Gamblers

"I told him that once he put on this mask, he would become Sabo. He would have power, and he would have to pay the price. The real Sabo would never surrender his dignity. Sorry you had to see that."

Sabo kicked the corpse aside and smiled at Lorenzo, but the smile made Lorenzo's blood run cold. He had never imagined things would turn out like this.

"Surprised, aren't you? The real Sabo is a freak. A dwarf."

Sabo didn't seem surprised by the shock in Lorenzo's eyes. Or perhaps he'd seen that look far too many times in his life and had grown used to it.

He stretched out his short, stumpy arms. Layers of flesh and fragile bones had twisted his body, and his organs were crammed into that cramped frame. He panted slightly from swinging his sword moments ago, and struggled to pick up the blood-soaked cards with his thick fingers. He looked so corpulent, yet seemed not to care.

"I hope you weren't offended by my stand-in. After all, I'm the master of the Green Shark. If I want to rule a bunch of desperados, a dwarf's body isn't much use. It's hard to intimidate my subordinates, especially when I'm a Viking... A Viking dwarf is pretty ridiculous, right?"

Sabo spoke mildly. It was a sad story, but he told it as if it had nothing to do with him.

"Ridiculous isn't the word I'd use. I'd call it... impressive. Ruling a bunch of desperados with a body like yours takes some doing."

Lorenzo replied sincerely.

Sabo didn't seem pleased by Lorenzo's praise. Instead, he said calmly,

"What about you, Mr. Lorenzo Holmes? I'm curious why you were so confident you'd beat him. If the Goddess of Luck had turned away from you just a little, your head would have been blown clean off. That takes more than fearlessness and good luck."

It had been a wager on the brink of death, like dancing with the Grim Reaper. Only pure madness could command such a dance.

"His eyes. His eyes."

Lorenzo pointed to his own eyes. His gray-blue irises gleamed, reflecting the bloodstained gaming table.

"That man wanted to win too badly. He wanted it so much he was going crazy. As a boss, he should have been able to intimidate everyone around him, but his swagger was too timid. I studied acting. He wasn't a good actor—and, of course, he wasn't a good gambler either. A real gambler doesn't back down. The chips in their hands are all they have."

Lorenzo had seen through the stand-in long ago. He'd thought the man was just an insignificant underling, but the real Sabo's appearance had clearly complicated matters.

"You seem to like gambling, but I've never seen you at a casino."

Sabo didn't seem hostile. He shuffled the cards as he asked, while the music continued to play in the hall. People remained immersed in its warm splendor, and no one had noticed the stand-in's death.

"Gambling is a wonderful thing. It can turn the tables. Even with just one coin, you might win an entire kingdom."

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

"But I once had a friend who told me that luck was limited. Everyone had a fixed amount of it for their entire life. Maybe today you're supposed to get hit by a carriage and die, but just before it hits you, you're lucky enough to trip and fall, escaping death.

"It's like a soldier on the battlefield who dodges countless bullets just because luck is on his side. But once his luck runs out, a fatal bullet will take his life. My friend was the best gambler I ever knew, but he rarely gambled. He said it was so he could save up his luck."

Sabo nodded. He'd heard stories like that before, but hearing one today gave it a different feel.

"What happened to your friend? Did he win the whole kingdom?"

"No. He used up all his luck in a battle. A shard of shrapnel slipped through the only gap in his armor and pierced his artery. His strongest suit of armor became his tomb."

Lorenzo spoke slowly, his expression unchanged, as if it were nothing more than a forgotten memory.

"I like gambling too, but I like the kind where you dance on the edge of life and death. You walk away with the spoils before the Reaper's blade comes down."

As he spoke, Sabo licked his dry lips. His tongue was crimson, as if his mouth were full of blood. His crooked teeth looked like a shark's. Eve sat silently beside them, afraid to speak. Everything that had happened tonight had gone beyond anything she knew of the world.

"You know, with a deformity like mine, it's hard to feel alive in everyday life. Everyone thinks you're an ill omen. Nobody cares about you. But it's different on the edge of death. You come face to face with the Reaper. Maybe you even brush the hem of his black robes—and then you survive. That thrilling rush is incredible. Your blood boils, and even a heart that had gone still starts beating again!"

Sabo spoke with excitement, his clumsy hands pounding the table. He looked like a deformed giant infant, grotesque and uncanny.

"So that's how you lost them?"

Lorenzo asked.

"You mean these?"

Sabo stopped pounding the table and held out both hands. His palms were mutilated.

Both hands were missing parts. His finger bones had been cut off, leaving only two or three fingers on each hand. Even so, he was still nimble. The dazzling shuffle he'd performed had been done with those damaged hands.

"Yeah. No gambler goes without losing. But luckily, my opponents were good people. They left me my thumbs and middle fingers, so I can still hold a sword... But it doesn't matter. In the end, I always win it back."

He picked up his rapier with the few fingers he had left. It was slender and light, without any ornament or even a guard—just a blade and a hilt. The design made it far lighter, and only with a sword like that could Sabo wield a swift, deadly blade with his few remaining fingers.

"It's been a good day. Shall we play another round?"

"But I've already won."

"That was my stand-in."

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

The conversation was cold. Neither man yielded. The rapier and the gun, all the stakes, lay on the bloodstained gaming table.

Sabo was silent for a moment, then spoke.

"About what happened a few days ago, it was a man called the Mentor who told us to do it. The purpose was to cover the escape of those people while they were being pursued."

"Who is this Mentor?"

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

"And those people?"

"That's your second question, Mr. Holmes."

A savage grin showed beneath Sabo's half-mask as he spread the cards neatly in front of Lorenzo. The blood on them had yet to dry, lending them an eerie air.

