During the years when I ascended to the pinnacle of gambling, I was enveloped in a world where luck intertwined seamlessly with strategy. The thrill of risk was my constant companion, and every hand dealt was an opportunity to weave a tale of fortune and fate.

In those vibrant nights, the casino lights flickered like stars, each glimmer promising untold possibilities. The air was thick with the scent of anticipation and the intoxicating perfume of ambition. My every decision was calculated, and executed with precision, as I danced with the tides of chance, confident in my ability to bend them to my will.

I became known not only for my remarkable skill but also for a certain charisma that drew others to me. Players regarded me with a mix of admiration and trepidation, for I was not merely a participant in the game—I was its master. The cards whispered secrets to me, and I understood the language of the dice as if they belonged to a realm where I reigned supreme.

Yet, amidst the glamour and glory, this intoxicating world concealed its shadows. The very allure that elevated me to greatness also harboured treachery and deception. I found myself ensnared in a web woven by those who coveted my prowess, eager to see me fall from grace.

In those years, I walked a fine line between triumph and disaster, relishing every victory while remaining ever-vigilant against the unseen perils that lurked in the shadows.

The Years I Was The Gambling God

The individuals gathered were all subordinates of Eighth Brother. In the centre of the crowd, supported by two younger associates, was Eighth Brother's close ally, Jinchains. 


At that moment, the gold chain man had a contorted expression, his face etched with excruciating pain. He was crying out repeatedly, “Ah! Ah!” 


His left hand clutched tightly at his right wrist, where blood and flesh were gruesomely mangled. Onlookers couldn’t help but recoil in horror. To their astonishment, Jinchains had lost all but his thumb—his other four fingers were completely gone. 


Blood had stained both his palm and clothing, rendering him a grotesque figure, reminiscent of a bloodied spectre. 


Such a gory scene sent shockwaves through the room, particularly affecting Eighth Brother. He stared wide-eyed, rushing forward in a fit of rage, demanding, “What the hell happened? Who did this?” 


Chapter 77: Severed Fingers