Bet

Flauros raised his eyes and looked up.

On a high branch, among the dark green leaves, a dark shadow sat silently, a crow. But it was no ordinary bird. Its eyes were a strangely gloomy color, its beak was as sharp as metal, each feather on its body was as gray as cold ash, swaying in the wind as if whispering.

He said nothing, just raised his hand, and with a light wave of his hand, the spear left Flauros's hand and soared into the sky.

Whoosh!

The sound seemed to tear the air apart. The spear flew quickly, shooting straight towards the crow.

Plop.

The crow exploded into pieces of gray dust in an instant. No time to cry, no time to struggle. It died without a whole body, its soul burned in mid-air, as if it had never existed.

Flauros withdrew his hand, his cold gaze swept across the place where the crow had just stood.

"I know you're watching, Cassian."

He didn't need the other party to say anything. He knew. The person was always behind him, operating from the shadows. The shadow that had just been cut in half was just a small part of it—a puppet he controlled just to observe.

He turned and left.

Immediately after the death of the Necromancer who was controlling the skeleton army, the skeletons that had rushed forward like a tidal wave of fire suddenly stopped, skulls falling off, limbs breaking, and iron armor rusting into dust.

The skeleton army vanished as if it had never existed, leaving behind cold, empty spaces and the stench of bone ash in the wind.

That disappearance had a strange consequence. Leif's skeleton army, the brave silver knights who had slashed straight into the enemy's front lines, also gradually disappeared like smoke pierced by the sun.

The vast battlefield was left with only two people in an instant.

Leif, his body covered in blood, his cloak in tatters, still clutched his two swords tightly as if grasping for his last life.

Siegfried, eyes unblinking, the light from his poisonous sword's tip still had not lost much of its pressure. The wound on his cheek was bleeding, but his gaze did not waver.

Between the two of them was a scorched land, ice fragments scattered everywhere, traces of the hundreds of battles just now. But at this moment, that place became the final arena where the two leaders faced each other.

There were no more troops to support, no more magic to serve as a backdrop. There were only weapons, will, and hatred for life and death.

The two charged at each other, and the speed was so fast that even the wind could not catch up, the light from the collision scattered into sparks like violent fireworks in the void.

The sound of metal clashing reverberated throughout the space, forcing everyone around to retreat, not daring to intervene.

Under the thick black fog, mixed with a faint blue like the ashes of the soul fire, the ground seemed to be suffocated in a terrifyingly oppressive atmosphere. A fierce shockwave exploded from the center of the battle, blowing away both the earth and the corpses that had not yet rotted.

Amid the chaos, Siegfried's sword, shining like steel in the night, pierced straight through Leif's chest without hesitation, piercing his heart without missing an inch. A fatal sword strike, so clean that the first drops of blood had not yet had time to spray out from the cut.

The entire battlefield seemed to freeze in a breath. Everyone's eyes widened, unable to believe the scene before them. Their ruthless leader, Leif, had been stabbed through the heart.

However, Leif smiled.

A slow, calm smile as if his heart had not been pierced. The corners of his lips curled up, dragging a trace of evil behind his bottomless eyes.

And then —

"Keng."

A cold, short metallic sound, but it shook the soul. A small, tiny piece of a metal coin fell to the blood-stained ground. The sound of it hitting the ground seemed to cut through space, echoing like a death knell.

At that moment.

The air distorted. Light twisted. Space seemed to twist and break.

The bodies of Siegfried and Leif simultaneously transformed in an instant, then switched.

Leif was now the one holding the sword, standing unscathed, while Siegfried stared blankly down at the blade that had pierced his own heart.

The crowd was silent. No one understood what the hell had just happened. Only the sound of the wind, the sound of blood dripping onto the ground, mixed with Leif's increasingly deep laughter, were the only things that remained in this sea of chaos.

Leif pulled his hand away from Siegfried's chest, a slow but cruel movement, as if savoring the final moments of a tragedy that had been planned for a long time.

Blood spurted up, strangely cold and sticky like sap, drawing a crimson line that curved through the air before falling onto the dark cloak at his shoulders.

Siegfried stood there for a moment longer, his soulless eyes now dimming like a candle burning to its wick. His gaze drifted down, his lips still wanting to say something, but it was too late, everything melted into nothingness as his body, like a great statue that had just shattered, collapsed backwards by inertia.

