Chapter 8
Winter Flowering (1)
Although the 3rd Prince’s office was exceptionally spacious, it appeared surprisingly narrow at a glance due to the sheer number of hidden nooks and blind spots.
And from one of those hidden corners…
Splaaat!
Blood sprayed across the room.
“Gah, keuh…”
Behind the 3rd Prince, three young, handsome male attendants always followed him. Not two, not four—always three. But now, only two remained, as the eldest lay on the floor, blood pouring uncontrollably from his severed neck.
“Clean it up.”
Wiping the blood off his hands with a handkerchief, the 3rd Prince picked up his documents once more. Contrary to the gruesome scene, his mind was the picture of tranquility.
“The 1st Prince… so that’s how he wishes to play this.”
A royal relative who, despite inheriting the blood of the gods, was far from a brave, majestic lion—acting instead like a sly, treacherous fox. The 3rd Prince had once again suffered a political loss at the hands of the 1st Prince. Naturally, retaliation was in order.
“Head Attendant. Has the 9th Prince arrived in Seiel?”
The Head Attendant, who had been standing as still as a corpse, stepped forward quietly.
“Yes. The surveillance team reports that everything has transpired according to Your Highness’s intentions.”
Stripped of his royal status and stripped of all his fortune, the 9th Prince had been dumped right into the capital of Deber. In short, a dirty bomb was about to explode.
“My elder brother governs the colony; I pioneer it. Such is the boundary of competition set by His Imperial Majesty.”
Which meant that if chaos erupted in Deber, the fault could be laid squarely on the 1st Prince’s incompetence.
‘He must be absolutely furious. Go on, rage and run wild, 9th Prince. It matters not if you end up slaughtered by the liberation army or hostile nobles in the end.’
“Fan the flames, Head Attendant. I have no desire to wait.”
The moment the spark catches the fuse—BOOM! Deber would descend into complete pandemonium. It wouldn’t take long.
‘Zion Riobelt, a bastard like you could never quietly endure being reduced to a penniless beggar.’
“Ah, damn it. Since I’ve got no cash, should I just sleep on the street?”
That thought crossed his mind after being rejected four times in a row while asking for a single night’s lodging.
When you spend your life fighting for national liberation, wherever you lie down becomes your bed. Sleeping rough was basically a daily routine. Besides, the weather was just transitioning from spring to summer—pleasantly warm. Why not lie on the grass, use the night sky as a blanket, and enjoy a bit of romance?
“Should I just head over to the Governor-General’s office and get treated like a VIP…? Tsk. Nah, forget it. A prince begging for a place to sleep because he doesn’t have a single copper? Now that’s just pathetic.”
Right now, he shouldn’t seek out anyone. He had barely managed to reach Deber while still maintaining his status as a prince, and he had no intention of diminishing the authority that came with his title. Showing weakness meant being looked down upon. The Rithanians were, by nature, precisely that kind of people. It would only mean fewer things he could accomplish down the road, even with his royal blood.
‘Besides, I absolutely despise being embarrassed. I might be broke, but I still have my pride.’
Patting his aching knees, Zion walked deeper into the back alleys.
“Phew. Is this the shack village from here on out?”
It was the riverbank running along the southern edge of Deber’s capital, under the bridges and along the sloped banks. The sight of dugouts—known as tomak (shacks)—clustered tightly together resembled barnacles on a coastal rock.
Tens of thousands of people lived here, digging deep holes into the soggy ground and barely covering them with flimsy tree branches, straw mats, or burlap sacks to shield themselves from the wind and rain. Every single one of them was a Deberian reduced to poverty after being plundered by the Empire.
On the opposite side of the river, however, was Luminous Street, utterly dazzling and extravagant, its brilliant lights seeming to mock the shack village.
The area between the shacks and the bustling district was Zion’s exact destination.
‘I came to the right place. No matter where you go, a shady back alley always springs up between a thriving district and a slum.’
If you need money, you just make money. And Zion knew better than anyone how to secure quick cash.
