Gambling Rhapsody: The Villainess Rises with Fists and Cheating - The Flower of Ruin Blooms in Full Glory

The chandelier lights seemed to be laughing. The "White Rose Room," a salon where nobles gathered in the heart of the royal capital Fortuna, was wrapped in a heavy atmosphere. The marquess's wife who had been chatting, the young lords absorbed in their card games—everyone held their breath and stared. At the center of their gazes stood her fiancé, Albert. His ash-blonde hair was swept back carelessly. Once styled with the refinement of a young nobleman, it now had a somewhat weary dishevelment that paradoxically exuded a decadent allure. His clear, steely blue eyes narrowed slightly. Like an actor. A smile brimming with composure, as if to say this very place, drawing all eyes, was his stage. And then, those thin lips quietly parted. "Cassandra. Today of all days, I'll say it plainly. I'm breaking off our engagement." Cassandra Vainford stepped forward, her fiery red hair swaying. Her ponytail, tied high, stood taut like the tail of a wary beast. Her sharply gleaming golden eyes flashed brilliantly. "...What do you mean, Albert?" Her voice did not tremble. But the ruby pendant at her chest—a memento stone—felt terribly cold. Albert shrugged. It was a gesture as if watching a boring play. "What do I mean? Exactly what I said. The custodianship your father, Duke Leonhardt, granted me—I used it to invest your entire fortune, but..." He paused for a beat. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying this moment. "Sorry, but I lost it all. Gambled it away, every last coin." A stir ran through the salon. Yet no one tried to blame Albert. Everyone had the eyes of spectators enjoying a show. "Gambled... it away?" Cassandra's voice finally dropped low. The old scars on her clenched fists throbbed. In this world, noblewomen were shackled by a system of property custodianship. It was a customary law that took root about a hundred and twenty years ago, after a duchess from a certain family ruined her house through extravagance. Once an engagement was established, the fiancé managed the bride's assets. If abused, it was nothing more than a tool of usurpation. "Before the law, I'm free to do whatever I want with it. Not a single copper coin will remain for you. Too bad, former duke's daughter." Albert stepped closer. With a refined motion, he took Cassandra's left hand. "Ah, I'll be taking this back too." The emerald ring slipped off smoothly. The proof of their engagement. The jewel that had once promised their future together spun around his fingertip. The snickers of the nobles stabbed at Cassandra's ears. "You—!" As Cassandra tried to grab him, Albert held her shoulder down with one hand. His eyes, looking down from his 182-centimeter height, narrowed coldly. "Don't make a scene. Besides, I know all about it. How lonely you've been since you were a child." Cassandra's movement stopped. "No one ever loved you except your gambling-addict father. Your mother abandoned you and left, your relatives treated you like a burden. Even your fiancé was only after your money. You're pitiful, Cassandra." His quiet words gouged at old wounds. Memories of childhood flickered through her mind like noise. Her father Leonhardt's study. Stacks of betting documents. Every time young Cassandra clung to him crying, her father would say—"If you lose, double down, Cassandra." What he gave her wasn't love, but a mad philosophy. Loneliness. Yes, she had always been lonely. The nobles' pitying gazes pricked at her skin. She didn't want their belated sympathy. Albert sneered and delivered the final blow. "Well, if you want money that badly, why not make use of a noblewoman's only value? Sell that arrogant face of yours—" That was when it happened. Deep within Cassandra's golden eyes, something snapped. Was it anger? Sorrow? Or had the blood of a gambling addict awakened? She reached out. Toward the fruit knife on the table. "Sell my face?" The silver blade reflected the chandelier's light. "Then I'll give you that 'value' right from the start." There was no hesitation. The sharpened tip of the knife touched her left cheek. A cold chill. And then—. A flash. The pain caught up a moment later. Dripping. On the floor, on the marble, bright red flowers bloomed. "Cassandra...!" Someone screamed. Albert's steely blue eyes widened fully for the first time. Cassandra saw clearly as his mask of composure cracked and peeled away with an audible sound. "This scar is my parting gift to you. Albert." Her blood-soaked lips twisted into a smile. "Don't think you can buy my pride with money." Her golden eyes flashed brilliantly one last time, and then she turned her back. Her feet, having fled the salon, naturally headed toward the city. The royal capital Fortuna. The noble society above ground was already far away. Commoners passing by stared in shock at Cassandra's bloodied cheek. But she didn't care. All her consciousness was