Adversity and Chivalry (1) ****
The road from the capital to the Far East Maritime Province was terribly long and tedious.
While being shaken for several days and nights in the rattling train, Jean-Claude von Farenberg reflected more than dozens of times on why he had to head to this uncivilized land.
'For Her Highness, for Her Highness Anastasia.'
For the favor of Her Highness Anastasia.
For a sweet night with Her Highness.
Her Highness was not interested in that good-for-nothing, but in the cat girl hiding behind him, sucking up money.
Laura Valeriano.
Because it was wise to recruit useful chess pieces in advance.
As a side benefit, he was to acquire a few boxes of the 'Mikhail Blue Label' that the good-for-nothing had supposedly made.
In the capital, the price was whatever one asked, so it would be more than enough to cover his expenses.
At last, that long journey was at an end.
When the train finally stopped, Jean-Claude unknowingly frowned at the fishy smell of the sea and the scent of damp mud that assaulted his nose.
And a short while later, after taking a carriage from the station.
"We have arrived, Farenberg-nim."
At the coachman's voice, he reluctantly got out of the carriage.
What spread before his eyes was a huge tent.
A crude and shabby temporary structure used for festivals.
It was exactly as he had expected.
'As expected, the backwoods are the backwoods.'
He nervously brushed off the dust that might have gotten on his overcoat and headed for the entrance.
A banquet held in a rural corner like this would, at best, be a low-class affair where local influential figures would gather, reeking of stale alcohol and dancing.
It was a town where there was nothing to see but 'Mikhail'.
But the moment the heavy tent door opened, what penetrated Jean-Claude's nostrils was not the stale smell of sweat or cheap perfume.
A faint scent of white sandalwood.
And a supremely refined and expensive fragrance, a masterful blend of the nutty aroma of well-roasted coffee beans and the bitter scent of high-quality cigars.
"...!"
His steps faltered without him realizing it.
The scene unfolding before his eyes was shattering his expectations to pieces.
There were no dancing nobles.
No groups engaged in idle chatter could be seen.
Instead, what filled the huge space was a low hum of excitement and a restrained tension.
In the center, a huge and ornate wheel was slowly turning.
Roulette.
People gathered around it like a cloud, holding their breath as they followed the path of the silver ball.
On another side, cards were sliding smoothly on a green felt-covered table.
The sound of ivory dice clattering inside a crystal glass could also be heard.
It was a gambling den.
But it was qualitatively different from the vulgar and noisy gambling dens of the back alleys he knew.
Nor was it a heavy and serious atmosphere like the secret clubs where the gentlemen of the capital gathered.
It was luxurious.
Yet it was dazzling.
But unnecessary decorations were thoroughly excluded.
The walls were not decorated with expensive porcelain or stone statues, but only with warm-toned wood that added depth to the space and magical lights that emitted a soft glow.
Everything was satisfying both function and aesthetics at the same time.
Restrained splendor.
Jean-Claude barely managed to find the words to define this strange space.
He stood blankly for a moment, scanning the inside of the banquet hall.
As expected, the host of this banquet, the good-for-nothing Mikhail, was holed up in a corner.
He was in a posture of almost lying down on a long sofa, flirting with some silver-haired little girl.
Was that the official who was said to be the top graduate?
From the looks of it, she seemed to be just a new toy for the good-for-nothing.
'As expected, he's just a scarecrow. To be played by a vulgar merchant girl.'
On the other hand, Laura Valeriano was different.
She was gracefully moving through the banquet hall, greeting guests, giving instructions to the staff, and perfectly commanding this entire vast space.
It was certain.
The host was her.
The real power in this strange business, and in this entire Far East Maritime Province, is that cat girl, Laura Valeriano.
Jean-Claude did not hesitate.
He cut through the crowd and approached Laura directly.
"A pleasure to meet you for the first time, Guildmaster Valeriano."
He blocked her path with his most charming smile.
"I am Jean-Claude von Farenberg, from the capital."
Laura's golden eyes turned to him for a moment.
There was no wavering in her gaze.
"A pleasure to meet you, Baron Farenberg. You must have had a hard time coming all this way."
Her voice was clear, but there was no personal emotion in it.
Her etiquette was also perfect.
As expected of someone from a renowned family of the Republic, though fallen.
"Not at all. I was invited to such a wonderful place, after all."
Jean-Claude said, deliberately looking around in an exaggerated manner.
"Actually, I have something to tell you. The person I serve has a great interest in you, Guildmaster."
He did not mention Anastasia's name directly.
This level of hint was enough.
A smart woman would understand.
But there was no change in Laura's expression.
"Thank you for your kind words, but as you can see, I am a bit busy right now."
A polite smile was on her lips, but her gaze was saying, 'so please get out of my way'.
"It will only take a moment."
"I apologize, but I must greet the other guests. Please enjoy your time."
Laura gave a light bow and passed by him.
In the place she had passed, only a faint scent of musk mixed with expensive perfume remained.
Jean-Claude stared at her retreating back for a moment with a hardened face.
'A firm refusal, huh.'
Then again, this wouldn't have been the first or second time she had received such an offer.
The 3rd Prince Dmitri, the 4th Prince Vladimir, and countless other royals would be paying attention to her.
He swallowed a bitter smile.
There was no need to be hasty.
There would be plenty of opportunities.
He decided to kill time first.
His gaze naturally turned to the roulette table where the most people were gathered.
It was a huge and splendid place, like the heart of this banquet hall.
