Take Things to the Extreme

Late at night, on the third floor of Drogo’s Toy Store, two people and two dragons sat tensely around a table.

Soren took a deep breath and reached for the wall of tiles. With a practiced swipe of his thumb, he checked them: four kongs, an empty middle, White Dragon!

Tense. Flynn across from him had barely discarded any honor tiles; everything she had thrown was middle tiles. Could she be waiting on Thirteen Orphans?

But she had discarded a White Dragon before, so she probably did not need this one. Besides, he was already waiting.

Safe!

Soren steeled himself and threw out the tile. "White Dragon!"

"Mahjong!"

Flynn pushed over her tiles. It was indeed Thirteen Orphans.

"Quick, quick! Stick the paper slips on!"

Everyone at the table already had quite a few white paper slips pasted across their faces—the oldest average age, the most childish way to play.

Flynn made as if to shuffle the tiles.

"Wait!"

Drogo grabbed Flynn's hand and used a claw to push over the two tiles in front of him. They were both White Dragons.

"There's another one in the discard pile. Where did yours come from?"

"Ha ha." Flynn gave an awkward little laugh.

"What?" Soren immediately picked up that White Dragon and casually dispelled the illusion on it. It was an Eight of Characters.

"Seriously? You're such a big dragon, and you still use illusions to cheat at mahjong?"

"Oh, come on. Fine, I'll take the slips." More paper slips were pasted onto Flynn's face, which now had no space left at all, save for two narrow gaps for her eyes to see the tiles.

Ever since Drogo had introduced mahjong, it had swiftly swept through every street and alley. It spread far faster than yo-yos and appealed to everyone from ten to eighty.

To promote it, he had even localized it. East, South, West, North, Green Dragon, and White Dragon were all written in the kingdom's standard language; only Red Dragon had been retained, and it served as the toy store's logo.

Drogo, whose underlings had limited intelligence; Flynn, who needed to maintain her aloof image; Soren, who did not get along with his peers; and Aisha, who had been dragged in to make up the fourth player, formed a regular mahjong group.

Lately, they had been playing from dawn till dusk every day.

Without an automatic mahjong table, they could only shuffle by hand.

While they were stacking the tiles, Xin 104 walked in and whispered something into Drogo's ear.

Holding his tiles, Drogo gave a few instructions.

A new round began.

Drogo glanced over his hand. It was full of Bamboo tiles in sequences, and he was already more than halfway to Nine Gates.

Why bother hiding expressions in a game among friends? Drogo wore an outrageously smug grin.

The draws went remarkably smoothly as well. Within just a few rounds, he was waiting.

"Heh heh heh! I'll show you what it means to win big!"

"Bang!"

The door was suddenly kicked open.

Lagu appeared in the doorway, though he no longer had the bearing of a wealthy man.

His eyes were bloodshot, twisted and grotesque runes carved into his face. In a hoarse roar, he shouted, "I'll kill you! I'm going to kill you!"

There was no panic as expected. No one even looked at him. Was that drake drawing a tile?

"I'll kill you!" Lagu pulled out a serrated longsword and charged straight at Aisha.

Yet his strike missed. Drogo had seized Aisha in his jaws and flown out the window.

"Don't run!" Lagu leaped after them with his blade. His body must have been modified; a fall from this height would have killed three demon hunters, yet he landed without a scratch.

The room fell quiet again.

Soren was very unhappy. "Didn't he recognize who I was?"

"Your whole face is covered in paper slips. How could anyone recognize you?" Flynn mocked him mercilessly, conveniently ignoring the fact that she had not been recognized either.

"What do we do now? We're two short," Soren said, looking around before turning his gaze to the two goblins outside the door. "You two know how to play mahjong?"

Meanwhile, elsewhere.

Drogo carried Aisha to a relatively open little square and landed.

Lagu followed close behind. "Nowhere left to run, huh? You think you can steal my potion factory? I'll throw your corpse into the alchemy furnace and ferment it with the herb dregs!"

