Khan settled into the chair, his posture relaxed, while Miriel stood menacingly behind him. The dealer shuffled the worn deck with practiced speed. Khan's eyes flicked across the table, noting the tiny marks on the back of certain cards and the way Grimgor's fingers moved just a little too deliberately.
The cards have been dealt. Khan played the first hand conservatively, letting the table settle.
Then came the hand where everything went sideways.
'Alright. Let's drop the bait.'
He overcommitted on a strong-looking draw.
The river betrayed him. Grimgor raked in the pot with a greasy laugh.
And that was when things got worse.
Zik's goblin curse embedded inside his palm suddenly glowed bright. A tiny, green-skinned goblin no taller than a tankard suddenly materialized on the edge of the table in a puff of foul-smelling smoke. It wore a tiny, tattered vest and had a voice like a rusty saw grinding through bone.
It pointed a clawed finger straight at Khan and began singing at full volume in a high, mocking falsetto:
"Khan the cheat, Khan the fool,
Lost his coin like a drunken mule!
Gambled goblin coins, now he's in the hole,
Look at him sulk like a kicked-in troll!"
The entire tavern went quiet for half a second...
Then the laughter erupted. Several patrons slammed their tankards and joined in, clapping along.
'Oh. My. Fucking. God... How could I forget about this...' Khan's eye twitched violently.
[This is fantastic. The goblin has better material than you do. I'm taking notes]
[Status: Publicly roasted by a creature the size of a shoe. Dignity: 0%]
'Stop being useless and help me out, will ya?!' A vein popped on his forehead.
The dealer started another round. Khan uses system scan on Grimgor again.
[Name: Grimgor the Knuckle]
[Status: Thrilled, Still half-aware of the new comer.]
'Tough nut to crack, huh?' Khan nervously glances at the creature jumping around on the table beside him.
The next cards has been dealt. Khan lost on purpose again, letting Grimgor triumphantly grabs his coins.
The goblin struck a dramatic pose and launched into another verse at full, ear-splitting volume:
"Khan the loser, Khan the clown,
Gambled money that wasn't his own!
Now he's sitting there all sour-faced,
While the goblin sings about his disgrace— KIEKKK!!!"
Khan slammed his fist onto its head, flattening the goblin to the table as it disappears. He glanced sideways at Miriel. The princess had one hand over her mouth, looking away, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.
[Reminder: Never broker deals with goblins again.]
'You don't say...' Khan forced a calm smile, even as heat crept up his neck.
Grimgor was laughing so hard he nearly spilled his ale. "Your own pet's mocking you, stranger! That's the best part of the night!"
[Status: Overconfident. Thinking the newcomer is easy as a pie.]
'There we go~'
Khan smirked and pushed more silver forward.
"The next verse that mentions my face gets the little green bastard turned into a belt," he said flatly.
The cards dealt. Grimgor grew bolder, palming a high Blade card during a sloppy shuffle and slipping it into his hole cards.
Khan waited.
On the third hand, when the dealer burned the top card and dealt the flop, Khan leaned forward casually. While everyone's attention was on the rising bets, his hand brushed the edge of the deck in a motion far more advanced than Grimgor's earlier "scratch". A high-value Shadow Lord card disappeared into his sleeve and reappeared in his own hole cards a heartbeat later.
[Hypocrisy level: Expert. I'm almost proud.]
Grimgor smirked as he pushed another stack of silver forward, expecting to crush the new comer. Khan matched him, then raised. The river card came down. Grimgor revealed his hands.
A strong Flame Knight flush.
Khan dropped his. A near-perfect Shadow Blade straight flush.
The table erupted in murmurs. Grimgor's face darkened.
"How the hell—"
"Luck," Khan said mildly.
The next hands followed the same pattern. Khan brought every dirty trick the thug tried to another level: Bottom dealing when it was his turn to cut the deck, subtle palm swaps during the chaos of side bets, even "accidentally" knocking over a tankard to distract while switching out a weak card for a stronger one from the marked deck.
