The gaming house reeked of sweat, smoke, and desperation.
Kael followed Chen Wei down the cramped stairs, counting steps out of habit. Twenty-three down, two turns, one hidden door. The room spilled open into a low-ceilinged room excavated from old foundation stone. Oil lamps created dancing shadows across hunched-over faces cradling dice, cards, and betting circles chalked on bare rock.
Seventeen individuals, as foreseen. Sixteen players, one operator.
Snake Eyes occupied the center of the room—a lean man with agitated energy and, in defiance of his name, intact eyes. He spotted Kael straight away, eyes narrowing with the alertness of one who lived by a sense of danger.
"New faces require introduction," Snake Eyes declared. His tone had just enough assertiveness to rise above the background noise.
"Chen Wei attests to us," Chen Wei spoke up, as much as the contract made him. "This is Kael. He has silver and wishes to play."
Snake Eyes looked at Kael intently for a very long time. Then nodded. "House takes ten percent of every pot. No fighting, no accusations of cheating unless you can demonstrate it, no credit given. Clear?"
"Clear." Kael shifted to an open area at the outer edge of the largest betting circle. He paid out five silver coins, setting them purposefully out where everyone could see them. Not so many as to attract too much notice, not so few as to make him look desperate.
The perfect number to be seen but not intimidating.
Liu Shen was three seats to Kael's left.
The fellow was just the way Chen Wei had portrayed him: middle age, frayed clothes that had once been good, quivering hands between rolls. His stack of silver was not large—perhaps eight coins left over. His eyes contained the special glassy quality of someone who'd already mentally concluded that tonight would be different, tonight the breaks would change, tonight he'd recoup everything.
Kael had seen that expression in mirrors, metaphorically speaking. He understood the mathematics of false hope.
The dice game was simple. Six-sided dice, three per roll, players betting on totals. The house advantage was minimal—maybe two percent—but over time, probability crushed optimism. The house always won eventually.
Unless someone was cheating.
Kael played cautiosly for the first sixty minutes, winning a little less than he lost. He observed habits: who the regular players were, who gave way to whom, what bets attracted the most attention. And he observed Liu Shen systematically losing his remaining silver, bet by bet.
Predictable. Tragic. Useful.
When Liu Shen's coins disappeared, Kael made his move.
"Bad night," Kael whispered softly, spoken only for Liu Shen's benefit.
Liu Shen looked at him, defensive eyes. "Just bad luck. It happens."
"Does it happen every night?"
The man's jaw clenched. "What's it to you?"
"I see trends. You've lost consistently for the last hour. Not random bad luck—systematic. Either the house is rigged, or you're making consistently inferior bets." Kael's tone was neutral, detached. "I'd guess you've lost about forty silver tonight. Assuming your betting trend, you'll be in here tomorrow night trying to recoup those losses."
Liu Shen's face turned red. "You accusing me of being an addict?"
"I'm watching for behavior. Whether or not that behavior is addiction is a matter of definition." Kael's pause was brief. "How much do you have to regain?"
The question struck like a body blow. Liu Shen's shoulders dropped. "Everything. Everything I've lost. Three hundred silver, perhaps more. I lost count."
"Your daughter's dowry."
Liu Shen became terribly still. "How do you—"
"Chen Wei spoke of you. Told you've been losing it at the tables for months." Kael's face didn't change. "I'm not here to criticize. I'm presenting an opportunity."
"What opportunity?"
"I can loan you silver. Fifty coins. Enough for ten more rounds at current average bet size. Statistically speaking, you could win back some losses." Kael paused for a moment. "Or lose it all. But one way or another, you'll have had your shot."
Liu Shen's eyes flared—the desperate hope of an addict provided one final fix. "And what do you want in return?"
"If you recoup your losses, you repay me the fifty silver with ten percent interest. Reasonable market rate."
"And if I lose?"
"Then you serve me. Three months' service. I want someone who has merchant contacts, someone who understands the trade routes and has access to legitimate trade. You used to have a shop. You retain the contacts."
Liu Shen paused. Kael saw the calculation going on: three months' service against the possibility of salvaging his daughter's future. The arithmetic of desperation.
"If I win a lot tonight, I may not even need your silver at all," Liu Shen replied.
