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

Nine-Fingered Remnant abruptly rose, his finger accusatorily directed at the dealer. 


“What is going on here? Reveal the cards to me!” he bellowed, his voice resonating with authority. 


The atmosphere instantly hushed, as onlookers congregated to witness the unfolding drama. 


The dealer, visibly shaken, glanced anxiously towards the back of the crowd, hoping to summon a manager for assistance. 


“I demand you unveil the cards!” Nine-Fingered Remnant reiterated, his tone brooking no dissent. 


The dealer, trembling in fear, felt the pressure of his gaze. Slowly, with quaking hands, she revealed the cards. 


In a reputable establishment, a baccarat dealer is not permitted to remove her hands from the table. When unveiling cards, both hands must simultaneously reveal two. 


Upon disclosure, a wave of gasps broke from the crowd as they beheld the corner of a second card peeking from beneath the dealer’s right hand—a clear indication of deception. 


Chapter 192: The Mantis Traps the Cicada