Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 29 Blood Flows Immediately

Chapter 29 Blood Flows Immediately
“Patience has never been a virtue of an emperor. Since the game is too slow, it is better to harvest directly.”

In the Blood Castle, candlelight burned with a dark red flame, reflecting on the heavy gambling table.

It was as if blood was slowly seeping through the wood texture.

The air was heavy, like the suffocating feeling before a storm, brewing a depression that was about to collapse.

The game has entered deep water.

Siming slowly adjusted his breathing, knowing that the Duke's pressure was still with him.
It oppressed his every judgment and every moment of betting.

However, he could no longer be devoured.

He had to adapt to the rhythm, carefully lay out his strategy, bet cautiously, and observe the Duke's behavior patterns.
Trying to find a exploitable gap in this quagmire.

He began to stabilize his hand, waiting for the Duke to reveal a flaw.

However, just when he thought he could finally see the situation clearly, the Duke suddenly stopped.

He smiled.

That smile contained neither the triumphant satisfaction of a victory, nor the anger, nor the excited anticipation.

It was a kind of indifferent boredom—like an emperor who had grown tired of overly lengthy entertainment and lost interest in the struggles of his prey.

He slowly raised one hand and made a casual gesture, as if waving away a boring performance.

The next moment, the gate of the Blood Castle slowly opened.

The night seeped into the hall through the towering window frames, and shadows twisted on the ground like lurking monsters.

The heavy iron door was opened, and a suffocating fishy-sweet smell hit me in the face.

A large number of vampire soldiers poured in like a tide.

They were clad in black and gold armor, their red cloaks billowing in the air.
Its sharp fangs were hidden in the shadows, its eyes were filled with hunger.
Just like a predator that has been sleeping for many years, it finally has the opportunity to have a feast.

The three Blood Marquises who had already retreated stood quietly on the other side of the hall, each leading a Blood Clan army.
It's like a hound returning to the team, waiting for new hunting instructions.

Their expressions were either gloomy, indifferent, or filled with hints of sarcasm, as if they were waiting for the moment when Sima Ming would be completely defeated.

Loren, Natasha, Roca, Avel, Herman, and Celian were all surrounded by vampires.

They were forced to kneel on the ground, the blood clan's claws were on their necks, and the fangs shone coldly in the candlelight.
It can cut through flesh and take life at any time.

"...Madman." Natasha cursed softly, her fingertips trembling slightly as she stared at the vampire soldier in front of her.

Avel's expression was calm, but suppressed anger burned in his eyes.

Roca tried to struggle, but was kicked over by a vampire soldier. His forehead hit the cold stone floor hard, and blood oozed out.

Loren glanced sideways slightly, his tightly pursed lips revealing an imperceptible alertness. He slowly adjusted his breathing, narrowed his eyes and pondered the direction of the situation.

Siming's fingertips were tightly gripped on the table, trying hard to suppress the anger surging in his heart.

This gamble is never fair.

He slowly stood up, his voice low, like a sharp blade piercing the silence in the darkness:
"The rule is that you can't fight until the main general loses."

A complex emotion flashed in Loren's eyes.

- Is Siming using rules to refute the Duke? Does he really think this tyrant cares about rules?
The Duke chuckled, casually withdrew his gesture, and looked at Siming as if he was looking at a toy that was still resisting.

There was no emotion in his eyes, as if Sima Ming's question was just a joke.

"rule?"

The Duke repeated the word slowly, his voice low and magnetic, like a bloody chant whispered in the night.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes fell on Siming, a hint of sarcasm appeared at the corner of his mouth, as if he had heard the most ridiculous remarks in the world.

"You have misunderstood one thing."

He raised his fingers and tapped the table lightly. Each tap was like the echo of a heartbeat, reverberating in the silent hall with an unsettling rhythm.

"I am the rule."

boom!
The murderous aura exploded, and the temperature of the entire hall seemed to drop to freezing point in an instant.