"So, shall we play another round?"

Silence fell like a shroud. Though the air was warm and the music lively, the atmosphere atop the raised platform was icy.

Sabo had reclaimed his dignity, but that was all. To learn anything more, Lorenzo would have to join the game again. His gaze lowered as he thought. This time was clearly different from the last. Now he was facing the real Sabo, a true gambler.

"Isn't that enough?"

Eve asked in a small voice. The Phoenix family's princess had only ever known the world's darkness through her family's accounts of war. She felt more uneasy than ever before.

But Lorenzo paid her no heed. Like Eve, he was uneasy too, but what truly troubled him was the full picture behind all of this.

Mysterious cargo from the north had drawn in Shrike, Sabo, and someone lurking even deeper in the darkness. But most important of all was what Lorenzo had seen with Spirit Sight: the mutated body, the towering lighthouse, and all those grotesque, uncanny things crawling out of distant memories, trying to drag him back to that rainy night.

He needed to know the truth.

"What's the stake?"

Beneath the brass mask, his voice was steady and resonant as iron.

Then the Bull mask broke into a heartfelt smile. Sabo clapped his hands hard, his laughter shrill and frenzied, like the final revel before doomsday. He leaped down from his chair and tottered over to the edge of the platform, looking down upon the grand feast like a king.

"Everyone!"

He shouted. The dancing crowd stopped and looked toward the short man on the platform. He was very different from the Sabo they remembered, but they didn't care. At this feast, only the mask mattered. Whoever wore the Bull mask was the master.

Sabo was overjoyed. Any pleasure brought to a dying man became immense. He roared,

"Let the ball begin!"

At his words, the orchestra's music changed at once. Gone was the usual lavish beauty; now the melody brimmed with eeriness and sorrow. The musicians pulled at their strings in a frenzy, as if iron saws were cutting through living people. The music gave way to human wails.

Servants appeared from nowhere. Their trays no longer held gold and jewelry, but were piled high with hallucinogens. The guests picked them up at will, then exposed the insides of their wrists. What should have been smooth skin was now covered in needle marks. They injected the drugs with practiced ease, and the gates of heaven swung open for the fallen mortals.

It was a revel before doomsday, with every ethic and moral cast aside. The dark side of human nature was laid bare. Eve stared blankly at it all. For the girl, this was the beginning of a nightmare. The air reeked of blood, and then the blood in her veins began to stir, as if it too wanted to join the depraved revelry.

"Stay calm, Detective. This is only the beginning."

A cold hand grasped hers. It felt like thawing a block of solid ice, and it brought Eve back from her daze.

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

Lorenzo's voice sounded beside her. Eve came to as if waking from a long dream, then gasped violently, sweat soaking her mask.

"What... happened to me?"

Eve asked fearfully. That eerie sensation just now had made her feel as if the whole world had shattered before her eyes, then reassembled into something grotesque.

"Hallucinogens. There should be plenty of fumes from them in the air. The effects aren't too strong yet."

A sharp dagger came to hand. Lorenzo had drawn it from beneath Eve's skirt and pressed it into her palm. Holding a weapon might help the girl feel safer.

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

His gray-blue eyes remained clear. The hallucinogens in the air had no effect on Lorenzo at all.

"That's right. Everyone who comes here is rich. Wealth isn't enough for them anymore."

Sabo walked down from the edge of the platform and returned to the gaming table. From his mutilated hand, he took out a coin and placed it between them.

"Win once, and I'll answer one question." Sabo extended his right hand and raised his index finger.

"What if I lose?"

"You answer one of my questions."

"I didn't realize you liked me so much." Lorenzo was a little surprised. He'd thought a man like Sabo would ask him to cut off a finger.

"After all, you're Shrike's Iron Thorn, Mr. Holmes. In a way, I became Sabo, became the leader of the Green Shark, because of you. You could say I owe you."

Sabo's eyes were honest. To a certain extent, everything he'd achieved was thanks to Lorenzo.

"Honestly, that's a little unexpected." Lorenzo found it hard to believe.

"Of course. People from the East often talk about this. They call it 'karma.'

"I was there during the Red River Massacre six years ago too. But with a body like mine, it's hard to draw anyone's attention, so I survived. I have you to thank for the reshuffling in the Lower District. That gave me my chance to rise."

It had happened a long time ago, but even now Lorenzo could smell the blood when he thought of it. His face stiffened, cold as ice.

Eve was frozen in place beside him. She remembered when she'd last heard the name Iron Thorn: it had been from Officer Press. And further back, there was the Red River Massacre. At last, she put the pieces together.

"The foreigner hired by Shrike. The corpses you threw into the Thames River that day made Shrike what he is today. Then you vanished without a trace. Only a few survivors knew your name, but they lived in constant fear, always thinking you'd appear somewhere and take away the lives that should have ended back then."

That was a story from the past. Lorenzo seemed to have deliberately forgotten it. He never brought it up himself, and he didn't respond.

"So, what would you like to play, Sabo?"

Lorenzo remained calm, as if he had no emotions at all, like a machine.

"How about a coin toss?"

No one had expected Sabo to suggest such a game. He toyed with the coin in his few remaining fingers, then continued,

"You're not very good at cards, are you? A seasoned player against a novice wouldn't be fair. You like pure chance, so let's do this. And then... you can decide how to play."

As he spoke, he flicked the coin toward Eve. It spun rapidly before the girl's eyes, then slowly came to a stop. Its metal surface was mottled and reflected the light. It looked very old. Whatever was engraved on it had been worn blurry by years of handling, but the shapes of an axe and a shield were just barely visible.