Chapter 107
But Goodwin, who was well-acquainted with the traits of a "gambler," felt no joy at the sight of their blank shots.
She had once teamed up with cash-strapped "gamblers" to take on commissions, and she knew what their peak performance looked like.
In a one-on-one situation, a "gambler's" performance was hardly impressive.
However, with assistance, a "gambler" could recklessly load just one bullet, leaving the rest empty, until a teammate dragged them to the moment of their final shot, turning the tide of battle.
Goodwin was willing to bet that among those three gamblers, at least one had only one bullet in their gun.
If that gun were fired, it would be the end for her.
When had she ever crossed paths with the Deaton Manor? Wasn’t this supposed to be the safest trading place?
The sound of running footsteps grew closer, and Goodwin clenched her teeth, reaching into her waistband to pull out two daggers, each equipped with sharp knuckle dusters.
Running away… wouldn’t solve anything.
Only daring actions could make an "adventurer" stronger.
Without a moment's hesitation, Goodwin reversed her grip on the two daggers, crossing her arms and plunging them into her shoulders.
The tips of the daggers sliced through her skin and muscle, severing blood vessels and causing a torrent of blood to flow from the wounds.
The pain heightened her adrenaline, and her mind began to calm.
As the footsteps approached, she rolled almost flat against the carpet and then leaped toward the fastest-running "gambler."
Thud—
In that instant, Goodwin swung her right fist, the spiked dagger piercing through the gambler's cheek, skin and bone alike. With just one punch, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
As the gambler fell, two dice slipped from his hand, rolling to a stop at Goodwin's feet.
Two six-sided dice landed showing double sixes.
"Goodwin! We mean no harm; we just want you to come with us!"
The gambler on her left spoke as he pulled the trigger of his revolver, aiming directly at Goodwin's arm.
Bang—
The bullet, accompanied by a dramatic swirl of air, shot toward Goodwin, piercing her left arm.
At the same time, the gambler on her right also pulled the trigger.
Bang—
Another bullet came flying, but this time Goodwin was prepared; she raised her right hand with the dagger, blocking it just in time.
Clang!
The sharp sound rang out, and Goodwin felt a surge of joy.
She had merely raised her hand by chance, and yet she had managed to deflect a bullet…
Luck was on my side.
But what she didn’t anticipate was that the bullet, after grazing the dagger, had slightly veered off course.
Originally aimed at her arm, the bullet now hurtled toward her cheek, piercing through the right side of her face, shattering her teeth and bursting through her left cheekbone before flying out.
What kind of rotten luck is this?!
The intense pain caused Goodwin to momentarily freeze, but soon the threat of death ignited every ounce of her potential. With bloodshot eyes, she lunged at the gambler on her left like a rabid dog.
With her left hand, she knocked the revolver from the gambler's grasp, raising her right hand high, ready to stab down toward his heart.
Thud… thud…
Blood poured from her mouth, dripping onto the carpet.
But her raised right hand could not come down.
"Miss Goodwin."
A cold female voice came from the doorway.
Goodwin's vision blurred as she looked up to see a woman in a black uniform skirt, wearing a black chip mask, standing at the entrance.
A manager…?
"We're just inviting you to a little gathering… please do us the honor of attending, and don’t make it difficult for me."
The masked manager spoke calmly from the doorway, while a figure in white approached her, holding a bottle of red potion.
Goodwin summoned her last ounce of strength, turning her eyes to her raised right hand.
Her wrist had been gripped by the white figure, and no matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t break free.
Despair spread through Goodwin’s heart. She never imagined that after nearly exhausting the "adventurer" potion, she would fall victim here in what she thought was the safe haven of Deaton Manor.
Goodwin quickly slipped into a shallow haze, only to regain consciousness when the potion bottle was forced into her mouth, the hot liquid instinctively swallowed.
"Three against one, and we almost got killed…"
"Forget it, completing that lord's task is more important…"
"Keep an eye on her; don’t let her die…"
In her dazed state, she seemed to hear the manager saying something.
Goodwin was hoisted up by two maids wearing red chip masks, one on each side, and they began to drag her toward the door.
In her foggy state, Goodwin caught sight of the horrific scene in the hall.
Most of the members of Deaton Manor seemed to have gone mad, attacking everyone in sight, even their own colleagues.
Members scattered in panic, but none could escape the door, each one bound and dragged away like livestock.
Whether they were extraordinary gamblers or ordinary patrons at the casino, everyone was being pulled toward the same destination.
The entire manor had turned into a hell on earth.
The potion began to take effect, stopping her bleeding and restoring some of her energy.
But she knew that once the effects wore off, she would fall into an even weaker state. She had to find a way to escape before the potion's power faded…
Goodwin gritted her teeth against the pain, squinting to take note of her surroundings.
They were heading underground… to the exchange area?
But soon, Goodwin realized something was off.
She had been here many times for commissions and had occasionally played a few hands at the tables; she was almost familiar with the manor's layout.
The path the two maids were taking her down was clearly not the way to the exchange area.
The exchange area was on the first basement level… but even after reaching that level, they continued to descend the spiral staircase.
A secret chamber?
Goodwin felt a flicker of surprise; she had no idea Deaton Manor had a hidden underground chamber.
As the temperature dropped, Goodwin was finally brought to the bottom of the spiral staircase.
She raised her eyes slightly to look ahead, her pupils narrowing.
This was…
A vast underground chapel, with a circular and semi-circular emblem, and faceless statues carved everywhere…
A strong sense of danger surged toward Goodwin.
A sanctuary!!! This is the sanctuary of a cult!!!
A cult's sanctuary, right beneath Deaton Manor?!
In the center of the sanctuary, over a hundred people were bound and kneeling.
Crying, cursing, and praying filled the air, with occasional heart-wrenching screams of despair as people tore at their own hair and flesh.
Crack—
One of the maids seemed to step on something, making a noise. Goodwin looked down to see a crushed eyeball.
"Is everyone here…?"
The manager's voice rang out behind her, completely extinguishing any thoughts of escape. Despair washed over her as she watched a white figure approach, grabbing her collar and dragging her forward.
In Goodwin's view, all she could see was the white figure dragging her and the oppressive presence of the terrifying manager ahead.
It was only when she was brought to the front of the crowd and thrown to the ground that Goodwin slowly propped herself up with trembling hands, looking around.
Surrounding her… were other severely injured extraordinary beings, just like herself.
"My lord… everyone is here."
Goodwin slowly raised her head to see the once-arrogant manager now respectfully bowing as he approached the altar, removing his mask and kneeling before it.
As she looked up from the manager's head, she saw a stone throne on the altar, and above it lay a girl with red hair.
The girl rested her head on one stone armrest, her legs dangling over the other, reclining on the seat, swinging her legs back and forth as casually as if lounging on her own sofa.
Upon hearing the manager's words, the girl turned her face slightly to look at the crowd below, and in that moment, Goodwin caught a glimpse of the other half of her face.
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