Small tiger

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 hotel staff at the entrance were calling out frantically, creating a scene of chaos. 


Mad Kun lay at the front of the car, his eyes vacant, blood streaming from his nose and mouth. 


In silence, he collapsed beside the vehicle. 


It seemed that the second boss was also gravely injured, 


his voice rising in a harrowing wail, harmonizing with the cacophony of firecrackers. 


Then came another round of thunderous sounds. 


The black car swiftly reversed and braked, 


followed immediately by the sound of the accelerator being floored. 


In a flash, the black car sped past us, 


its tinted windows obscuring the driver inside. 


Yet, I distinctly caught a whiff of cigarette smoke wafting from within. 


Wulfgar truly lived up to his title as an old chain smoker; his cigarette remained stubbornly in hand. 


On this New Year's Eve, when families gather, 


we stood by the roadside like wandering spirits, isolated from the festivities. 


Chapter 301: Clarifications