I'm the Crazy One in the Family-Chapter 134: Royal Straight Flush (3)

No one could have predicted the winner Keter chose. He didn’t pick Sword Dragon Rajis, who had the highest chance of winning and would show that he was just acting tough, nor did he go for Red Wolf Pashian, who was second-best and would show that he wasn’t as smart as he seemed. He didn’t even choose Gillion, the person with twelve-to-one odds that Aleron expected.

“He’s betting ten million gold on everyone being eliminated?!”

“He didn’t even pick a person! Why did he say ‘him’?”

“Maybe he doesn’t understand how this betting game works. Otherwise, how could he make such a foolish choice...?”

The bet that everyone would be eliminated was a one hundred-to-one payout. What that meant was clear: Keter thought that out of the fifty knights carefully selected by Aleron, not a single one would become the Sword of the South. It was a simple but absurd proposition.

Many nobles had placed their bets. Those truly hoping to win money had wagered hundreds of thousands of gold on the top three contenders. The lower-ranked knights had far fewer bets placed on them, but it was more for entertainment than real hope. Some nobles, treating it as a game, bet on knights from their own houses or even on mere second-star knights.

But nobody—not a single gold coin—was wagered on everyone losing. It was like tossing money straight into the gutter.

“Lord Keter, this betting game is about predicting who will win the Sword of the South title. And for fairness, I only selected knights that everyone acknowledges as worthy,” said Aleron.

The nobles around him all nodded. Though the odds were suspiciously generous, the roster itself was flawless. Imagining someone outside that list winning was nearly impossible.

“And yet, my lord, why did you choose to wager on everyone losing? If you truly wanted to win my merchant company, you should have picked someone with at least ten-to-one odds.”

“Are you seriously asking me something right now?”

He strode up to Aleron. Four huge bodyguards tried to block him, but they collapsed at a mere flick of Keter’s hand, like actors in a play.

“Hmm,” Aleron murmured.

These were platinum-class mercenaries, but just a gesture from Keter had made them drop to the floor.

Keter grabbed Aleron’s beard without warning.

“You’re a funny guy. Why would I tell you what hand I’m holding?”

“N-no. I was only trying to confirm things so there would be no disputes later. Agh!”

Rip!

Keter yanked out a handful of his beard. Next, he grabbed Aleron’s mustache.

“And another thing. Why have you been speaking informally to me all this time? Are you a high noble? You from a prestigious family? You think you can talk down to someone from Sefira?”

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Lord Keter! Please forgive me.”

“Then why the hell did you do it?!”

“Aghh!!!”

Rip!

His mustache went flying as well. Aleron was now crying more from pain than humiliation. But it wasn't over yet.

“Shriek!”

Keter raised his hand again, this time reaching for the eyebrows. The guards, who had been momentarily stunned, finally scrambled to defend Aleron. However...

“Do you think I’m just some prop?”

Ultima, who was already angry because of Keter’s spontaneous actions, interfered. The huge guards threw punches instead of talking, but Ultima was just as comfortable speaking with his fists.

Bam, bam, bam!

“Kuk!”

“Agh...”

The thugs were swiftly knocked down. The nobles, excited by the fights, clicked their tongues.

“Acting so hurt over one hit... This is why mercenaries can't be trusted.”

The huge guards felt wrongfully accused. Ultima's punches were different. They weren’t hit in the vital spots, yet it felt like so, making them lose their strength and consciousness.

“Do you think I’m weak like Aleron? I’m the strongest thing at the Ultima Merchant Company, you bastards!”

Whoosh whoosh whoosh!

The four of the huge guards were brutally beaten by Ultima. Of course, that wasn’t the end of them; dozens more of the guards ran at Ultima and Keter.

“Bring it on! Bring it on!”

Though Ultima was constantly berated by Keter, he was still a survivor of Liqueur. His fists weren't brute force—they were imbued with the blood and flesh of thousands of people, and they had been hardened by breaking and recovering hundreds of times. If determined to kill, Ultima’s punches could even cut through steel.

“What are you looking at?!”

Keter plucked out the rest of Aleron’s eyebrows as he was watching the fight dumbfounded. His eyebrows didn’t hurt, but he was afraid of what was coming next—the hair above his eyebrows.

Rustle.

