Gambling

"Do you know how to play?" Asked Philliam.

"Aye, I do." How could Farmer not know the rules of such a popular gambling game as a pirate himself? The rules were simple. A deck of cards was divided into four noble houses: gold, clubs, swords, and goblets. Each house had twelve cards ranging from lowest to highest value.

The objective of the card game was to deal out two cards to every player. Then, the players would place a bet for every turn they stayed in the game. After everyone's first turn, three cards would be revealed on the table. For the fourth and fifth turns, only one card would be placed on it alongside the previous ones. In the end, the player with the highest-ranking combination of his own cards alongside those face up on the table would win the total sum of bets placed by the players during the game. Then, another round would take place until the players ran out of coin and one winner emerged.

The trick to winning this game wasn't focusing on one's own hand, but on playing with the cards the others had. Bluffing, fooling, playing coy, and keeping a straight face were all the techniques employed by star players. However, Farmer had an advantage that no one else had. His spiritual sense allowed him to know what cards the other players possessed, and whether he should continue betting or fold and leave.

"Well, then, why don't we begin?" Smiled Phillian as he nodded to the dealer.

Thus, the first round began. Farmer didn't even look at his own cards as he kept instructing Triss to bring him more and more bottles of ale. Additionally, he bought every player a bottle of the finest ale in the bar.

"It's your turn, are you playing or folding?" Angrily asked the burly man sitting beside Farmer.

"Oh, what's his problem?" Drunkenly asked Farmer to the others loudly. "I'm thinking. Thinking."

"What 'thinking' shit? You haven't even looked at your cards!" At the burly man's words, Philliam couldn't help but to shoot him a meaningful glance. They wanted Farmer to lose all his money, not scare him away!

"That's because fortune smiles upon me!" Farmer waved his hand as he downed another bottle of ale. "I'm merely thinking whether fortune smiles on my cards or not." What a joke, Farmer didn't even need to look to know he had a pair of sevens. Of all those at the table, he had the best starting hand.

"Right, so you're a coward." Snickered the burly man.

"Garna, don't be like that." Protested Philliam with a smile that wasn't a smile. Evidently, he approved of the burly man's method of provoking Farmer into gambling and wanted to fan the flames higher. "To question a man's courage is to question his very manhood. Not every man can be as great as you and stare into the eyes of adversity without flinching. Our junior brother here is but a poet, not a warrior like yourself. To hold him to the same standard as your own is to call him a woman."

Farmer grinned. The meaning behind Philliam's malicious words didn't escape him. However, he was as willing to battle with words as he was with fists. "This is true, I am a poet!" He spoke up with nobility in his eyes. "A poet knows that courage, like inspiration, may come and go as it pleases the gods. But, the difference between a great poet and one who is just a roadside charlatan is the ability to pursue inspiration even when it is not there. Likewise, true courage doesn't come from 'staring into the eyes of adversity without flinching'; it is being absolutely terrified and surmounting that fear to face the danger. Wouldn't you agree?"

Philliam frowned. He truly couldn't question Farmer's logic. "There is truth to your words. Yet the matter still remains the same, it is your turn to bet." He smiled with false amiableness.

"Very well, then I shall pursue fortune even where there might be none!" Tossing ten gold coins over, Farmer proclaimed his intentions. "I raise."

With that, the conversation ended and the game continued. Two people folded and didn't continue. The rest called Farmer's raise and placed ten gold coins on the table. With that, the first three cards were revealed. Farmer was delighted to see that there was another seven among them. Right now, he had three of a kind, the highest hand. Hence, he raised again.

Perhaps it was his drunken attitude, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't checked his cards, but the others kept calling his bets to the very end and no one else folded. At the end, when the five cards had been revealed, there was a seven, two twos, a king, and an eight. Farmer had the highest-ranking combination. Next was Philliam, who had three of a kind with another two in his hand.

"It is time to witness the victor." Confidently said Philliam. "Tell me, good poet, do you think fortune smiles upon you now?" He mocked as he turned to reveal his hand.

Groans sounded around the other players. None of them had a better combination and there was no doubt in their minds that Philliam would win unless Farmer's luck was truly heaven-defying.

"Good hand!" Praised Farmer. "However, the ways of the gods cannot be known until all matters are revealed." Thus, he turned his hand over for the first time. To everyone's shock, he had two sevens; his combination was higher than Philliam's! "Yes! Praised be the gods!" Farmer cheered in glee as he unceremoniously pulled the pool of money into his arms.

"Indeed, fortune does smile upon you." Commented Philliam bitterly.

"It is but a stroke of luck." Whispered Garna under his breath.

