The underground gambling center was alive again with smoke and cheers.
A atmosphere seemed of air that felt like it was half made of adrenaline, half of bad choices. Albert Newton walked through the corridor lined with red lamps and moving holographic banners.
His boots clacked softly against the rough steel floor. People from every corner of Ramsis Empire had gathered here — merchants, mercenaries, gamblers, nobles in disguise. All to watch gamblers throw their lives away for money and pride.
He stopped before the Draft Board, a massive slate glowing with golden lettering. Harriet was already waving at him from beside the Leaderboard, grinning with a half-eaten stick of candied fruit.
"You took your sweet time, Newton," He teased, nudging his arm. "Thought you'd lost your courage halfway."
Tom adjusted his hat, eyes trailing across the names. "Just wanted to breathe before losing it."
Harriet laughed. "Good. You'll need it."
The Draft Board listed four main groups: A, B, C, and D. Each with four contenders. The final trophy was displayed in a glass pillar at the center.
A small obsidian sphere swirling with silver dust. The Eye of Fates, worth twenty-five thousand coins and more importantly, one "Wish Contract." A gambler's heaven.
And death to those unlucky enough to chase it.
Tom's name flashed under Group D.
D-1: Albert Newton
D-2: Gyro Regardo
D-3: Fon Reeze
D-4: Varn Okra
He looked around the hall. "Gyro Regardo," he muttered, scanning the faces.
Then he saw him. A man sitting calmly by the edge of the betting table, wearing an olive trench coat, his silver hair slicked neatly back. His face was tired but clean. That man who carried both intelligence and old pain in his gaze.
Tom walked toward him. "Gyro Regardo, right?"
The man turned slightly, eyes glinting under the lamp. He gave a polite nod but didn't speak. Tom tried again. "Big fan of your city work. Heard you built the Bridge of Viner."
Gyro's lips curved faintly not quite a smile, more of an acknowledgment. He spoke quietly, "I prefer not to discuss the past before a game."
Tom leaned back. "Healthy enough."
The counter man nearby, wiping glasses, leaned toward Tom and whispered, "Careful 'round him. His story's not pretty."
Tom arched a brow. "Yeah?"
The man nodded grimly. "His father was a gambler too. Blew his life's work here in this same place fifteen years ago. Lost every coin, every home deed…. and his family's name. They ended up on the street. His mother died in the winter frost two years later. Gyro built half of Donlon from nothing just to prove he could change his fate. Guess he came back to the same hell that broke him."
Tom's expression softened slightly. "And now he's back to end what started."
The counter man shrugged. "To end it…. or to let it end him."
From the central stage, a booming voice echoed through the metallic halls.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The Gamble Royale of Six Moons begins now! Welcome to the Arena of the Deadly Ring!"
The crowd roared. Harriet clapped beside Tom, his grin turned sharp. "This is it. You're up, Newton."
A red light blinked above their heads, showing MATCH 1 — D Group.
"Gyro Regardo versus Albert Newton!" the announcer bellowed. "Match setting: The Undying Forest!"
The holographic map displayed a dense jungle of black-barked trees, thick fog, and glimmering mist.
The announcer's tone lowered, deep and ominous.
"Both competitors will wield identical revolvers, six bullets each. However, once the round begins, all five senses — sight, sound, touch, smell, and taste will be temporarily sealed while the match is ongoing."
The crowd murmured. Even Harriet looked unsettled.
The announcer continued, "Every shot fired will cost the shooter one organ — assigned randomly by the system."
A loud gasp went through the audience.
"That means, if you fire six bullets." he added, "you risk losing up to six vital parts of your body. Vision, nerves, lungs, anything. The system will determine it."
Harriet muttered under her breath, "Holy hell, that's cruel.…"
The announcer smiled sharply. "Victory is granted to the first contender who successfully lands three bullets on their opponent. And remember if either party loses consciousness, bleeds out or attempts to break arena restrictions, they forfeit instantly. No mercy, no appeals."
Tom exhaled softly, rolling his shoulders. "A game where you pay for every move you make."
Harriet looked at him worriedly. "That's not a game, that's suicide."
He smirked faintly. "That is what gambling is meant to be."
The announcer's voice rang again.
"Participants, step into your rings!"
Gyro stood silently, brushing the dust off his coat. He looked up toward the crowd, his eyes set strangely calm. His past may have been built from ruin but his purpose tonight burned quietly in closure.
