Tonight the casino was extraordinarily lively, every seat filled.
Completely different from the shabbily dressed residents of the Ant Nest outside the casino, the guests here were all meticulously attired gentlemen and women in gorgeous clothing.
The strong smell of hard liquor and the captivating scent of perfume intertwined, like a powerful stimulant that accelerated the heartbeat.
The guests excitedly shouted and pushed large amounts of gold and silver onto the gambling tables.
In front of the most eye-catching gambling table of the night, Flora pushed a full two hundred gold coins held in both hands onto the betting table—this was her twentieth wager of the day.
The stakes were astonishingly high.
Originally the guests had thought that in this kind of underground casino only silver coins would be used for betting, and producing a few gold coins would be enough to cow the entire hall.
Yet at this moment the win-or-loss amount of a single round at this table was already sufficient to purchase a luxurious mansion in the city center.
Moreover, if this golden-haired, blue-eyed girl lost this round, the stakes would double again.
Sharp-eyed guests had noticed that Flora was not randomly scattering coins.
Every time she lost a round she doubled the wager, and as long as she persisted until luck turned around even once she was certain to recover her capital.
Unfortunately her luck today was poor.
At the beginning there were still a few wins and losses, yet afterward she suffered consecutive defeats.
Thus the stakes of each round rose madly from the initial few gold coins to the current two hundred-odd.
What surprised the other guests was that this golden-haired, blue-eyed girl showed no reaction whatsoever to such enormous wins and losses.
She always wore that sweet smile and pushed more and more gold coins onto the table time after time.
Whenever the money Flora had on the table was lost completely, that chestnut-haired young woman of beautiful appearance behind her would take out an even larger money bag from beneath her crow-like windbreaker.
She was probably Flora’s servant or bodyguard.
Every guest surrounding the gambling table was excited, stimulated into hysteria by those gold coins rolling one after another on the table.
Liz, however, sat the entire time behind Flora, quietly drinking wine, gently swirling the glass, the ice cubes rocking in the deep-red liquid and striking the walls of the glass.
Although she merely sat there quietly looking at Flora, her eyes seeming to carry a slight jealousy or dissatisfaction, she radiated an aura that inspired fear.
The clear and cold sound of the ice cubes in her hand striking the glass walls inadvertently cooled the boiling atmosphere beside the gambling table.
The dice cup was lifted.
For the eleventh consecutive time an odd number was revealed.
Flora lost once again.
A man could truly no longer bear to watch and slipped between Flora and Liz, saying worriedly to Flora, “Miss, stop quickly. Something is wrong with this casino.”
The man was right.
According to common sense, in an underground casino a gambler who could produce several dozen gold coins already counted as a wealthy person.
Yet now the gold coins piled upon the ten gambling tables totaled tens of thousands, and the staff were accustomed to weighing them with a scale.
Yet Flora only lowered her voice and said, “Thank you for the reminder, kind sir. However, I have not yet had enough fun.”
Flora turned her head and smiled at the man, then took another bag of gold coins from Liz behind her and moved it onto the gambling table.
Seeing that Flora would not listen to advice, the man helplessly shook his head and quickly walked out through that gate carved with groups of dragons, as if escaping from the hands of something terrible.
What truly made him feel fear were those black-clad people in front of the distant gambling tables.
Unlike the aristocratic men and women surrounding Flora to watch the excitement, those black-clad people had sharp gazes and bet rapidly; whether winning or losing their expressions remained completely unchanged, entirely unlike ordinary gamblers who became emotionally agitated and restless.
Rather than calling them gamblers it was better to say they more closely resembled a group of shrewd accountants; rather than saying they were gambling it was better to say they were checking accounts.
Flora smiled as she pushed more gold coins toward the table.
The focus of the entire casino concentrated upon this gambling table.
More and more guests gathered around; the bartenders and maids also approached one after another.
They exchanged glances with one another like a pack of wolves surrounding their prey.
Liz had long since detected the abnormality in this casino.
Flora’s mission was to act as the bait to draw out the Cult of the Dragon, while she herself was the final trump card protecting the princess.
At this moment she could only pray that Claire and Ophelia, who had already infiltrated the interior of the casino, would move a little faster.
Gazes focusing from all directions tightly locked upon the two of them, as if looking at fresh prey.
Everyone in this casino radiated an ominous aura.
This feeling was like having mistakenly entered a labyrinth illusion, while surrounding them were certain non-human beings wearing different human skins.
