Gun of Ashes

Chapter 25: Chapter 19: The Blood-Stained Bull

”Death roulette?”

Sabo looked at the silver revolver, with only one of the six chambers loaded with a bullet.

”You should know the rules of the game, right? You take a turn, I take a turn... Actually, I believe the probability has always been only one in two, either death or life.”

Lorenzo murmured, placing the revolver in the center of the table, facing the playing cards laid down by Sabo, like a lone rider facing thousands of troops.

”Actually, I don’t need to play with you.”

Sabo suddenly shook his head. This was his kingdom; he held an absolute advantage, and Lorenzo was just a mere pawn that could be easily crushed.

”No, you need to.”

It was another gun, with a wooden body engraved with intricate patterns, and floral engravings in the silver section, with a line of poetry written within.

Eve looked at the gun almost bewildered, believing there was no way her skirt had enough space to hide this gun, then where did Lorenzo get it from?

But Lorenzo seemingly did not intend to explain, as the beloved Winchester pointed at Sabo, so close that if Lorenzo pulled the trigger, Sabo’s head would burst into a blossom of blood right before his eyes.

”Is this your original thought?”

”Yes, find you, aim the gun at your head, though the risk is high. You are the boss of Green Shark. I am not sure I could leave alive, but you also wouldn’t want your long-standing business to stop, right?”

Lorenzo’s eyes were cold.

”So let’s not waste time, Sabo. If I win, tell me everything; if you win, I’ll simply leave.”

Sabo’s expression gradually turned cold. Having a gun pointed at his head in his own territory was not amusing, but after a brief pause, he revealed that confident smile again.

”No, the stakes are not enough.”

”How about adding these?”

Lorenzo rested his elbows on the gambling table, full of confidence.

”Are you betting your hands?”

His hands were ordinary, black cuffs lining a white shirt, and scars from injuries could be seen on the slightly exposed skin.

”Everything on the gambling table is a stake.”

He replied.

This time, Sabo finally took the man in front of him seriously. He was different from many people Sabo had encountered, uniquely like a pearl in the sand, with boiling blood under that black coat.

No more words were needed. Sabo knew he had to enter the game, or else the man before him would definitely pull the trigger. He wouldn’t care if he could leave alive; he would certainly do it.

”I hate people like you, who are so persistent.”

Picking up the revolver, Sabo stared fiercely at the man before him, his finger already on the trigger, waiting for his reaction. Yet the eyes behind that brass mask were without ripple, reminding Sabo of the northern Silent Sea, whose surface remains calm as dead water, yet the bone-chilling cold when touched is more terrifying than any storm.

”I’ve played this many times. The essence of this game is not really luck, just the degree of fear of death. If you fear it, you lose.”

Sabo said, pulling the trigger, but nothing happened. Cold sweat trickled down through the mask’s gaps, yet Sabo remained composed, then placed the revolver back in the center of the table.

”I understand; this is a psychological war. The winners are always those with steadfast determination, and those madmen who fearlessly face death.”

Lorenzo took the revolver, almost without pause, and placed the gun against his own head.

”What kind of person do you think you are? A person with steadfast determination, or a madman?” Sabo asked.

”You’ll find out.”

Pull the trigger — an empty chamber. Lorenzo threw the gun back to the center again.

By now, two shots had been fired, and the deadly bullet was hidden among the next four.

At some unknown time, the atmosphere had grown hot. The music turned passionate, like that military music of war, pushing waves of enthusiasm to crash in layers like tides, as they looked at the reliefs on the bullet nest, as if the Ghost Gods came alive, slaughtering and roaring at each other, finally reduced to ashes in the sky full of fire.

”You have a lot of courage.”

Sabo praised, then raised the revolver again, but this time the revolver was much heavier; he had to exert all his strength to hold it, and at this moment Lorenzo’s voice echoed softly.

”Do you know, all gamblers are desperados? We rely on that fierce spirit and must not show any cowardice. Once you show it... even when you have that slightest fear in your heart, you’ve already lost, like a swordsman wielding a blade, hesitating even for a moment will have your head chopped off by the enemy.”

”Do you think I’m afraid?”

Sabo felt almost ridiculed and angrily said, attempting to pull the trigger, but under that icy touch, no matter how much force he used, the trigger stayed completely unmoving.

He was supposed to be fearless, but in that moment, countless emotions surged to his heart. Looking across the gambling table, Lorenzo’s gray-blue eyes remained icy cold, just like the familiar northern Silent Sea.

Another empty chamber; ultimately, Sabo pulled the trigger, lucky that the bullet wasn’t among them.

”Your turn.”

He pretended to stay calm.

Three bullets left. According to the sequence, even if there are no bullets in the next round, the last round will still have the final bullet belonging to Lorenzo, and he will surely die.

Slowly raising the gun, Lorenzo seemed to have realized this problem and hesitated to pull the trigger.

