of Green Shark; I'm not confident I could walk out alive. But you wouldn't want the industry you've spent so long building to come to a halt, would you?"

Lorenzo's eyes were cold.

"So let's not waste time. Sabo, if I win, tell me everything. If you win, I'll leave right now."

Sabo's expression gradually turned cold. Having a gun pointed at his head on his own turf wasn't a fun experience, but after a brief pause, he revealed his confident smile again.

"No, the stakes aren't high enough."

"Then what if we add these?"

Lorenzo rested his elbows on the gambling table, looking exceptionally confident.

"Are you betting your hands?"

The hands were ordinary, white sleeves tucked into black cuffs, with scars visible on the slightly exposed skin.

"Everything on the gambling table is a stake."

He replied.

This time, Sabo finally looked at the man before him with seriousness. He was different from many people he had encountered; he was as strange as a pearl in the sand, and beneath that black coat was boiling blood.

Without further words, Sabo knew he had to enter the game. Otherwise, the man before him would definitely pull the trigger. He wouldn't care if he could leave alive; he would certainly do it.

"I hate persistent people like you."

Picking up the revolver, Sabo stared fixedly at the man before him, his finger already on the trigger. He was waiting for a reaction, but the eyes beneath that brass mask remained calm, which reminded Sabo of the Northern Silent Sea. The surface there was always as still as dead water, but when you touched it, the bone-chilling cold was more terrifying than any storm.

"I've played this many times. The essence of this game isn't luck; it's simply the measure of one's fear of death. If you are afraid, you have already lost."

Sabo said as he pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Cold sweat flowed down the gaps in his mask, but Sabo remained calm, then placed the revolver in the center of the table.

"I understand. This is a psychological war. The winners are always those with firm wills and those madmen who do not fear death."

Lorenzo took the revolver and, without a moment's hesitation, pressed it against his own head.

"What kind of person do you think you are? A person with a firm will, or a madman?" Sabo asked.

"You'll find out."

He pulled the trigger—an empty chamber. Lorenzo threw the gun back into the center.

Two shots had been fired now; the lethal bullet was hidden somewhere in the remaining four.

The atmosphere had become stifling, and the music turned intense, like a war anthem, pushing waves of passion forward. Looking at the relief on the cylinder, the ghosts and gods seemed to come alive, slaughtering and roaring at each other, finally turning to ash in a sky full of fire.

"You have courage."

Sabo offered a word of praise and raised the revolver again. But this time, the revolver felt much heavier; he had to use all his strength to hold it. At this moment, Lorenzo's voice drifted over.

"You know, all gamblers are desperate men. We rely on that ruthlessness. You cannot show any cowardice. Once you show it... or rather, the moment you harbor even a shred of fear in your heart, you have already lost. Just like a swordsman wielding a blade—even a moment of hesitation will result in his own head being severed by the enemy."

"Do you think I'm afraid?"

Sabo felt as if he had been mocked and spoke with anger. He tried to pull the trigger, but under that cold touch, no matter how much force he applied, the trigger wouldn't budge.

He should have been fearless, but at this moment, countless emotions surged into his heart. Looking across the table, Lorenzo's gray-blue eyes remained cold, just like the familiar Northern Silent Sea.

Another empty chamber. In the end, Sabo pulled the trigger, and fortunately, the bullet was not in that chamber.

"Your turn."

He feigned calmness.

Three rounds remained. According to the sequence, even if the next round had no bullet, the final bullet in the last round would belong to Lorenzo. He would surely die.

Slowly raising the gun, Lorenzo seemed to realize this problem as well and hesitated to pull the trigger.

"Afraid? It's not too late to stop now. I'll take your hands, but you'll still be alive."

Sabo advised. Just as he said at the beginning, this was a psychological war. As long as he broke the enemy's spirit, he would win. He had already imagined Lorenzo abandoning his dignity to beg for mercy. His other hand rested under the table, gripping his own gun.

Desperate men were always crazy. Sabo had to be prepared for the possibility that Lorenzo might refuse to honor the bet and open fire instead.

Eve stood by, her face deathly pale. She grabbed Lorenzo's arm, hoping to stop this madman from continuing, as the probability of death was growing infinitely higher with every passing second. She knew full well that the so-called "fifty-fifty" odds were nothing but nonsense.