"Sorry, but let me correct you," Aisha politely interrupted Lagu's threatening speech. "First, I wasn't running. It's just hard to clean up if you get smashed to pieces indoors. Second, I wasn't the one who took it. He was."

As she spoke, she pointed at Drogo.

"You think a drake can protect you? I'll cut it to pieces first, then cut you to pieces!" Lagu snarled as he charged.

Aisha sensibly shut her eyes.

"Face reality, coward!" Lagu felt Aisha's head was already within his grasp. She was just a child throwing her weight around because of her backing—she had never experienced a bloody battle in her life.

A red figure suddenly flashed before his eyes. He could not see it clearly; he only felt a chill run through his body, then his field of vision began to sink.

What happened?

Lagu could not understand his current situation at all. Wasn't he running forward? Why was he no longer moving forward? Where were his legs? Why couldn't he feel them...

What remained of Lagu crashed heavily onto the ground. A haze of blood filled the air, and his consciousness grew increasingly faint.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Aisha asked timidly.

"Wait a moment. It's been too long since I last fought, so I didn't control my strength properly. I hit him a little too hard."

Drogo walked over to the fragments of Lagu and said with heartfelt sincerity, "Don't die. If you die, who am I supposed to get compensation from?"

Lagu could not understand him. He only felt that a dragon was making noises, and those noises were full of regret.

Drogo noticed the runes on his face. After a brief examination, he dipped a claw tip in the blood on the ground and drew an identical rune.

In an instant, a blood-red gate rose up, connecting to the plane of Hell. A slender devil stepped through it.

"Who has summoned the great—"

Lagu, who had not yet gone cold, burst into a ragged laugh. "Hahaha, Lord Devil has come in person. You're dead—"

Yet the scene he had imagined, of the great devil instantly killing the wicked drake, did not occur. Instead, the devil bowed.

"Isn't this Lord Drogo? Let me make this clear in advance: my deal with that mortal did not specify whom he could use my power against, so I bear no responsibility here. If you plan to hit me, I'm running."

Lagu watched helplessly as the once-arrogant Lord Devil from the ritual now looked utterly cowardly, one hand shielding his face while the other gripped the edge of the gate to Hell, ready to jump back through at any moment.

Why?

"I won't hit you. His soul is still yours. Just keep him alive long enough to stand trial in court."

"Ah?" Even for a devil, this request was a little too strange. "Lord Drogo, have you developed some obscure new hobby?"

"No. He still has some assets left, and I plan to acquire them legally. Let the court order him to pay compensation for intentional injury. After all, I'm a respectable business dragon now."

"Lord Drogo, it would be such a shame if you did not come to Hell and become a lord." The devil could not help applauding.

Drogo beckoned with a claw, and an orc stepped out of the shadows, carrying an undead camera.

"Did you record everything?"

"I did."

"Good. Cut out the part where I attacked him. Keep only the part where he charged in with a knife. Where's the witness?"

The orc led out a child in old clothes.

"Recite your testimony."

The orc translated for the child.

The child showed no fear and recited fluently, "I am a beggar who hangs around the square. I met a strange friend with a camera for a head and often come to play with him late at night. While taking a walk tonight, I heard sounds of fighting. Lagu was attacking a young woman, and the camera accidentally recorded the scene."

Lagu heard every word clearly. His mangled body writhed madly on the ground, with nowhere to vent his fury.

"Good. You've got potential."

Then Drogo asked the orc, "Where's that damaged mithril armor?"

"Here."

Drogo slipped the armor beneath Aisha's outer clothes while she still had no idea what was going on.

"The guard is coming!" a drow lookout sent word.

"Good. Everyone unrelated, clear out."

Drogo then took Aisha to a spot not far from Lagu. Before his despairing eyes, Drogo began putting on an extremely exaggerated performance of being grievously wounded.

Seeing this, Lagu closed his eyes in despair. The last thread of hope in his heart finally died.