The Bloodstained Bull

"Death Roulette?"

Sabo looked at the silver revolver. Only one of its six chambers held a bullet.

"You know the rules, right? One turn each... Honestly, I think the odds are always fifty-fifty: you either die or you live."

Lorenzo muttered to himself as he set the revolver in the middle of the table, pointed toward the playing cards Sabo had laid down, like a lone rider facing an army.

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

Sabo shook his head. This was his kingdom, and he held all the cards. Lorenzo was just a pawn, easily crushed.

"No. You do."

Another gun appeared. Its wooden stock was carved with fine patterns, and the silver parts were engraved with ornamentation. A line of poetry was inscribed along it.

Eve stared at the gun, almost dumbfounded. There was no way she could have hidden something that large under her skirt. So where had Lorenzo gotten it?

But Lorenzo didn't seem inclined to explain. His beloved Winchester was aimed at Sabo from point-blank range. If Lorenzo pulled the trigger, Sabo's head would burst into a spray of blood right before his eyes.

"Was this your plan all along?"

"Yes. Find you and put a gun to your head. But that would be risky. You're the boss of the Green Shark, and I'm not sure I'd make it out alive. But you don't want the business you've spent so long building to come to an end, do you?"

Lorenzo's eyes were cold.

"So let's not waste time, Sabo. If I win, you tell me everything. If you win, I'll leave and never come back."

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

"No. The stakes aren't high enough."

"What about these?"

Lorenzo rested both elbows on the table, brimming with confidence.

"You're wagering your hands?"

His hands looked ordinary, with white shirt cuffs showing beneath his black sleeves. The slivers of exposed skin bore scars.

"Everything on the table is a stake."

That was his answer.

At last, Sabo took a good look at the man before him. He was unlike anyone Sabo had ever met, strange as a pearl in the sand. Beneath that black coat, his blood boiled.

Sabo said nothing. He knew he had no choice but to play. Otherwise, the man in front of him would pull the trigger. He wouldn't care whether he made it out alive. He would do it.

"I hate people as stubborn as you."

Sabo picked up the revolver and stared hard at the man before him, his finger resting on the trigger. He waited for a reaction, but the gaze behind the brass mask remained utterly calm. It reminded Sabo of the Northern Silent Sea, whose waters were always still as a dead pond. Yet the bone-deep cold there was more frightening than any storm.

"I've played this game many times. It isn't really about luck. It's about how afraid you are of death. If you're scared, you lose."

As he spoke, Sabo pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Cold sweat ran through the gaps in his mask. He stayed composed, then set the revolver in the middle of the table.

"I know. It's a battle of wills. The winners are always the strong-willed and the madmen who don't fear death."

Lorenzo took the revolver and, without the slightest hesitation, pressed it to his own head.

"What kind of man do you think you are? Strong-willed, or crazy?" Sabo asked.

"You'll find out."

Lorenzo pulled the trigger. An empty chamber. He tossed the gun back to the center of the table.

Two shots had been fired. The deadly bullet was somewhere among the next four.

Before anyone knew it, the air had grown hot and tense. The music swelled into a rousing march, like a battle hymn, driving wave after wave of fervor through the room. The carvings on the cylinder seemed to come alive. The demons fought and roared, then turned to ash amid the flames that filled the sky.

"You've got guts."

Sabo praised him and raised the revolver again. But this time, it felt much heavier. He had to use all his strength just to hold it. Then Lorenzo's voice drifted over, low and quiet.

"You know, every gambler is a desperado. We rely on sheer nerve. We can't show the slightest fear. The moment you do... or even the moment you feel the slightest fear, you've already lost. It's like a swordsman swinging his blade: hesitate for even half a beat, and your enemy will cut off your head."

"You think I'm afraid?"

Sabo flared up as if he'd been mocked. He tried to pull the trigger, but beneath the cold touch, no matter how hard he pressed, it wouldn't budge.

He should have been fearless. Yet a flood of emotions surged through him. Across the gambling table, Lorenzo's gray-blue eyes remained cold, like the familiar Northern Silent Sea.

Another empty chamber. In the end, Sabo managed to pull the trigger. Luckily for him, there was no bullet.

"Your turn."

He tried to sound calm.

Three shots remained. Going by the order, even if the next chamber was empty, Lorenzo would still face the last bullet on the final turn. He was sure to die.

Lorenzo slowly raised the gun. He seemed to have realized the problem too, and hesitated to pull the trigger.

"Scared? You can still quit. I'll take your hands, but you'll live."

