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

Verruckt regarded me, slowly shaking his head. “No, the most crucial asset for a gambling master is not their hands, but their eyes. Just imagine, if a gambling master loses their sight, how can they cheat?” 


As he spoke, a sinister smile crept across his face, and the pale prosthetic eye of his gleamed eerily in the firelight. I remained silent, unwilling to engage. 


“I’m not fond of your eyes, you know. So tell me, would you prefer I pluck your eyes out myself, or shall you accompany me to face the second boss, where I will extract your eyeballs in his presence?” 


I furrowed my brow, recalling Wulfgar’s words. Since replacing his eye, Verruckt had indeed become psychologically twisted, quirkily fixated on gouging out others’ eyes. It was clear Wulfgar had not exaggerated. 


I fished out a cigarette and ignited it, hoping to buy some time. “I neither wish for you to take my eyes, nor do I wish to accompany you…” 


Chapter 169: Reinforcements