The second rule of the Life-Hunting Gambling Game was that each participant had to play at least three betting rounds.
That meant after the first three compulsory rounds ended, participants could choose either to leave the game or to continue betting against the Life-Hunting Avatar.
Because Guan Tong could see the Hidden Rule, he already knew what the “real bottom card” was. He also realized that the key to avoiding this deadly trap was resisting the avatar’s gradual temptation with increasingly valuable stakes.
In the first round both sides only wagered 100 Ascension Coins, and that hundred had even been gifted by the game itself, so winning or losing there meant almost nothing.
But from the second round, when the Life-Hunting Avatar produced a Glory-grade treasure chest, that alone was enough to make ninety percent of Ascendants salivate. If they could win it, almost everyone would take it with delight.
Guan Tong admitted to himself that if he didn’t possess his current strength and was only one ordinary Ascendant among thousands, he would probably lose his reason facing such temptation. The situation would be bleak.
That did not mean, however, that it would be wrong to accept won chips. Given that other Ascendants did not know the Hidden Rule, if they won, why wouldn’t they collect their prize?
To Guan Tong, the outcomes of the first three rounds didn’t matter. What mattered was what happened after those three rounds.
It was then the Life-Hunting Avatar might bare its teeth. If Ascendants who had won early continued greedily after the third round, they might have to return everything—principle and interest—later.
Still, he wondered: if the avatar could manipulate wins and losses, what if it made humans lose in the very first round?
In that case, forced to continue into the second and third rounds, what would humans put up as stakes?
As he once again refused to accept the won chips, the Glory-grade chest transformed into golden flowing sand and streamed into the golden dice spinning in the Life-Hunting Avatar’s outstretched palm.
“Third round.”
The hoarse voice fell, and the deck dealt cards to the two players again.
This time Guan Tong didn’t wait for the hoarse voice to speak or for it to place this round’s stakes. He spoke first, “I fold this round.”
“Fold?”
“The Life-Hunting Gambling Game’s rules: if you don’t call, you lose half the stake. You said that. This round you’re the dealer; I won’t call. Losing half means fifty Ascension Coins, and that ends the third round.”
"..."
The hoarse voice had no reply. Two palms, one black and one white, struck the table, emitting a hint of irritation.
“Fine.”
After a long moment, the hoarse voice sounded again.
“Rule three of the Life-Hunting Gambling Game. After three rounds, enter the formal gambling stage.”
When the words fell, the card table in front of them suddenly changed, morphing from a crude square table into a large round table made of golden-threaded wood, inlaid with many strange blood-red gems.
Many cold, clicking sounds echoed in the darkness, sounds that seemed designed to excite people further. Guan Tong instinctively looked at the Mental Stability Anchor totem pressed into his palm; it did not heat up.
So that sound had no mental influence. Or was it that my abilities can’t function in this space at all, making even the Mental Stability Anchor ineffective?
And that formal gambling stage...
Guan Tong thought to himself that the next eight rounds appeared to be mere warm-ups.
But for him those warm-ups were already enough—he was a real gambler, and naturally he would participate in the actual game.
“Rule seven of the Life-Hunting Gambling Game. Chips from earlier rounds are voided before entering the formal gambling stage.”
When the hoarse voice finished, the fifty Ascension Coins on Guan Tong’s side of the table were erased, the blank tabletop seeming to wait for new stakes to be placed.
Across from him, the Life-Hunting Avatar’s three hands already set out the chips for the formal gambling stage.
It looked like a discount ticket of sorts, carved with intricate, mysterious runes.
When Guan Tong focused on it, an item description immediately appeared.
[End-of-World Rule Challenge Voucher]: Use to exempt any single Doomsday Rule, thereby directly completing that challenge.
“!!”
Although Guan Tong had expected the new stakes the avatar prepared to be more valuable than a Glory-grade treasure chest, he still showed shock when he read the details.
A voucher that could exempt any single Doomsday Rule!
This was an unprecedented, world-defying item—or at least one Guan Tong had never seen or even heard of.
