Half-step Purgatory

Durin stroked the black cat on the armrest of his chair, sitting on the black leather sofa. Through the glasses perched on his nose, his gaze passed over the long table in front of him and settled on the man kneeling on the carpet:
"I understand, you've made money in Naples, your business has been very successful, and you've led a happy life. You've had those secret police, friends in both the law and the underground, and even the Royal Family speaking on your behalf."
"You don't need a friend like me, I know that. You're afraid of owing me a favor, and you don't want to get involved in troubles."
"But now you come to me and say, 'I beg you, Mr. Durin of the Corleon family, please help me seek justice, so that my life and my family will not suffer and sink into despair.'
Yet, in your eyes, I was nothing more than a second-rate artist involved in movies and music. Even at the brink of death, you still show me such disrespect, not even willing to call me by my title... Keeper of Secrets."

Durin's Diary

Half an hour later, Romiel slumped back in his chair, foam spilling from his mouth in utter despair.


His two card-playing companions fared no better, one splayed across the table reduced to muscle reflexes, the other already slipped beneath the table, alive or dead unknown.


Reed was calculating just how much Durin had earned from the recent game.


Durin unfolded the folding fan Mr. Zhao Tiancheng had given him.


Not much, just a southern round, dear relatives, quadruple yakuman—clean old man, four quads, four concealed triples with single wait.


"I assure you of young Mr. Durin's innocence, there was not a single trace of spell formula on the entire table," the old mage standing behind Durin stated to the approaching elders.


"Yes, I too can guarantee that, as the Changtangians say, young Mr. Durin plays his cards as if divinely assisted," another old man dressed as a druid exclaimed while sitting on a tree root burl.


Chapter 189: Someone with Multiple Divine Choices