Chương 3: What the Wheel Said

There was a long silence, as the dealer stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed. A mean and nasty guffaw that came from deep within his chest. A few others also joined in, the scattered chuckles growing louder as they realized what Lio had just said.

"A sex slave?" The dealer's grin stretched wide, showing off his yellowed teeth.

"That what yer offerin', boy?" He looked Lio up and down again. Then he waved a dismissive hand.

"Yer what, sixteen? Seventeen maybe? An' fuckin' scrawny as hell. Look at'cha." He snorted.

"We already got plenty'a those types workin' the rooms upstairs. Younger ones too. Yer nothin' special, kid." The crowd roared with laughter, as the men around Lio began mocking him.

"Maybe we could use him for the back rooms," someone called out.

"For the ones who can't afford the fuckin' good stuff."

"Nah, even they got some standards!" There was even more laughter. But Lio's bearing didn't change, remaining still and empty. He reached over and grasped his left sleeve, pulling it up until the [Mach Heart] rune was clearly visible on his wrist. The laughter died immediately. As every eye locked onto the mark, the atmosphere changed, and the air of mockery dissipated. The dealer's grin vanished, and his eyes fixed on the rune, studying it with intensity.

The amusement that had been on his face moments ago was gone entirely.

"I'm a Delver," Lio explained flatly.

"If I lose, I'll work for you for one year. I'll do whatever this shithole of an establishment needs." A hush fell over the crowd, and no one spoke. The dealer was the first to break it, a thin smile creeping back onto his face, though it looked forced.

"A Delver, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, waving a dismissive hand.

"That's still not worth much, kid. Plenny'a Delvers wash up in places like this ev'ry week. What makes ya think yer any diff'rent?" Lio said nothing. Just stared back at him with those flat, empty eyes. The dealer's smile wavered slightly.

"And... even if ya are legitimate, seriously, one year'a work? From someone yer age?" He gestured at Lio.

"How's that gonna... benefit us? What can ya possibly offer that's worth the pot?" The words were coming out faster than before, tumbling over each other. It was clear that the dealer was trying to talk Lio down, and create a situation where he could renegotiate the terms to something less risky. Still, Lio's expression didn't change. And the silence continued to stretch. The dealer shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His fingers drummed against the table, a small bead of sweat forming at his temple.

His left hand unconsciously moved to his belt—not to get a weapon, but to a small whistle hanging there. Lio knew that one blow would bring the boss. And the boss would bring the muscle. The dealer's eyes flicked to Lio's wrist again, and swallowed hard.

"Fine." He cleared his throat, not meeting Lio's eyes.

"Fine. One year'a service fer the pot. Those're the terms." He jabbed a finger at Lio.

"But ya try t'run or try t'back outta this deal, an' I'll get the boss to have ya hunted down by the best slave hunters around. Understood?"

"Yes," Lio said. The dealer grimaced, as he glanced at the pot with all the money sitting in there. Then he looked back at Lio.

"Ya get ten spins." He nodded at the wheel.

"Ya need five Xs t'win. Even a couple of O's an' yer boss's fer a year. Those're the rules. No exceptions."

"Yes."

"Hell, then step up already." Lio moved forward. The crowd pressed in tighter, forming a wall of alcohol-reeking bodies around the table. The dealer gestured to the wheel.

"Whenever yer ready, kid." Lio's eyes flicked briefly to the clock hanging on the wall behind the dealer—a cheap brass thing with a cracked face, its hands showing 9: 47 and a few seconds. Then his gaze dropped back to the wheel. His hand reached out and gripped the edge. And he spun. The wheel clattered loudly. Round and round, the Xs and Os began blurring together. Then it began to slow. Slower and slower… until it stopped. X. The dealer frowned, but shook his head. After all, one X meant nothing.

Lio's eyes flicked quickly to the clock again. 9: 47 and thirty-two seconds. He reached out immediately and spun once more. X. And then again, as soon as it reached 9: 47 and fifty-eight seconds. X. The crowd was leaning in now. Three in a row wasn't common. Lio kept his gaze split between the wheel and the clock. At exactly 9: 48 and fourteen seconds, he spun the moment the second hand hit the mark. X. Four in a row. The dealer tensed, and his eyes narrowed.

His eyes kept flicking between Lio's face and the wheel, looking for any sign of cheating. And at 9: 48 and thirty-one seconds… Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Lio spun. The wheel clattered around, until it slowed, showing the wheel landing on an… X. Five in a row. There was a long silence. Then the crowd exploded with rage.

"The fuck—""No fuckin' way!"

"He cheated! He had to've fuckin' cheated!" The drunk men surged forward, shouting over each other, their voices slurred and aggressive. Someone slammed their fist on the table, making the coins jump and a few clatter onto the floor. Another man grabbed Lio's shoulder roughly, spinning him around.

"Show us yer hands, kid! Turn out yer fuckin' pockets!"

"Ain't no way some barefoot brat just won five in a row!"

"Check the wheel! The wheel's fuckin' rigged!" The dealer shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Everyone back the fuck up!" He lifted a thick metal pole from behind the wheel and brandished it.

"Back up! Now!" At the threat of being bashed over the head, the crowd reluctantly gave a few inches of space, but the energy was still volatile and tense—fitting for the drunk men who'd just watched someone win what they'd been losing all morning. The dealer's eyes were locked on Lio, his expression one of flat out suspicion.

"You been countin' somethin', kid? Or maybe you have a fuckin' rune that lets you cheat?" Lio's expression didn't change. He just stared back with those vacant eyes.

