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

Broderick furrowed his brow, adjusted his glasses, and fixed his gaze on Lord Alaric. 


“This is where you erred. We’re all friends here, yet your man immediately accuses others of cheating. But tell me this—did he hide cards, or did he pilfer them? To catch a thief, one must have proof. Where is your evidence? Have your man present it!” 


Inwardly, Broderick was painfully aware. 


The man in the Zhongshan suit relied solely on sleight of hand; indeed, no illicit cards were concealed. 


Even if all four players each held three identical cards once revealed, suspicion alone could never amount to proof of cheating. 


“Exactly! Just because you say he cheated, we’re supposed to believe it? That’s utterly unreasonable!” 


The man with the upturned nose feigned indignation, chiming in. 


I cast a cold smile, directing my inquiry at the Zhongshan suit. 


“Brother, do you have anything to say for yourself?” 


His expression darkened, tinged with anxiety as he answered cautiously, 


Chapter 365: Connections