Casino Wizard

“The Endless Game of Beatings That Has Now Surpassed 200 Rounds.”

Saintess Theodora was gradually losing her mind.

“Pinzoro-! Pinzoro Pinzoro-!”

“Unnie.”

“Pin, Zo, Ro!”

While watching the dice roll, the saintess was screaming in madness. She had become a fool, chanting only “Pinzoro.”

She rolled the dice… and depending on the outcome, she either got beaten or beat someone. In the process, her past mistakes were cruelly revealed, as if trying to escape from an unimaginable pain.

“1, 1, 6,” came the result.

“Huh?”

“At least there’s an eye showing. This time, I’ll roll.”

Still, Pinzoro didn’t come up.

Even assuming the dice were fair, the odds were 1 in 216. That’s only a 0.4629% chance.

It was slim, but after throwing and throwing while being beaten, the line of descent that could eventually result in Pinzoro was always there. Perhaps that was why the saintess didn’t give up.

“I’m sick of it.”

“Ah…”

“I’ll hit you. By the way, thanks for telling me about my orphanage classmate’s condition. I wish it wasn’t a terminal illness.”

“Ugh!”

The female archer threatened to strike her face, but instead, she quickly planted her foot in the saint’s solar plexus.

“Crack…!”

The saint bent at the waist, gasping for breath.

Coughing up a few broken groans, blood dripping from her mouth, she lay in a pitiful position…

Still, the saint didn’t give up.

“Blessed blood ….of the saintess, heal the….. suffering.”

Whoosh

Brilliant light enveloped the saintess’s trembling body.

Her wounds healed, but she still resembled something out of a nightmare.

A face stained with sweat, tears, and blood; silver hair in tatters after rolling on the floor; and holy garments that had become rags.

The saintess had never fought so hard, even when she was an active member of the church.

She had usually kept her distance, only offering healing, support, and antidotes when needed. She had been uncooperative unless we swallowed our pride and catered to her.

It wasn’t just her appearance that was destroyed.

“Pinzoro… Gaia goddess who grants me power, please help me in my troubled life, and… oh? Please show me 1, 1, and 1 so I can overcome this hardship and win!”

The saintess murmured a prayer, holding the dice tenderly in her hand.

It wasn’t a prayer for divine magic, but a desperate plea to summon Pinzoro.

She hoped that if Pinzoro appeared, all her suffering would end, and she could return to her former life.

Without the healing magic, she would have been dead several times over due to the brutal beatings she had endured.

Before the onslaught of violence, humans were powerless.

“Pinzoro.”

This time, the saintess, with a look of desperation, gently rolled the dice without raising her voice.

But again, the prayer failed.

“Ah…”

“1, 5, 6. Unnie”

“Why. I thought I had a good feeling this time.”

The saintess looked at the dice on the ground with an empty expression.

The three dice made of light wood had already been thrown over 200 times, yet Pinzoro still hadn’t come up.

555 or 333 had appeared, but 111 had managed to evade them all. The odds of this happening were slim, so it was easy to assume it was simply bad luck.

But it wasn’t just luck.

It was due to the way I had arranged the dice.

Out of the three dice, one was a cheap one you could find anywhere. But one was designed in such a way that 3s and 5s appeared unusually often, and the other one was designed to favor 6s.

These dice were far from fair game tools.

The smaller and lighter the dice, the easier they were to manipulate. A light brush of dye in a small groove or a slight scraping could easily alter the results.

The dice I had brought were of this type.

‘It didn’t even take much effort.’

A bit of work on the wooden dice was nothing.

Naturally, the manipulation wasn’t obvious. The fact that the saint had been struggling for hours was proof of that.

But there was a limit to the hope torture brought.

“Cough…!”

Thud. The saintess, once again beaten, collapsed, clutching her lower abdomen in exhaustion.

She wasn’t as strong as the shield knight, but our youngest, though she had worked in casinos for years, was an adventurer who had earned a gold medal in her teens. The difference in physical strength between her and the saint was significant.

In the one-sided exchange, the saintess’s will was gradually being broken.

It seemed like the time had come.

The rest of us, excluding the hero, alternated between hitting the saintess.

The shield knight’s face had already turned pale due to the saintess’s spilled blood, and the female archer’s neck was glistening with sweat.

At this point, the venting of anger was sufficient. The saint’s mind was on the verge of collapse.

“Lucy. It’s your turn.”

“Huh? Oh, okay.”

“And you’re going back to the casino. One of us needs to watch the business. The hero wants that too.”

The female archer hesitated for a moment, but left reluctantly.

The saintess, who had been struggling, weakly raised her head.

The female archer, who had been the most brutal with the beatings, was now gone.

Perhaps she felt frustrated about leaving the game just to watch the casino or maybe she held onto a faint hope that even if Pinzoro didn’t appear, the cruel time might come to an end.

Ignoring her gaze, I turned to the shield knight.

“Jerome. You should go too.”

“I can bear it.”

“I’m not worried about your tolerance. I just think it’s better if you don’t watch from here. This is the hero’s request.”

The shield knight also left. This had been agreed on beforehand.