“Oh my, hey there! You are really handsome. Want to play with big sister?”
Handsome, my foot. I’m covering my face and hair completely with this robe’s hood.
‘The moment they spot my blonde hair and crimson eyes, it’ll turn into an absolute riot. I need to be careful.’
Brushing off the soliciting woman, he walked toward a glowing neon sign. Judging by its trashy appearance, it was clearly a low-class tavern, so ordering a cheap drink and sitting quietly should suffice. Then, if someone picked a fight…
Ting-a-ling!
“Huh? This isn’t a tavern?”
Fuuuuh. Thick cigarette smoke billowed out. The atmosphere was practically a badger’s den.
An illegal gambling den.
“Hey, kid. This isn’t a place for children. Beat it.” “What if I don’t want to?” “Listen here. I’m telling you nicely, so move along while I’m still being nice, alright?”
Looking up at the brawny thug, Zion flashed a bright smile. Out of sheer habit, the corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk.
“You’re picking a fight right now, aren’t you? How thoughtful of you.”
‘Alright, time to make some money.’
Seeing a slender, frail-looking kid acting cocky—hood pulled low, smirking arrogantly—the thug scowled.
“Alright then. Looks like big bro needs to take you outside and teach you a lesson. Let’s go.”
Right at that moment.
“Is that any way to treat a customer who just walked in?” “Boss.”
The thug bowed respectfully from the waist toward the young man stepping out from the back. Zion, on the other hand, scowled.
‘Who’s this guy now? Why is he interfering with my revenue stream?’
“Young friend. Have you ever handled a deck of cards?”
Even though his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and both of his hands were clearly empty, the young man instantly produced several cards out of thin air and handed them to Zion.
‘Ho-oh, a top-tier gambler.’
His sleight of hand was impressive. Even Zion had momentarily missed the movement. It was a skill smooth enough to genuinely claim ‘the hand is quicker than the eye.’
“Well, I do enjoy cards quite a bit. But playing in a low-grade place like this… hmm. Isn’t trust the lifeblood of card games?”
A tiny crease formed between the young man’s brows. His pride seemed to have taken a hit.
“To say such a thing right in front of Winter Flowering… Are you remarkably bold, or just completely clueless? Which one is it, young friend?” “Uh… Winter Flowering?” “Ah, so you have heard of me. Fufufu.”
Winter Flowering chuckled with an aura of relaxed superiority. To Zion, it looked a bit ridiculous—like someone proud of achieving success at a young age, putting on airs. And for what? Being the boss of a back-alley gambling den.
Incidentally, the reason Zion knew about Winter—who was merely the boss of a mid-to-small-sized organization—was because his name was listed on the Liberation Army’s high-value target registry. Though the man himself likely had no idea about that fact or the reason behind it.
‘Anyway, since he’s a former professional gambler, ripping him off in a card game should make it easy to wring some cash out of him.’
Coincidentally, when it came to card games… he had gained quite a bit of confidence recently. He had only played maybe five or six times in his life, barely knowing the rules, but he simply could not lose even if he tried. No matter if this Winter fellow possessed the best trick-gambling skills in all of Deber.
‘Quere Stellam Orbita.’
“Hey. Winter Flowering.” “Why do you call me, young friend?” “I’ve heard your name before. They say you’re pretty good with cards?”
Smiling, Zion naturally let a glimpse of his rich blonde hair show for a brief second. At that moment, the look in Winter’s eyes shifted.
In the Empire, a person’s social standing generally correlated with how close their hair color was to pure gold.
“Let’s play a few rounds. Consider me your sole customer for today.”
To Winter’s ears, it must have sounded like Zion was offering to lose enough money to single-handedly cover a whole day’s revenue. Though Zion had meant the exact opposite, well… Judging by the expressions around the room, his acting had worked like a charm.
‘You think a fat, juicy target just rolled right into your lap, don’t you?’
“Not a young friend, but a generous nobleman, I see.”
Winter pulled something out from his coat. It was an expensive magic tool worth about the price of a budget car—a magic detection sensor.
