Hate Me, Witch!-Chapter 86: Grace Under Pressure

The City That Never Sleeps—Sins &Thorns.

The Magitech Audio Array played a soft background melody, while graceful bunny girls weaved through the dazzling neon lights and intoxicating atmosphere, drawing cheers from the crowd.

The sound of chips clinking, the clatter of ice in cocktail glasses, and the rhythmic clicking of high heels on the floor all heralded the beginning of another glorious night in Sins &Thorns.

Then, in a single instant—

All the lights in the establishment went out.

A moment later, they flickered back on.

And in that next breath, a middle-aged man in a white robe stepped into the hall.

A dead silence fell over the casino.

Even the sound of breathing became unnervingly clear.

The man’s face was plain, his robe pristine white—as though he were nothing more than a simple village priest, a humble clergyman from a remote countryside chapel.

But every eye in the room was locked onto him.

Or, to be precise—onto the symbol embroidered on his robe.

A pure white Eye of True Sight.

"It’s a 'Spectator.'”

The whisper broke the eerie silence.

And in an instant, the entire casino erupted into hushed discussions.

Waiters, dealers, gamblers— everyone was murmuring.

Those in the know spoke confidently. Those who weren’t quickly learned, then passed the knowledge to others.

"Spectator."

A name known across the Western Continent.

Most transcendent factions had clear affiliations—either to the Order factions, such as the Three Towers, or to the Abyss, the Lost Kingdoms, or various cults.

But the Spectators were different.

Like the Shadow Council, they existed on both sides, moving freely between Order and Chaos, yet somehow remained tolerated by all.

The Shadow Council relied on intelligence—a necessity both sides were willing to pay for.

But the Spectators?

They relied on a code of absolute neutrality.

They truly were just that—spectators.

A war raged between two nations. Cannons roared on the battlefield.

A duel to the death between high-tier powerhouses.

A groundbreaking Magitech invention, a shift in royal power, the fall of an empire…

At nearly every historic event, there would be a Spectator standing at the edge, watching.

Unlike other transcendent factions with clear summoned beast systems, the Spectators had none. Their members ranged from first-ring beginners to Titled-tier Beastmasters, each possessing unique and unpredictable abilities.

Some even claimed that a Legendary-tier Spectator was present at the dawn of the Sacred Calendar and at the final battle that ended the Era of Cataclysm.

The only thing they all had in common was their white robes and the Eye of True Sight embroidered upon them.

A Spectator could appear anywhere—whether it be the birth of a kingdom, the fall of an empire, or something as simple as an ordinary civilian’s daily life.

And they never interfered.

Even if they died on a battlefield, they would never retaliate.

It was as if they were truly nothing more than witnesses—recorders of history itself.

And here, in Sins &Thorns, their arrival could mean only one thing—

A legendary wager was about to take place.

In Sins &Thorns, the minimum bet at a standard table was one Rhine Gold Coin.

That may not sound like much, but in the currency system of the Western Continent, a single Rhine Gold Coin was equivalent to a common city dweller’s entire yearly salary.

And yet, that was nothing compared to what was about to come.

According to veteran casino staff with decades of experience, the House’s high-stakes table was opened every few months.

But the last time a Spectator was invited to witness a game?

Three years ago.

That guest had wagered their hereditary estate, which included three entire towns—

And lost everything.

The plain-faced, white-robed middle-aged man walked toward the uppermost floor of Sins &Thorns and soon disappeared down a corridor.

A moment later, the metal shutters rolled up.

Now, the highest floor of the casino was on full display for every gambler below.

At the simplest of gambling tables—

Viscount Lorie sat on one side, wearing an elegant smile.

On the other side sat a black-haired youth, his half-mask of pure white concealing part of his face.

Both appeared calm.

And at the center of the long table, standing serenely, was the white-robed priest.

His expression remained peaceful as he observed the scene before him.

He extended his hand—

Brushing over the silver-white revolver and the box of golden-yellow bullets resting on the table.

"Revolver—『Iron-Grained Moon』. Pure metal construction. No Magitech arrays, no spiritual interference."

The Spectator picked up one bullet at a time from the ammo box—

And loaded them into the revolver’s cylinder.

"Six bullets. All identical in appearance and weight. But only one is real—the other five are blanks."

