The Drunkard and the Gambler

"What's it going to be?" Grayson inquired, unshaken by Mack's provocation.

"I dare you to follow me!" Mack glared coldly at them and waved his hand toward the seamless wall beside him. A door swung open, and he stepped into the cabin beyond.

Grayson gave Katheren and Seraphine a knowing look and followed into the cabin, discovering a small room about twenty square meters in size, furnished with a table in the center flanked by chairs and lined with numerous barrels along the walls.

"You claimed to be a ranger," Mack said, approaching the table. "Do you dare to settle this by the rules of the road?"

"The rules of the road?" Grayson chuckled, stepping forward to meet Mack's gaze. "I'm all for it. Let's hear it, what's the challenge?"

"Show him what for!" Mack signaled to Chocolate, the third mate, who, carrying an immense anchor, lumbered over to a chair, nearly smashing it under his weight as he sat down.

"If you're a man, you'll drink with me!" Chocolate bellowed with a voice that could shake the very timbers of the ship.

"Drink? A trivial matter!" Grayson smiled confidently, moving aside his opposite chair for Seraphine and Katheren. "Please, ladies, make yourselves comfortable, though there's but one chair. I trust it will suffice for your graceful figures."

After the ladies exchanged a courteous glance and settled on half a seat each, Grayson walked up to the table, bracing himself against it and asking the robust Chocolate, "What are the rules of this drink-off?"

Mack gestured casually, and two barrels floated from the wall to the table. Chocolate slammed a hand down on his barrel saying, "One barrel each. Whoever falls first loses!"

"That bunch of deadbeats clearly wants to drink you under the table and then take liberties with the two beauties!" whispered Elyra from behind Grayson's neck.

"As if you know so much!" Grayson muttered. He uncorked his barrel and took a deep whiff, nodding in approval. "Ah, fine rum, it's been years since I've had something this pure."

With a nod to Chocolate, Grayson lifted the barrel and drank heartily, finishing it in one go, to the astonishment of all present.

"That was refreshing!" Placing the empty barrel back on the table, Grayson snapped his fingers, and five blades sprayed into a dazzling array of silver light, cleaving the barrel on the table to pieces without spilling a drop.

"It's your turn!" Grayson gestured to Chocolate.

The third mate hesitated, but after uncorking and gulping down his barrel, he faced another full one pushed in front of him.

"Round two, here I go!" Grayson declared, polishing off the second barrel, then watched as Chocolate, Mack, and Joe exchanged uneasy glances before continuing.

By the time the third barrel was presented to Chocolate, he was panting heavily. Grayson was about to start on it when Seraphine and Katheren intervened, whispering pleas for him to stop.

"Ladies, please, I rarely indulge," Grayson said with a reassuring smile, gently pushing their hands away and finishing the third barrel. His face flushed, veins pulsing with fiery life, he said, "Your move!"

Chocolate struggled with the third barrel and collapsed with a heavy thud. Mack and Joe rushed over, but it was clear the third mate had succumbed to the alcohol, passed out like a slaughtered pig.

"What a pity. It seems our friend's tolerance doesn't match his stature," Grayson commented nonchalantly, turning to Joe, who had been observing intently.

"Don't get cocky, the game's just begun!" Joe snarled, stabbing five knives into the table and rolling out five dice. "Do you dare to gamble? Five rounds, best of three. Above fifteen is high, below is low. For each loss, you stick a knife into your own flesh!"

"I accept the challenge," Grayson replied, brushing aside the splintered barrel and readying himself at the table. "You're the dealer; you start."

"I bet high!" Joe declared, flinging the dice onto the table. Everyone watched as the dice came to rest.

"A four, three fives, and a six; twenty-five points. I win!" Joe exclaimed triumphantly.

Grayson's response was to pluck a blade from his shoulder and stick it back in the center of the table. "My turn," he said, weighing the dice in his hand, noting their odd heaviness. Smirking subtly, he said, "I bet low," and released the dice.

The dice spun dizzyingly before landing. As the game progressed, Grayson nonchalantly hummed a tune, tapping the table rhythmically, causing each die to settle one after another.

The numbers were favorable, and Grayson credited the ladies' luck. Joe, in disbelief, saw Grayson effortlessly win.

"Let's change the game," Grayson proposed for the fourth round, "We bet on hitting exactly twenty-one points. If I get it, I win; if not, you do. The loser stabs himself here," he pointed to his heart.

Joe, pained but determined, agreed to the new terms. Grayson threw the dice, and the suspense was palpable. Elyra, perched on the table, watched intently as Grayson manipulated the last die with a subtle flick. It landed perfectly—a one.

Joe, resigned to his fate, braced for the end, but Grayson sheathed his blades, sparing him. "Gambling is just a game for me. I've no desire to kill for it," Grayson said, thanking Joe for the enjoyable match.

With tensions diffused, Grayson lit a cigar, assuring Seraphine not to worry about his injuries as they'd soon heal.

Mack stepped forward, resting his hands on the table. "Don't get too comfortable. You haven't passed my test yet!"