Hate me, Miss Witch!

For a moment, countless gazes were fixed unwaveringly on Shiayar's tall figure. Many began to guess at his identity, while others pondered the meaning of the words he had just spoken.

A legendary figure in person, coming here to play roulette with the head of the gamblers? Impossible.

And what did he mean by 'Swordbearer'?

However, Shiayar, the focus of thousands of stares, appeared utterly unaffected in his actions.

He simply raised the silver-white revolver known as 'Kamacite Moon' once again.

"In countless past failures, your edge has been dulled, and you've also lost sight of yourselves."

"You've cast yourselves as the weaker party, choosing to hide and skulk. You've been barely scraping by in the cracks amidst the targeted harassment and oppression of the Great Nobles. As long as you can eke out a fleeting moment of peace, you consider it a victory."

"But have you ever considered—"

"What does it really mean to be a 'Swordbearer'?"

In the eerie silence of the gambling den, Shiayar once again pointed the gun at his temple.

"We are the Sword of Damocles hanging in the skies."

"Whether demigods or saints, once within the Empire's borders, all must cower under the sword's edge above, abiding by the Empire's laws and order."

"So, it is not we who should fear, hide, and skulk in the shadows, cowering timidly to survive—it is our adversaries."

"Swordbearer's rule, second article—"

"Always remember who is the prey, and who is the hunter..."

"They are the prey, and we are the hunters."

CLICK—

The trigger was pulled.

A mere fraction of a second later.

BANG—

Blazing gunfire once again flashed from the muzzle.

Yet the scene Viscount Lori had anticipated, where the mysterious person's head was pierced and brains splattered, did not occur as imagined.

Viscount Lori's elegant smile faltered.

If he could still explain away the third shot, claiming it was a blank because it should have been aimed at himself, then the fourth misfire truly rattled Lori.

"Was the deal truly faultless?"

"Everything is normal."

Lori fell silent for a few seconds before suddenly speaking out.

"Raise the bet, five hundred souls."

"The deal is struck."

It was still a deep and shadowy response, but Lori's heart steadied slightly.

This round was too crucial; he couldn't afford to lose.

Logically, at the moment when the cylinder stopped spinning, the order of the live and blank rounds was supposed to be fixed.

But in reality, veiled by a fog of misinformation, even that observer themself couldn't know everything within.

Therefore, with the cylinder's arrangement unobserved, the disruption of luck could still take effect.

It seemed illogical. Yet, this was a world where the extraordinary and mystical existed, and this conclusion was one Lori had reached only after many experiments.

And then—

He watched in silence, just as those breath-holding spectators had.

Watched as the mysterious man with black hair raised the revolver once more.

As if aware of the concentrated stares around him, the enigmatic guest slightly turned his chair, sweeping his gaze over the crowd below.

A faint, indifferent smile touched the corners of his mouth, uncovered by the mask.

"This world is darker than you imagine; simple benevolence and naive idealism have no place here."

"So sometimes, you have to be crazier, more malicious, and more cunning than those sinister, crafty, and mad villains to do what you think ought to be done."

"However—"

"It's very distant, elusive, and seems unrealistic—even akin to pie in the sky. Yet, I actually quite like Her Royal Highness, Zieg, and the ideal and future you've described to me."

"Because I don't want to live in a world where kindness is seen as a weakness."

SNAP—

The hammer struck the primer of the bullet, emitting a crisp sound.

Amid the rising flame and smoke, that same calm and indifferent voice was heard.

"Swordbearer's rule, third article."

"To fight against evil, one can become crazier and more wicked than the wicked."

"But in doing so, remember the ideal, don't forget your true heart."

"I do not wish, one day, our prey to become those who once stood by our side."

The cylinder rotated sixty degrees.

With that, five of the six chambers in the cylinder had been fired.

Leaving behind just the last one.

Shiayar toyed with the revolver in his hand for a moment, then gently pushed it forward.

CLINK.

The revolver slid across the table.

And came to a stop in front of Lori, who was pale as death.

"So—"

"It's your turn."