The Spectator watched the open cylinder, then lightly tapped the air with his finger.

"During the course of the wager—transcendent abilities are forbidden. No peeking, no interference."

"The Eye of True Sight will bear witness."

When all was done, he placed the loaded revolver onto the table.

"As per the rules—whoever spins the cylinder goes second."

Xia Ya reached out.

His slender fingers picked up the revolver.

Then, with a flick of his wrist—

Click.

The cylinder spun rapidly, the sound of metal ringing crisp and clear.

As the spinning slowed—

Xia Ya felt it.

The moment the cylinder locked into the revolver’s chamber, his spiritual perception of its details vanished.

A thin veil of mist covered his senses.

All details—the weight of the gun, the subtle vibrations of the spinning chamber, the distribution of mass—were completely obscured.

It was as though a mosaic had been placed over the information.

Xia Ya knew he could pierce through it with a bit of effort—

But the instant he did, the Spectator would detect the breach, and he would automatically forfeit.

That was the Spectators’ role.

For those with sharp perception, there were countless ways to cheat in a gamble.

A memory-enhanced Beastmaster could detect microscopic details on identical cards.

A sensation-enhanced Beastmaster could determine the bullet’s position just by weighing the gun.

The Spectator’s interference ensured that, at the very least, the revolver itself remained untouchable.

But aside from that?

All other transcendent abilities were fair game.

Memorization, calculation, psychological warfare—

Everything else was still in play.

Xia Ya smiled.

"I’ve always believed in respecting the elderly."

"So… seniors first."

Xia Ya pushed the closed revolver across the long table.

"Russian Roulette!"

Only then did the spectators below erupt in shock, realizing the true nature of this high-stakes wager.

Compared to the capital’s most popular gambling games—Blackjack, Imperial Poker—Russian Roulette was far less common, its brutality making it a rarity.

Yet, its infamy was undeniable.

Unlike the many complex variations of card games, the rules of Russian Roulette were brutally simple.

One bullet was loaded into the revolver’s cylinder.

The chamber was spun, shuffled, and then each participant took turns pulling the trigger against their own head.

The game continued until one of them failed.

And the failure condition—

Was death.

Even a Titled-tier Beastmaster would die instantly from a close-range bullet to the head—

Unless they activated a Soul Pact to channel their summoned beast’s power.

But that would be a breach of contract.

And under the rules of Sins &Thorns, violating a contract meant losing everything—

Their wealth, their freedom, and even their life.

Many of the dark secrets buried beneath this casino, the heinous crimes hidden from daylight—

Had been claimed by Viscount Lorie through such wagers.

And now, the undisputed king of Sins &Thorns was about to play Russian Roulette?

Who was this masked challenger—this mystery player?

And what kind of power had forced Viscount Lorie from his throne to this desperate gamble?

The gamblers naturally sided with Xia Ya.

After all, they were players themselves.

The waiters and casino girls, however, remained expressionless.

Lorie had won and lost at the tables before.

Yet, Sins &Thorns remained intact, and Viscount Lorie was still Viscount Lorie.

…

At a quiet corner of the casino, Dark Raven frowned as she stared at the white-robed priest on the upper floor.

"‘Forest Watcher’—Soros."

The 'Spectators' were a group, a collective name for their faction.

But each individual Spectator was a separate entity.

And the one standing in Sins &Thorns today—

Was someone recorded in Imperial Military archives.

A Sixth-Ring Beastmaster with an official title.

Among the living Spectators, the 'Forest Watcher' Soros was considered the strongest.

"I didn’t expect Soros to be in the capital. If it were a Fourth or Fifth-Ring Spectator, there might be ways to trick them..."

"But with Soros personally overseeing the wager, the only way to cheat would be if a Legendary-tier master of illusions intervened themselves."

Dark Raven’s frown deepened as she observed the upper floor.

"I’ve reviewed the files. I know Joker has a talent for illusions."

"But Lorie is a full Ring above him. And there’s no way he doesn’t have counters for illusion techniques."

If illusions alone could win a match of wits, then Lorie would have never lasted this long as the master of Sins &Thorns.

"Diris, don’t you think our new leader is being reckless?"

To Dark Raven, the Swordbearers were the weaker faction in the capital.

Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been annihilated over and over again throughout history.

Their strategy should have been patience and survival, just as the Dark Knight Furen Family’s teachings commanded—

"Hide in the shadows, accumulate power, and wait for the right moment."

Yet Xia Ya, the newly appointed Swordbearer leader, had marched directly into Sins &Thorns—

Even revealing his trump card against Lorie outright.

Yes, he had forced Lorie into this life-or-death wager.

But at the same time—

He had backed himself into a corner as well.

Lorie was the king of gamblers.

Cheating, manipulation, or fair play—

What hadn’t he seen before in decades of gambling?

To stake one’s life in a game against the house, and in the house’s domain?

To Dark Raven, Joker was simply throwing himself to the wolves.

"Logically speaking, you’re not wrong."

"But tell me—"

Diris, seated beside her, took a sip of red wine and spoke softly.

"Has hiding in the shadows ever worked?"

"Every previous Swordbearer leader followed that philosophy. But in the end, their fates were all the same."

"We hid our claws and fangs, telling ourselves we were waiting for the right moment…"

"But after centuries of hiding—when the time finally comes, do you think we would even remember how to swing our swords?"

"Perhaps that’s why Her Highness didn’t choose any of the old Round Table knights, nor any of her Fifth-Ring or Titled-tier loyalists..."

"Instead, she chose him—a mere student, newly advanced to Three Rings."

"Maybe she wanted to change something."

"A fundamental change—one unlike any Swordbearer before him."

Dark Raven scowled. "I understand her reasoning."

"But recklessly throwing your life away isn’t a strategy."

"I understand your concern."

Diris gazed at the upper floor with clear, calm eyes.

"To be honest, I don’t think Joker’s illusions will work either."

"But the Commander was chosen by Her Highness herself."

"And in all the time I’ve known him—"

"He has never disappointed me."

"Perhaps…"

"He’ll surprise us again this time."

She turned slightly, glancing at the golden-haired girl beside her.

Despite wearing the same half-mask as Diris, Ailora had not spoken a single word.

She simply sat in the corner, her eyes locked on Xia Ya at the gambling table.

Diris knew better than anyone—

Ailora and Xia Ya shared a bond beyond words, forged through dreams, battles, and secrets unknown to others.

If Xia Ya were in real danger, Ailora would have already gone berserk—

Just as Lieutenant Colonel Zieg had witnessed not long ago.

Yet now, the golden-haired girl remained calm and composed.

Which meant—

Everything was still under control.

For some inexplicable reason, Diris felt a strange anticipation for what was about to unfold.

…

Screeeech—

The metallic body of the revolver scraped against the wooden table—

Stopping directly in front of Viscount Lorie.

With a gentleman’s poise, he picked up the gun.

Lorie didn’t react to Xia Ya’s earlier taunt about respecting elders.

In all the thousands of games he had played, he had heard far worse—

Yet, he had never lost his composure.

To him, it was nothing more than the wailing of soon-to-be losers.

Yes, he was old.

But he was still a lion of the gambling table.

Sins &Thorns was his domain.

He patrolled it every night, watching countless high-rollers crumble in defeat, falling to their knees, begging for mercy.

The revolver’s chamber remained shrouded in mist, veiling all information within it.

Soros’ unexpected arrival had disrupted Viscount Lorie’s plans, making any attempt to rig the revolver an absolute fantasy.

But it hardly mattered.

Lorie had studied an endless variety of cheating techniques—but he had never relied on them.

His knowledge of deception was purely for unmasking the tricks of others.

He hadn’t become the king of Sins &Thorns through cheap tricks.

"One hundred souls."

"The deal is struck."

A deep, abyssal voice echoed in Lorie’s soul.

In the next instant, Lorie raised the revolver to his chin.

Bang—

A flash of fire and smoke erupted from the barrel—

But no bullet emerged.

A blank round.

A guaranteed outcome.

He was a Beastmaster, yes—

But he had no talent for combat.

His ascension to Fourth Ring had been achieved purely through a lucky contract.

And to be precise—calling it a “contract” was misleading.

Because his bond was not a traditional master-servant pact—

But rather, a deal.

A deal with a demon from the Spiritual Abyss.

A simple agreement, like all demon pacts—

He provided souls.

And the demon bestowed him with temporary luck boosts.