***
Even deeper underground beneath the thick stone and sand was the casino’s vault.
The amount of gold stored within far exceeded what a casino in a slum required.
Each of the ten gambling tables upstairs represented a branch of the Cult of the Dragon scattered throughout the Southern Continent.
Seated around the gambling tables were the accountants from the various branches.
Every year the offerings of the believers were converted into withdrawal vouchers that appeared to be gold coins.
On the gambling tables they lost these vouchers to the casino.
Once the amounts matched the accounts, the tithe for the current year was considered transferred.
The payers would withdraw from Paris within one day, while the receivers would carry these vouchers to banks in various places to exchange them for gold.
The black-clad accountants were surrounding the money chests, neatly arranging the gold coins and tightly wrapping every hundred of them into a roll with thick paper.
The money chests were tightly sealed, the gaps sealed with melted lead, and then a special method was used to pour material into the keyholes to ensure absolute safety.
Sitting in the center of the money chests was a man wearing a bronze mask and draped in a dark-red long robe.
Within the order he acted under the name “Stranger.”
He was the person in charge of this transfer and also the Dragon Priest of the order in the Gallic region.
The Cult of the Dragon had a total of seven Dragon Priests.
They had all once drunk dragon blood and become existences between dragon and human, educating the believers of different dioceses in the name of the Chen King.
The Stranger had been enfeoffed with the dioceses of Gaul and Flanders and at the same time controlled the financial power of the order.
As the youngest Dragon Priest, during his term of office he had opened up many gold-absorbing businesses for the order and created this present set of secret money-laundering procedures.
The Stranger stood up, opened the black-vinyl phonograph, and a melodious piano piece echoed through the empty underground space.
He twisted open a bottle of wine, poured half a glass into each of two glass cups, and handed one of them to the visitor draped in a white robe.
“This is sparkling wine, a specialty of the Champagne Principality—an unparalleled fine brew that can make the blood boil. Wasting even a single drop is a crime.”
The White Wizard took the wine glass and drained the champagne in one gulp.
“I thank the followers of the Great Dragon for being willing to extend a helping hand to us. With the materials you have generously provided, my brothers and sisters can find a thread of hope for survival amid hardship.”
“The Cult of the Dragon sympathizes with the tragic experiences of the Mutual Aid Society and deeply admires your courage in daring to resist the United Kingdom. The Red King of the Northern Continent once abandoned his subjects in a time of crisis and fled into the mountains; yet now the people of the Northern Continent have once again pushed the reborn him onto the throne—how ridiculous. I believe you will certainly be able to liberate your race from the hands of this absurd nation and regain freedom and glory.”
The White Wizard crossed both hands before his chest.
“I also wish that the Cult of the Dragon may revive soon and spread the true faith to the ignorant humans.”
“Where is the thing I want?” The Stranger suddenly shifted the topic.
The false courtesies finally ended.
The item the Mutual Aid Society had brought from the Northern Continent was the true reason he was willing to provide assistance.
From behind the White Wizard a burly orc draped in a brown hood stepped out and respectfully presented a peculiar sword with both hands.
The blade had a unique curved shape; the scabbard was as red as flame and covered with unknown scale skin that glittered with a mysterious luster.
The Stranger eagerly seized the sword and slowly drew the edge.
The body of the sword was a deep black, its surface smooth as a mirror that could clearly reflect the surrounding scenery.
The blade had been carefully polished and presented a dark blue-green color; the patterns upon the edge rolled without cease like ocean waves.
The Stranger recognized at a glance that those were the ancient characters unique to the era of dragons.
He carefully examined the body of the sword as if examining the face of a lover and pressed it tightly beneath his own mask.
The eyelashes upon the bronze mask trembled lightly, revealing the desire and shock within his heart.
The White Wizard still stood quietly in the shadows, his voice low.
“Then where is the person I am to meet?”
The Stranger reluctantly returned the sword to its scabbard and lightly waved a hand to signal his subordinates to bring out a young girl from a room in the depths.
The girl of eleven or twelve wore an untimely light-blue dress; the thin fabric was covered with stains, as if recounting the hardships she had experienced.
Her arms were tightly bound by thin iron chains; an iron gag was clamped between her pale lips; her vacant eyes showed no emotion whatsoever.
The White Wizard abruptly raised his head; lava-like fury shot straight at the Stranger’s bronze mask.
The Dragon Priest sitting among the money chests could not help but tremble all over.
He slowly half-knelt on the ground and gently draped his own white robe over the girl.