The saintess, unaware of the arrangements, was busy glancing around with a hollow expression on her face.

Was it really over? Or was there more to come? Judging by her twisted face, it wasn’t hard to read her thoughts.

I watched her for a while before picking up the dice.

First, I wiped the blood off the dice with a handkerchief. At that moment, the saintess gazed at me, as if asking for answers.

“Theodora. Let me warn you, Your next turn is with the hero.”

“What?”

The saintess’s anxious gaze shifted to the middle-aged hero.

He was watching the game from a distance, not having rolled the dice even once, though he had been keenly observing the beatings.

Of course, there was another reason for his absence.

“When the hero’s turn comes, it’ll be bad for both you and me, as well as for the church.”

“Huh?”

“Actually, the hero said he would take care of it alone. That’s why I sent Lucy and Jerome away.”

The saintess’s eyes twitched with fear.

“No. If Pinzoro comes out!”

She threw the dice, still on the floor.

And as expected, she failed again.

I sighed and sat down in front of her.

…

The following slap was relatively milder in terms of violence.

Just a light slap on the cheek while sitting?

However, the saintess’s expression was filled with an even more extreme fear than when facing the shield knight.

“The hero wouldn’t… do that.”

“It seems like my patience has reached its limit listening to you.”

“I told you we’d finish it with the dice, didn’t I?”

“That’s what I intended to do. But there’s something strange about the hero’s condition. If you really don’t want to meet the hero, you should throw the pinzoro.”

She paused deliberately and then added:

“The hero won’t control his strength like Jerome does.”

“…”

“It’s just my guess. But the hero… the goddess murmured that she gave a revelation to punish you. I’m not sure if I can stop it.”

Slap.

I played my HiFumi card, and the saintess slapped my cheek hard.

Honestly, it stung, but compared to the pressure the saint was feeling, it was nothing.

The saintess’s face seemed dazed as if she had a premonition, her lips twitching, yet her hand was searching the floor for the dice.

I cautiously leaned in and closed the distance between us.

“If it’s the hero now, he might actually do it.”

“Huff…!”

“Look at that. He’s smiling. Even though the opponent is you, no one would smile while watching someone get beaten. It must be because of your personality that he have been suffering under you, but now… huh.”

The saintess briefly glanced at the middle-aged hero.

The middle-aged hero was busy adjusting his holy sword, smiling all the while.

“No, but this is still the church…!”

“Don’t you think it might be because it’s the church that this is possible?”

“Huh?”

“Anyway, roll the dice. The hero might think something’s off.”

“…!”

“I subtly mentioned that the cardinals and bishops might get involved. But the hero said something odd. He asked if we’d all be accomplices if something happened in front of them. He even wondered if we could cover up the crime if it happened.”

“Huh?”

The saintess’s face grew increasingly serious.

The middle-aged hero seemed to have made up his mind as he gave me a warning. No matter how much she rolled, the pinzoro wouldn’t come up.

1, 5, 5. Another failure.

I picked up the dice and warned her in a low voice.

“Theodora. I hate you.”

“Hyden.”

“That’s why I brought the dice to get back at you. I thought this would hurt more than just hitting a dazed person.”

“… You’re cruel.”

“But I didn’t want you to die completely. Then I’d get hurt too.”

I also rolled. The result was a win for me with Arashi.

Thud.

After tapping the saint’s shoulder lightly, I passed her the dice.

From that point on, it became a race.

Roll, failure. Roll, failure.

The set with two ones appeared once, but the pinzoro still didn’t come up. Each time, the saintess became more and more anxious.

“Hyden. Then you stop.”

“Don’t raise your voice. I can hear you.”

“Ugh.”

The saintess flinched and grabbed the dice. Perhaps due to fear of the hero, she no longer seemed to view me as the enemy.

“Roll it. At least.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe pinzoro will come up?”

Despite my urging, the saint kept her head lowered, her hands shaking.

It seemed that the fear that the hero might actually kill her, combined with the despair that pinzoro wouldn’t come up no matter how many times she rolled, was weighing on her.

She didn’t seem to think I was lying.

When she was slapped by the shield, she must have thought of death. If it’s the hero, her greatest enemy, she probably believes he won’t hesitate to kill her.

This was enough.

I suddenly turned around and spoke.

“Hero, my turn isn’t over yet.”

At the word “hero,” the saintess lifted her head with a jerk.

The middle-aged hero was already slowly walking toward us.

With a calm expression, his hand lightly resting on his holy sword, and eyes fixed on the saintess.

This wasn’t the posture of someone coming to enjoy the slap.

“Ugh, ah.”

Even the saintess, who had become accustomed to violence, seemed unable to remain calm in the face of the threat of death.

Her body started convulsing wildly. With strange sounds escaping her mouth. Even so, she still desperately fumbled with the dice to throw them.

2, 4, 6. Another failure.

“Hyden. Now it’s my turn.”

At the middle-aged hero’s voice, the saintess froze in her dice-throwing pose.

I had pushed as much as I could, and now it was time for the final decision.

At the same time, I planned to determine the saintess’s fate.