Thanks to this demonic trade, Lorie had won every critical wager—

And Sins &Thorns had devoured the lives of countless fools.

At first, the sins buried beneath the casino had merely been offerings to satisfy the demon’s hunger for souls.

But after Lorie became Borgia’s “white glove”, he too had grown addicted to the pleasure of deciding who lived and who perished.

He lowered the revolver—his elegant smile unchanged.

If this had been a card game—like Blackjack, for instance—

Then perhaps his opponent could have momentarily gained an edge through superior calculation or memory.

After all, in card games, skill could sometimes compensate for poor luck.

But Russian Roulette?

Russian Roulette was brutally simple—

And under the Spectator’s mist, it had become purely a game of chance.

If the live round landed in chambers 1, 3, or 5, one side would win.

If it landed in 2, 4, or 6, the other would win.

No skill, no trickery.

The only potential mind game in Russian Roulette was to psychologically pressure one’s opponent into surrendering before pulling the trigger.

Which meant—

Going first was an advantage.

That was why Lorie had accepted the first shot so confidently.

He watched the masked figure across the table, pushing the silver revolver toward him.

In this pure game of chance, he, who could trade for luck, was undefeatable.

Perhaps this mystery player thought Russian Roulette would strip away his experience and skill—

But in doing so, he had sealed his own fate.

This would be the perfect chance to eliminate an unknown threat.

And once his opponent lost, Lorie would track down the source of his intelligence—

And unravel his identity.

That intelligence had set off alarms in his mind.

Until he fully understood how this person had obtained such knowledge—

Lorie would not sleep easy.

And then—

He watched as the masked youth across the table raised the revolver as well.

But instead of aiming at his chin—

He placed the barrel against his temple.

"Persona."

A meaningless syllable escaped his lips—

Then he pulled the trigger.

Bang—

Once again, a burst of smoke and fire—

Yet no bullet.

And no enormous Orpheus Stand appeared behind him.

The casino erupted in cheers.

As gamblers, the spectators lived for the spectacle—

And of course, they all rooted for the downfall of the House.

Hundreds of malicious eyes turned toward Viscount Lorie, hoping—

Praying—

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That the next bullet would shatter his skull.

This blood-soaked tension, this sudden-death anticipation—

It was far more exhilarating than the simple clinking of poker chips.

Luck?

Lorie remained calm.

Statistically, Xia Ya had faced a 20% chance of instant death.

And considering his deal with the demon, that probability had actually been even higher.

This meant—

His opponent’s luck wasn’t bad either.

If Lorie hadn’t traded for luck, he might have actually been the loser here.

But he wasn’t concerned.

This was a pure game of probability.

And he had already won before the game had even begun.

His elegant smile remained as he awaited the return of the revolver.

"Dark Raven. Nightingale."

"I read through the records of past Swordbearers."

"Do you know what struck me the most?"

"That they weren’t strong enough?"

"That they lacked discipline?"

"That their security leaks led to their downfall?"

"No."

"Those are just individual reasons for individual defeats."

"But they are not excuses for losing twenty-seven times in a row."

"In my eyes, the greatest failure of past Swordbearers was—"

"Their inability to handle pressure."

As the black-haired youth spoke—

The trigger clicked once more.

"And now that I’m your leader—"

"I need to teach you a few things."

"Swordbearer Rule #1—"

"Under pressure, always remain elegant."

And in the next instant—

The entire casino froze.

Lorie’s pupils contracted—

As did the hundreds of spectators below.

Bang—

Smoke and fire erupted—

But the masked youth stood unharmed.

Not a scratch.

"What’s going on? Did the deal fail?"

"No. The deal was completed. Your luck was indeed enhanced, just as always."

From the depths of his soul, the abyssal voice responded.

Lorie took a slow breath.

He had made this deal many times before.

He knew exactly what the demon was capable of.

And while demons were greedy—

While they were evil—

They never broke contracts.

The entire casino held its breath.

No one knew why Xia Ya had done what he did.

Yes, firing multiple times was allowed under the rules—

But it meant willingly taking on an extra round of risk.

Only a fool would do such a thing.

Unless—

He knew exactly where the bullet was.

But there were no fools who could stand across the gambling table from Lorie.