"True. But you have eight silver remaining. At your current bet rate, that's perhaps five more rolls before you're broke flat. Then you take a walk home and inform your daughter you've wasted her future." Kael's voice stayed detached. "Or you accept my offer. Fifty silver puts you in line with an actual chance. And if you lose, you pay in work, not her dowry."
The hook had been baited. Kael could see it in Liu Shen's face—the rationalization building, the needy logic that made slavery appear preferable to enduring his daughter's disappointment.
"Three months?" Liu Shen asked.
"Three months. I require merchant contacts, trade route intel, and a man who can make his way through proper channels without anyone noticing. You bring that, we're square."
"And if I win tonight?"
"Then you repay me fifty-five silver and we never talk again."
Liu Shen gazed at the vacant betting circle, at the calloused hands, at the door that led out to reality and defeat. Then he held out his hand. "Deal."
Kael sensed it instantly—the contract taking shape, shadows threading out of his branded hand. This time, he was prepared. He molded it with intent: terms explicit, enforcement absolute, payment mechanism defined.
Black marks burst. Shadow chains bound across Liu Shen's chest—not physical, but metaphysical constraint. The man gasped, sensing something deep change.
"What was—"
"Contract sealed." Kael produced fifty silver coins, counting them exactly. "Make it count."
Liu Shen won the silver with trembling hands. For an instant, Kael believed the man would weep. He turned to the bet circle again with added resolve instead.
The tragedy unfolded just as mathematics had foretold.
Liu Shen won the first three rolls. His stack increased—sixty silver, seventy, eighty. Hope burned in his eyes. Other players began to watch, attracted by momentum. Snake Eyes scowled a little but kept quiet. The dice were square; probability merely favored the house in the long run.
Then the fourth roll was snake eyes. Liu Shen's wager—twenty silver—disappeared.
Fifth roll: loss.
Sixth roll: loss.
Seventh roll: complete disaster. Liu Shen had placed a long-shot total, the type of bet men place in extremis when they're already losing. The dice revealed different figures. His silver vanished into the house pot.
Liu Shen sat immobile, gazing at the space where his money had lain. All fifty of Kael's silver, and his own eight. Lost in seven rolls.
Around the circle, the other players already were moving on, making new bets, pursuing their own losses.
Kael rose and came up behind Liu Shen. He put a hand on the man's shoulder—soft, almost sympathetic.
"Three months," Kael muttered. "Tomorrow at dawn. Outside the Iron Fist warehouse. Don't be late."
Liu Shen nodded on autopilot. Compliance was enforced by the contract, but Kael could see that it wouldn't be necessary. The man was broken. Guilt, shame, and relief fought across his face—relief that someone else would take care of his issues now, even if that person owned him.
Kael headed away, Chen Wei keeping pace in silence.
As they rode back up to the street level, Chen Wei finally broke his silence. "You knew he'd lose."
"Probability indicated that strongly. House advantage and compulsive betting pattern and emotional desperation and predictable outcome."
"You gave him hope for the purpose of withdrawing it."
"No. I gave him precisely what he demanded—one more opportunity. That he wasted it isn't my fault." Kael stepped out into the evening air, taking a deep breath. "And now I have a merchant with key contacts who'll work for me for three months. Net gain."
"You're a monster."
Kael thought about this. Attempted to be offended or defensive. Came up empty. "Monster suggests intent to harm. I'm merely optimizing for survival. Liu Shen was going to lose his daughter's dowry either way—I've seen the pattern too many times. At least this way, he has structure. Purpose. A way forward that doesn't involve gambling."
"You don't actually believe that."
"I think it's more effective than the other." The pressure in Kael's meridians lessened a bit more. Another contract signed, another portion of stolen cultivation dissipated. "Thirty-five contracts left. Twenty-eight days remaining. The math is still difficult, but I'm ahead of where I thought I'd be."
They returned through deserted streets. In the gaming house behind them, Liu Shen still sat at the circle, eyes fixed on space.
Three months from then, when the contract ran out, Kael wondered if the man would bless him or curse him.
Likely both.
By then, Kael thought he'd not care enough to even know the difference.
Another recollection broke apart as they walked—this one, a celebration in years past. Some festival, his sister laughing, tasseled lanterns. The specifics were fading already.
He attempted to recall why it had been important.
Couldn't.
Just information. Just static. Just the cost of efficiency.
The maths were playing in his favour.
That was all that did count now.