Chapter 187: The Gamble

"Now, can you tell me where the Rat King is?"

One second later—

The crimson flower bloomed, then scattered into the night mist on the breeze.

The “ordinary citizen” who seemed to have done nothing at all stood in a pool of blood, still holding the brim of his hat in that polite, elegant, composed manner, smiling as he posed the question to Swick.

It was like a well-mannered gentleman who had simply lost his way, asking for directions.

But in Swick’s eyes, Muen’s smiling face looked like the visage of a demon straight from hell. His face turned ashen. Trembling, he raised his crossbow and aimed at Muen’s brow.

Yet the trigger, which normally needed only the lightest squeeze to take a life, now felt as though it had been welded shut with molten iron—completely immovable.

"Y–you... what the hell are you?"

"Sigh, how many times must I introduce myself? I’m just an ordinary passerby."

Muen stepped forward at an unhurried pace, pushed the crossbow aside, and looked down into Swick’s terrified eyes.

"Sir, I am patient. So... this is the last time I’ll ask."

His smile gradually faded, the depth of his expression taking on a glint of cold steel.

"...Where is Rat King Sam right now?"

"I..."

Swick’s pale lips quivered.

You can’t say it, Swick. Don’t you dare say it.

You’re the Rat King’s confidant!

His right-hand man, his most loyal subordinate!

The more dangerous the situation, the more you must show your loyalty!

Crack. The crossbow string snapped without warning. Muen flicked his fingers, a glint of frost flashing in his eyes.

"Sir..."

"The °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° casino! He’s at the casino!"

Swick’s voice cracked in a panicked shout:

"Sam’s a gambling addict—every night he can’t help but place a bet. So right now he’s definitely at the casino!"

"Oh? Which casino?"

"The underground casino on Mink Street. I can take you there! As long as you don’t kill me, I’ll lead you straight to it..."

"Good."

Muen nodded with satisfaction and gave a courteous thanks.

"Then I’ll trouble you."

"It’s my honor to be of service." Swick forced a smile uglier than crying and, mimicking Muen’s manner, made a clumsy bow.

Just as I thought—people who seem refined are the most twisted behind the scenes!

Exactly like those noble lords in the Upper City!

...

After disposing of that insignificant nuisance, Muen turned to look at the gaunt man still frozen in shock.

"Don’t kill me, don’t kill me..."

When he noticed Muen’s gaze, the man immediately begged for his life again. In his eyes, anyone who could wipe out so many Rat Society thugs so effortlessly had to be an even crueler fiend than the Rat Society itself.

Like one of those urban legends that lurked in the shadows of this city.

But the death he expected never came. Instead, he felt a warm hand rest gently on his shoulder.

Startled, he looked up—and instead of the brutality and savagery he had imagined, he met a pair of calm, lake-deep blue eyes.

"You just said you want to be a good man?"

"...Yes."

The man nodded blankly.

"I’m already trying to be a good man."

"That’s good."

A heavy pat landed on his shoulder.

"Very good."

In the distance, a searchlight from the guard post on Tower Bridge swept a harsh beam across them for a moment.

In the man’s dazed vision, the “ordinary citizen” more fearsome than the thugs stepped around him, gave a casual wave, and walked into the darkness.

Swick followed behind, hunched over, cautious, groveling like a dog.

"Damn it... who says good men never get rewarded?"

The man suddenly burst into tears, bowing hard toward the direction Muen had gone.

"Bruce Wayne..."

He mouthed the name with reverent devotion.

...

...

"You lose."

In the haze and glitter of the casino, Rat King Sam tossed down his hand and looked down his nose at the sweating middle-aged man across from him.

"H–how... how is that possible?"

The man slumped into his chair, staring in disbelief at his own cards.

"I have three of a kind—how did I lose?"

"You have three of a kind. I have four."

Sam tapped the four identical cards in his hand with a cold smirk.

"Winner takes all—that’s the casino’s rule, kid. Don’t tell me you’re thinking of skipping out."

"I..."

The man’s face went pale. He wanted to speak, but a busty croupier in a low-cut dress had already pushed all his chips to Sam’s side of the table.

Moments ago, confident in his hand, he’d gone all-in to win back his losses in one stroke.

Now, his entire stack—a full million—belonged to the stunted, dwarf-like man across the table whom no one dared underestimate.

His hopes of recovery—or even sudden wealth—had shattered. Now, he had nothing.

"Wait..."

In despair, he clutched his last few chips, lips trembling.

"I’m not finished—please, give me another chance! Let me play one more hand! I swear... I can win back everything I lost! Please, just one more chance!"

"Chances aren’t mine to give."

Sam toyed with the exquisite chips, whose texture was far more intoxicating than paper money, and chuckled.

"One thousand Emil per chip. Everyone’s equal. If you want to make a comeback, bring more cash."

"Cash... but I don’t have any now. Tonight’s money came from mortgaging my house and fields. I don’t have a cent left..."

"Is that so? No money left, huh."

Sam gave a regretful sigh, then his expression turned cold.

"Then why the hell are you wasting my time? Boys, throw him out!"

"Wait—don’t drag me out! Don’t! I can get more money! I’ll put my daughter up as collateral! My wife too! Just lend me more! Just a little more! I can feel my luck coming—I’ll win next time, I swear!"

Eyes bloodshot, the man struggled wildly in the casino guards’ grip, desperate to return to the place that had taken everything from him.

But Sam remained unmoved. Taking a deep pull on the cigar handed to him by a subordinate, he exhaled smoke and said with contempt:

"Who the hell doesn’t know your two ‘ladies’—a mama dinosaur and a baby dinosaur—uglier than the dirt on my boots? What would I want them for, to cure low blood pressure?"

Amid his heart-rending screams, the penniless man was thrown out into the night. No one knew where he would go—but most assumed he’d come crawling back with money from God knows where, ready to sink further into this bottomless pit.

"Boss, still playing tonight?"

A trusted aide leaned in to whisper.

"Tonight..."

Sam glanced around the casino.

By his usual habit, he wouldn’t quit so early.

But lately, the air in all of Belrand felt wrong, and business had been slow. Scanning the room, he saw no big fish worth his time.

"Forget it."

He casually groped the ample chest of a nearby croupier and leered.

"Didn’t Swick offer me his sister? Tonight, I’ll play something else."

"Got it."

The aide nodded and turned to make arrangements.

But at that moment, a black-clad figure had appeared behind an empty table, as if out of nowhere.

"Hm? Finished already?"

The figure set down his tailcoat, placing an old-fashioned black cane and a silver case on the table.

Adjusting the tall, wide-brimmed hat on his head, he gave Sam a harmless, kindly smile.

"The night’s still young, Mr. Sam. Care for a few more hands?"