For the moment when he would have a private meeting with Laura Valeriano, he first needed to grasp the atmosphere of this strange banquet.
As he approached the roulette table, an employee in uniform approached him silently and bowed politely.
"Will you be participating in the roulette, sir?"
The employee's voice was soft and calm.
Jean-Claude nodded and was about to take out a thick wad of bills from his wallet and place it on the table.
Just then, the employee stopped his action with a polite but firm gesture.
"I'm sorry, sir. You cannot use cash directly in our casino."
"What did you say?"
"All games can only be participated in with the chips we issue. You can exchange them at the cashier over there."
Jean-Claude looked in the direction the employee was pointing.
At the cashier's window set up in a corner, several guests were handing over bills.
In return, what was placed in their hands were small, round objects of various colors.
Chips.
'I see.'
Jean-Claude raised the corners of his mouth without realizing it.
Instead of vulgarly exchanging cash, they make you use a substitute currency called chips.
It had a meaning beyond convenience.
The act of changing real money, imbued with sweat and effort, into toy-like pieces just for a game.
At that moment, the weight of money disappears, and only the amusement before one's eyes remains.
People would lose their sense of reality and bet much more boldly and recklessly.
'Laura Valeriano. A truly competent woman.'
Such a perfectly calculated device down to the smallest detail, she was clearly a talent who would be a great asset to Her Highness Anastasia's great work.
He headed to the cashier without hesitation.
"Change this into chips."
The employee who received the thick wad of bills he held out looked surprised for a moment, but then skillfully counted the money and handed over the corresponding chips.
They were heavy.
The feel of them in his hand was smooth and cold.
And on the surface of the chips, numbers were printed with a special paint enchanted with magic, so they glowed with a faint magical light and shone on their own even under the dim lighting.
It was truly fascinating.
Returning to the roulette table, Jean-Claude first placed a small amount of chips on the table.
Naturally, he only bet on red and black, odd and even, which had the highest odds of winning.
Betting directly on a number was a foolish act with a very low probability of winning.
The low gasps and sighs from those around him created a strange tension.
The dealer spun the roulette wheel.
Torrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~
The silver ball began to glide around the wheel.
The wheel of fortune, squirming and turning like a living creature.
A small judge dancing upon it.
Click!
The ball stopped.
Red 18.
Jean-Claude lost.
"...."
He was unfazed.
It was a small amount of money.
So this time, on black.
Torrrrrrrrr~
Click!
Red 21.
He lost again.
Black again.
The result was red 5.
'This can't be.'
Jean-Claude, as if in a lie, as if in a nightmare, just kept losing.
Cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
His reason was scoffing.
It was money he could afford to lose, it wasn't a large amount.
But
But!
His heart was pounding wildly.
To just keep losing in this Far East Maritime Province, in this backwater, to be defeated and have to console himself from afar like a dog with its tail between its legs.
It was unacceptable.
His pride as a noble would not allow it.
Jean-Claude swallowed.
Reason grabbed emotion by the collar and shook it.
To just walk away and go sightseeing, to enjoy watching the foolish people who cheered and screamed over a few coins.
"No more bets."
The dealer's emotionless voice pierced his ears.
The voice of reason faded away.
Now he had to decide.
Red or black! Odd or even!
The surrounding noise grew distant.
It seemed as if only the spinning roulette wheel and the sound of his heart were left in the world.
His gaze wandered madly over the roulette table.
The numerous numbers.
The hands of others moving over them.
All of it was chaos itself.
It was at that very moment.
'...!'
Among the many numbers, one number in particular.
As if it were emitting light on its own.
No, it was actually shining.
It wasn't because of the magic on the chips.
On his retina, only that number was burning, huge and clear.
2.
The number that symbolized Her Highness Anastasia.
The second princess of the empire.
The being that Jean-Claude's soul loved more than anything else.
The star in his heart.
'Your Highness….'
A revelation, this was a revelation.
An unmistakable revelation.
A ray of light sent down to him, lost in this uncivilized land.
Jean-Claude took a breath without realizing it.
Reason screamed.
This is madness!
To bet everything on a 1 in 37 chance?
But his body was already beyond the control of reason.
Seureureuk—
His hand moved.
All the chips remaining on the table.
Without leaving any behind.
He pushed them into the small square marked with the number '2'.
Low gasps of astonishment erupted from those around him.
"Crazy bastard."
"That much money in one go?"
All eyes were on him.
But in Jean-Claude's eyes, there was only the spinning roulette wheel and the silver ball running on it.
Torrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr~
A sensation as if time had stopped.
Every time the ball bounced, his heart fell to the floor and soared back up.
Please.
Please!
Click!
Click!
The ball, having lost speed, moved precariously between the pockets as if looking for its final resting place.
And
Finally,
Tuk!
The world stopped.
The silver ball had settled perfectly in the pocket of the number '2'.
"...."
Silence.
All the noise that had filled the banquet hall vanished as if by a lie.
No, it felt as if it had vanished.
Neither cheers, nor screams, nor sighs reached Jean-Claude's ears.
In the silence, the dealer's emotionless voice rang out like a thunderclap.
"2. Black."
The dealer, with an indifferent expression, finished the calculation and scraped together a mountain of chips, pushing them in front of Jean-Claude.
Thirty-six times the amount he had bet.
Jean-Claude just stared blankly at the mountain of chips piled in front of him.
This was, so to speak, a promised victory.
A reward for faith.
A blessing bestowed by Her Highness.
"Congratulations, sir."
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