Chapter 475: The Winner of the Gamble

“Let him get away?”

When the explosion finally settled and the flames died out, Mister Gro hurried over to the gaping hole in the cabin wall, craning his fat neck as he anxiously peered left and right.

But on the calm surface of the river, aside from a few cargo boats docked at the port, there was nothing.

The faint ripples that occasionally drifted across the water were merely restless little night-fish venting their unused energy.

“Stop looking. Sam’s been good in the water since long ago.”

Old Ghost pinched out the last bit of rainbow light flickering before him. Not even a trace of ash remained.

“The Glein River is over a hundred meters wide at its broadest point and runs through the entire city. Trying to find him in a river like this is almost impossible.”

“Then what do we do?”

Mister Gro turned back and demanded:

“This isn’t what we agreed on! You said we’d use the Rat King’s resources and channels to open the market for my goods! Do you understand how important this is? This concerns—”

“I don’t need you lecturing me!”

With a single sweep of his hand, the chair behind Old Ghost instantly burst into wooden dust. Mister Gro shrank his neck at once, rendered speechless like a frightened quail.

“The Rat King escaped, but the Mouse Society can’t. Once he dies, won’t the entire Mouse Society still be mine?”

“But he already escaped...”

“He won’t live in the water for the rest of his life. Besides...”

Old Ghost looked at Mister Gro with a half-smile, half-smirk.

“If you want my help to regain control over the Lower District, then at a time like this, shouldn’t the thing you promised... no—what you all promised, be making its appearance?”

......

......

That night, unlike the still-brilliantly lit Upper District, the Lower District under the same night sky seemed especially tranquil.

An unmarked, ordinary carriage rolled along the pitch-black street. The steady clopping of hooves broke the silence of the alleyways, yet behind those tightly shut doors and windows, not even a candle flickered.

Inside the carriage, Sineel sat with his eyes closed, gently stroking the long flute in his hands.

Only his slightly knitted brows hinted that his heart was anything but calm.

“Have you made up your mind, Mister Sineel?”

A sudden fluttering of wings sounded. A robin with a red belly and white crown perched on the carriage window, looking down at the brooding man.

“Time is running out. You should give me an answer.”

“......”

Sineel rubbed the flute hard between his palms, his voice hoarse:

“The Royal Mage Corps should only act for His Majesty.”

“Yes, that is true. You really are a mage of exalted status now, Mister Sineel.”

The robin hopped lightly and tilted its head, its gaze dripping with ridicule.

“But it seems you’ve forgotten—after your father’s business went bankrupt, whose financial support allowed you to continue studying expensive magic at the best academy?”

“That money was a loan!”

Sineel suddenly clenched his fist, veins bulging on the back of his hand.

“I will repay it!”

“Heh... Mister Sineel, the fact that someone was even willing to lend you money was already a tremendous act of goodwill, wasn’t it? Besides, His Majesty certainly wouldn’t be so generous as to give you something like that.”

The robin looked pointedly at the bone-white flute in Sineel’s hand, its expression growing more mocking.

Realizing the bird’s gaze, Sineel’s face darkened. As if shocked by electricity, he nearly threw the flute away.

But his hand only lifted a little. Then, as though he couldn’t bear to part with something so valuable, he instead tightened his grip, his fingers caressing it gently.

“I will help you—privately. Just this once.”

After a long silence, Sineel lowered his head and spoke.

“Heh. Very good. I look forward to your performance.”

The robin spread its wings and soared upward into the night sky.

“I wish you success, Mister Sineel—promising mage of the Royal Mage Corps. A bright future is waiting just ahead of you.”

......

......

“Kh... damn it, I almost froze to death in that river. I haven’t been this pathetic in ages. Since when did my stamina get so weak?”

Somewhere along a secluded section of the riverbank, the Rat King struggled out of the water. After spitting out several mouthfuls of river water, he collapsed onto the bank like a spent dog, gasping for breath as he stared up at the darkening sky.

In his youth, he could easily swim in this river for hours. But now, just to escape Old Ghost’s pursuit, he had swum only a bit farther than usual, and after being chilled by the freezing water, he already felt his strength failing him.

“Damn it, I’m definitely making up for all that neglected training when this is over.”

