Gamblers

"I told him that once he put on that mask, he would become Sabo. He would enjoy power, but he would also have to pay the price. A true Sabo would never abandon his dignity. Please, forgive the spectacle."

Sabo kicked the corpse aside and smiled at Lorenzo, but the smile made Lorenzo's blood run cold; he had never imagined it would be like this.

"Surprised, aren't you? The real Sabo is actually a deformity, a dwarf."

Sabo did not seem surprised by Lorenzo's astonished gaze, or perhaps he had seen such looks far too many times in his life; he was already accustomed to them.

He extended his short, stubby arms. Layers of flesh and fragile bones twisted his torso, and his internal organs were cramped within that small frame. He panted slightly from the exertion of his recent swordplay. With thick, clumsy fingers, he struggled to pick up the blood-soaked playing cards. He looked bloated, yet he seemed not to care.

"I hope you weren't displeased by my double. After all, I am the master of the Green Shark. To rule a group of desperate outlaws, a dwarf's body isn't very useful; it's hard to intimidate subordinates, not to mention that I am also a Viking... A Viking dwarf is quite ridiculous, isn't it?"

Sabo said this calmly. Even though it was a tragic matter, he spoke of it as if it were not his own story.

"Rather than ridiculous, I find it quite... magnificent. To lead a group of outlaws with such a body, that's pretty impressive."

Lorenzo said sincerely.

Sabo did not feel happy because of Lorenzo's praise; instead, he said calmly.

"And what about you, Mr. Lorenzo Holmes? I am curious why you were so confident you would beat him. If the Goddess of Luck had veered away from you even a little, your head would have completely exploded. That is not something mere 'lucky fearlessness' can achieve."

That was a gamble on the edge of death, like dancing with the Grim Reaper; only pure madness could master it.

"The eyes. His eyes."

Lorenzo pointed to his own eyes. His gray-blue pupils were sharp and piercing, reflecting the bloody gambling table.

"That guy wanted to win too much—he was crazy for it. As a boss, he should have been able to command respect from all sides, but his aura was too cowardly. I've studied acting; he wasn't a qualified actor, and certainly not a qualified gambler. A true gambler never retreats. The chips in their hands are all they have."

Lorenzo had seen through the double long ago, though he had assumed it was just a minor leader of no concern. Clearly, the appearance of the real Sabo had made the situation complicated.

"You seem to like gambling, yet I have never seen you in a casino."

Sabo did not seem to harbor any hostility. He asked while shuffling the cards. In the hall, the music continued, and people were immersed in the warm, bustling atmosphere. The death of the double had not drawn anyone's attention.

"Gambling is a good thing. It can reverse a situation. Even with just one coin, it is possible to win an entire kingdom."

Lorenzo replied, his fingers gently rubbing the brand-new Butcher Coin.

"But a friend once told me that luck is a finite resource. The amount of luck a person has in their life is fixed. Perhaps you were supposed to be hit by a carriage today, but before that could happen, you luckily tripped and fell, thereby avoiding the Grim Reaper's strike."

"It's like a soldier on the battlefield. He might dodge countless bullets simply because luck is at work, but when your luck runs out, a single fatal bullet will take your life. That friend of mine was the best gambler I've ever met, but he rarely gambled. He said it was to save up his luck."

Sabo nodded. He had heard such stories before, but hearing it today gave him a strange feeling.

"What about that friend of yours? Did he win the entire kingdom?"

"No. In a battle, he used up all his luck. A piece of shrapnel entered the only gap in his armor and pierced his artery. That sturdiest of armors became his tomb."

Lorenzo spoke slowly, his expression unchanging, as if it were merely a forgotten past to him.

"I also like to gamble, but I prefer the feeling of walking between life and death—to retreat with the spoils just before the Grim Reaper's blade falls."

As he spoke, Sabo licked his dry lips with a scarlet tongue, as if he were holding blood in his mouth. His jagged teeth looked like those of a shark. Eve sat to the side, not daring to speak; everything tonight had exceeded the world she knew.