A bad feeling always proved right. Keter seized a handful of Aleron's hair at the crown of his head. But then, Aleron did something strange. Instead of pleading with Keter for mercy, he turned his gaze toward the observing nobles. There was no way Keter would miss that.

He’s asking for help.

Keter thought this casino was getting more entertaining by the minute.

Why isn’t Aleron looking at his own guards for help? And why is he asking for help with his eyes when he still has a perfectly fine mouth? Who is he looking at?

Keter turned, following the direction of Aleron’s gaze.

Hmm...

There was a crowd of nobles gathered together. He couldn’t tell exactly who Aleron was looking at, but he could tell which group it was: the same table where he had seen people playing poker when they first arrived.

That table where Philip was.

He wondered if all of this could really be a coincidence, but he laughed.

I told you, there’s no such thing as coincidence.

Aleron was looking at Philip and asking him for help. There were four others around Philip, but Keter was sure.

He’s laughing.

While the other nobles were watching the chaos like it was none of their business, Phillip was different. It was the sneer of someone looking down on the weak.

Doesn’t look like he’s planning to step in, though.

Keter didn't bother dragging it out. He moved to end Aleron's judgment.

“Are you in the wrong or not?”

Aleron hastily answered, “I was wrong. It won’t happen again.”

“I’ll spare your hair. Looks like you’re already thinning anyway.”

“Th-thank you.”

“But seriously, wash your hair better.”

Keter wiped the grease off his hand on Aleron’s clothes and waved over to Ultima.

“Ultima, don’t beat them up too badly. Take it easy.”

“Huff, huff... says the guy who started this!”

Even though Ultima was strong, taking on dozens of huge men alone was exhausting. He straightened his clothes that were rumpled from taking a few hits and pushed his sweaty hair back.

“Ptooey.”

Spitting out blood-tinged saliva, Ultima stretched his back.

“Ughhh...”

“My back! My back!”

Meanwhile, the guards couldn’t even stand and were groaning on the floor. Even the nobles could tell they weren’t just overreacting, as the floor was littered with blood and broken teeth.

The casino had turned into a complete disaster. The nobles whispered as they glanced at Keter, the one responsible.

“I can't believe Sefira had such a mad dog hidden away all this time.”

“I heard he’s a bastard child... from the Lawless City, no less.”

“Tsk, even the famously upright Count Besil had an affair? I guess he's only human.”

The nobles gossiped about Sefira, but Keter ignored them. He wasn’t free enough to care about every barking dog.

“Now that the little scuffle is over, back to business. I’m betting ten million gold that there will be no winner from that list.”

After all that chaos, Keter was determined to continue gambling as if nothing had happened.

And the nobles all thought the same thing:

...He’s insane.

* * *

Aleron stared at the check in his hand. It was for ten million gold, and it had Ultima’s signature.

He actually went through with it.

Though Aleron had just been humiliated by Keter, the ten million gold before his eyes was far more important.

Aleron simply couldn't understand what on earth was Keter thinking, betting ten million that there would be no winner among the list he created. Still, it didn’t matter. The odds were overwhelmingly in Aleron’s favor. It wasn’t even ninety-nine to one—it was basically one hundred to zero. There was no way Aleron could lose.

And yet, for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to accept it so easily. Aleron hadn’t built his merchant company up from nothing through luck alone; he had clawed his way up from the very bottom.

Something feels wrong.

Aleron had his own trump card. He had a plan to ensure he wouldn’t lose a single coin on this betting pool.

Could Keter have figured it out?

The option that everyone would be eliminated in the betting wasn’t just there for showmanship. It was a safety valve Aleron had deliberately included out of necessity.

Aleron knew who was going to win the Sword of the South Tournament, and the winner wasn’t listed among the fifty names. But there was no way Keter would know his trump card, as they had met for the first time today.

Logically, there’s no problem. Keter’s just making a reckless bet. He’s basically handing me ten million gold. No—Ultima’s hard-earned fortune, at that.

Aleron's thoughts didn’t last long. Keter only gave him one minute.

“What's it gonna be? You gonna take the bet or die?”

Knowing full well Keter’s threats weren’t just words, Aleron answered immediately, “Lord Keter, I’m sorry, but I cannot accept this wager.”

Aleron decided to give up the ten million gold. The nobles around them gasped at Aleron’s foolish decision.

