"Not just the casino and money, now your life also belongs to me, huh?"

With that chilling and mocking voice, the once-boisterous casino turned dead silent in an instant.

The elegant and soothing music had ceased at some point, replaced by an icy hum. Sharp weapons were unsheathed from sleeves, walls, and beneath tables, and the seemingly polite attendants transformed into blade-wielding thugs in a heartbeat.

Even the scantily clad dealer girls raised miniature crossbows, seemingly pulled from thin air, and pointed them directly at Moen.

The air was thick with murderous intent.

In the blink of an eye, the man who had just won it all found himself trapped in a perilous snare.

"Kid, do you even know who I am?"

Sam glared at Moen, the veins on his forehead bulging with rage.

"I’m Rat King Sam! The last person who dared to make trouble in my casino ended up as rat food in the sewers, not even their bones were left!"

"Trouble? How could this be considered trouble, Mr. Sam? You were the one who agreed to play a few games with me, the one who decided the rules, the one who lost everything, and even the one who cheated. And now, you're also the one flipping the table first."

Moen looked at him with a playful gaze.

"So, who’s really making trouble here?"

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

Sam was fuming with rage, his grotesque face twisting into a grimace of wrath.

When had he ever been played like this?

Never!

Ever since entering this line of work, it had always been he who toyed with others.

And yet...

Sam's gaze swept across Moen's face, his anger surging to new heights.

The one toying with him turned out to be some nouveau riche from the Northern Territories? The infamous Rat King Sam, scorned and humiliated by a "foolish and rich" Northerner. If word of this ever got out, he’d become the laughingstock of the entire Lower City District in less than a day!

He couldn’t let this happen. Ever.

"Kid, I admit I’ve lost this round."

Sam let out a cold laugh.

"But you seem to be new here and don’t quite understand...

In the Lower City District, winning or losing has never been about luck or skill. What decides the outcome… is always power!"

Sam's finger rested on the trigger of his crossbow. The military-grade magical crossbow, capable of piercing even the scales of magical beasts, brought him a twisted sense of calm. He studied Moen closely, hoping to find a shred of fear on his face to savor.

Yet the man who stood surrounded by thugs, stared down by dozens of crossbows, remained utterly composed.

Moen even had the leisure to turn and examine the scantily clad dealer girls holding crossbows, as if pondering how they managed to conceal such sizable weapons in their revealing outfits.

"Mr. Sam, I don't think it's a wise choice," Moen cautioned, turning his gaze back. He didn't seem to notice the deadly crossbow aimed at him or, if he did, he paid it no mind. Instead, his tone was almost earnest.

"Such dangerous things tend to hurt people."

"To hell with that! I’m killing you!"

Sam could no longer restrain his rage under Moen’s calm demeanor. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

*Whoosh—*

The arrow tore through the air with a sharp whistle, its trajectory straight and lethal.

The arrow sunk cleanly into a forehead, the potent magical energy instantly shattering the skull it struck. Brain matter and blood splattered everywhere.

The grim scent of blood filled the room.

The silence was suffocating, broken only by a resigned sigh.

"Why wouldn’t you listen to my advice, Mr. Sam?"

Moen, who had sidestepped the incoming arrow with minimal effort, adjusted his slightly askew hat and glanced back toward the now-headless corpse.

It was one of the thugs who had positioned himself to block Moen's escape. But now, he lay dead, the victim of Rat King's crossbow.

"You see, all I had to do was dodge, and someone else gets killed. I told you it was dangerous, but why wouldn't you trust me?"

"You son of a—!"

Sam’s face contorted with fury. He didn’t need to issue any further orders; the dozen or so crossbows around the room were already priming to fire at once.

You might dodge one, but could you dodge a dozen?

Let’s see if I can’t …

"W-wait… Stop! Everyone stop! Put down your weapons, now!"

But just as the volley of arrows was about to be unleashed, Sam's wrathful expression abruptly shifted into one of sheer terror. His voice trembled, cutting through the tension with an unexpected desperation.

His gaze was locked on Moen's hand, as though he had seen something utterly unbelievable.

"Drop your weapons now! Now!"

The henchmen exchanged bewildered looks, confused as to why their boss, who moments ago could’ve ended the whole thing with a single command, was suddenly losing his nerve. But orders were orders. They reluctantly complied.

The suffocating atmosphere eased slightly. The deadly tension dissipated, replaced by a strange, unspoken unease.

Moen noted this with a playful smile, his fingers deftly flipping something in his hand.

"It seems you’ve noticed, Mr. Sam."

"When did you…"

Sam’s voice caught in his throat as he stared at Moen’s fingers. His face darkened, a mix of frustration and disbelief.

But Moen wasn’t holding a weapon, nor some large-scale magical device. He merely twirled a single playing card between his fingers.

A card that Rat King Sam recognized all too well.

It was the card he had slipped into his hand to secure victory in their match through cheating.

Yet here it was, in this stranger who named himself Bruce's hand.

And he hadn't even noticed when it had been taken.

Sam instinctively touched the empty pocket of his sleeve and thought back to the sudden, unexplained change in his cards earlier. A cold sweat broke out across his entire body.

If this man could take the card from him without him noticing... then it meant—

"I could kill you in the blink of an eye without you even knowing it."

Moen finished the sentence for him, smiling pleasantly. He flipped the card one last time, then flicked it onto the table before Sam.

"As Mr. Sam said earlier, this game didn’t matter at all. The stakes, the cheating—those were just trivial details for amusement.

What really mattered was that you sat across from me, within my reach. That’s enough, isn’t it?"

Sam stared at the playing card bearing his own scent, the color draining completely from his face. His complexion turned paler than the card itself.

"I thought it was some kind of sleight of hand," he stuttered, trembling.

"Sleight of hand? In a casino of all places? Sleight of hand would’ve been caught long ago," Moen chuckled.

"Who… are you?"

The Rat King finally lifted his head, locking eyes with this enigmatic figure before him.

In that moment, he realized the man wasn’t some naive, new-money Northerner but a beast hidden within the shadows.

And to think he had deluded himself into believing he could outmatch this beast in his own game—what a fool he had been, delivering himself up as prey.

"Bruce Wayne," Moen introduced himself again, casually.

"Just a passing by... ordinary citizen."

"Ordinary citizen? Ha, an ordinary citizen, you say."

Sam slumped back into his chair, a bitter laugh escaping his colorless lips.

"Fine. Let’s go with that… So tell me, Mr. Bruce, what do you want from me?"

"Don’t worry."

Moen laced his fingers together, offering a warm, gentlemanly smile.

"I just need a little favor from you, Mr. Sam."