If the commentary had been added later, then there would have been nothing to question—it would have been easy enough for her to make that comment knowing who had won. But these matches were being shown practically in real time.
She wasn’t normal. There were some who had foolishly thought they could rely on her as a tipster and had considered getting in contact, but a second thought was enough to realize how impossible that would be, so they gave up before they even tried.
“C’mon, what’s with the long faces? If none of you make your bets, this isn’t going to go anywhere,” Kaffes spoke up, as the guests all silently stared at the paper. He gazed at them coldly while he played with the colored coins they were using instead of chips.
“Have you already decided who you’re betting on?” Grieg asked.
Kaffes nodded. “Of course I have. I don’t mind betting first, but...” His gaze ran across those gathered and he gave a small shrug. “I already decided the bet amount. Would be a bit unfair if I don’t at least let you all decide on your fighter first.”
This was retaliation. It was payback for how they’d spoken to him the day prior.
“Oh, and so you’re all aware, it looks like it’ll be impossible to make contact with the competitors. The tournament island is absolutely packed with knights and soldiers, and they’re on very high alert. I don’t imagine any of you expected any different. His Majesty the King is there, as are a whole bunch of other foreign dignitaries.”
In other words, bribes and threats were off the table. They were dirty tactics, but they were effective. All that mattered was that the one they bet on won the tournament, so none of them would’ve been against pulling such tricks. Though it seemed they couldn’t do that this time.
It seemed likely that the king of Altoire was cautious of this exact thing. That had to be exactly why he’d gone all in with the security. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have made such an extreme rule that disqualified fighters even for simple spats.
That rule had been an implicit signal that anyone who acted even slightly suspiciously would be removed. Whether because of a fight or something else, any suspicious persons would be forbidden from entering. At least, that was how Kaffes took it.
“Fine, I’ll bet on Sauzan.” The young Lesten of Vanderouge, a newly prominent face in the underworld, placed a green coin on Sauzan Flameen’s name.
A fifty-billion-kram gamble. With his career still on the rise, this was a terrifyingly large amount of money, but he did his best to not let it show on his face.
This was a win-or-bust moment. It was an opportunity to rid himself of those meddling geriatrics and earn a large sum of money at the same time. He wouldn’t think about what would happen if he lost. This was a bet where there was no future if he did.
Besides, he definitely had a chance of winning. The boneheads here probably didn’t realize, but that white-haired kid giving the dead-on commentary had said that Sauzan might even win the tournament—and the kid had always predicted the winner correctly.
So he was sure. He was sure that he had a chance. Even without that reassurance, Sauzan seemed quite strong, so he’d definitely win. If he didn’t, Lesten would be in trouble. Deep, deep trouble.
“I’ll bet on Freeze.”
Frozen Geitz, another ruthless underworld competitor in Vanderouge, placed a blue coin on Freeze’s name. The reason he was still considered young despite nearing his forties was solely because Grieg existed. If he wanted to become the big boss, he needed to stand at the top of the underworld. If he couldn’t manage that much, he was still young.
The moment he became a part of the underworld, his only choice was to climb up or fall. He’d been eagerly eyeing up Grieg’s position, but he still hadn’t found an opening. When the offer of the gamble came to him, he realized he had the chance to take Grieg down. Of course he’d join in.
It wasn’t as if he had no chance of winning either. The idiots gathered here likely didn’t realize, but that white-haired kid with an accuracy that even professional tipsters would be surprised by had been mentioning specific fighters who might win the tournament.
One of those fighters had been Freeze. He’d discerned during preliminaries that that woman was used to killing. In fact, it was likely that she was a professional killer. If she chose someone as her target, she would show no hesitation. Such ruthlessness was a mental advantage over the competitors who were getting flustered by the rules.
That beauty and ruthlessness was sure to win the tournament.
Two coins had been placed on the pieces of paper. Two old men who had been leisurely watching slowly made their move.
“Zen, who’re you betting on?”
One was Keya Kin, a sinister-looking older man.
“If only Ku Yunxie were still competing, I’d have my answer.”
The other was Zen Fowah, a bald older man with a long white beard that made him look like a hermit from the mountains.
These two were the faces of Wu Haitong’s underworld. They were in the position to lead many martial artists, and they collected money from their country’s citizens through all manner of means. No one really knew what exactly their methods were; rumors stated that they’d done every horrible thing you could think of. Such ambiguity made them seem even more villainous.
“I’d have bet on him as well if he’d been here.”
“Ah, so you would. Keya, my friend, do you have fifty billion in the bank?”
“I do. Not all in cash, though.”
“Then let’s do this.” Zen waved his twiglike right hand up and down. Keya gave an evil smirk.