Each time, the moves were just clean enough to look like fortune smiling on the newcomer, but precise enough to dismantle Grimgor's stack.
Grimgor's pile of coins shrank rapidly. Sweat beaded on his scarred forehead. His confident grin had twisted into a snarl.
Final hand.
Grimgor went all-in with everything he had left — nearly forty silver and a cheap silver ring — after palming what he believed was the winning card.
Khan smirked, following him under the demon princess' bewilderment. Her knuckles instinctively turned white, a sweat rolled on her forehead, feeling uneasy as she watches Khan went all-in on the last showdown.
The pot grew massive. The rest of the table folded, sensing blood.
Grimgor slammed down his cards triumphantly: A full house of Coin Lords.
Khan turned over his own hand with deliberate slowness — an unbeatable Royal Blade of Shadows, completed with the very card Grimgor had tried to palm earlier.
Silence fell across the table.
Then the tavern exploded with laughter and cheers. The dealer cackled as she pushed the massive pile toward Khan.
Grimgor shot to his feet, stool clattering behind him. His face turned purple with rage.
"Cheating Bastard!!!" He roared, spit flying. "No one wins four hands like that!"
Khan leaned back, stacking coins calmly.
"Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you."
Grimgor's hand twitched toward the dagger at his belt, but a threatening aura could be felt from the hooded slender figure behind him, as if an invisible blade was hanging on his neck the moment the thug glared at them.
With a furious curse, the thug spun on his heel and stormed out of The Iron Tooth, slamming the door so hard it nearly flew off its hinges.
"Boss'll hear about this!" He bellowed from the street. "You're dead, stranger!"
Khan watched him go, then slowly shook his head like a disappointed parent watching a tantruming child run to tattle to daddy.
"Pathetic," He sighed. "Cries to his boss the moment things stop going his way. Another cup for these gentlemen at this table please, sweetheart. And a cup of juice for my mistress over here, if you would be so kind." Khan gave the dealer lady 3 silvers and grabs the goblin's face tight the moment it appears again to mock him about using the unpaid coins.
The dealer lady accepted the coins and gave him a wink before she left to the counter.
Miriel slid into the seat beside him without a word. She looks out at the atmosphere of the tavern, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, but her posture was alert.
Khan turned his attention to the remaining players still lingering at the table — A couple of down-on-their-luck couriers and a skinny beastkin who couldn't avert his eyes from the redhead serving cups at the counter.
"So," Khan said casually, stacking silver coins with deliberate slowness, "Just to make sure I'm not getting robbed on basic math here — 1 silver equals 100 coppers, and 1 gold is worth 100 silvers? That the standard?"
A fat-looking courier nodded quickly. "Aye. Copper for the small stuff, silver for proper business, gold if you're either rich or stupid. Most folk in the slums never see gold unless they're about to lose it."
"Hah! Beautiful life we got, huh." Khan chuckled.
The dealer lady suddenly returned to Khan's seat. She leaned down close, smell of smoke mixed with cheap perfume.
"Listen, stranger. You should head out the back right now. That idiot ran straight to his boss — Vex the Ironfist. Mean bastard. Runs half the protection rackets in this district. Grimgor brought him and a few of his boys. They're looking for you." Her voice low and urgent as she shoves 2 silvers back to him.
"...Alright gentlemen, it was fancy meeting you all. We'll be—" Khan was shoving all his silvers into the pouch.
BANG!
The tavern's front door slammed open hard enough to rattle the lanterns. A massive, broad-shouldered man stepped inside, flanked by three rough-looking thugs.
Vex the Ironfist was exactly what his name promised — a walking slab of muscle with iron gauntlets on both fists and a permanent scowl that looked like it had been carved into his face by a very angry sculptor. Grimgor trailed behind him like an angry dog that had finally found backup.
They flanked the entrance, blocking anyone who tries to escape.
[...You know, for someone who claims to hate attention, you have a real talent for acquiring it.]
[Should I start a betting pool on how this ends?]