"You also know that for a freak like me, it's hard to find a sense of being alive in daily life. Everyone thinks you are a symbol of bad luck; no one cares about you. But on the edge of death, it's different. You brush past the Grim Reaper, perhaps even graze his black robes, and yet you survive. That heart-pounding thrill is wonderful—it makes your blood boil and your dead heart beat again!"

Sabo spoke excitedly, his clumsy hands slapping the table with force, like a deformed giant infant, carrying a grotesque, eerie quality.

"So, is that how you lost them?"

Lorenzo asked.

"Are you referring to this?"

Sabo stopped slapping the table and held out his hands. They were mangled palms.

Both palms had varying degrees of loss; the finger bones had been severed, leaving only two or three fingers on each. Yet, even so, he remained nimble. That dazzling, dizzying shuffle had come from those mutilated hands.

"Yes. No gambler never loses. But fortunately, my opponents were kind men; they left my thumbs and middle fingers, so I can still hold a sword... But it doesn't matter. I can always win it back in the end."

He picked up his rapier with his remaining fingers. It was a slender, light blade without any decoration, not even a crossguard—composed only of the blade and the hilt. With such a design, the weight of the rapier was greatly reduced, and only in this way could Sabo wield a lethal and swift sword with just a few fingers.

"Today is quite nice. Shall we play another round?"

"But I have already won."

"That was my double."

"But he was also Sabo, wasn't he?"

The conversation was icy. Neither man would yield. The rapier and the gun—all the chips were laid out on the blood-stained gambling table.

Sabo was silent for a moment, then said:

"Regarding what happened a few days ago, it was a man called the Mentor. He made us do it. The goal was to cover that group of people as they escaped pursuit."

"Who is that Mentor?"

"I don't know. I only know that he has many identities, all of them high-ranking, whether in Inverwig or other countries."

"And that group of people?"

"That is a second question, Mr. Holmes."

A ferocious smile appeared beneath Sabo's half-mask. He spread the cards out neatly in front of Lorenzo. The blood on them had not yet dried, carrying an eerie, supernatural sensation.

"So, shall we play another round?"

It was a deathly silence. Despite the warm air and the impassioned music, the atmosphere atop the high platform felt as if it had plummeted into an ice cellar.

Sabo had already redeemed his dignity, but that was all; to obtain more information, he would have to rejoin the gamble. Lorenzo's gaze lowered as he pondered. Clearly, this time was entirely different from before. He was now facing the real Sabo, a true gambler.

"That's enough, isn't it?"

Eve whispered. As a princess of the Phoenix family, her understanding of the world's darkness was limited to the accounts of war within her family, and she felt an unprecedented sense of unease.

But Lorenzo ignored her. Like Eve, Lorenzo was equally uneasy, yet unlike her, what truly concerned him was the full scope of the situation.

The mysterious cargo from the north, the involvement of Shrike and Sabo, and the figures hidden even deeper in the darkness—and, of course, most importantly, everything Lorenzo had seen in his spirit vision: the mutated bodies, the rising lighthouses, and all those bizarre, hideous things crawling out from distant memories, attempting to drag him back into that rainy night.

He needed to know the truth.

"What is the wager?"

Beneath the brass mask, his voice was steady and powerful, like the sound of iron.

At that, a genuine smile broke out beneath the bull mask. Sabo clapped his hands forcefully, his laughter harsh and manic, like the final revelry before the end of the world. He leaped off his chair, his short, stunted body swaying as he walked to the edge of the platform, looking down upon the grand banquet like a monarch.

"Everyone!"

He roared. The dancing crowd stopped one after another, looking up at the short man on the platform. He was vastly different from the Sabo they remembered, but they didn't care. At this banquet, only the mask mattered; whoever wore the bull mask was the master.

Sabo was overjoyed. Any pleasure gained by a dying man becomes magnified. He shouted:

"Let the ball begin!"

As his voice rang out, the orchestra's music instantly shifted. Unlike the luxurious and beautiful melodies of before, this time the rhythm was filled with eeriness and mourning. The musicians pulled at their strings with abandon, as if iron saws were cutting into living flesh, and the music emitted the wails of human beings.

