Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 30 Blood Bet

“When the chips at stake become life, poker players will understand what true fear is.”

The candlelight flickered faintly, and the red light reflected on the gambling table, like a blood-thirsty ghost, devouring the only remaining hope in the air.

The heavy obsidian tabletop reflected everyone's face, distorted and blurred, like afterimages manipulated by fate.

Siming's fingertips felt slightly cold, and the sweat from his palms slid down between his fingers.

He could feel every thump of his own heartbeat, heavy and rapid.

The gambling game has completely gotten out of control.

The Duke raised one hand slightly and tapped the tabletop with his index finger, absentmindedly, in an unsettlingly steady rhythm.

His scarlet pupils reflected the candlelight, the blood, and an expectation deeper than killing.

"This game seems a bit boring."

His voice was slow and leisurely, with a kind of indifference that examined the drama, "Maybe... we should make it more interesting."

With a slight snap of his fingers, two vampire servants emerged from the shadows, dragging a pale-faced dealer to the center of the hall.

The dealer's legs were trembling, his lips opened and closed slightly, as if he wanted to beg for mercy, but in the end he said nothing.

His hands were tied behind his back, and his once neat gambler's suit was now stained with dark blood, like a poker card sunk in the mud, in tatters.

Siming's pupils shrank slightly and his fingers tightened unconsciously.

He knew what the Duke was going to do.

The Duke chuckled softly and slowly stroked his fingers over the liquid in his cup. The bright red blood was still warm, and subtle ripples appeared.

"From now on, every round of failure will cost someone their blood."

He gently sipped the blood in the cup, his eyes slowly sweeping over the people at the gambling table, as if savoring some pleasant aroma.

"Only the victor is qualified to keep his own flesh and blood."

His tone was still gentle and casual, but it contained a certain unquestionable meaning.

"Otherwise, blood will be shed."

The air seemed to freeze.

Siming's reason was shaken violently, and alarm bells rang in his mind.

The rules of gambling are no longer about winning or losing chips, but about the measurement of life.

In the first round, Sima Ming lost.

The blade flashed, and the vampire attendant cut the dealer's throat without hesitation, and blood gushed out.

It gathered into a winding river of blood on the cold marble floor.

A fishy-sweet smell filled the air, so strong that it was nauseating.

In the second round, Sima Ming lost.

The second dealer was dragged to the center of the hall, his eyes were empty, even before death came.

I have lost all will to struggle.

The sharp blade fell again, blood splattered, staining the dark carpet beside the Duke red.

In the third round, Sima Ming still lost.

In the fourth round, the defeat remained unchanged.

The fifth round, still failed.

Five corpses, five pools of blood, and five pairs of eyes that were still open in death, lay quietly on the floor outside the gambling table.

The blood flowed slowly through the cracks in the stone bricks, gathering into chaotic dark red arcs, like a silent sacrifice.

Above the gambling table, the smell of blood was so strong that it was pungent.

Loren turned his head silently, his eyes deep.

Natasha's face was pale, the corners of her lips trembled slightly, as if she was trying hard to endure the churning in her stomach.

Hermann's fingers were slightly curled up and his brows were tightly furrowed.

Avel's fists were clenched, veins bulging, and Roca's nails almost pierced his palms, but no one could stop it.

The Duke's game no longer allows for withdrawal.

Siming's fingertips dug into the tabletop, his force so strong that it seemed as if he was about to overturn the heavy gambling table. Every adjustment he made was completely crushed by the Duke.

He tried to calm his mind, but the Duke's murderous aura followed him everywhere. Whenever he tried to adapt a little,
The invisible pressure would suddenly increase, pushing him mercilessly into deeper despair.

The gamble is no longer a gamble.

It's a hunt.

"...What do you want to do?" His voice was low and hoarse, and every word was filled with extremely suppressed anger.

The Duke tilted his head slightly, the smile on his lips deepened, his eyes remained calm.

"I'm enjoying a desperate game."

He slowly stroked his wine glass, the scarlet liquid swaying slightly in the glass, reflecting his pupils, like the reflection of an endless abyss.

"Don't you love gambling?" His tone was gentle, even with a hint of patience that was almost caring.

"Then I just made it... more real."

The candlelight flickered slightly, the smell of blood had permeated every corner of the gambling table, and the air was so heavy that even breathing seemed a luxury.

The blood slowly spread and gathered into a twisted dark red track, like the mark left by fate.

There was only one dealer left.

Siming stared at the cards on the table, his fingertips tightening slightly.

He knew that if he lost again in the next round, the ones to be sacrificed would no longer be the dealers who were doomed to die, but themselves.

He slowly raised his eyes and looked at the Duke, trying to find a crack in those scarlet pupils, a crack that could shake the other party.

However, the Duke just looked at him calmly, the smile on his lips still elegant, even with a bit of interest that was almost pity.

"What do you want to say, stranger?" the duke asked softly, in a slow and careless tone. "Are you begging for mercy?"

Siming did not answer. He just slowly exhaled and suppressed the emotions surging in his throat.

He knew that if he showed any weakness at this moment, the Duke would not hesitate to tear down his last psychological defenses and force him into a desperate situation.

He couldn't show weakness, even though he was at his limit at the moment.

He must persist, must hold on, and must win this gamble.

At this moment, his eyes inadvertently swept over Natasha.

The look in her eyes.

Under the shadow of death, on the edge of despair, a faint light burned deep in her pupils.

She was looking at him, with neither the calculation of a gambler nor the coldness of a hunter in her eyes, only the instinct of wanting to survive.

She wants to live.

She didn't want to die in this absurd game.

In an instant, Siming's fingers slowly clenched, and the slightly trembling fingertips gradually regained stability.

His breathing evened out, and the pounding of his heart faded, replaced by an almost calm focus.

He got it.

He doesn't have much time left.

He must win the next round!

The Duke gently put down the wine glass. The blood in the glass shone with a strange luster under the candlelight.
The scarlet pupils turned slightly and fell on the only dealer left at the gambling table.

The dealer was trembling with fear, too weak to even beg. He could only lower his head and wait for the judgment of fate.

The Duke's fingertips tapped the tabletop, the rhythm leisurely, like a low funeral elegy.

"Next round, continue." His voice remained steady, without any fluctuation, as if he already knew the outcome.

He raised his eyes slightly, and his gaze slowly swept over Natasha, Loren, Herman, Roca, and Avel, finally stopping on Celian.

"But if you still lose..." His tone was gentle, like some kind of fatal temptation.

"Next time, the blood will no longer belong to these insignificant pawns."

The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, and his eyes were as cold as the moon on a cold night.

"It's you."

(End of this chapter)