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

I placed my bet and then glanced back. 


Indeed, the somewhat rotund man in his fifties, known for his nine fingers, stood beside me. 


Upon noticing my gaze, he offered a slight nod, a casual greeting. 


I offered no response, turning my head away indifferently. 


The last time we met, he had appeared similarly amiable, with a harmless demeanor. Yet, beneath that facade lay a ruthless figure capable of deadly actions without shedding blood. 


The eyes of the Nine-Fingered Remnant remained fixed on my hands, much like the shadowy observers that surrounded us, eager to catch evidence of any foul play. But as the rounds continued, I noticed a shift in his expression—from relaxed to increasingly tense. 


He couldn't discern how I was cheating; or perhaps even if he suspected, he lacked the proof. 


My deception depended solely on card cutting. 


The pile of chips before me grew ever higher; I had already won over a million. 


Chapter 157: Snatching the Opportunity