“I apologize. We have come late, heir of the Siren Court, descendant of the Sirens.” The White Wizard’s voice was filled with guilt and self-reproach, yet the girl’s vacant eyes showed no reaction.
The Stranger slightly furrowed his brows and began to narrate the girl’s origin.
“One month ago a small fishing village on the coast of Nantes mysteriously disappeared. It was precisely the season of crab breeding; this fishing village famous for producing crabs had cut off contact with all the distributors. Someone was sent to investigate, yet discovered that everyone in the village had already died miserably, the manner of death bizarre and tragic.”
“This girl was the sole survivor. At first the order believed she was of the bloodline of the Sea Dragon King and went to great lengths to transfer her into our hands, yet who could have expected that she was actually a demonkin. We adopted some necessary protective measures; I hope you will not mind.”
The Stranger lightly tossed out a string of keys that could unlock the girl’s shackles.
Only then did the White Wizard avert his furious gaze.
Suddenly a light knocking sound came from above their heads.
The Stranger nodded.
A subordinate standing behind him pulled open the iron cover plate on the ceiling, and a young man agilely jumped down from the upper floor of the casino, dressed in the attire of a cleric.
“Lord Stranger, the situation outside is very tense. The police force of Paris has already sealed off the entire Flea Nest. We may have been targeted by the Heresy Tribunal. Lady Crone sent a telegram ordering everyone to withdraw immediately.” The young cleric bowed in salute.
“Has the account reconciliation not yet been completed?”
The Stranger ignored him, selected a gold coin from the money chest, and smashed it hard with his fist.
The head of the previous Lucis emperor shattered, replaced by a dragon head with deer antlers and long whiskers.
“These are all counterfeit coins?” The young man was stunned.
The Stranger tossed that gold coin toward the young cleric.
“In the hands of outsiders they are counterfeit coins that cannot be spent, yet in our hands they are tokens. Every specially minted token can be exchanged for one ounce of gold at the banks we cooperate with. We naturally cannot openly transfer three thousand pounds of gold. What we are reconciling and transferring is tokens with a value of three thousand pounds of gold! If the transfer cannot be completed today, next year the order will have no money to use, and the bankers supporting us will also abandon us. This is not a loss your Crone can bear for the order!”
The Heresy Tribunals throughout the Southern Continent had already tracked the money transactions of the Cult of the Dragon for several years, yet had never successfully caught them in the act of transfer.
Because the receivers were not a single person; this transfer was conducted in the manner of more than a hundred people against more than a hundred banks.
The money dispersed and flowed away the moment it gathered; even if the Pope himself came to investigate it would be difficult to find any clue.
“Do you need our help?” the White Wizard asked in a low voice.
“There is no need. I advise you to leave as quickly as possible. This urban district is being sealed off, yet the waterways are still open. Take your materials and people and flee as far as possible.”
The White Wizard nodded, gently took the girl’s hand, turned and left, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
At that moment a black-clad accountant leaped down from upstairs.
Without time to close the iron cover plate he hurriedly ran to the Stranger’s ear and reported, “My lord, an error has occurred in the transfer procedures upstairs. A woman is randomly placing bets. The dealers are racking their brains to force her out, yet every time she loses she wagers even more, seriously interfering with the account-reconciliation work.”
“If she cannot be driven out of the casino,” the young cleric lowered his voice and said, “then kill her!”
After a brief silence the black-clad people emitted low laughter that made one’s heart feel creepy and exchanged mocking glances with one another.
“Hahaha, you are teaching me how to kill people?” The Stranger spread his hands and laughed loudly.
“Fellows, this young man is teaching me how to kill people, haha.”
The young cleric shrank his shoulders in terror; he instantly realized he had made a mistake.
He had been sent by the Crone to monitor the Stranger, yet the Crone’s orders had no effect here with the Stranger.
In the organizational system of the Cult of the Dragon the relationship among the Dragon Priests more closely resembled that of warlords who partitioned their respective dioceses.
While the Stranger could still control the situation he would not be willing to hear suggestions or orders from other Dragon Priests.
The last thing the young cleric saw was the scarlet sword blade rushing toward him.
Afterward blood flowed silently around the young man’s feet.
The Stranger silently returned the scarlet thrust sword to his waist.
The corpse was dragged away by the black-clad people and thrown into a distant pit hole; the smell of blood was strong.
Tonight those gamblers who thought they had won money all remained here; their throats had been brutally severed and their entire bodies’ blood drained.