READ NOVEL ONLINE ‘That guy is Ho Cheon-an.’
Dogwi examined Ho Cheon-an’s appearance. He claimed to have won over a hundred nyang in just one day? And against professional gamblers, not some suckers?
Dogwi scrutinized Ho Cheon-an and pondered. How did he win money against gamblers?
The guy playing Go-Stop wasn’t even paying attention to the cards as they were mixed, nor was he watching as others drew. He was just dying off.
While he kept dying, suddenly he would make a big bet as soon as he got a hand. It didn’t change anything. He wasn’t even looking at his opponents or examining the cards properly. Some waitress passing by would sway her hips, and he’d be too busy checking her out.
Yet, he was winning.
‘Looks like I don’t have time to observe anymore.’
By the time Dogwi arrived at Gilu, he saw Ho Cheon-an win repeatedly with actions that didn’t resemble a gambler at all.
Go-Stop is a game for four players. A gambler from Gilu stood up with a pale face, and Dogwi stepped into his place.
“Die.”
As expected, Ho Cheon-an just died without a glance. After a meaningless round with three players, Dogwi witnessed Ho Cheon-an smile.
‘This little punk…’
Ho Cheon-an was grinning at Dogwi.
“Hey bro, how about we play a round of opposing dice seriously?”
Opposing dice.
It’s a gamble where dice are thrown into a complex pot, and you have to guess whether the number is odd or even. The key question was how much to bet, truly a battle of a gambler’s psychology and luck.
Dogwi felt a deep competitive spirit towards Ho Cheon-an, who recognized his worth in just one round.
“Sounds good.”
The game was set.
Roll… thud.
The dice bounced on the internal structure and dropped to the floor.
There was no way to know which way the opposing dice were facing now. Even if someone perfected the game, it was impossible to grasp the complex internal mechanisms of the pot and create the desired outcome.
“You go first.”
“Alright. One nyang on odd.”
“Die.”
The rules of opposing dice are simple. Players alternate throwing the dice. The loser of the last round goes first, betting however much they like on either odd or even. The other player must respond with an equal amount. After that, they take turns making additional bets, where you have to follow the amount the other person placed.
After two more bets, a total of three amounts would be placed, and then the pot would be opened to check the numbers.
The next dice rolled.
“One nyang on odd.”
“…One nyang on even.”
“Die.”
What the hell is this guy doing? Dogwi felt a deep rage. Ho Cheon-an was blatantly stalling by betting one nyang on even. Ho Cheon-an’s total amount was around one hundred and ten nyang.
Is he trying to keep his turn until he gets a feel for it?
Yet, it had only been two rounds. If he could retain the first move infinitely like Ho Cheon-an, he could drag it out with small bets. If he dies two rounds in a row, the first move would pass back to Dogwi.
Taking back the first move, Dogwi bet one nyang. Ho Cheon-an simply died again.
And soon, Ho Cheon-an’s amount was rapidly dwindling.
“Why can’t I get a feel for this… die.”
When his amount had dropped to eighty nyang, Ho Cheon-an finally yelled.
“Damn it, one nyang on odd.”
Dogwi hesitated for a moment before responding. He needed to see if he actually knew what he was wagering on to determine the basis for continuing the gamble.
“Accepted.”
“Then two nyang.”
“…Accepted.”
“Then four nyang.”
This bastard. Dogwi bit his lip. Seventy nyang was a big bet, but since he had won some until now, should he venture a reaction?
“Accepted.”
For the first time, the pot that had never opened since the gambling began was opened.
The outcome was odd.
What is going on? Did Ho Cheon-an actually have a way to discern the numbers in the pot? But wasn’t it Dogwi who rolled the dice this time? He hadn’t thrown it himself, nor did he figure out what someone else threw?
The pot doesn’t reveal the number if the round is lost to prevent gamblers from getting a feel for it.
Still, Dogwi began to wonder if Ho Cheon-an had some way of knowing the numbers inside the pot.
“Let’s switch pots. Do you agree?”
“Go ahead.”
They switched pots, and the gambling continued. This time, Ho Cheon-an bet on even after just two rounds. Dogwi thought the true battle of luck and money was finally beginning.
‘It’s a long way ahead, but let’s respond once more.’
“I’ll bet.”
Ho Cheon-an went all out, betting seven nyang, and Dogwi responded in kind.
The result was even.
Dogwi requested to change the pot every round. Gilu accepted, and fifteen extra pots from the storage were rotated each round.
Yet nothing changed.
Whenever Ho Cheon-an placed a bet, he smartly pulled seven nyang in.