Even with his ridiculous appearance—his hair torn out by Keter—Aleron was completely serious.

“Gambling, by its very nature, must be open to all once the game begins. Normally, even a casino owner wouldn’t refuse a bet. But this time, I’ll make an exception. Of course, I’ll compensate you properly.”

“You've already got no hair left. What compensation do you even have?”

Keter’s comment made the nobles chuckle, but Aleron couldn’t laugh.

He could feel it in his bones. If he accepted this bet, he would truly lose everything. There was no hard proof, and maybe it was just paranoia. But still...

A true gambler does not gamble.

By refusing to bet against Keter, Aleron intended to fix his odds at one hundred percent certainty. Paying ten thousand gold as a cancellation fee was a small price to pay.

Ultima frowned at Aleron’s bold decision, and Keter let out a scoff, when someone suddenly spoke up.

“What kind of foolishness is that?”

A man wearing a purple uniform stepped forward from the crowd of nobles—Philip. He placed a hand on Aleron's shoulder. For some reason, Aleron didn’t move a muscle.

“If this was poker, Mr. Aleron, it’s like having a straight flush and throwing it away because you’re scared the opponent has a royal straight flush.”

“S-Sir Philip, please... just trust me this once...”

“When have I ever not trusted you, Mr. Aleron? So, why don’t you trust me?”

“...!”

The nobles were all watching, but Aleron still trembled in fear—he was afraid of Phillip.

The nobles were stunned. Who was this Philip that even a famous merchant like Aleron bowed to him? They had played poker with him, but they had assumed Philip was just the spoiled son of some nouveau riche family. He looked the part, after all.

Philip pushed Aleron forward until he stood before Keter.

“Trust the straight flush, Mr. Aleron.”

“...”

Somehow, the contract had ended up back in Aleron’s hands—the one stating he would forfeit his entire merchant company if he lost.

Aleron turned and glanced at Philip in desperation. At this point, he didn’t even care who saw. Philip gave a little nod, signaling him to hurry up. Face twisted in misery, Aleron signed.

Everyone could see it now: Aleron wasn’t just afraid. He was clearly owned by Philip.

“I have no idea how things got this crazy.”

“What a rare spectacle today’s been.”

The nobles reveled in the entertainment. Many of them were now equally curious about Philip’s identity and about Keter’s sheer madness.

But in any case, the bet was made. Ultima’s ten million gold was officially wagered on everyone being eliminated, and Aleron accepted the terms: if he lost, he would hand over his entire merchant company.

With business done at the Red Siren Casino, Keter collected the signed contract and boarded the lift.

Just as the doors were about to close, Philip called out, “Lord Keter, I hope the hand you’re holding is a royal straight flush.”

Keter simply responded by raising his middle finger.

As soon as they exited the casino, Ultima lit a cigarette.

“Keter. Do you know why I willingly threw down ten million gold? Even knowing that if I lost it, my whole merchant company would go under?”

“Is this a story I have to listen to?”

“Come on. After throwing down ten million, you can listen for a minute. If I hadn’t paid for you back there, you would’ve put your own money up and then said something like, ‘If you don't trust me, we have no reason to be business partners. Go die.’”

“You know me so well.”

“Phoo...”

Crackle...

Ultima took a long drag of his cigarette, then flicked it onto the ground.

“Keter. Listen. If you lose the tournament and I go bankrupt, I will sell my soul to kill you. Understand that I'm not doing business with you out of fear, but because I thought it would benefit me.”

“Really? You’re not scared of me?”

“...A little bit scared. But you know I’m not the type to run away just because I'm afraid.”

“I’ll give you that. But why are you only talking about revenge if you lose? What if I win the tournament? If you get Aleron’s merchant company thanks to me, what’s in it for me?”

“Ahem! If I take over Aleron’s merchant company... I might be willing to give you about a million gold.”

“Thirty percent.”

“Wh-what?!”

“Thirty percent of the company. I want thirty percent.”

“You crazy bastard...!”

Sure, Ultima had gotten a little help from the Godfather, but he had built his merchant company with his own blood, sweat, and tears, staking his life twenty times over. And now Keter was demanding a full thirty percent?

But Keter didn’t think that.

“Fine. If you don’t like it, just give me the million. But after that, don’t expect me to help you with anything.”