Tom watched him walk toward the fogged gate, revolver holstered at his side.
"Guess it's time." Tom whispered.
Harriet placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid. You can't charm death with sarcasm."
He tilted his hat, smiling faintly. "No promises."
As the doors of the Undying Forest began to close, the lights dimmed.
The audience leaned forward, waiting for the conflict to begin.
Match D-1: Albert Newton vs. Gyro Regardo.
10 minutes until start.
Time passed....
The forest gate had already sealed shut behind them, a metallic hiss echoing through the arena as the massive door embedded itself into the earth. The sound of locking bolts rippled through the fogged expanse, followed by silence unnerving, thick and absolute.
Above, a hundred thousand spectators leaned forward, eyes fixed on the screens suspended around the dome. None could see the combatants directly.
The Undying Forest was isolated from the outside world by a dimension field. All visuals were streamed through drones gliding invisibly above the canopy.
Harriet sat in the stands, uncharacteristically quiet, his usual grin replaced by unease. "Ten minutes," He muttered, eyes locked on the grainy screen feed. "He should've fired by now."
The announcer's voice boomed through the chamber,
"Round D-One — Commence. Both participants' sensory functions have been sealed. All physical abilities and auxiliary builds are suspended. Only standard-grade revolvers permitted. First to land three shots wins. Begin."
In the forest, Tom's world went dark.
Not the simple darkness of a closed eye — but an endless, blank void where even thought seemed to lose its texture. No sound, no touch, no taste, no scent. Only the dim awareness of his body and the faint pressure of the revolver's grip in his hand. His breath didn't even echo in his skull.
He was now just an anomaly.... Living dead.
"Alright…." his thoughts rang weakly in the nothingness. "No senses, no guidance, no sight. Just faith and madness."
He took one step. He thought he did. The ground didn't respond.
The game was meant to break human instinct to strip away the senses that kept you tethered to existence. Most contestants panicked within the first minute. Tom's heartbeat was his only companion now, a vague rhythm pulsed somewhere behind his ribs, maybe real or a distraction of his thoughts?
He raised his revolver, turning his head toward where he believed Gyro might be.
At the same time, Gyro, who remained calm, stoic, crouched several meters away, moving in small, measured steps. His training as an architect lent him precision; even blind, he could estimate distance through memory and motion alone. He stretched his free hand, feeling vibrations in the air that weren't there, calculating imaginary boundaries.
The two men, lost in blackness, circled unknowingly closer.
In the audience, drones showed their movements as blurred silhouettes. No audio, just eerie ripples in the artificial fog.
Then, a flash. A single gunshot.
A white spark flared across the screen. One of the audience gasped, "Someone fired!"
Harriet's eyes widened. "Idiot—he's losing an organ with every bullet!"
Inside the forest, Tom dropped to one knee, clutching his side. He couldn't feel pain, yet something shifted inside his body. A hollowing sensation where something once belonged.
"Lung?" he thought faintly. "Heart? No.… I can still think."
The gun's recoil was gone before it existed.
Across the darkness, Gyro stopped moving. He hadn't fired back. He was listening not with ears but with memory. Counting Tom's footfalls that didn't exist.
However, an "experienced" being with memory but no senses might be able to perceive or infer the presence of any sound in some non-sensory way, depending on the hypothetical nature of its existence.
But here, a person who has lost their senses might still experience internal "sounds" generated by their brain based on memory and experience. This is not "listening" to an actual, external sound in real-time, but rather the brain replaying or generating a sound experience. Recognising an event through other abstract or unconventional means but this moves are beyond the biological definition of "listening" and dives into a philosophical realm.
Tom steadied his breath, then realized the irony. He could no longer hear his breath to steady it.
The forest began to flicker with phantasmal lights. Eerie projections of their mental strain, visualized by the drones. To the audience, it looked like ghosts circling one another, two beings trapped between existence and nothingness.
Tom lifted his gun again. He didn't fire. He waited.
"Five bullets," he thought. "Three chances before I lose everything."
Air, though he couldn't feel it shifted slightly. Something in his gut screamed that Gyro was close.
He pivoted, aimed toward the emptiness.…
The audience leaned forward, breathless.
Harriet whispered under her breath, "Don't die, you damn fools...."
The forest swallowed the sound whole.
The game had only just begun.