And unless one was Legendary-tier, no one could cheat in the presence of a Sixth-Ring Spectator.

A thousand eyes locked onto Xia Ya’s silhouette.

A thousand minds raced to decipher his intentions.

But a Legendary-tier powerhouse gambling with a mere casino boss?

Ridiculous.

"And what does he mean by ‘Swordbearer’?"

As countless eyes locked onto Xia Ya, waiting for him to crack under pressure—

His actions remained completely unaffected.

With the same calm demeanor, he raised the silver revolver once more—

Iron-Grained Moon.

"With every defeat, you lost your edge."

"You allowed failure to grind you down—"

"You let it define you."

"You convinced yourselves you were the weaker side—"

"That hiding and cowering, scraping by in the cracks between the great noble houses, was somehow a victory."

"But have you ever actually thought about it?"

"What does it truly mean to be a ‘Swordbearer’?"

The casino remained eerily silent.

Xia Ya placed the barrel against his temple once more.

"We are the Damocles’ Sword that hangs over the world."

"Even Demi-Gods and Saints—"

"The moment they step within the Empire’s borders—"

"They must obey our laws. Our order."

"Which means—"

"The ones who should be hiding, who should be cowering in the shadows, clutching at survival—"

"Are not us."

"But our enemies."

"Swordbearer Rule #2—"

"Always remember—who is the hunter, and who is the prey."

"They are prey."

"And we are hunters."

Click.

A fraction of a second.

Bang.

Once more—

Fire erupted from the barrel.

And yet—

The scene Viscount Lorie had been waiting for—

The masked man collapsing, blood splattering across the table—

Never came.

Lorie’s elegant smile wavered.

The third shot—

He had rationalized it.

"The bullet was probably meant for me—it just landed in an empty chamber instead."

But the fourth shot?

The fourth shot did not fire.

And for the first time—

Lorie felt a flicker of fear.

"The deal didn’t fail?"

"Everything is proceeding as expected."

Lorie paused for several seconds—

Then spoke sharply.

"Raise the stakes. Five hundred souls."

"Deal struck."

The same deep, abyssal voice echoed in his mind.

Lorie felt a bit more composed.

This wager was too critical.

He could not afford to lose.

In theory, the moment the revolver’s chamber stopped spinning, the positions of the bullets and blanks were fixed.

But in reality—

Under the Spectator’s information mist, no one—not even Soros himself—could know the order of the rounds.

And so—

As long as no one had observed the chamber’s sequence—

His luck manipulation would still function.

It shouldn’t make sense—

But this was a world of the supernatural and the mysterious.

And Lorie had tested this countless times.

Then—

Just like the rest of the silent, breathless spectators,

He watched as the black-haired youth picked up the revolver again.

This time—

Xia Ya slowly swiveled his chair—

His gaze sweeping over the gathered crowd.

A subtle smile curled on the unmasked half of his lips.

"This world is darker than you can possibly imagine."

"Simple kindness and self-righteous virtue mean nothing here."

"Sometimes—"

"You have to be crazier—"

"More ruthless—"

"More cunning than the villains you seek to destroy—"

"Only then can you do what must be done."

"But—"

"As distant, as vague, as unrealistic as it may seem—"

"I actually like the vision you’ve all painted for me."

"Her Highness’ ideals."

"Zieg’s aspirations."

"And yours."

"Because—"

"I don’t want to live in a world where kindness is seen as a weakness either."

Click.

The hammer struck the primer.

A sharp metallic snap rang through the air.

Flame and white smoke rose once more.

Yet the youth remained standing, unharmed.

And in the haze of rising gunpowder, his voice rang out—

"Swordbearer Rule #3—"

"To fight evil—"

"You must be willing to become more ruthless, more terrifying, more cunning than the villains you face."

"But in the process—"

"Never forget your ideals."

"Never forget your true self."

"I will not allow our prey to one day become our own comrades."

The cylinder rotated sixty degrees.

Now—

Of the six chambers, five had been fired.

Only one remained.

The last bullet.

Xia Ya twirled the revolver in his hand—

Then, with a casual flick of his wrist—

Slid it across the table.

Clatter.

The revolver glided across the wooden surface.

And came to a stop—

Right in front of a deathly pale Viscount Lorie.

"Well then—"

"Your turn."