”Are you scared? You can still stop now. I’ll take your hands, but you’ll be alive.”

Sabo advised, just as he said from the beginning, this is a psychological war. As long as he can break the enemy’s heart, he will lose. Sabo already imagined Lorenzo begging for mercy in a dignified manner. His other hand was also clenched tightly around the gun under the table.

Desperados are always insane, Sabo had to guard against Lorenzo not fulfilling the bet and instead opening fire.

Beside him, Eve’s face was already pale. She held onto Lorenzo, hoping this guy would stop this crazy action; continuing would only indefinitely increase the probability of death. She clearly understood that so-called fifty-fifty chance was nonsense.

”Are you crazy?”

Lorenzo turned his head to look at her. The girl was really beautiful, worthy of being the princess of Phoenix. Even the mask couldn’t hide her radiance. It reminded Lorenzo of once riding the steam tram to the edge of the city, where there were open green fields and blue skies. There were no steam towers, no dark clouds, as beautiful as heaven, making people feel at ease. The girl before him was just as uplifting.

”Today’s my lucky day, today and even after tonight.”

He said, without the anticipated plea for mercy. Lorenzo’s face was already filled with a mad excitement at some point. That kind of frenzy could be felt even through the mask, the visage of a gambler in a desperate frenzy.

He pinched the girl’s fair cheek hard, then looked at Sabo in front of him.

”You’ve already lost.”

”I’ve lost?”

Sabo thought Lorenzo would mention Bola’s name to plead, but he never expected him to say this sentence?

”Yes. This is a psychological war, as you said. But when you tried to shake my spirit, doesn’t it mean you’re not sure you can win?”

Lorenzo said, pulling the trigger, it was an empty chamber.

It was a bizarre feeling. A gambler cannot admit defeat, not even the thought of it. Once you admit defeat, that’s your death knell.

Sabo suddenly felt a chilling fear. This man had been prepared for everything from the moment he arrived, a person with a pure will, who would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

”Sabo, I’ve won.”

He declared his victory, pulling the trigger again, the cylinder rotated forward fiercely, intricate mechanics interlocking to produce slight sparks, but ultimately there was nothing, the bullet of death still remained in the chamber, the Goddess of Fortune had not abandoned him.

This was a seemingly mortal situation, but it was as though Lorenzo knew exactly where the bullet was, bypassing those two empty chambers, leaving the final death for Sabo.

The last chance, with a bullet in the chamber, and the muzzle pointed at Sabo.

The bull mask underneath was already soaked with sweat. From start to finish, this damn game was under this person’s control, which was the reason he chose this game. A person with a firm will couldn’t possibly win; no one had thought to keep pulling the trigger; only a madman could be the last winner of this game.

”Fulfill the bet, Sabo.”

The gun aimed at him, and Lorenzo didn’t even break a sweat; to him, the edge of death seemed almost habitual.

”Aren’t you afraid I might go back on my word?”

Sabo asked coldly.

”As long as you’re willing to abandon your dignity, you can naturally go back on your word.”

This is the cost, the dignity varies from person to person. For some, they can die for it, while for others, it never even existed.

Sabo was a Viking. Even in today’s technologically advancing society, they still hold nostalgia for those old beliefs. Abandoning dignity would forever keep him out of the Heroic Spirit Hall.

They locked eyes like swordsmen gripping their sword hilts, meeting on a narrow path where only one would survive.

Eve watched the bull mask, drops of sweat rolling off its edges like blood, darkening the tablecloth. This was a very difficult decision, dignity or telling Lorenzo everything.

”Damn it!”

Sabo cursed, drawing the gun from under the table, but Lorenzo was faster. The silver Funeral Bell was already pressed against his head the next second, but he hesitated, knowing that pulling the trigger would neither obtain information nor survive here. But at that moment, a faster sword flashed.

It was a severed arm that flew through the air, clutching a gun that hadn’t fired yet. Blood splattered, staining the entire table red, and before Sabo could even scream, the sword blade severed his throat.

He died without making a sound from start to finish, killed by a ghostly sword, collapsing powerlessly on the table’s edge, then falling down. The man took his place, sitting across from Lorenzo, lightly placing the bloodstained thrusting sword on the table. The blade edge chipped, unbeknownst as to how many it had killed.

”Mr. Lorenzo Holmes, nice to meet you.”

The man’s features were crushed into distortion, a grotesque figure, picking up the corpse’s mask with a chilling smile, then placing it onto his own face.

The bull mask was stained red with blood, crimson blood seeping along the carved patterns, and in the saturation of blood, the mask seemed to come alive, hiding behind it a man-eating demon.

”Well...pleased to meet you, Mr. Sabo.”

Lorenzo paused briefly, his smile widening before he continued.

The air seemed to thicken, pressing like leaden clouds upon the heart.

The gamble of the night was far from over.