SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

From the second floor balcony, a shadow moved. A man with a scarlet birthmark covering half his face descended the stairs with slow, deliberate steps. His presence alone silenced the nearby gamblers.

Red Face, leader of the Gambling association, was not a man who placed personal bets often. When he did, fortunes were made or lost. Without a word, he set a heavy black storage pouch on the counter before Fatty Ben. The pouch rang with the unmistakable sound of 20 million mana crystals.

Gasps swept the hall. Even seasoned gamblers stiffened in their seats.

“Twenty million,” Red Face said, his deep voice as heavy as an iron gate swinging shut. “Against Kent King. Fifth round will be his grave.”

Fatty Ben’s eyebrows shot up, and then his wide lips stretched into a grin so broad it nearly split his face. He stood up, clasped his hands in respect, and personally accepted the pouch, his fingers curling around the weight of a sum large enough to buy a small sect.

“Leader Red Face,” he said smoothly, “your confidence is truly inspiring. May the heavens favor your prediction.”

No sooner had Red Face stepped aside than the crowd parted for another figure—a striking woman in a flowing crimson robe, her beauty sharp enough to draw blood from envy alone.

Ling Long.

Her eyes were cold as ice as they met Fatty Ben’s. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, simply tossed a storage ring onto the counter. It flared briefly, revealing her stake—13 million mana crystals.

“Prepare my reward,” Ling Long said, her voice laced with venom. “Kent King is going to lose miserably in the hands of those who won’t give him the mercy I did.”

The mention of her earlier defeat—one in which Kent had dismantled her like a child’s game—brought a few quiet chuckles from nearby gamblers, but no one dared voice them too loudly. Ling Long’s gaze could slice a man in two.

Fatty Ben’s grin only widened.

“Lady Ling Long,” he said smoothly, “the Golden Rat prides itself on swift payouts. If your prediction comes true, your crystals will be waiting for you with interest… though I warn you—sometimes, the mouse bites the cat when it least expects.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, turning sharply to leave.

By the time the betting house finally closed its doors, the counter was stacked with wagers so vast the Golden Rat’s vaults themselves groaned under the weight. The streets outside hummed with the fever of an upcoming spectacle—the fall of the number one seat.

Somewhere in the distance, far from the laughter and the clinking of mana crystals, Kent King sat quietly beneath the shadow of an ancient tree, unaware—or perhaps entirely unconcerned—about the mountain of wealth now resting on his failure.

The Golden Rat had set the stage. The crowd had chosen their villain.

Now all that remained… was to see whether the wolf would be devoured, or if the hunters had mistaken their prey.

—

The sun had risen high, burning away the last of the morning haze. The city streets outside the Golden Rat Gambling House still throbbed with excited chatter, but in the shaded courtyard behind the building, silence reigned.

Fatty Ben waddled in, his plump frame wrapped in shiny cloth that shimmered faintly with protective runes. The heavy coin-laden pouch at his side clinked with every step, a sound that would make lesser men’s hearts beat faster.

Under the sprawling branches of an old spirit willow, Kent sat cross-legged, the beast veil mask hiding all but the faint glint in his eyes. He didn’t stir as Fatty approached, but there was the subtle sense that Kent had been aware of him long before he entered the courtyard.

Fatty stopped a few paces away, fanning himself with a jade folding fan. His face was slick with both heat and excitement.

“Master Kent,” he began with a grin, “you wouldn’t believe the tide we’ve stirred today. The moment I set your odds at one to seventy, mana crystals poured in like a river bursting its banks. By the heavens, even Red Face himself put down twenty million against you. Ling Long tossed in thirteen million of her own. And the crowd… well, they think your number one seat is about to be stripped clean.”

Kent didn’t move, his tone calm and almost indifferent.

“And how much will the Golden Rat earn from this?”

Fatty’s grin deepened, the folds of his cheeks lifting.

“If you win… our profit could buy a sect. If you lose, we still take our cut. Either way, we feast. But…”

He leaned forward, lowering his voice.

“You’ve been winning without showing your true depth. That’s what’s kept the odds high, kept the crowd biting. This next round is different—ten to a group, two survivors. If you keep holding back, there’s a chance they might overwhelm you before you can react. And if you go all out—” he tapped the jade fan against his palm “—the crowd will see the truth, and the betting well might dry up next round.”

Kent’s eyes, hidden behind the mask, curved ever so slightly. A slow smile tugged at his lips.

“You’re worried about nothing, Ben. I know how to hide my strength. They’ll see just enough to think they can still kill me… right until they’re lying in the dust.”

Fatty studied him for a moment, then chuckled, shaking his head.

“You always speak like you’re the one arranging the board while the rest of us think we’re playing the game. Very well. I’ll trust you… though I wouldn’t mind if you scared them a little this time. Makes for better drama.”

Kent rose smoothly to his feet, the faint rustle of his robes sounding like a whisper through the courtyard.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his voice carrying a quiet, unshakable confidence. “Like every time, I’ll win. The rest is just noise.”

Fatty Ben’s grin widened again, but in the depths of his eyes, there was a flicker of unease—because something in Kent’s tone didn’t sound like a gambler’s promise.

It sounded like a prophecy.

–

Thank you @aaaninja!