Attendants appeared from nowhere. Their trays no longer held gold or jewelry but were filled with hallucinogens. The guests picked them up casually, then exposed the insides of their wrists—skin that should have been smooth was now covered in needle marks—and injected them with practiced ease. Thus, the gates of heaven opened to the fallen mortals.

It was a carnival before the apocalypse, abandoning all ethics and morality; the dark side of human nature was laid bare. Eve stared blankly at the scene. For the girl, this was the beginning of a nightmare. The air was thick with the scent of blood, and then the blood began to stir, attempting to join in this depraved revelry.

"Calm down, Detective. This is only the beginning."

A cold hand gripped hers. The sensation was like ice thawing, jolting Eve from her trance.

"Stay clear-headed. You don't want to end up like them, do you?"

Lorenzo's voice sounded, and Eve woke as if from a deep dream, followed by heavy breathing as sweat soaked through her mask.

"What... what happened to me?"

Eve asked, trembling. The bizarre sensation from moments ago made her feel as if the entire world were shattering before her eyes, only to be recast into a grotesque form.

"Hallucinogens. There must be a high concentration of vapor in the air. The effect isn't too severe yet."

He handed her a sharp dagger, pulled from beneath Eve's dress. Lorenzo pressed it into her hand; gripping a weapon might make the girl feel a little more secure.

"So this is what the ball is really like? A massive Feast of Bliss."

Lorenzo's gray-blue eyes remained clear; he was completely unaffected by the hallucinogens in the air.

"Indeed. Everyone who comes here is wealthy; wealth alone can no longer satisfy them."

Sabo walked down from the edge of the platform and returned to the gambling table, placing a coin between them with his mangled palm.

"Win against me once, and I will answer one of your questions." Sabo extended his right hand, holding up his index finger.

"And if I lose?"

"You answer one of my questions."

"I didn't expect to be so favored by you." Lorenzo was somewhat surprised; he had assumed someone like Sabo would demand he chop off a finger.

"After all, you are Shrike's Iron Thorn, Mr. Holmes. In a sense, it is because of you that I became Sabo, the leader of the Green Shark. You could be considered my benefactor."

There was no lie in Sabo's eyes. His current success was, to a certain extent, entirely due to Lorenzo.

"To be honest, that's a bit beyond my expectations." Lorenzo found it hard to believe.

"It is only natural. The Easterners often speak of this; they call it 'karma'."

"I was there during the Red River Massacre six years ago, though as you know, someone of my stature is hard to notice, so I survived. Thank you for reshuffling the Lower District; that gave me the opportunity to rise."

That was a long time ago, but even now, mentioning it, Lorenzo could still smell the stench of blood. His face stiffened, cold as ice.

Beside him, Eve had gone completely numb. She recalled the last time she had heard the name Iron Thorn—it had come from the mouth of Officer Press. And deeper still was the Red River Massacre. At this moment, she finally remembered.

"A stranger hired by Shrike. The bodies you dumped into the Thames River that day paved the way for Shrike's success today. After that, you vanished mysteriously. Only a few survivors knew your name, yet they lived in constant fear, always feeling you would appear in some corner to take away the lives that should have ended back then."

That was a story of the past. Lorenzo acted as if he had deliberately forgotten it, never bringing it up, nor responding to it.

"So, what do you want to play, Sabo?"

Lorenzo remained calm, as if he had no emotions at all—a mechanical life.

"How about flipping a coin?"

No one could have expected Sabo to propose such a game. He toyed with the coin using his remaining fingers and added:

"You aren't very good at cards, right? It's unfair for a veteran to face a novice. You like pure luck, so let's go with this. And... why don't you do the honors?"

As he spoke, he flicked the coin toward Eve. It spun rapidly before the girl's eyes before slowly coming to a stop. The mottled metal surface reflected the light; it looked quite old. The image carved upon it had become blurred from years of handling, but one could faintly make out an axe and a shield.