TSBIRBV Ch 291

Chapter 291. Secret Tryst (3)

 

Eon Chaegwol, eyes bloodshot and trembling, laid down his tiles.

Another loss.

Across the table, his opponent grinned, revealing yellowed teeth as he swept up the winnings.

As Eon Chaegwol stood, his legs unsteady, his knee bumped the table. Though he had the martial training to keep his footing, the table shook violently, sending coins and notes scattering across the floor.

The man who had just won from him cursed loudly, jabbing a finger in Eon Chaegwol’s direction. But Chaegwol didn’t even glance back; he simply stumbled away, dragging his weary body through the haze of the gambling den.

He couldn’t remember when he had fled his family estate. Yesterday? The day before?

After the Martial Alliance’s sudden “investigation,” he’d been dragged in, questioned, and then released without explanation.

Since then, he had buried himself in this place—this pit of smoke and despair—gambling away every last coin he owned.

He just wanted to empty his head.

Ten losses for one fleeting victory—he would take that trade again and again, if only to feel, for a moment, that burning thrill when luck turned in his favor.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be fine.

His father—Clan Leader Eon—had always survived crises before. The unease gnawing at him now was only because he, the son, lacked his father’s cunning. He wasn’t clever enough to understand his father’s schemes, nor strong enough to mimic them.

Hands shaking, Eon Chaegwol exchanged a family heirloom at the gambling den’s pawn counter for coin, then staggered back to a table.

A man loitered there—a stranger, with a face marred by an ugly scar.

But in this world, disfigurement was nothing rare. Among those who lived by risk and vice, the unscarred were the minority.

Right now, Eon Chaegwol couldn’t have cared less who the man was.

Whether he was a demonic warlord or the Alliance Leader himself, it didn’t matter.

He just wanted to lose more—so he could win more.

As he approached a dice table, his gaze fixed on the man’s face.

He looked vicious—one wrong word and this scarred man could probably tear someone’s head from his shoulders. Clearly a master from the unorthodox sects.

And yet, when Chaegwol watched him shake the dice cup, his movements were oddly… honest.

He doesn’t even cheat?

He watched longer. Instead of winning, the man kept losing—calmly, methodically, as if playing by the rules.

Each time he lost, he opened a pouch held by his attendant and handed over another tidy stack of coins, with a quiet dignity that irritated Chaegwol to no end.

He wasn’t even trying to win back what he lost.

A perfect fool.

The sharks of the gambling den had already caught the scent of blood, circling the stranger eagerly.

Chaegwol glared at them, and those lowlifes, recognizing him, quickly retreated.

Though the Eon Clan was under investigation, few dared cross him openly. Especially not bottom-feeders like these—one wrong move, and they’d lose not their hands, but their heads.

“Looking for a game?” Chaegwol drawled. “Care to join me?”

The scarred man hesitated briefly but was quick to agree when Chaegwol suggested a new kind of wager.

The servant behind the stranger fidgeted nervously, clearly wanting to intervene but too afraid to speak.

Chaegwol smiled inwardly.

At least for now, luck seemed to be returning.

“I’d been losing all night,” the stranger said lightly, laying down his hand. “But fortune seems to be turning.”

His smile—wide and confident—made Chaegwol’s teeth ache with hatred.

After losing round after round, the man suddenly began winning against him, not by overwhelming margins but by small, infuriatingly consistent ones.

Beginner’s luck? Chaegwol thought bitterly.

Then why does it only work when he’s playing against me?

He’d been a pathetic wastrel all his life, flitting between wine cups and gambling dens. But he had picked up a few tricks along the way—enough to cheat his way through a few tables.

The problem was money.

If he could just return home, he could bluff or borrow his way through another round. But with the Eon Clan under official investigation, everyone knew the situation.

Who would lend money to the heir of a sinking ship?

“Come on, cut me a break,” he said, forcing a grin. “I showed you around, didn’t I?”

“That’s troublesome,” came the mild reply.

“You saw I’m broke!”

“Then you can always stop playing.”

The reply was so light it stung.

The scarred man’s hand rested on the table, steady and ready to leave.

Like hell you will.

Chaegwol clenched his jaw.

He’d already lost everything to this man. There was no way he’d let him walk away with his money.

“Lend me some,” he bit out.

