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

“You’re damn well asking for death!” 


Broderick sprang to his feet with a violent jolt. 


But no sooner had he moved than there was a sharp slap. 


Dark, standing behind him, delivered a resounding cuff, slamming him face-first onto the card table. 


“What on earth are you all trying to do?” 


By now, fear had taken root deep within Broderick’s heart. 


Yet, summoning his remaining bravado, he bellowed loudly to bolster his courage, 


“Upholding justice, righting wrongs for the people!” 


Lord Alaric spoke brazenly, utterly shameless. 


In truth, we had committed no righteous deeds worth mentioning. 


But as we dealt with Broderick today, a strange, indescribable satisfaction welled within. 


My gaze shifted toward the two half-dead men—the Zhongshan suit and the upturned-nose fellow—and I declared, 


“The rest of this affair concerns neither of you. You two may leave—remember, if you dare breathe a word of today’s events, you will bear the consequences yourselves.” 


Chapter 366: Unworthy