"Are you insane?"

Lorenzo turned to look at her. The girl was truly beautiful, worthy of being a princess of Phoenix. Even that mask could not hide her radiance. It reminded Lorenzo of the time he had taken a steam tram to the edge of the city, where there were vast green fields and blue skies—no Steam Towers, no dark clouds. It was as beautiful as heaven, soothing to the soul, much like the girl before him.

"Today is my lucky day. It was today, and it will be so after tonight."

As he spoke, the expected begging never came. Lorenzo's face was twisted in a manic excitement that had appeared at some point; even through the mask, one could feel the ferocity. It was the look of a gambler, the madness of someone pushed to the very edge.

He pinched the girl's fair cheek hard before looking at Sabo, who sat before him.

"You've already lost."

"I've lost?"

Sabo had expected Lorenzo to invoke Shrike's name to beg for mercy, but he never imagined he would say something like this.

"Yes. This is a psychological game, as you said. But when you try to shake my resolve, doesn't it just prove that you are no longer certain you can win?"

Lorenzo pulled the trigger. It was an empty chamber.

It was an eerie sensation. A gambler cannot admit defeat, nor can they even entertain the thought; the moment you concede, that is your death knell.

Sabo suddenly felt a chilling realization. This man had been fully prepared from the moment he arrived. He was a man of pure will, a person who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

"Sabo, I won."

He issued his declaration of victory and pulled the trigger again. The cylinder rotated violently forward by one notch, the complex machinery interlocking and sparking faintly, but in the end, there was nothing. The bullet of death remained in its chamber; the Goddess of Luck had not abandoned him.

This should have been a death trap, yet Lorenzo acted as if he knew exactly where the bullet was, bypassing those two empty slots and leaving the final death for Sabo.

The last chance remained, the bullet was inside, and the muzzle was pointed at Sabo.

Cold sweat was already pouring out from beneath the Bull mask. From start to finish, this damned game had been under this man's control. This was why he had chosen this game—a person with a firm will could never win. No one had ever considered pulling the trigger repeatedly; only a madman could be the final winner of this game.

"Fulfill the bet, Sabo."

With the muzzle pointed at him, Lorenzo didn't even have a bead of sweat on his brow. For this man, the edge of death seemed like a familiar place.

"Aren't you afraid I'll go back on my word?" Sabo asked coldly.

"As long as you are willing to abandon your dignity, you are free to go back on it."

That was the price—dignity, which varied from person to person. For some, it was worth dying for; for others, it had never existed at all.

Sabo was a Viking. Even in this age of technological advancement, they still clung to their ancient faith. Abandoning his dignity would mean being forever barred from Valhalla.

Their eyes met, like swordsmen gripping their hilts. They had crossed paths on a narrow road, and only one could leave alive.

Eve watched the Bull mask. Large drops of sweat dripped from the edge of the mask like blood, staining the tablecloth dark. It was a truly difficult decision: dignity, or telling Lorenzo everything.

"Damn it!"

Sabo cursed and reached for the gun under the table, but Lorenzo was faster. The silver-white Death Knell was pressed against his head in the next second. He still hesitated; if he pulled the trigger, he wouldn't get the information, and he would die here. But just then, a faster blade flashed by.

It was an arm severed in mid-air, still clutching the pistol that had failed to fire. Blood splattered, staining the entire tabletop red. Before Sabo could even scream, the blade had severed his throat.

He died without making a sound, killed by the blade that had appeared like a phantom. He slumped weakly against the edge of the table before collapsing. Immediately, a man took his place, sitting opposite Lorenzo. He placed the blood-stained rapier on the table; its edge was chipped, having killed who knows how many people.

"Mr. Lorenzo Holmes, it is a pleasure to meet you."

The man's facial features were flattened into a distorted mess. He was a deformity, wearing a chilling smile as he picked up the mask from the corpse and put it on.

The Bull mask was stained red with blood. The crimson fluid spread along the carved patterns, and under the saturation of blood, the mask seemed to come alive. Behind it, it felt as if a man-eating demon was hiding.

"Then... it is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sabo."

Lorenzo paused for a moment, his smile widening, and then he spoke.

The air seemed to freeze, pressing down on their hearts like leaden clouds.

The gamble for tonight was far from over.