“My, my. For an illegal gambling den, you’ve got all the fancy equipment.” “Wherever cards are handled, dishonest scoundrels always flock around, fufufu.”
Feeling a slight sting of guilt, Zion immediately began rationalizing.
‘He cheats with his own sleight of hand anyway. Ah, right.’
A great idea struck him. Technically, if he stated it honestly, it wouldn’t be cheating, right?
“Winter Flowering. To be completely honest with you… I can actually see right through the front and back of cards. Surprising, isn’t it?”
Winter laughed as if he had just heard an amusing joke.
“Hahaha, is that so? Coincidentally, I can do something quite similar myself.”
Judging by his relaxed posture, he wasn’t tense in the slightest. He only looked thrilled at the prospect of stripping a naive, spoiled young master of all his wealth.
“I clearly warned you. No taking it back or complaining later.” “Yes, yes. Whatever you say.”
Alright. Since I’ve openly declared it, I can use X-ray vision magic with a clear conscience.
There is a common joke among gamblers: Cards are enchanted with time-distortion magic.
Time flowed on and on, and about six hours had passed.
“…” “…” “…” “…” “…”
One of Winter’s henchmen, a bald man, wiped his shining scalp with a handkerchief. The cloth was already soaked through.
‘The Boss… is losing. How many years has it been? And why isn’t he stopping?’
For the past six hours, Winter hadn’t won a single round. Not even one. Yet, he stubbornly dragged the game on, using massive bets as bait—completely opposite to his original goal of fleecing the spoiled rich kid.
“Raise. Shall we go with triple the amount you called this time?” “…Ha.”
Grit his teeth, Winter glared at the magic detection sensor.
…Silence.
His fierce gaze shifted over to Zion.
“The sensor is completely quiet… so how on earth are you landing the best hand every single time?”
It was literally the best hand—and a damn frustrating one at that. To a gambler of Winter’s caliber, a ‘best hand’ referred to a hand made just a single tier higher to toy with the opponent.
“Best hand? It’s not, though?”
SLAM!
With a gaze hovering somewhere between primal instinct and madness, Winter growled.
“Raising triple while claiming it’s not? Fine. I call.”
The piles of chips were shoved forward roughly, making a loud, chaotic noise as they tumbled over one another.
‘He really is worthy of being called Deber’s top gambler. His sleight of hand is terrifyingly fast.’
Since swapping one or two cards couldn’t turn the tables anymore, Winter had replaced his entire hand all at once. Not stopping there, he had even rearranged the remaining order of the deck to his exact liking. If the game proceeded like this, Zion would lose with a 99% probability.
‘Then I guess I’ll just have to grab that 1% chance.’
“Is it my turn to Change now?”
Change—a unique rule specific to Rithanian-style card games. Supposedly a ritual to entrust the outcome of the battle to the God of Fate.
‘Thank goodness this country is so superstitious…!’
“I’ll take this card.”
Simply put, the Change rule allowed a player to swap one card from their hand with one from their opponent’s. Having his best card snatched away and receiving Zion’s absolute worst card in return, Winter’s eyes widened in shock.
“H-How…?”
Winter stared at the sensor once more. It remained utterly silent. It was a terrifying, eerie quiet.
“It’s your turn, Winter Flowering.” “…I’m done. I fold.” “Oh!”
Laughing cheerfully, Zion stretched his arms. He then selected ten chips from the massive pile of winnings and tossed them to Winter.
“Ah, that was fun! I’m getting sleepy, so I’ll be taking my leave. Here’s a tip on top of what I initially borrowed. Please exchange the rest for cash.” “…”
Winter silently stood up from his chair. His coldly hardened expression was quite threatening.
“Do you know why I kept betting until the end, even after realizing within thirty minutes that this was a rigged game?”
Beside a gambler’s obsession to uncover a trick, it was because he had zero intention of handing over any money in the first place.
“Young friend. You possess quite an entertaining trick.” “So we’re back to that title again?”
