Sensing the sudden, violent shift in the atmosphere, the wealthy guests around the table began to look around with bewildered expressions. The sharper among them realized immediately that the air in the room was no longer just about stakes and chips—it had become something far more personal and lethal.
At the center of this escalating storm, Anna stood frozen. She stared at the young man before her with a tangle of conflicting emotions; there was a strange, haunting familiarity about him, as if she had seen his silhouette in a half-forgotten dream.
Across from her, Charlie had effectively declared his intent without uttering a single word: he had come to take her back.
"That is a fascinating tale, Mr. Avalon. But..." Terry's voice was now heavy, vibrating with a low, menacing emphasis. "Do you truly believe the word of a gambling addict is worth anything?"
He leaned back, attempting to twist the narrative with practiced ease.
"Trust is the foundation of every relationship, but in the case of a degenerate gambler, that foundation is inherently rotten. If you're asking whether they can be trusted while they're chasing a high, the objective answer is that it is an extreme risk."
He continued, his tone mockingly academic. "They become masters of manipulation—not necessarily because they are evil, but because their brains are wired to cover their losses or hunt for fresh capital at any cost."
The subtext of Terry's words was razor-sharp: Charlie's story was nothing but the delusional ramblings of a pathetic addict. And factually, his assessment of a gambler's psychology was spot on.
"What you say makes perfect sense, Mr. Terry. Unfortunately." Charlie met Terry's probing gaze directly, searching for a crack in the dwarf's armor, "having seen this girl, Anna, with my own eyes, I am quite certain the other party was not lying."
"..."
A tomb-like silence descended upon the VIP lounge.
The guests at the surrounding tables, the waiters, and even the women in Terry's "collection" ceased all movement, their attention riveted by the friction between the two men.
"I'm not sure where this misunderstanding began, Mr. Avalon..." Terry finally spoke after a long, drawn-out pause, a thin smile beginning to take shape beneath his thick beard. "But it is remarkably rude of you to show such... fervor... for 'my Anna' right in front of me."
A predatory glint flashed in his eyes. "Very well. How about we play a game?"
"A game...?" Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"Yes. Quite simple: the loser must grant one wish to the winner. A request that must be within the loser's power to fulfill. Furthermore, we shall play this game with the highest-value tokens in this building."
Terry snapped his fingers with arrogant flair. Moments later, a servant appeared, pushing a cart laden with an absurd mountain of chips.
The piles of platinum tokens shimmered blindingly under the magic stone lamps. The wealth Charlie had spent hours accumulating on the main floor didn't even register as a fraction of what sat on that cart. This was a wager designed to incinerate a man's entire life in a single round.
"We'll play with these on a line of credit. It wouldn't be much of a game if the stakes were any lower." Terry voice dripping with condescension.
(In other words, the loser won't just be morally indebted; they'll be shackled by a financial debt that is impossible to repay.)
Hearing the terms, Charlie immediately recognized Terry's long-standing method of extortion. It was a perfect spiderweb: lure the prey into a bet that defied logic, then dismantle their lives when the debt inevitably came due.
As the cart of platinum coins was wheeled into place, several other men began to encircle the table. Like their counterparts at the entrance, they were hulking, muscular figures designed for intimidation.
(Two experts in the group.)
With a single glance, Charlie identified two individuals whose auras were 'sufficiently strong' compared to the average Orario adventurer. Of course, in his eyes, they were still nothing more than small-time thugs. These two bodyguards—a human and a Catperson standing directly behind Terry—were Familia-less mercenaries hired personally by the owner.
While they were no match for the elite veterans of the Ganesha Familia, in this soundproofed, isolated VIP room, their strength was more than enough to silence anyone who dared to cause a disturbance.
"For men like us, who have reached the pinnacle of wealth, status, and prestige, the thing we truly crave... is the thrill of gambling with our very lives on the line. Am I wrong, Mr. Avalon?"
As the black-suited guards applied pressure through their looming presence, Terry laid down his final challenge. His intent was transparent: he wanted to drag Charlie into a rigged game where the only exit was through the felt of the table.
But Terry had made a fatal miscalculation. The young man before him had never intended to play by the rules. For Charlie, ensuring he was in an isolated room with limited witnesses was the primary objective. And now, that moment had arrived.
"Pffft—HA HA HA HA!"
The explosion of laughter shattered the tension, echoing off the walls of the VIP lounge and catching everyone off guard. In the midst of such a lethal atmosphere, no one expected Charlie to double over as if he'd just heard the funniest joke in the world.
The laughter held no joy; it was a cold, mocking sound that made the hair on the onlookers' necks stand on end. The polite 'Mr. Avalon' facade cracked, revealing something far more dangerous beneath.
"What's so funny? Has Mr. Avalon lost his mind under the pressure?" Terry sneered, his face flushing red at the insult of such ill-timed mirth.
As the laughter subsided, Charlie returned to a terrifying, flat calm. He looked at Terry not with anger, but with a blank stare, as if observing an idiot who didn't understand his own predicament.
"Terry Cervantes, you are a capitalist. To you, laws are merely rules for the poor to follow. For someone like you, the law is just an 'operating cost' that can be bought with gold."
"However, you've forgotten something much more fundamental, Terry... the fact that this world, at its core, is ruled by power."
Charlie rose slowly, letting his aura bleed out into the room, physically weighing down the air.
"In a world where strength is the only tongue spoken, the moment you show weakness and take a step back, you are destined to be pushed further and further until you are swallowed whole. You must show enough force and resolve to let them know that the price for touching you is a price they cannot afford. Only then can we truly be safe."
Charlie paused, letting his words sink into the minds of everyone present.
"The question is simple: do you have the strength to back up this hedonistic lifestyle? The only reason you've survived this long is because you were clever enough to know who you could offend and who you couldn't."
He understood the psychology of men like Terry perfectly. When one gains power, they often lose respect for anything that tries to limit them. Why do the wealthy and powerful commit blunders that an ordinary person never would? Why are they still so greedy when they have everything?
The answer was simple: In their eyes, they are different. Rules are for the masses, not for them. They believe they should be able to do whatever they want without consequence. After all, if they had to suffer like the common folk, what was the point of the power they worshipped?
This hasn't changed throughout history. But in this Planar World of Danmachi, the metric had shifted—it was no longer just about piles of gold, but about absolute strength capable of erasing everything in a heartbeat.
"Unfortunately for you, Terry..." Charlie looked straight into the dwarf's eyes, which were now beginning to narrow in budding terror. "I am the kind of consequence that money and power cannot buy."
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