The Rat King angrily rubbed the belly he’d grown during these months of comfortable living, then rolled over and sat up from the ground.

This was no time to rest. With Old Ghost’s methods, his return to the Lower District certainly wouldn’t be as simple as luring him onto a boat for a round of threats.

Intimidation would be accompanied by real action. For all he knew, during the few minutes he’d been lying here catching his breath, Old Ghost was already plotting how to deal with the headless Mouse Society.

The Rat King’s thoughts raced. As he pressed himself into the shadows of the walls, concealing his presence, he moved swiftly toward one of the Mouse Society’s hideouts in the area, all while trying to decide which trusted subordinates he should contact first—since the Lower District surely already had Old Ghost’s plants scattered throughout.

At the very least, he had to ensure his own safety...

“Uu...”

Suddenly, the Rat King froze mid-step.

He jerked his head up, his expression turning grim as he scanned his surroundings.

The secluded alley was empty except for him.

But mixing ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ with the wind was the faint sound of a flute—soft, lingering, drifting, as though searching for something.

That flute-song glided leisurely through streets and alleys. The moment a low, shallow note drifted into the narrow alley where the Rat King stood, it suddenly burst forth like a thunderclap—soaring, sharp, aggressive.

“Damn it! A mage!”

The Rat King cursed and forced his exhausted body to move faster.

He knew he’d been found, but the enemy shouldn’t be too close yet. He had to create distance—if a mage fully locked onto him with magic, he truly wouldn’t escape even with wings.

But he hadn’t gone far before the flute-song grew clearer.

He knew nothing about music, yet even he began to see wisps of emerald smoke curling in the air... saw scantily dressed beauties swaying their hips, approaching with graceful steps and alluring poses...

“Fuck off! It’s not like I’ve never seen a woman before!”

The Rat King shook his head violently to clear it, then raised his military repeating crossbow without hesitation and aimed at the distant figure playing the flute.

Whoosh—

The bolt flew.

But as the scene flashed before his eyes, he watched that expensive magic bolt disintegrate in midair, failing even to come within ten paces of the figure.

“Damn it... sending a mage of this level to kill a gutter-born rat like me... Old Ghost, you bastard...”

Seeing his life-saving crossbow fail for the second time today, the Rat King barely managed a muttered curse.

Then, as the flute-song surged, the light before him warped. An invisible strike hit his chest with perfect precision.

“Urgh—!”

The Rat King was hurled backward, slamming into the wall behind him before collapsing weakly to the ground.

Blood burst from his lips. His chest was caving in slightly; who knew how many ribs were broken.

If the other party had intended to kill him, he’d already be a corpse.

But even so, the injury was severe. As his strength leaked away, his vision blurred.

At death’s door, countless memories flickered through his mind—him kneeling respectfully before Old Ghost, before nobles, before all the lofty big shots, wagging his tail and begging.

Then scenes of him using his “emperor’s confidant” identity to expand the Mouse Society, shining briefly but brilliantly within that thin, red-lined boundary.

And finally, for some reason, everything circled back to that figure in the black formal suit and tall top hat.

“Kh... kh... damn it... why am I daydreaming like an idiot? If he hasn’t shown up by now, he probably never will.”

The Rat King pulled his mouth into a bitter smile.

Just as Old Ghost said—the so-called Dark Emperor was nothing but his naïve, childish fantasy.

In this icy Lower District, he only deserved to die cold, like the countless other rats that had expired in the sewers.

“Looks like... this time... I really lost my bet.”

He did not know if he would regret his choice from earlier, but he slowly closed his eyes.

And then—

“Sir, would you care for a pleasant game of cards?”

The Rat King snapped his weak eyes open, desperately searching around. But all he could see was a blurred figure standing beside him—appearing at some unknown moment.

The man didn’t speak any unnecessary words. He simply took out a deck of cards and casually drew two.

One he placed before the Rat King.

One before himself.

“The simplest high-card draw. Open.”

He flipped both cards.

Before the Rat King was a King of Spades—a high card. Drawing it meant losing was unlikely.

Before the stranger was a Heart Ace.

The strongest card in a high-card draw.

“Ah. I lost.”

The Rat King heard him say:

“Congratulations, Mister Sam. In this gamble—you are the winner.”