Instead of answering, Winter crushed a chip between his fingers, reducing it to dust. It was an obvious implication of what Zion’s fate would be in a few moments. Naturally, Zion didn’t care in the slightest.
“I told you from the very beginning—I have X-ray vision.” “Right… Nothing else could explain it. Though I haven’t heard of any magic tool capable of bypassing the sensor being developed yet. You certainly seem to be the child of a high-ranking noble.”
He still doesn’t believe me.
“Ahem. A magic tool? Using external items would be cheating. I fought strictly with my own ability.”
With a wave of Winter’s hand, the thugs crowded around, forming a tight perimeter.
“I’m feeling quite annoyed, you see. Regardless of your background, as long as we keep your mouth shut, it’ll be fine… Let’s rough you up first and then slowly listen to what kind of trick you used. Boys, give him a little lesson.” “Yes, Boss!”
Watching the approaching thugs, Zion twisted his mouth into a smirk.
‘So it comes down to this after all. How should I handle them?’
In the end, back-alley syndicates were nothing more than parasites preying on the poor. Though running a gambling den made them slightly better than those pushing drugs or trafficking humans…
‘Hmm. Decisions, decisions.’
…or so he was thinking, right at that moment.
Wuuuung—!
A vibration. He felt a tremor in his hand. The source of the vibration was the Guide’s Ring.
‘What’s going on all of a sudden…?’
An unfamiliar phenomenon was occurring. Following the intangible flow he felt, Zion turned his head.
Winter Flowering. The Guide’s Ring was vibrating in response to Winter Flowering.
‘Why? How? All of a sudden? For what reason? So out of nowhere?’
This ring only responded to direct descendants of the royal family. Therefore, Winter Flowering must inherit royal blood… which makes zero sense.
‘If that were true, he’d be living as a mage or at least a magi-engineer—not the boss of a back-alley gambling den.’
Because if you were born with royal blood, it was impossible to lack magical talent. Then why was the ring reacting?
Good grief, ever since his body had changed, his life was filled with one baffling mystery after another—starting with the sudden appearance of his void attribute.
‘I was planning to beat them all half to death, take the money, and leave. But it looks like I’ll have to change my plans a bit.’
“Hey. Winter Flowering.”
Without waiting for an answer, Zion pulled back his hood.
Brilliant golden hair and deep crimson eyes. Even under the dim lighting, the colors stood out with striking clarity.
“…” “…” “His eye color…?” “C-Crimson eyes! …Boss! Look at his eyes!” “…I already saw them, so shut up, all of you.”
Winter’s face hardened as stiffly as a slab of stone. Watching him, Zion let out a mischievous laugh.
“What are you all doing? Bow down.”
Incidentally… according to Imperial law, failing to pay proper homage to a member of the divine race carries a minimum sentence of execution.
“A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race!” “A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race.” “A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race!” … … … “A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race.” “A subject of the Empire greets a member of the Divine Race…”
The back of a greasy head that looked unwashed. The back of a head with a bald patch. A shiny bald head.
The room was filled with the backs of heads, all because every muscle-bound thug in the gambling den was dropping onto one knee. It was a sight that felt strange no matter how many times he saw it.
“What are you waiting for? Now that you know who I am, stop what you’re doing and bring out the money. Look at how many chips I’ve won, hahaha!”
With a cheerful shout, he scattered the chips in all directions. A shower of multi-colored chips rained down upon the floor.
“Ah, right. You don’t happen to be short on cash, do you?”
In truth, he already knew through his X-ray vision. Winter, who had no intention of paying up from the start, had continued the game far beyond the cash reserves in his safe.
“If you’re short, let’s write an IOU. Looking at the sign near the entrance, the daily interest rate for loans in this gambling den is… wow.”
Reading the notice board near the doorway, Zion clicked his tongue.
“I’ll take just double that rate. By the way, feel free to pay me back through alternative methods instead of cash. What do you want to do?”
Finishing his sentence, Zion smiled. Out of sheer habit, the corners of his mouth twisted into a smirk once again.