Owning it would be like making everyone else pass forty-nine rules while you only had to pass forty-eight. Especially when facing extremely dangerous survival-type rules, this voucher would be equivalent to an extra life.
Guan Tong’s breathing quickened slightly, but his gaze did not linger. After a few seconds he pulled back.
He knew there were no free lunches in the sky. He did want this voucher, but compared to the unknown risks, it wasn’t worth it.
“Rule five of the Life-Hunting Gambling Game. Participants may choose to join the formal gambling stage or to withdraw now. Note: if a participant withdraws before the formal stage, they will forever lose the right to participate in Life-Hunting Gambling Games.”
Lose the chance forever?
Guan Tong felt puzzled. Aside from during this Rule Period, would humans ever again have the chance to participate in such games? Or was this another ploy to control players’ desires?
He asked directly, “Is this another Temporary Rule?”
“No.” The hoarse voice answered. “This is a formal rule. The Life-Hunting Gambling Game does not welcome cowards.”
“Heh... Calling people cowards to provoke them into joining — that’s a bit childish.”
“The world is a series of gambles,” the hoarse voice replied indifferently. “Every choice humans make is a bet that the outcome will prove them right, but most of the time things go against expectation.”
“Surprising, you’re also a philosopher.”
Guan Tong admitted that the avatar’s words weren’t without merit.
Indeed, decisions humans make from childhood—choosing schools and majors, jobs after graduation, buying property, choosing a spouse, having children—carry no guaranteed results.
But to call all those choices “bets” was something Guan Tong couldn’t agree with. By that logic, eating or walking could be labeled gambles that might end in falling; are those gambles too?
Only those who hand over success or failure entirely to luck and abandon rational effort and preparation are true gamblers.
“To join the formal gambling stage, participants must prepare stakes of equivalent value,” the hoarse voice said. “They can be items, abilities, or Mind Power.”
So it revealed its true face at last...
What the Life-Hunting Avatar said matched Guan Tong’s earlier suspicion.
The first three rounds were the hook; the formal gambling stage was where blood would be drawn.
If Ascendants participating in the formal round could not stop in time and continued to covet the avatar’s high-value stakes, assuming they could win as they had in the first three rounds, then they would truly be fish caught on a hook.
“I wonder what stakes are considered equivalent in value to your End-of-World Rule Challenge Voucher?”
Although Guan Tong had seen through the trick and did not intend to join the formal stage, that did not mean he could not learn more.
That would require evaluating everything you possess.”
At the mention of evaluation, Guan Tong immediately lost interest. He had no desire to put his items and abilities out in the open for appraisal; that was simply unsafe.
“I want to quit the game,” he said.
“Warning again: if you withdraw before the formal stage...”
“You already told me I’d never be able to participate in Life-Hunting Gambling Games again. I heard you the first time.”
The hoarse voice fell silent. The three hands left the table and withdrew into the darkness.
After that, Guan Tong felt the surrounding darkness begin to recede, and his fixed body regained a measure of mobility.
Looks like I’m about to exit this space, he thought.
Just as he thought that, the retreating darkness suddenly froze. A hand reached out from the opposite side of the table—the one whose palm bore a golden dice-like imprint.
At this moment the imprint actually detached from the palm and became a solid golden dice that spun above the hand.
What was going on?
Guan Tong realized something was wrong. The game he was exiting seemed to be forcibly intercepted by some power; something unexpected was happening.
A few seconds later, to his astonishment, the spinning golden dice cracked with violent tremors, and a drop of viscous golden liquid trickled from it.
When this drop of golden liquid appeared, Guan Tong felt a chill wash through his body and shivered. He was surprised—since entering the Second Stage of Ascension he had not experienced such a deep, gut-level fear in a long time.
The golden drop stretched, twisted, and deformed midair, and with the arm it vanished back into the darkness.
What had just happened?
Guan Tong didn’t understand the meaning of this sudden change, but his sixth sense kept warning him that some danger was brewing.
And he could feel that something had descended within the darkness across from the table, something replacing the Life-Hunting Avatar.
A low resonant voice suddenly spoke from that darkness.
“You do not like my gifted game?”
“Fine. Then we’ll play a far older one.”