“...You mean you’re going to help the merchant company too?”

Ultima barely stopped himself from blurting out an insult.

Their original deal had been simple: if they became enemies, they would kill each other, but if they were allies, they would let each other live. But now Keter was offering to help grow the merchant company itself.

Hmm, that’s actually a good deal.

Sure, Keter’s methods were insane. Even today, Keter bet Ultima’s funds without hesitation. He wouldn’t be able to handle the scare even if he had multiple hearts.

But with high risk comes high reward. If they succeeded, the payoff would be sweeter than anything.

“Fine. If you win the tournament and I take over Aleron’s company, I’ll give you twenty percent. Thirty is too much.”

Holding shares in the merchant company didn’t just mean getting a cut of profits; it meant having real influence over management too.

Ultima owned seventy percent of his merchant company. If he gave thirty percent to Keter, it would only leave him with forty percent. And if Keter managed to buy up shares from the other noble shareholders, it would be a huge pain. That was why he absolutely couldn't offer thirty.

But Keter had never actually planned to get that much; he only wanted twenty percent. He grinned and nodded.

“Now that’s more like it. Give and take, right? Oh, and by the way...”

Keter bent down and picked up the cigarette butt Ultima had dropped. He slipped it smoothly into Ultima’s pants pocket.

Then, quoting Philip’s words with a grin, Keter said, “Why are you scared when you’re holding a royal straight flush?”

* * *

A week had passed since the Sefira party had entered Eslow's palace. Among the many butlers working there, Butler Forty-Two gained lots of wrinkles on his face, as if he were living forty-eight hours a day by himself. It was because he had barely slept, frantically running around to gather the materials Keter had requested for the surgery.

Well, somehow, I managed to get them.

He had gotten the Pure Spirit Pellets, White Flower Pills, Dragon Essence Pellets, Eternal Snow Water, powdered horn of a Gray-eyed Drake, and the mucus of a sea troll, that Keter had requested. He had even somehow succeeded in obtaining the most difficult item: the blood of a half-elf, harder to acquire than all the rare elixirs and ingredients combined.

I must have spent at least eight million gold.

Since he had to gather everything in a rush, the costs were inevitably above the market price. Even then, it had only been possible thanks to the prestige of Eslow’s name.

Now, as long as Keter shows up, the surgery can begin.

Keter had vanished after taking a look at Ryze, Eslow’s son, on the first day, and his whereabouts were still completely unknown.

“Lord Ryze’s condition isn’t bad, but...”

In fact, it had improved just from Keter touching him briefly. Yet Butler Forty-Two still disliked Keter. It was natural, as he had made him scramble for rare ingredients within a week, yet hadn't even shown his face since.

"He’s treating the Eslow family with far too much disrespect."

Loyal to a fault, Butler Forty-Two interpreted Keter’s behavior not just as a slight to himself, but as an affront to the entire Eslow family. After all, Keter was from Sefira, the weakest of the master families, and a bastard son at that.

“I’ll make him do something.”

If Keter failed to treat Ryze, both he and Keter would surely die. Determined to survive, Butler Forty-Two decided to drag Keter back even if it meant pressuring Myle’s group.

Arriving at the guest quarters where they stayed, he made a solemn declaration.

“Lord Myle, please find and bring back Lord Keter. He instructed me to gather the ingredients within a week, and I have succeeded. The surgery must be performed today.”

Technically, Keter had never explicitly said the surgery had to happen exactly a week after, but Butler Forty-Two lied to emphasize the urgency.

However, Myle’s reaction was oddly indifferent.

“Keter...”

“Yes. He disappeared the first day and hasn’t shown up since.”

“He’s over there. Go fetch him.”

“...?”

Butler Forty-Two blinked in confusion. Myle, not even looking up from his book, lazily pointed to a sofa nearby.

There, sprawled across the couch, was a man. His shirt was completely unbuttoned and draped over him loosely, while his face was covered by a jacket, making it impossible to tell who he was. He looked like a man who had drunk himself stupid the night before—exactly how Butler Forty-Two remembered his own father looking in his younger days.

That’s Keter?

Skeptical, Butler Forty-Two approached the sofa and lifted the jacket covering the man's face.

“Gahh!!”

Startled by the butler’s sudden shout, Myle turned his head to see what was going on.

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