Chapter 607: Dragon’s Roar at the Casino
"What’s going on?"
The greasy fat man who had left earlier returned, shoving a half-eaten hamburger into his mouth. When he reached the table and realized something had changed, he squeezed through the crowd with surprising determination.
"Don’t even ask," a young woman nearby said sourly, pointing at Ethan as she quickly explained what had just happened.
"Holy crap... you’re all idiots!" the fat man blurted out.
The insult earned him a chorus of curses. Several people pointed at him angrily, ready to throw him out themselves.
"Tch." The fat man just scoffed, completely unfazed. He tossed his remaining chips forward.
"If you’re not idiots, then who is?"
The crowd froze as they saw where his chips landed—right beside Ethan’s pile. Silence fell instantly.
Several people looked like they wanted to slap themselves. Of course. This guy had been their bad-luck charm before—if he was betting there, it had to mean the opposite. How could they have forgotten?
A few quick thinkers rushed to push their chips over to the same spot.
"No more bets!"
"Six sixes—triples!"
The dealer’s eyes widened. She had just rolled twelve consecutive triples. Even she was starting to wonder if the machine had gone haywire.
And this time, no one had bet on big or small. The only wagers were on triples—meaning the casino itself was on the losing end. Ethan had bet triples, and she had rolled triples again. The house was going to take a serious hit.
"Haha! How about that?" The greasy man’s face lit up with smug triumph. "Still think I was wrong to call you idiots?"
He stretched out his hand toward the beautiful dealer. "Pay up."
"Uh... please wait a moment!" The dealer’s voice trembled slightly. Her forehead glistened with sweat as she looked down at the pile of chips stacked on triples. Ethan alone had seven or eight hundred thousand there. Add in the others’ bets, and it easily topped a million.
The fat man had gone all in with his two hundred thousand.
Her table didn’t even have a fraction of that. Even counting the house edge they’d taken in, there was barely a hundred thousand on hand.
As she explained, she reached under the table and pressed a red button. Within moments, a few staff members arrived. She spoke quietly to one of them, outlining the situation.
The man in charge frowned, then checked the digital record. His expression stiffened. Twelve consecutive triples.
He lifted his head and glanced at Ethan, who sat calmly at the table. The greasy fat man, meanwhile, was already mouthing off again.
"What’s the matter? Don’t tell me a casino this big can’t afford to lose?"
The newcomer gave a practiced smile. "Of course not, sir. We’re just performing a routine check."
He gestured to his team, who stepped forward to inspect the dice cup. They examined it carefully, tested it, and then shook their heads—no sign of tampering.
"You may go," the man said to the dealer. She nodded and quickly left.
He then opened a black case, took out several stacks of chips, and began paying out Ethan, the fat man, and the rest of the winners.
"Sir," he said, turning to Ethan with a polite smile, "how about I deal for you personally?"
Ethan was about to answer, but the fat man jumped in first.
"Buddy, they’re switching dealers. If I were you, I’d cash out while you can."
He laughed, scooping up his pile of chips and heading toward the exit, clearly thrilled with his winnings.
"I’m done playing too," Ethan said, calmly collecting his chips.
The man across from him froze for a moment. He hadn’t expected Ethan to actually leave.
"Hmph..." The man let out a low snort.
The sound was soft, almost inaudible to the others—but to Ethan, it roared like thunder.
Snort at what? Ethan’s eyes narrowed. Blue Dragon’s Might.
He lifted his gaze and locked eyes with the man. A faint blue light flickered in his pupils as he sent out a surge of spiritual power.
"Uh... splurt..."
When the man realized Ethan was using telepathy, his face went blank for a heartbeat. Then a roar filled his mind—deep, animal, like a dragon waking—and pain exploded behind his eyes.
He spat blood onto the green felt. Thin rivers of crimson traced down his lips as his body locked up and folded onto the floor.
"Ah!"
The casino erupted into pandemonium.
From the moment the man had approached, Ethan had known he was no ordinary gambler. He could smell the faint aftertaste of Soul Energy—someone who had pushed past basic realm and stepped into Sovereign rank, then started training Soul Energy. Not top-tier, but dangerous enough if you weren’t ready.
When the man suggested they "play," Ethan had put his guard up. The suggestion was a cover—an excuse to get close. And as Ethan stood to leave, the man had taken his shot: a sneaky Soul Energy strike, meant to cripple or knock him out.
If Ethan had been any ordinary person, that attack likely would have sent him under. Energy Wielders like these treated ordinary people as expendable. They relied on surprise and weakness.
Ethan had trained himself to be the opposite of ordinary. He never let an aura leak; from the outside he looked human and harmless. That made people underestimate him. He liked that. He liked playing the pig to eat the tiger.
"Wow, he was fine one second and then..."
The fat man who’d already cashed out returned, pockets empty of chips but heavy with cash. He didn’t look shocked at the collapse. To him it was entertainment. He walked in a lazy circle around the prostrate man, grinning.
Then he fixed his eyes on Ethan and said, voice thick with scorn, "Nice nerves, buddy. You dare make a move in a Zane family casino!"
He had not spoken aloud, and yet Ethan heard him clearly in his head.
Ethan frowned. He had not expected that rotund gambler to be a practitioner, too.
"What do you mean? I didn’t touch anyone. Did you see me do anything?" Ethan replied telepathically, the thought a cool blade.
The fat man’s tone went smug. "We are both Soul Energy users. No need for pointless talk."
"Soul Energy user?" Ethan’s surprise was real—he hadn’t detected the fat man’s aura at all.
"Don’t bother scanning," the man said, still thinking rather than speaking. "We Soul Energy users learn to hide our traces. You, however... never mind. We’ll talk later if there’s time. Trouble’s coming for you."
He broke off the mental thread there; pushing telepathy too far leaves ripples others can pick up, and the man had stopped because something had drawn his attention.
Ethan turned his head and felt the shift in the crowd. People were pressing aside to make room for someone moving through. At the front of the press was an elderly man. He pushed forward, knelt by the collapsed man, examined him, and then stood up, face tightening.
"Could we have a word?" the elder asked, looking straight at Ethan.
"After I exchange my chips," Ethan said, gathering them and heading for the exchange window.
The elder’s expression hardened. He stepped in front of Ethan, blocking his path in three quick strides.
"Amber is missing. Come with me," the old man said quietly.
Ethan halted, the chips in his hands suddenly heavy. Seeing the elder stand so deliberately, Ethan assumed confrontation. He braced—more reflex than thought—and tightened his fingers around a chip as if it were a weapon. He moved as if to strike, ready to slap the man across the face if things went bad.
For all the noise and the blood on the floor, the elder’s eyes were calm as rock. He did not flinch. He simply waited for Ethan to decide what he’d do next.