Gunmage
Chapter 195: The drunk gambler

Chapter 195: Chapter 195: The drunk gambler

It was late at night, and the moon shone brilliantly over the stalwart city of white.

Pyrellis, a noble city of several districts, all centered around the towering castle of the Royal Family, that could be seen from any and every angle.

Most of the city was calm and quiet, guards patrolled the streets, merchant stalls were closed and most houses in the residential areas had already turned off their lamps.

In the Eastern business quarter, however, the night had only just begun.

The entire area shone like a glowing beacon in the dark.

A grand three-story building stood proudly along the glowing stretch of Hedone Street, its bright lamps illuminating a masterfully carved sign of sculpted stone:

The Geolu Casino.

Inside, on the second floor, a man slumped over the bar counter, his head resting heavily atop folded arms.

A neat little pyramid of empty shot glasses sat beside him like fallen comrades.

With short black hair, a portly belly, and food-stained, drink-spotted clothes, he looked less like a nobleman and more like a worthless drunkard. He was certainly a regular fixture at the casino.

He reeked of spirits—cheap and strong—and yet none of the staff dared to throw him out.

This was Victor Aelhurst, after all. One of their most frequent patrons, a man who had, once again, blown an obscene amount of money gambling and now sought to drown the sorrow.

His recent losses seemed to weigh particularly heavy.

Behind the counter, the bartender wiped a glass with a calm, practiced hand.

"Mr. Victor, you seem more agitated than usual tonight,"

He said mildly.

"Something troubling you?"

Victor jerked up a bit, eyes glassy, then barked a laugh.

"Troubles? Troubles? Hah! Troubles! Oh, I got troubles alright!"

He slammed the counter with a hand, loud enough to make a few heads turn.

The bartender kept his tone gentle.

"If it helps, I’m willing to lend an ear."

Victor’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"You wanna give me your ears?"

"I mean, I’ll listen to your complaints."

"I’d rather have your ears,"

Victor muttered.

"I like ears. Long ones. Like royal canoes..."

The bartender sighed. This wasn’t his first time dealing with people like this. And Victor was certainly a character.

For a moment there was silence. One might’ve thought he’d passed out.

Then his voice came again—groggy, gravelly, fluctuating between a mumble and a shout.

"Can you imagine it? Those stuck-up Von Heim bastards. Threatenin’ me. Me!"

He jabbed a thumb at his chest and wobbled in place. Some nearby patrons leaned in, curious.

The bartender played along, nudging him gently.

"The Von Heims? Threaten you? How so?"

"It all started... twelve—no, four—no, three weeks ago. Or days. Wait. No, before that. Maybe last month? Hell if I know the time."

He waved a hand vaguely in the air.

"I went to propose a marriage alliance. A personal one. With Isolde."

The bar fell still.

"You what?"

Someone asked.

Even the bartender looked shocked.

Victor nodded solemnly, still slouched.

"I went there. Knocked on her giant-ass door, all proper. Said I propose Lirienne’s hand in marriage to my nephew. In exchange for our support."

"You... offered your nephew?"

"For unity! Strength! He’s a good boy! She’s not good at their family trade. It’s a perfectly reasonable exchange and hey, my family’s big enough to count, right? Aren’t it? Isn’t they? Is... am... are they it?"

There was a small sigh of relief as most seemed to have believed he had the guts to ask for Isolde’s hand in marriage.

"Yes, yes,"

The bartender replied, barely suppressing a grin.

"Go on."

The bar had gone quiet now. Everyone was listening.

"You wanna know what she said?"

Victor growled.

"She turned you down?"

Someone guessed.

"Worse. She told me her daughters would only marry whoever they want."

A round of chuckles went around the bar.

"You sure you heard right, Victor?"

Victor shot upright.

"I know what I heard!"

Immediately regretting it, he clutched his head and flopped back onto the counter with a groan.

"I took her words to heart,"

He said mournfully. "Yesterday—no, tomorrow—I went back to their manor."

Laughter again.

"That day, I asked her, ’Since your daughters only marry who they want, give me your son instead!’"

Another burst of laughter.

"He’s a bastard anyway! I was doin’ them a favor!"

"And what’d she say?"

The bartender asked, smiling now.

Victor sat up, eyes heavy-lidded.

"She said he’s dead."

Silence.

Then—

A wave of murmurs passed through the crowd. The bartender’s hand paused mid-polish.

"She looked me in the eye and said, ’He’s dead.’ Can you believe that? Instead of just telling me no, they make up some ridiculous lie!"

He thumped the bar.

"No respect. None! Those arrogant Von Heim bastards!"

The murmurs turned to laughter.

"Bastards, he says!"

"Hahaha! Drunks got guts!"

"Say that when a Von Heim’s actually listening!"

Victor’s eyes gleamed.

"Oh, they might be listenin’."

"What?"

Victor reached below the counter and pulled up a silver-gilded cage. Inside sat a strange, silent bird with shimmering red and blue feathers. Its glassy black eyes stared blankly.

"Their ’messenger bird.’ Creepy little corpse of a thing. Doesn’t chirp. Doesn’t blink. Just stares."

He jabbed a finger at it.

"Who the hell uses a bird like this for messages? Look at it! It’s rigged, I tell you! Rigged!"

The bartender took the cage, examining it carefully as silence fell over the bar.

After a long pause, he spoke.

"Odd bird... but nothing wrong with it."

Victor blinked.

"You sure?"

"Yes. I’m sure."

"Alright then..."

Victor slumped again.

"Anyway, she said the boy—Lugh—is dead. But he can be revived. Can you believe that? Who even says that to someone? ’He’s dead... but maybe not!’ Pfft."

A patron called out.

"Sounds like a trap!"

"Of course it’s a trap!"

Victor shouted.

"And I’m supposed to help gather ingredients for some spooky ritual! I told you lot but nobody ever listens!"

"What kind of ingredients?"

The bartender asked, shaking a tin as he prepared a drink.

Victor shrugged.

"Dunno. They never said."

The bartender handed off the drink, then casually asked,

"These ingredients... any chance they’ll show up in the upcoming auction?"

Victor slowly lifted his head.

His voice was low.

"...How’d you know?"