"Answer me, boy. How'd ya do it?" Lio said nothing. The dealer worked his jaw, a vein on his temple pulsating. He stared at Lio for a long moment, then slowly pushed the pot across the table.

"Take it," the dealer said, with a scowl.

"I don't want fuckin' trouble from a Delver. Take it an' get the fuck outta the bar." Lio reached forward without any hesitation. He swept the coins into his arms, and stuffed everything into his pockets.

"An' don't come back," the dealer added, lifting his metal stick as a threat.

"Ya hear me, kid? Don't ever fuckin' come back here!" Lio turned around without replying. But the crowd didn't part willingly. A multitude of hands grabbed at him as he pushed through—some trying to stop him, others just drunk and looking for a fight, while a few tried to reach into his pockets.

"That's my fuckin' money!"

"Grab him!"

"Little shit's got all of it!" Fingers clawed at his shirt, tearing at the delicate fabric. A hand plunged into his left pocket, fumbling desperately for the coins. Someone yanked his arm back, while another hand seized a fistful of his hair and wrenched his head back. But Lio moved with a graceful flow, slipping between grasping fingers with an almost supernatural awareness. He twisted away from the hair grab, ducked under a wild swing from a drunk, and sidestepped another man who lunged at his legs.

A wine bottle shattered against the wall beside him, spraying shards of glass and alcohol everywhere. Someone's fist caught Lio in the ribs, but it was just a glancing blow that didn't slow him down. Another hand managed to grab his shoulder again, but Lio just spun with the momentum and the grip slipped off easily.

"Stop him!"

"He's gettin' away!" But Lio was already at the door. His hand found the iron handle, quickly pulled it open, and he slipped through the gap before anyone could follow him. The door slammed shut behind him, cutting off the roar of angry voices. The morning air hit him, refreshing and startling after the stifling and reeking warmth from inside. The noise of the bar faded away, and was replaced by the familiar sounds of Crater City.

He stood there for a moment, his pockets bulging with money, and his bare feet on the cold cobblestones. Then Lio started walking. He moved down the street, ignoring the stares from the people he passed. When he reached the intersection, he turned down a side street that was narrower and less crowded than the main road. The sun had risen higher now, casting a weak grey light across the cramped buildings. Morning had fully arrived, and Crater City was waking up properly.

More vendors lined the streets, more people were out and about, and more noise filled the air. Lio walked quickly past them all without stopping, thinking about his next steps. He had money now. After that came supplies. Then he'd need to retrieve his actual Delver equipment from one of his sources. After that, was the descent. His fingers brushed against the bulge of coins in his pocket. The metal was still warm from the sweltering heat inside the bar.

Anyone watching him—this barefoot kid in sleep clothes walking through the slums with pockets full of money—would be wondering the same thing. How had he done it? How had he known exactly when to spin, or when exactly each X would land? The answer was simple, really. The year 427 of the Crater City Calendar had been repeating for the thousandth time. ◈◈◈◈ Nobody knew where Ghenna had come from or why it existed. It had simply always been there, a massive crater fifteen kilometers wide that descended into the earth.

The dungeon was impossibly deep, with at least forty-six confirmed Floors, each one more dangerous than the last. The ones desperate or foolish enough to descend into that darkness, hunting for treasure, glory, or the Fruit—a legendary prize supposedly waiting at the bottom that could grant any wish, were named 'Delvers'. But mostly, Delvers descended for the chance to get runes. Every child in Crater City eventually made their first descent into Ghenna's secured upper Floor one.

There, they touched a Checkpoint—the strange crystalline structures embedded in the dungeon walls—and waited to see if they'd be chosen. Most children touched the Checkpoint and felt absolutely nothing. Then they returned to the surface unchanged and took up some mundane work like farming, trade, or labor. That was the normal life of the unlucky majority. But some—the lucky few—received something called a 'rune'. A rune was a mark that inscribed itself into their body and granted a single ability.

Things like fire manipulation, enhanced strength, or maybe the ability to cut through anything. This power was the force that let them become Delvers and gave them the ability to descend deeper into Ghenna—which offered the promise of more runes. Lio had gotten his first rune two years ago. He touched the Floor One Checkpoint and felt the same burning sensation others had felt long before him, the rune carving itself into his chest—made up of twelve interlocking triangles, split down the middle by a single line.

The rune was called [Bookmark]. Its ability was straightforward and simple. All Lio could do was place a single marker at a specific location, and create an invisible anchor point that he could sense no matter how far away he was. Though it seemed useful for navigation in Ghenna's twisting depths, there was one single glaring flaw to the rune. The problem was that you could only place one marker. Ever. Once it was set, it became permanent. The rune would lock on to that location and would never let you change it.

So it was basically useless. But every rune had a condition. A hidden mechanism that determined its true function. Well, [Bookmark]'s condition was brutal in its simplicity. After exactly one year, Lio would get sent back in time to his anchor point. His body would reset to exactly how it had been, but with his memories intact. But the world would reset too. Everyone around him would return to where they'd been, living the same year all over again. The only exception were runes.

Any runes Lio had earned during a loop would carry over into the next one—the only permanent change that was allowed to persist. Everything else disappeared. And everything would repeat. One moment he'd been living his regular day-to-day life as a weak, run-of-the-mill Delver, the next he'd woken up in his bed, smaller and younger, back on the morning he'd set his anchor a full year ago. That had been the first loop. Now Lio was on his thousandth.