Several days had passed since the special training began at Lord Charles Wellesley's residence.
Progress had been slower than I expected, but fortunately Lord Charles had begun to develop a decent eye for spotting a bottom deal.
At first, his performance had been so poor that I wondered whether the plan had been a mistake. But the issue had never been his eyesight.
The real problem was that my own instincts were returning faster than his ability to recognize them.
Of course, if I had simply told Lord Charles to stare fiercely at the dealer's hands and watch for a bottom deal, he probably could have caught it easily.
But what kind of idiot would attempt such a trick while someone glared at them like that?
Well… I might still manage it.
But the amateurs running that gambling house certainly could not.
More importantly, the moment they sensed that Lord Charles had grown suspicious, they would likely find some polite excuse to keep him away from the table altogether.
Or they would seat him only at safe tables with minimal stakes and low multipliers.
Swindlers were naturally suspicious creatures.
They constantly observed their marks, probing and measuring them.
Which meant that if we intended to fleece them instead, Lord Charles had to remain exactly what they believed him to be.
A plump, juicy mark.
The moment he smelled even slightly suspicious, they would run.
"Now that's better," I said after another round of practice. "At this rate, we could put the plan into motion next week."
Lord Charles shook his head with a baffled expression.
"We've been practicing for days, and I still can't believe what I'm seeing. My skill improving makes sense—but why do your techniques keep getting better?"
"They're not getting better," I replied calmly. "This is about the level I originally had."
"Ah… I see."
Understanding dawned on his face.
"So at first you were deliberately matching your skill to mine."
"Something like that."
I set the deck down and glanced at him.
"By the way, obtaining that letter of recommendation from the Duke of Wellington—that's truly possible, correct? I've been using that explanation at home, and if the story falls apart later it could become rather awkward."
If this had been a one-time visit, it would have been fine.
But I had now been visiting Lord Charles's residence repeatedly.
Naturally, I had used the excuse of the recommendation letter when speaking with Father and James.
However, there was always the possibility that Father might meet the Duke himself.
And if the Duke happened to say something like—
Killian? Who is that?
I could probably smooth things over.
But even a small crack in the absolute trust others placed in me was unacceptable.
Besides, establishing a connection with the Duke of Wellington was one of the smaller objectives of this entire operation.
Which meant Lord Charles had to do his part.
And yet…
Why did he still feel so unreliable?
He had graduated from Eton and was advancing steadily in the army. By all appearances he was a proper elite.
But first impressions were powerful things.
The first time I had seen him, he had been getting fleeced by a group of third-rate swindlers.
It would almost be strange if I trusted him completely after that.
Lord Charles seemed to notice my hesitation. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"I told you, I'll handle the recommendation letter. You can trust me. I'll simply tell my father that I happened to meet a brilliant young student."
"Who said I doubted you?" I replied smoothly. "I trust you completely, Lord Wellesley. Still, as I mentioned earlier, I'm merely a clever student. No one except my partner should know the details about me."
"Of course," he said with a grin. "Your gain will become my gain. From my perspective, it's best if no one else discovers your true worth."
In truth, that final warning was unnecessary.
From Lord Charles's point of view, if someone else learned what I was capable of, they might attempt to recruit me under better terms.
Naturally he wanted to keep such a treasure hidden.
Though in reality, it would be more accurate to say that I had chosen him.
But there was no need to explain that yet.
I had only decided to do so in principle. It wasn't fully confirmed.
If he performed well in the task ahead, then he could certainly serve as my shield.
And someone with a background like his was not easy to replace.
So all I could do was hope that he possessed enough ability to swallow what I was about to spoon-feed him.
The son of the hero who defeated Napoleon.
A graduate of the British Empire's most prestigious school.
Surely someone like that could manage at least this much.
I decided to believe in him.
Yes.
I would trust Lord Charles.
"…Killian," he said suddenly.
"Yes?"
"What was that line again? The one you told me to shout while grabbing their hand?"
I sighed.
"That was just a joke."
Hmm.
Trusting him should be… fine.
Probably.
* * *
Fortunately, Lord Charles was not quite as hopeless as I had feared.
Or perhaps sheer persistence had finally paid off.
Through relentless training, I eventually succeeded in turning him into a walking bottom-deal detection machine.
That was more than enough.
Once I felt confident he could perform his role, I decided it was time to put the plan into motion.
The very next day, once everything was ready, I returned to the gambling house.
As usual, I arrived accompanied by one of the guards Lord Charles had assigned to me.
"Oh! Young master, you've come again today," the staff member greeted cheerfully. "Another round of odd or even?"
"I've played that too many times. I'd like to try something new today."
"In that case, how about guessing the color of the marbles? It's a simple game but quite enjoyable. By the way… what happened to the steward who used to accompany you? You've been coming with someone else lately."
"James dislikes gambling houses. If I want to enjoy myself occasionally, it's easier to come with someone else."
"Haha, that fellow did seem a bit rigid. Please have a seat. I'll bring you some warm milk."
Naturally, even after meeting Lord Charles, I continued visiting the gambling house regularly.
If I disappeared for weeks and then suddenly returned on the day of the plan, it might attract unnecessary suspicion.
Ordinarily no one would suspect a ten-year-old child.
But overconfidence was dangerous.
Ever since a painful lesson in my previous life, the word carelessness no longer existed in my vocabulary.
Once I took my seat, the next stage began.
Over the past few days, several of Lord Charles's trusted men had registered as members of the gambling house.
They entered one by one and seated themselves around the table where Lord Charles would soon sit, pretending to enjoy their own games.
The stage was ready.
Now all that remained was for the main actor to appear.
About thirty minutes later, Lord Charles entered the hall with his usual confident stride, accompanied by his steward.
The moment he appeared, the owner of the gambling house hurried forward and bowed deeply.
Jack.
That was the man's name.
Lord Charles had done some investigating and learned that the man had once been a merchant who earned a respectable fortune and built connections among the aristocracy before opening this establishment.
Until now, business here had likely been quite profitable.
If only he had known when to stop.
But human greed rarely had limits.
"Welcome! Thank you for visiting again today!"
"Of course I came," Lord Wellesley replied. "There's nowhere else where I can relieve my stress."
"As always, we'll prepare the premium table for you."
"Oh—and make sure the other players have money this time. I had a large card game with my regiment recently and cleaned them out. I brought those winnings with me today. A table where around a thousand pounds might change hands should do nicely."
At the mention of one thousand pounds, the owner's smile widened immediately.
Comparing the value of money between the 1830s and modern times was difficult, but even a rough estimate suggested that the value differed by more than a hundredfold.
In modern terms, one thousand pounds then would equal roughly £130,000 today.
Nearly two hundred million won.
And at a time when even a skilled worker earned perhaps fifty pounds a year, one thousand pounds was an enormous sum.
Of course they couldn't steal it all at once.
But even taking thirty percent meant three hundred pounds.
Five or six years of wages for a skilled worker.
More than ten years for an unskilled one.
For someone planning to manipulate the game, it was irresistible.
"Let me see… with stakes like that, I'll need to gather some proper players. Please give me a moment."
"Take your time," Lord Wellesley said with a laugh. "Tonight I intend to enjoy myself properly."
The two men exchanged bright smiles.
To me, it looked like a scene from a dark comedy.
Two men dreaming entirely different dreams.
While pretending to guess marble colors, I waited.
Soon the dealer and the other players arrived.
Finally Lord Charles took his seat.
The real game began.