The air froze, like an invisible layer of frost covering everyone's hearts.

Siming's body stiffened, his limbs seemed to be bound by invisible shackles, and even his breathing became sluggish, as if he was facing the real call of death.

"And my patience has been running out lately."

The Duke's voice fell slowly, without a trace of emotion.
But it carries the emperor's judgment, like the bell of fate that cannot be defied, ringing slowly and heavily.

"So, I want blood now."

The heavy stone door opened again, and the night seeped into the hall like the cold breath of death.

A vampire viscount slowly entered. Behind him, several humans in prison uniforms, bound by chains, were led into the hall, stumbling. Their footsteps echoed on the obsidian floor like the sound of bells before some kind of sacrifice.

Loren's pupils suddenly contracted.

He recognized these people.

——They are the dealers of the Golden Country.

These people were once the most elite gambling operators in the Golden Country, controlling the high-stakes gambling inside the casino.

When the vampires invaded the Golden City, they disappeared mysteriously. Everyone thought they had met with misfortune, but unexpectedly,

They were secretly brought to the Blood Castle and became bargaining chips in this hunt.

The dealers' faces were filled with fear, their lips trembled slightly, and their eyes were filled with deep despair.

The iron chain rubbed against the ground, making a heart-pounding metallic sound.
Every step is a resistance to the impending fate, but there is no possibility of escape.

The Duke waved his hand casually, as if directing an insignificant ceremony.

The vampire viscount nodded and pulled out a sharp dagger.

A flash of cold light cut through the night, and at a terrifyingly precise angle, it slowly cut the throat of one of the dealers.

"—!"

Blood gushed out, like a broken ruby, and slid down the neck.

It dripped into the crystal glass that had been prepared long ago, like the most precious wine, quietly filling the bottom of the glass.

The whole hall fell into deathly silence.

The vampires all looked up, their scarlet pupils shrank slightly, and their eyes flashed with unconcealable desire.

At that moment, they held their breath, as if waiting for a divine blessing, as if the blood before their eyes was not death, but an ancient and sacred ritual.

Some indescribable, ancient power quietly awakens at this moment.

Roca roared angrily, his veins bulging, and he struggled frantically, trying to break free from the restraints.

However, his action only earned the vampire's indifferent response—the sharp claws pinched his shoulders mercilessly.

The sharp claws almost pierced his bones, and blood oozed out and slid down his cloak.

Siming's fingertips dug deeply into the table, his knuckles turning white. His sharp eyes cut through the Duke's smile like a knife, and his heart was beating wildly between anger and fear.

At this moment, he finally understood.

The Duke never cared about gambling.

A game that doesn’t care about rules, winning or losing, or strategy.

All he cared about was blood.

He picked up the glass of blood that had just been filled, raised it gracefully, put it to his lips and sniffed it gently, then closed his eyes.

He showed a very satisfied smile, like a nobleman enjoying a glass of fine wine.

Then, he slowly opened his eyes and looked at Siming. His eyes were deep, his voice was low and magnetic, with a touch of terrifying tenderness.

"Now, continue your gambling."

His fingertips gently stroked the wall of the cup, and his tone was leisurely, as if he was urging an unfinished performance.

"But if I have to wait too long..."

He gently put down the cup and slowly swept his eyes over the people at the gambling table, as if he was examining a group of prey about to be slaughtered.

"Who will fall next time?"

The air seemed to be frozen, and the smell of blood and death mixed together, making it almost suffocating.

Siming's heartbeat suddenly quickened.

He looked at the Duke, and countless coping strategies flashed through his mind, but none of them could really shake the current situation.

This is not a gamble, not a contest of skills, nor a psychological warfare offense and defense.

This is a hunt.

And he, from the very beginning, was just prey.

At this moment, he finally understood.

The Duke's real bet has never been the chips.

But it is Sima Ming itself.

(End of this chapter)

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