Sabo urged him, just as he had said from the start: this was a battle of wills. Break your opponent's spirit and he lost. Sabo could already picture Lorenzo swallowing his pride and begging for mercy. His other hand reached beneath the table and gripped a gun.

Desperadoes were always crazy. Sabo had to be ready in case Lorenzo refused to honor the bet and opened fire instead.

Eve had gone deathly pale. She grabbed Lorenzo, hoping he'd stop this madness. If they kept going, the chance of dying would only grow. She knew perfectly well that the so-called fifty-fifty odds were bullshit.

"Have you lost your mind?"

Lorenzo turned to look at her. The girl was truly beautiful, every bit the princess of Phoenix. Even the mask couldn't hide her radiance. She reminded Lorenzo of the time he'd taken the Steam Tram to the edge of that city, where open green fields stretched beneath a blue sky, with no Steam Towers or dark clouds. It was as beautiful as heaven, a balm to the soul. The girl before him was just the same.

"Today is my lucky day. It was true today, and it'll be true for the rest of the night."

He spoke without making the expected plea for mercy. At some point, Lorenzo's face had taken on a crazed, feverish look. Even through the mask, his ferocious frenzy was palpable. He looked every bit the gambler, driven mad when he had nowhere left to turn.

He pinched the girl's fair cheek hard, then looked at Sabo.

"You've already lost."

"I lost?"

Sabo had expected Lorenzo to beg for mercy by invoking Shrike's name, but he hadn't expected him to say that.

"That's right. You said this was a battle of wills. But when you tried to shake my resolve, didn't that mean you were no longer sure you could win?"

Lorenzo pulled the trigger. An empty chamber.

It was a strange feeling. A gambler couldn't admit defeat—not even to himself. The moment you did, it was the end.

A sudden chill of realization ran through Sabo. From the moment he arrived, this man had been prepared for anything. His will was pure, and he would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

"Sabo, I've won."

He declared victory and pulled the trigger again. The cylinder snapped forward with a sharp turn, its intricate mechanisms meshing and sparking faintly. But nothing happened. The bullet of death was still in its chamber. The Goddess of Luck hadn't abandoned him.

It should have been a game he couldn't possibly win, yet Lorenzo seemed to know where the bullet was. He'd passed over the two empty chambers, leaving the final death for Sabo.

One last chance. The chamber held the bullet, and the gun was pointed at Sabo.

Beneath the bull mask, sweat drenched Sabo's face. This damn game had been in the other man's control from beginning to end. That was why he'd chosen it. A strong-willed person could never win; no one would think to keep pulling the trigger. Only a madman could be the final winner.

"Honor the bet, Sabo."

Lorenzo kept the gun trained on him. He hadn't even broken a sweat, as if standing on the brink of death were second nature to him.

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

"If you're willing to give up your pride, you can go back on it."

That was the price. Pride meant different things to different people. Some would die for it. For others, it had never existed at all.

Sabo was a Viking. Even in this age of advanced technology, his people still clung to their old faith. If he abandoned his pride, Valhalla would shut its doors to him forever.

Their eyes met. Like swordsmen gripping their hilts, they faced each other at close quarters. Only one would leave alive.

Eve watched the bull mask. Huge drops of sweat ran down its edges like blood, darkening the tablecloth. It was a terribly difficult choice: hold on to his pride, or tell Lorenzo everything.

"Damn it!"

Sabo cursed and yanked the gun from beneath the table, but Lorenzo was faster. The silver Death Knell was pressed to his head a second later. Yet Sabo still hesitated. If he pulled the trigger, he wouldn't get the information, and he would die here too. But then a faster blade flashed.

An arm flew through the air, still gripping the gun that had never fired. Blood sprayed across the table. Before Sabo could even scream, the sword had cut his throat.

He was dead. Not a sound had escaped him from beginning to end. The sword had appeared like a phantom and killed him; his body slumped against the edge of the table, then fell. The man who'd killed him took his place, sitting opposite Lorenzo. He set his bloodstained rapier gently on the table. Its edge was chipped, and it had seen the end of countless lives.

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

The man's features were compressed into a grotesque, twisted shape. A deformed figure, he picked up the corpse's mask with an unsettling smile and put it on.

Blood stained the bull mask red. Crimson crept along its carved patterns, and as the blood soaked in, the mask seemed to come alive. Behind it, something that looked like a man-eating fiend seemed to lurk.

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

Lorenzo stared for a moment. His smile widened, and he spoke.

The air seemed to freeze, weighing on his heart like leaden clouds.

Tonight's game was far from over.