A dull "thud" rang out, dust flying around the cold body.

And then.

"OAAAAA!!"

The entire battlefield seemed to be stripped of the previously stifling atmosphere. Cheers exploded, so fierce that it seemed like it could shake the ground.

A series of screams, howls, and the sound of weapons clashing together were filled with the intoxication of victory, like continuous cannon fire in a field of blood.

People jumped up, clapped their hands, and roared like wild animals. Some threw back their heads and laughed loudly, while others slammed their shields against their chests, blood spurting out without anyone bothering to wipe it away.

"Siegfried is dead!"

"We won!"

"We won!"

No one noticed that, amid that wild excitement, Leif was still standing, his lonely back like a shadow that did not belong on this battlefield.

The wind blew through his cloak, pulling a white bandage from his wrist to the ground. There were blood stains on the bandage.

A few members of the Black Crows had already run to Leif's side, their faces glowing with blood and victory, their laughter as sharp as the hot blade just pulled from the enemy's corpse.

"Leif! Leif!!"

"You're crazy, you stabbed that guy in the heart, I thought I was dreaming!"

"We won, you hear?!"

They screamed, pounding on his shoulders, hugging his bloody arms. But Leif only responded with a faint smile like the wind blowing across the cold lake, saying nothing.

His eyes were still glued to his palm, where a small coin lay quietly, stained with blood. The coin was engraved with a strange symbol, both like an ancient rune and a mental crack.

It was no ordinary coin. Not everyone understood its value. And no one should know how it came to exist.

The creation of that coin was Leif's forbidden magic. Not a magic learned from books, nor an inherited ability. It was born from the owner himself, like any other forbidden magic user.

It was Random and Undefined.

This ban does not give control, but a bet. It does not guarantee the outcome, but rather a bet on the probability of death.

Leif had said that with a single coin, he could turn the tide of battle.

And today, he did it.

The first time he flipped the coin before the battle, he whispered:

"I bet I am good enough to stand on par with him."

He bet that he would win.

And the reward? An army of skeletons rises from the ground, ready to charge into battle without hesitation. The skeletons did not come from somewhere else, but were the result of a successful bet, summoned seemingly from nothing, but completely obedient.

The second coin flip was before Leif himself stabbed Siegfried in the chest.

That time, he didn't ask for strength. He didn't ask for more speed, or more power, or more dexterity.

He just whispered one thing

"I bet… the one who dies is always the other."

The coin spun in midair, glittering like the tears of a deaf god, and when it fell, Leif smiled.

The battle was already over from that moment. The rest was just the obvious conclusion of a bet that had been ordained by heaven.

He had bet on an unprovable proposition.

An impossible condition.

And also the absolute stake: his life, and the outcome of this entire war.

Because when you bet on the impossible, the bet itself distorts reality. When every outcome is against you, even a small percentage of "possible win" is admitted, and it is stretched to the point of possibility.

He forced reality, making the impossible happen.

And so, he won.

Amidst the wild cheers and the lingering smell of blood, Leif just smiled silently, still flipping the coin as if asking himself if he would be foolish enough to bet again next time.

Every person who used forbidden magic would have side effects, and Leif's side effect was probably.

Every bet was a bet of life. Either live and reap the benefits of the bet, or die.

Cheers erupted like cannons throughout the battlefield, echoing to the sky. The Black Crow members rushed towards the center, running towards where Leif stood, shouting his name in the ecstasy of victory.

But Leif just smiled slightly, not saying anything. His eyes were still focused on the coin in his hand, his thumb gently turning the cold metal surface that was stained with blood.

From afar, Leif caught a familiar gaze.

Flauros.

The other person was standing still against a corner of a ruined wall, watching the battle that had ended as if there had never been a need to intervene from the beginning to the end.

Without asking, Leif knew that Flauros must have seen through the entire process of his activation of the forbidden spell, understood the crazy trick that even the gods would have difficulty interfering with.

But Flauros just stood there. Not saying anything. Not intervening.

Leif smiled slightly, still the same calculating smile. He turned the coin one last time and put it away. He turned around and began ordering the Black Crow members to check for casualties and clean up the battlefield.

Together with the captain of the knights, Leif slowly walked into the post-battle work, as if the life-and-death battle just now was just a lunchtime bet.

Betting all the lives here.