The man’s scarred face shifted slightly, as if amused—or maybe irritated. For a second, Chaegwol’s blood ran cold.

Then the man’s eyes swept over him slowly, assessing.

Chaegwol puffed his chest, letting the silk of his robe catch the light—pretending, at least, that he was someone who could afford to repay a debt.

“Not for free,” said the man. “You’ll need collateral.”

He lifted his hand lazily, curling his fingers in invitation.

“If it’s something rare—something truly valuable—I’ll give you a fair price.”

The man spoke like a gambler-king indulging a fool, all calm arrogance and composure.

He wasn’t a known fighter, nor some grand merchant—just another stranger. But after so many consecutive wins, he radiated the easy superiority of someone who knew the table was his.

He’s not here for money, Chaegwol thought bitterly. He just wants to keep winning.

He understood that desire well.

That had been him, once—hungry for validation, ignored by his family, desperate to feel powerful somewhere, anywhere.

Gambling didn’t need talent. It didn’t need cultivation. Just money—and nerve.

Sometimes you win. Sometimes you lose.

It was a world where cunning mattered more than strength, where a small cheat could tip fate in your favor. And that fleeting rush, that moment when your hand swept the winnings toward you—it had consumed him whole.

Just one last time, he told himself. Just once more.

He hesitated, then drew from his robe a jade token—the family’s insignia, carried only by the Eon Clan’s direct bloodline.

Exquisitely carved, valuable even by the jade alone.

He could have sold it later for survival—but at this moment, victory mattered more.

Like every gambler before him, Chaegwol’s mind held only one thought:

Just one win. One win and I can get it all back.

He tossed the jade onto the table.

The man’s dark eyes flicked toward it, appraising its worth. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Chaegwol licked his dry lips.

“Grasshopper race,” he said hoarsely.

They made their way to the section of the den where the races were held.

A young boy was yawning, lazily sorting grasshoppers in rusted cages.

Everyone wondered why the den’s owner used a child—but the boy had a rare gift. He could handle insects like no one else, and the infamous Grasshopper Races existed because of him.

“I’ll take one,” said Chaegwol.

The boy glanced up at him. Chaegwol subtly raised three fingers behind his back, where only the boy could see.

A promise—thirty percent of the winnings if he helped him cheat.

The boy hummed, then selected two grasshoppers—one painted red, the other blue.

“This one’s Red General, that one’s Blue General,” he said. “Both are fast, but Blue General’s already raced twice today. I’d recommend Red.”

Chaegwol grinned. “Oh? Then I’ll take Blue. Three’s my lucky number today.”

“Then Red’s mine,” said the scarred man, approaching the table.

He didn’t even bother inspecting the insects before choosing.

The boy nodded, placing each grasshopper into small bamboo cages and inserting sticks of incense beneath them.

“There’s a free table—number three.”

Around it ran a low wooden barrier.

“When you open the lids, they’ll jump straight forward,” the boy explained. “The cages are scented to provoke them. Tilt the cages slightly toward the starting line and open the lids upward.”

He paused, then grinned mischievously.

“But if your grasshopper jumps too high and flies out of the ring… you know what happens, right?”

“Disqualified,” Chaegwol said immediately.

It was the gamble’s most thrilling feature. A strong insect could leap far—but if it overshot the table, you lost everything.

The boy’s emphasis on the barrier made it clear—the Red General probably leapt high, not far.

“Don’t forget to bring the grasshopper back unharmed,” the boy added.

Chaegwol nodded curtly and hurried to table three, clutching his cage.

Two cages now sat side by side at the starting line.

Each man laid a hand on the lids.

“On three,” said Chaegwol. “One, two—”

Their gazes met.

And Chaegwol forgot how to breathe.

There was nothing in that man’s eyes.

No excitement, no greed, no impatience—none of the feverish hunger every gambler carried.

He knew the type well.

Gamblers always believed, this time, I’ll win. That hope—poisonous and addictive—was stronger than opium.

Even a beginner, winning this much, should have been giddy with triumph.

So why was this man so utterly calm?

“Three,” said the man.

The voice was low, rough as cracked earth—scraping across Chaegwol’s ears like a blade.

As if compelled by some unseen force, Eon Chaegwol reflexively flipped open the lid.

Two grasshoppers sprang into the ring.

 

TL = I have edited Hongyeo’s name in the previous chapters i was using Hongye