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

Upon returning to the quaint villa, I found the three-night owls still wide awake despite the late hour. 


The living room was in disarray, a chaotic jumble created by the trio. 


Aeliana sat cross-legged before the television, engrossed in playing the vintage video game "Contra." 


Such an almost obsolete gaming console appeared to her as a treasure brimming with novelty. 


As I watched her lose herself in the game, a pang of sympathy stirred within me. 


In truth, Aeliana and I share many similarities. 


For instance, both our childhoods were spent in the arduous pursuit of mastery, devoid of games and entertainment. 


We were even deprived of childhood companionship. 


On the couch, Dark and Alaric were engaged in a game of cards, adorned with crude drawings of turtles. 


Dark’s face was covered in chaotic marks, while Alaric, remarkably, bore none. 


Upon my return, the trio paid me no heed. 


Clearing my throat, I declared, "Tomorrow, I shall be heading to Qita River!" 


Chapter 195: Aggrieved