Farmer refused to acknowledge either's statement as he laughed loudly, quickly becoming the focus of attention in the establishment. To everyone there, he was a foolish drunkard that would quickly fail miserably and lose everything. Only Triss knew differently and she, in turn, couldn't help but look at him with a tinge of fear in her eyes.

The game continued. Each round, Farmer proclaimed that the will of the gods had to be upheld and wouldn't look at his cards. Then he would either continue placing bets or would fold under one excuse or another, ignoring the protests of the others. However, he would always win whenever he stayed in the round until the end.

Very quickly, this miraculous phenomenon garnered the focus of the entire establishment and a large crowd formed around the table to bear witness to this. Some of the onlookers couldn't help but to proclaim Farmer the god of fortune. In front of their very eyes, he was winning a vast fortune without ever glancing at his cards!

Farmer, in turn, was acting more drunk as time went on. His words would be slurred and his mannerisms clumsy. More than once, he dropped a bottle onto the floor and he would laugh like a clown when this happened. Truthfully, he seemed to be having the time of his life with a mountain of gold coins within his embrace.

The other players, however, were glum and sombre. Philliam couldn't understand just what the fuck was going on. He even suspected that some form of cheating was taking place, but he couldn't see what. Garan was clenching his fists and was itching to attack. However, there was no way he could do that with such a crowd present. The Moonlight Pavilion's reputation would be lost if he did.

"Ah, what a good night…" Muttered Farmer, to all extents and purposes visibly near to collapsing. "But… but… Naosh save me… I can't bel- believe I'm saying this… But I need to call it a night here…"

"Wait there for a moment, good poet!" Philliam was grinding his teeth. He couldn't allow Farmer to walk away with all their money! "You should give us the opportunity to win back our losses. As a man of the gods, you know that this can only increase your fortune. For is it not true that they repay kindness with a sea of benefits?"

"Hais, what to do?" Asked Farmer to himself in pain. "You speak holy words, good Philliam. But my body cannot possibly last longer."

"I have a suggestion." Spoke up Garan at Philliam's silent behest. "There is a popular game around here we call roulette. It's only one match between two players. Surely, you can push your body to do that much." At his words, a wave of cheering erupted. Evidently, this particular game was a crowd favourite.

"Very well, then!" Exclaimed Farmer as he rose to his feet whilst stumbling clumsily. "How does one play this roulette?"

"The rules are simple, good poet." Philliam stood up and beckoned for a worker to bring him a silver platter covered in a silk cloth. "On this tray there are ten edible pouches. Nine of which are filled with delicious meat stuffing. However, the last one has a small explosive substance which will pop when chewed on. The purpose of the game is for each player to eat a pouch until they bite on the one which explodes, rendering them the loser. Simple enough, right?"

"E-explosive?" Farmer acted as if he were startled and even paled a little bit.

"What? Are you going to refuse now?" Frowned Philliam. "I must remind you that you have already agreed to this. Will you now spit on the faces of the gods and back off just like that?" The crowd began jeering at Farmer. "Already you have shown to us all that the gods favour you with their fortune. Surely you will trust them one last time."

Acting with such skill that it would shame other industry professionals, Farmer looked as if he was suffering from a severe interior dilemma. He turned to look at the faces of the jeering crowd who spat around and bellowed like wild boars, trying to get him to accept.

"I have a question."

"Please, good poet, ask away."

"What if nine pouches are consumed and only one is left? Will the loser be able to back away?"

"I'm afraid this would go against the god's wishes." Sighed Philliam. "How else would we know whether there was an explosive pouch in the first place?"

Paling a little more, Farmer looked around with urgency in his eyes, as if he was looking for a means to escape. Instantly, the jeering grew louder. The only one in the crowd who wasn't joining in was Triss, and she was looking at Philliam in amusement; trying to imagine what his face would look like after the game ended.

"Will you play?" Snickered Philliam, certain that this would push Farmer over the edge.

"On one condition!" Farmer shouted. "That you will swear that this will be the final gamble tonight and that you will honour our wager."

"This, I swear." Replied Garan as he took the tray and sat opposite to Farmer. What a joke. The pouches had a small indent on them that could only be seen when you knew about it. Garan was confident that he could avoid the explosive pouch with ease.

"Good Garan, I have almost one thousand gold coins accumulated from the card game. How will you match my bet?"

"This is no problem." Chided in Philliam. In his mind, he'd been prepared for this, assuming that Farmer would use this excuse to not play. "I will place a wager on his behalf. In addition, you will be able to sever any of Garan's limbs if he loses. Does this seem acceptable to you, good poet?"

"It does." Suddenly, a change happened in Farmer's appearance. Gone was his drunken demeanour, replaced instead with a strange looking grin. "Then, with all these people as witness, our bet is laid down."