‘This crazy bastard.’
Did he actually have some sort of insight? How could he always guess correctly just by betting? Dogwi felt deeply insulted. However, it was all or nothing now. Even with pride at stake, he had to bend when necessary.
“One nyang on odd.”
“You’re going to die.”
Ho Cheon-an smirked slyly. Dogwi’s blood boiled at that smile. Normally, he maintained his composure even when insults were thrown in the gambling den, but today felt different. Ho Cheon-an’s actions were disrespectful to the act of gambling itself, and that look in his eyes felt distinctly belittling.
“One nyang on even.”
“I’ll bet. I’ll throw in seven nyang anyway, let’s make it one go.”
The result was even. Dogwi clenched his fist, shaking in frustration.
“Ah~ how sweet it is.”
Dogwi glared at Ho Cheon-an, but Ho Cheon-an wasn’t even looking at him.
*
Why, with my exceptional gambling technique, am I perceived as a hopeless loser at the Outcast Inn?
It’s because I purposely lost money.
To understand why I lose money despite having gambling skills, I need to grasp that premise.
What determines the difficulty of this game called Martial World?
It’s the Fame Value.
In short, fame can be summed up like this.
‘Dear Ho Cheon-an, your honor is deafening in Sacheon. This Peak Expert, Jang San, admires your martial prowess and wishes to challenge you to a match. Please draw your sword.’
What happens when your name is known in martial arts stories? You become the center of countless incidents. Flies scavenging for fame, and high-level experts forced to take you as an apprentice. Forces that need high-level fighters will try to get in touch…
What if your martial prowess is merely that of an Iryu Expert? You wouldn’t be able to handle those situations and would likely die. Even if you survive, you won’t be experiencing good days, that much is certain.
This fame is the reason I’m living as a Sacheon Outcast, and it’s precisely why I’ve chosen to learn gambling among countless skills while perpetually losing money at it.
Fame increases as you become active. As people live and engage, they inevitably make a name for themselves.
As that Fame Value rises, the chance of encountering high-level experts increases.
That’s why I’ve spent seven years as an Outcast in Sacheon.
The Sacheon Outcasts operate under the guise of a Black Rib, remaining anonymous, so there’s no way for fame to build up. If I had received commissions boldly under my name, Ho Cheon-an, my fame would have spread out in one way or another, leading me to a life where I frequently faced expert opponents.
Blocked by the Iryu wall, I couldn’t handle the increasing Fame Value through normal means.
What if my fame rose high enough to attract the attention of peak or peak experts? If they turned their eyes my way?
Learning gambling fits this context too.
The Fame Value you gain through gambling is entirely affected by profit. How much did you win? How often and how much did you win? That’s how your reputation as a gambler increases.
If I trained my gambling skills and returned the money I made to zero at the end of the day, there would be little increase in Fame Value.
The only technique I could learn while managing my fame was gambling.
Currently, my gambling skills have reached mastery except for one luck-based technique called ‘Intuition.’ I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of people better at gambling than me in both Sacheon and the Martial World.
If I had mastered a different technique to the same level as my gambling, I’d have become a master weaponsmith like Wang Garam or someone like Hua Tuo who could revive the dead. The fame gained from that level of mastery? I would have saved countless lives and forged numerous weapons, accumulating fame to an impressive degree.
In this Martial World, I’d become so renowned that no one would remain unaware of my name.
So how is Ho Cheon-an living? If he were a Master, martial artists would be visiting him every day begging him to be their exclusive craftsman, and among them, there might be high-level experts with nasty personalities threatening to kill him if he didn’t forge their weapon, possibly even endangering his life.
If he were a healer? He might be abducted by a high-level expert who has a daughter suffering from an incurable disease, threatened with death if he couldn’t save her. Each time she worsens, he might find himself subjected to torture for days on end just to prolong her life as a slave.
This isn’t just my fantasy; it’s the outcome if one pursues skills without training martial arts in the Martial World. High-level experts aren’t common, so if prepared, one might avoid danger once or twice. But it’s impossible to consistently escape the traps set by high-level experts until natural death. In the end, a miserable conclusion like the one above awaits. It’s a kind of Bad Ending or Game Over that results from failing to train sufficiently to handle Fame Value.
For a Player Character with no limits, one could just say, “Screw this, I’ll train in martial arts!” and retreat for years to raise their level, but as one who has already reached the limit, that’s not an option. It becomes a matter of life or death.
I can no longer afford to neglect managing my Fame Value.
Learning gambling was the unique method that allowed me to keep my techniques at the level I had while never earning a cent, leaving me broke after leaving the gambling den.