Chapter 31: Eight-Shot Captain" Lades

Red carpets lined the corridor. A staggering line of people, led by a waiter waiting at the second-floor stairwell, walked straight into the second room on the left.

The interior of the room was quite spacious. The gas lamps were turned to their maximum setting, illuminating everything within a golden splendor. However, having just left the chaotic environment downstairs, this normal scene felt strangely distorted.

The room was laid out like an ordinary parlor, but a massive gambling table sat in the center.

The tabletop was wider, and there were more chairs. Against the wall stood a liquor cabinet and two women wearing heavy makeup and inappropriately revealing clothing. Neither the drunkards nor the waiters acting as croupiers noticed Shard—a man who shouldn't have been there—and the group continued their revelry in the new room.

Shard stood by a sofa, trying his best not to attract attention, looking for an opportunity to slip out into the hallway.

He was debating whether he should use his "Ignite" ability to cause a small disturbance to draw attention when he heard the drunkard he had been supporting speaking to a man sitting on a sofa with his head down, a scar at the corner of his mouth.

"Captain Lades, tell us again that story about how, when you were captured by those Southerners, you tried to commit suicide by shooting yourself in the head eight times to prove your loyalty to the Kingdom!"

The drunkard laughed loudly. The mocked Captain Lades kept his head down in silence, staring gloomily at his own boots.

"Lades has only just been redeemed, so let's not dwell on that... Why don't we find a pistol and let him demonstrate it for us? Hahahaha!"

A man holding three cards by the gambling table turned around and added to the jest, and the room was instantly filled with a jovial atmosphere. Taking advantage of the laughter and the round of mockery directed at the "Eight-Shot Captain" who had just returned home from captivity, Shard successfully slipped out of the noisy room and back into the hallway.

The walls and doors were well-insulated; after walking a few steps, Shard could barely hear the burst of laughter from inside. He pressed himself against the wall as he moved forward. The hallway was empty, which was conducive to his movements.

Although he didn't know where Little Franklin was, according to the previous detective's records, the second floor of the Lucky Southern Cross Club had an emergency exit leading directly outside, so Shard wasn't worried about being caught.

Just as he thought this and turned a corner, he came face-to-face with a man wearing a uniform that was clearly different from the casino guards downstairs.

Shard held his head high and walked forward, refusing to show any sign of cowardice. Even so, the man intercepted him.

"Apologies, sir, please wait a moment. I don't believe I've seen you before."

As he spoke, the man reached out to grab Shard's shoulder. Although Shard had no experience in close-quarters combat, his instinctive dodge was unexpectedly successful. This made him realize once again that the enhancement provided by the Circle Mage was all-encompassing.

"Yes, I was invited up. I just went to the washroom," he explained.

"But isn't the washroom over there?"

The man pointed in the direction the detective had just come from, looking at him with suspicion. "You've got quite the reflexes."

"...The washroom over there is broken. The stuff those drunks vomited has clogged the toilet. Oh, I really don't want to describe the scene to you."

Shard was quite impressed with his own quick wit, but the man who had stopped him frowned.

"Sir, you aren't a guest on the second floor, are you?"

Though phrased as a question, his tone was definitive.

Shard gave an awkward smile; there was no point in continuing to lie. Fortunately, he wasn't carrying anything dangerous, and he truly wasn't doing anything wrong in this club.

"Alright, I was just curious about the second floor. I followed some guests up when they were coming up, and I'll leave the club immediately. I understand."

Since things had taken an unexpected turn, Shard saw no reason to clash with the gang members running the casino over half a pound. He moved to step back, but was stopped again by the man's next words.

"Don't wander around aimlessly in the future. The second floor and above are for VIP guests. If you're playing here, you must follow the rules. You don't even have to leave; you can continue on the first floor... Wait, you aren't here looking for 'Poor' Franklin, are you?"

The man frowned.

"Well, yes."

Considering the situation, Shard felt there was no need to lie; the man seemed reasonable for the time being.

"If you mean the small-eyed young man wearing a gray hat and a sailor shirt, with a face full of freckles—yes, his father asked me to take him away."

"His father sent someone else? Follow me. Once you pay off his debts, you can take him."

The man beckoned Shard and led him down the hallway.

"You should have said so on the first floor. We've been worrying about how to find people to pay the debts of fellows like him."

The casino operators were unexpectedly reasonable.

"I thought... How much does he owe?" Shard asked the crucial question. The accountant had promised that if his son incurred debts at the casino, the detective could pay in advance and be reimbursed, but Shard himself didn't have much cash on hand.

"One pound and six shillings. Including interest and his room and board here these past few days, it's two pounds. You can take him then."

The stakes on the first floor were actually quite small. For Little Franklin to lose this much in two days, he likely hadn't won a single bet. But that wasn't Shard's concern; Mr. Franklin could afford debts up to ten pounds, and Shard happened to have exactly two pounds.

The man added, "Of course, since you are here on his father's behalf, it can be like last time. If you are willing to give us three pounds and six shillings, the casino can issue you a five-pound receipt to take to 'Poor' Franklin's father..."

It took Shard several seconds to realize what the man meant. He had seen such things in his original world, but he was still stunned by the business acumen of these otherworldly casino operators. After a moment of thought, he shook his head.

"Thank you for the offer, but I'll pass this time. Slow and steady wins the race."

He simply felt some sympathy for Mr. Franklin, who was about to have to move his entire family, and felt there was no need to profit this way. The man leading him didn't mind; in fact, he agreed with Shard's view.

"True enough, slow and steady. Anyway, 'Poor' Franklin will be back."

Shard admitted he had very wicked thoughts regarding the club's so-called "debt collection," but in reality, Little Franklin was merely being forced to help wash dishes in the kitchen; once he washed enough, he would be let go.

As the man led Shard into the kitchen, they happened to see a fat man in a chef's uniform punch the small-eyed youth to the ground. The frail-looking Little Franklin fell amidst a mess of playing cards on the floor, the blood from his knocked-out teeth splattering across the surface of the cards.

At the end of the kitchen sat a bloody pig's head, with steam pipes spraying hot vapor onto it; the fat chef seemed to have been processing it just now.

"Stop hitting him, someone's here to redeem him," the man leading Shard said lazily. He first waved his hand to disperse the kitchen smell from his nose, then reached out for the money. Shard tucked the two pounds in banknotes he had prepared into the man's hand and then pulled Little Franklin up from the floor.

"His father asked me to—"

"Mr. Neet, he can't leave yet! This damn brat tried to run away and bit me!" the chef said irritably, holding out a fleshy hand to show a bloody tooth mark. "Give me half a pound, or he doesn't go."