"And I...am responding to your summons."
A soft, effeminate voice arose amidst the thick fog.
Clad in a white robe and donning a white crown, the decayed husband sported a faintly mysterious smile on his lips.
"My apologies, Prince Dmitry... and, the venerable Emperor Annan—oh, you’re still a Prince, aren’t you?"
He spoke in a strange tone, and extended an exaggerated bow towards Annan.
Annan’s eyes were deep and shadowy, void of any response.
Like those of a marionette, they stared coldly at him.
—This was different from the nightmare he had witnessed before.
The decayed husband had co bearing unabashed malice from the very beginning. Perhaps this was part of the escalated difficulty due to the nightmare’s distortion.
And faced with the decayed husband’s malice,
"Dmitry" fearlessly raised his knife-wielding right arm, shielding Annan behind him.
He slid his left hand into his pocket, lifted his head, and gazed unflinchingly at the decayed husband.
Even under the decayed husband’s fascinated gaze, "Dmitry’s" eyes held barely a trace of fear. Instead, his icy gaze brimd with obvious resistance and disgust.
"—Let’s talk this out properly."
"Dmitry" spoke coolly, "Don’t scare him."
"Ah, very well, very well. Of course."
The decayed husband pressed his hands together, speaking with a smile, "My apologies then, to you both great Princes."
Though he said so, there wasn’t the slightest hint of regret in his deanor.
"Then let’s make a wager, decayed husband."
"Dmitry" declared without hesitation, "I’ll gamble my royal blood against you in exchange for the power of the undead."
"Alright."
The decayed husband replied cheerfully, "What shall we bet on? How shall we bet?"
Although his eyes were obscured, his smile and malice leaked out nearly to overflowing.
"By the rules of the Thousand-Faced Phantom Tower."
"Dmitry" answered simply, "Best two out of three rounds, using only items found within this room."
Unlike Thirteen Fragrances, he did not ticulously outline a myriad of pointless details.
The decayed husband agreed without any hesitation as well: "Alright then..."
He responded in his soft, delicate voice.
Gone were the previous barrages of demoralizing words, now his tone was as friendly as a custor service representative’s.
Though his eyes were not visible,
Annan could feel that the decayed husband was serious this ti, so much so that the experiences from when Thirteen Fragrances and Husky had navigated this nightmare could not be fully utilized.
"So, who will start the first round?"
"I will."
Before Annan could respond, "Dmitry" promptly answered.
"Good."
The decayed husband nodded in agreent.
"Then, we shall gamble on sothing simple."
He said with a smile, reaching out and pointing at Annan, "Your brother Annan... counts as being inside this room, doesn’t he?"
"If you’re trying to use this opportunity to harm Annan, then this ritual ends here."
"Dmitry" replied without a second thought, "I won’t treat Annan as a tool."
Annan simply reached out and grabbed Dmitry’s sleeve, murmuring, "Don’t rush, let’s hear what he has to say."
"It’s quite simple, it won’t harm Annan. I won’t harm anyone..."
The decayed husband took a deep breath, showcasing a friendly smile, "As you said, we’ll use the rules of the Thousand-Faced Phantom Tower. And this is indeed a common form of gambling content used by the Tower."
He spoke, casually picking up a deck of cards.
"The face value of this deck runs from one to thirteen. By counting the Joker and Fool as fourteen and fifteen, we thus have fifteen cards."
The decayed husband selected fifteen cards, handing them over to Annan.
Then, he gently patted Annan’s head, in a tone reminiscent of a kindergarten teacher, he squeezed his voice softly and delicately, "Now then, little friend~ please choose three cards from these. Rember not to speak out loud the cards you pick."
Annan glanced at "Dmitry."
He didn’t even cast a glance at the Rotting Husband before quietly selecting three cards from the deck.
"Alright~!"
The Rotting Husband said with a smile, "Now, in our hands, we have three special cards—personally picked by Prince Annan."
He turned his head back to "Dmitry" and asked a question.
"So, Prince Dmitry, allow to respectfully ask you a question..."
His voice slightly deepened.
The atmosphere gradually turned heavy, the surrounding space beca quiet—all sounds were erased by the Rotting Husband’s "scent."
Or rather, it was a kind of fragrance that made one "unable to hear any sound."
However, the Rotting Husband’s voice pierced through this fragrance, resounding within "Dmitry’s" heart:
"What do you think are the three most important elents for a king?"
Looking at the Rotting Husband’s seemingly amused expression.
"Dmitry" let the silver ceremonial knife he was holding dip slightly.
He looked at the Rotting Husband without any hesitation or fear.
"A king? Whatever that is, it’s all the sa..."
A clear, icy resolve sparkled in "Dmitry"’s eyes, revealing an unfaltering intent to kill: "Even if I need to don the crown, I shall not beco arrogant; even if I need to remove the crown, I shall not regret it.
"Even if I need to hand the crown to another, I shall not cling to it."
He lifted his hand, pointing the silver ceremonial knife toward the Rotting Husband.
The corners of his mouth curled up slightly, forming a cruel arc:
"The so-called power of kingship—is like this little knife. It’s nothing more than one of the countless tools in this world."
"Although I quite like your answer, it is not very polite to point such a dangerous thing at an old man like ," the Rotting Husband replied with a smile.
In the next mont, that silver knife lted into muck like the earlier rose-colored flas.
"Dmitry"’s pupils abruptly constricted.
He sharply felt as if a very cold and sticky liquid were climbing up his spine from his back, slowly moving upward.
But he did not waver in the slightest.
He still held his head high with pride, staring steadfastly at the Rotting Husband, neither retreating nor trembling. Even the smile at the corner of his mouth did not fade.
"Tsk."
The Rotting Husband clicked his tongue, sowhat disappointed.
In the next instant, the world around them darkened abruptly.
"Dmitry" found himself within an anciently decorated temple.
"I won’t coerce you with life or death, it doesn’t matter if you win or lose. I just want to prove to you one thing..."
The Rotting Husband kept drawing a stack of cards, placing them on the pile. He shuffled the cards, speaking deliberately, "To prove that... you don’t know Annan that well."
The Rotting Husband grinned broadly, revealing a brilliant smile.
As he spoke, he flipped the cards over. He ran his hand across the face of the cards.
There appeared a newly manufactured set of poker cards, arranged in ascending order according to the four suits.
"Fifty-four cards. Of course, we won’t count the suits."
As the Rotting Husband’s voice fell, nearly three-quarters of the cards vanished.
Only thirteen "Cups" cards remained, along with the Joker and the Fool.
"A very simple ga. Among these fifteen cards, three are marked by Prince Annan, equating to a one-in-five chance."
The Rotting Husband spoke with a smile, "Now, you can draw cards five tis at will. As long as the last includes one of Prince Annan’s marked cards, you win... Quite probability-friendly, right? Whether you wish to win or lose, it’s very simple.
"But conversely, if there are zero or more than one, I win. However, I won’t tell you how many ’marked’ cards you’ve drawn. And in the end, win or lose, I will tell you five of Annan’s secrets. Among them, there will be truths and lies. The number of lies will correspond with the number of marks you’ve drawn.
"Isn’t it... a fair and interesting ga?"
The Rotting Husband’s lips curled up.
Revealing an unmistakable malice.
Playing "Dmitry," Kafney narrowed her eyes slightly.
"—I’ll take that bet."
She answered.
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