focused on the pain in her cheek and, more than that, the heat beginning to throb deep in her chest. When she reached Raut Plaza, her feet suddenly stopped. The center of the commoner's district. A corner of a lively market. It was a place her father had secretly brought her to as a child. He was a father who only ever talked about gambling, but still, he had been her only family. "Father..." She gripped the memento ruby. Her father's voice still clung to the depths of her ears. —If you lose, double down. —The moment you lose everything is when you can feel the most heat. Those words now settled strangely, perfectly, in her heart. I see. She had lost everything. Her status, her fortune, even her worth as a noble by scarring her face—all of it. If so, what was there to fear? If you have nothing to lose, you can bet everything. "...Double down, huh." With blood dripping down her cheek, Cassandra smiled. It was not a smile of despair. It was a mad exhilaration possessed only by those who have lost everything. So this is freedom. It felt terribly pleasant. Her golden eyes caught on a single point. An old stone passageway in a corner of the plaza. Beyond it, stairs leading downward were visible. She had heard rumors. Beneath the royal capital lay a lawless underworld—the "Abyss Quarter." Without hesitation, she stepped into that darkness. She descended the spiral staircase. One step, then another. The bustle of the surface grew distant, replaced by damp air and the smell of tallow lamps. Fifteen meters underground. Another city, built by remodeling the remains of an old waterway. Where she landed, there was a surprisingly businesslike reception desk. "A newcomer? Don't recognize your face." The manager appraised the wounded Cassandra. "I want to earn money here." "Huh? Well, that's a pretty straightforward story." The man flicked a chip—an octagonal substitute currency—with his finger as he briefly explained the rules of this city. That an organization called Nachtring ran the place. That one chip was worth five silver coins. That here, ability spoke louder than money. Cassandra exchanged all the few Regna silver coins she had left for chips. From deep within the passageway, a roar like a rumbling earth could be heard. "What's that sound?" "The arena. The Pit Arena. Newcomers are killing each other again today." Killing each other. Those words, strangely, made Cassandra's heart leap. Guided by the cheers, she proceeded down the passageway. And then, she emerged into an open space. A circular depression. An arena about fifteen meters in diameter. The spectator stands, with a capacity of three hundred, were filled with a stifling air of heat and tallow lamp smoke. Everyone was shouting, everyone was clutching betting slips. A space smeared with blood, sweat, and cheers. Right now, at the very center of the arena, a giant of a man was mercilessly beating down his opponent. "Gordo! Finish him off in one go!" The man, said to be a former royal knight, stepped on his fallen opponent as if to show off his muscular, brawny body. The rookie fighter no longer moved even a twitch. A one-sided trampling. But Cassandra's eyes were tracking Gordo's wasted movements. (Before his right straight, his left shoulder always drops.) (When his opponent stops moving, he glances around for a moment to check the audience's reaction.) Her father's teachings naturally resurfaced in her mind. —In any match, the opponent has habits. The secret to winning a bet is to read those habits. This is the same as gambling. As she analyzed the larger, stronger man, Cassandra slowly loosened her mouth. "...Surprisingly, this might be doable." She returned to the reception desk and declared firmly. "Tomorrow, I want you to let me fight that Gordo." The man at the reception desk looked at Cassandra with disbelief. The fresh scar on her left cheek. A slender build unbefitting a fighter. "Are you serious? The odds will be heavily against you. No one's going to bet on a newcomer." Hearing that, Cassandra's golden eyes blazed more fiercely than ever before. "The worse the odds, the more it fires me up." Like a gambler awaiting the grand prize, the nameless fighter gazed at the heat of the arena and smiled. The man at the reception desk noticed the mad glint lurking deep in her eyes and gasped despite himself. Deep beneath the royal capital, another dangerous gambler had been born. In this lawless city where everyone hungered for money and spectacle—. The scent of blood and the cheers echoed in the underground darkness, as if eagerly awaiting tomorrow's fight.

日本語

What is Novelia? →

Episode 1

Name: Gambling Rhapsody: The Villainess Rises with Fists and Cheating
Author: Novelia

What is Novelia?

Novelia is an AI-powered platform to read original light novels and fan fiction, create your own in just a few taps, and chat with the characters. New, illustrated episodes arrive daily — free to start.

Learn more about Novelia →New sign-ups get 5,000pt