The crowd erupted in mad cheering. Nonetheless, a shadow of a doubt crossed Philliam's eyes. Could he have miscalculated and Farmer had a way of winning? No, that was impossible. Garan would definitely emerge victorious. Farmer was just putting up a front, he thought.

Taking a seat in front of Garan, Farmer returned to his overbearing demeanour as a pirate lord, raised his legs onto the table, and drank a whole bottle of ale in a few swigs. However, Garan was too stupid to realise that the change in Farmer's behaviour spelt disaster for him. Instead, he attributed it to the adrenaline.

"As you are new to this game, allow me to go first." Volunteered Garna as he pulled the cloth to reveal the ten edible brown pouches on the silver tray. "Now this is the true essence of gambling! Gambling with one's body on the line. This is how real men gamble!"

Taking in a deep breath, he reached out and grabbed the pouch further out to his right side and devoured it in a single bite. Instantly, roars of applause exploded and people began chanting his name. However, a low chuckle began spreading out and increased in volume with each passing second.

It was Farmer. He was guffawing with fervour and in his violet eyes shone a glint of madness that caused shivers to fall down the spines of those who saw it. In addition, there was something in Farmer's laughter that brought a deathly silence to take over the establishment until only Farmer could be heard.

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, YES. YES!" He bellowed. For some reason, the look in Farmer's eyes and the tone of his voice made Garan's back drench in cold sweat. "YES! That's the true essence of gambling! The fine line between life and death! YES! How right I was to come here tonight!"

To everyone's horror, Farmer reached out and, without a shred of hesitation, grabbed eight of the remaining nine pouches and ate them all with a single bite. Yet nothing happened. Not a pop.

The meaning behind this took a full minute to be realised by the onlookers. Nonetheless, the moment someone exclaimed that Farmer had successfully eaten eight pouches without one exploding, a wave of maddened cheering erupted the likes of which left the previous ones to shame.

Philliam and Garan, however, went completely pale. This was because both of them knew that the last pouch contained the explosive. In fact, it contained double the usual amount.

Garan began trembling in his seat and looked pleadingly at Philliam. The scholar, though, was staring blankly into space, trying to come up with a means of saving his brother. But he couldn't come up with anything. He himself had said earlier that there was a need to eat the final pouch just to make sure that it was the real deal!

Looking at the grinning Farmer, only now did he realise just how fearsome the man before him was. From the very beginning, they had been fooled by his schemes.

"What's the matter now?" Asked Farmer coldly. "Don't tell me you're going to back off? Are you really going to spit on all these people's faces? You gave your words. Nonetheless, I'm certain the Moonlight Pavilion will not want to risk its reputation for your sakes."

"And who are you to speak in the name of my Moonlight Pavilion?" A low voice suddenly said.

From a hidden door emerged an old man accompanied by six heavily armed guards. The old man was short, hunched over, and walked slowly whilst aided by a wooden walking stick. As he moved closer to the table, everyone hurried to give him way without a whisper of complaint.

"I take it you're the owner." Smiled Farmer. "These two made a bet with me. I hope your establishment will uphold the rules and allow me to collect my debt."

"Give me some face, poet, and let them go intact. The content of your bet is not unknown to me. Don't worry, I will personally pay you what they owe you." The old man glanced at Philliam angrily. He didn't want to pay Farmer a single bronze coin, but his pavilion's reputation was on the line!

"And if I refuse to let them go?" Asked Farmer with a strange gleam in his eyes. If he hadn't detected with his spiritual consciousness that the last pouch had enough explosive in it to blow a man's head off and that each pouch was marked, he might have considered granting this old man his wish. As matters stood, he wasn't. After all, setting up these things wasn't possible without a close relationship with the owner.

"They're my nephews." Was all the old man said in reply to Farmer's question. Then he nodded to one of his guards and the guard, in turn, reached out to grab Farmer by the neck.

How could Farmer just sit there?

With a wave of his hand, Farmer used his fingers to tear through the guard's throat, killing him with the speed of thought. After which, he rose to his feet and kicked the felled guard up into the ceiling with such force that half of the guard's body exploded. Nodding at what he'd done, Farmer released a cold aura of slaughter from every pore on his body that revealed the extent of his power.

The old man had a look of horror on his face. So did his nephews. In fact, Garan was looking at Farmer's cold, violet, gaze, with the same expression as if he had seen a devil. "I thought you said you were a poet!" He couldn't help but shout out.

"I am." Replied Farmer casually. "I believe you're familiar with some of my work in this city. After all, I did a good job on the city lord's son's legs, didn't I?"

The full weight of his words hit everyone, except for Triss who already knew, like a ten-tonne slab. Only now did they realise that a true monster was in front of them. This was Farmer!