CHAPTER 14: CHAPTER 14 - LOSER LOSES IT ALL.

The street erupted.

Cheers went off like fireworks, the kind that made drunks holler and strangers hug like long-lost brothers. Some folks clapped, some fainted, and one woman in a feathered corset managed to clap, faint, and propose marriage all at once.

A burly man tried to cartwheel. Failed spectacularly. Lay flat on the cobbles, wheezing and grinning like he’d found heaven.

"He turned one gold into a river of it!"

"I’ve seen mages, but what in all nine hells is he?!"

"He’s a trickster god!"

"No, no, he’s a prince in disguise!"

"Shut it! He’s obviously divine! Look at that smug face!"

Kael, arms wide, still posed like a priest soaking in worship. He gave a bow so smooth it made half the women swoon.

"You’re far too kind," he said with a wink.

The gold scattered at his feet caught the sun, glittering like starlight spilled across stone. Just one coin meant a hundred silvers. The sheer number on the ground was enough to drown Raquif’s entire silver-and-bronze mountain.

A girl in the front row clutched her cheeks and toppled to the ground as if she’d been stabbed with love. "He smiled at me! He did! Gods, I can die now!"

Not far off, Raquif’s face twitched like he’d swallowed a lemon. He stepped forward, but the crowd’s surge shoved him back a pace, almost knocking him on his ass. His guards pretended to blend into the bystanders. None of them were dumb enough to step near Kael after what happened in the square.

"That wasn’t real!" Raquif barked. "He cheated! Magic! He conjured those coins!"

Nobody cared. Or worse, they heard him—and didn’t give a damn.

A couple of girls turned on him, their eyes sharp as winter ice.

"You lost, Raquif."

"If you call it cheating, then do the same."

"Yeah, Mister Noble. Where’s your magic?"

"My little cousin throws better tantrums than this."

The noble’s jaw worked, but no words came. He could read the room. He was finished. The pile of silver behind him looked like scrap metal next to Kael’s golden flood.

Kael turned his head slowly, like a predator sniffing prey. The crowd went quiet.

"This," he said, gesturing to the coins glittering beside him, "is proof of my victory."

He lifted a finger and pointed at Evethra.

"And that means the girl... is mine."

Gasps tore through the street. Evethra froze, her lips parted but no sound escaping.

Raquif’s face darkened. "You—!" He spun, looking for support. Nothing. His guards stared at their boots. His thugs looked like cheap curtains about to be pulled down.

He didn’t dare make it physical. Not with the image of Kael folding a spear like bread dough still burned in his memory.

"...Fine." His voice cracked. "Take her."

Kael’s smile was thin and sharp. "Glad we agree."

He turned to Evethra. She was trembling, her hand unconsciously brushing her lips—the lips that had kissed the coin. The world felt like a dream she couldn’t wake from.

Kael softened. His smile warmed. "Evethra," he said, "from this moment on, you’re free."

The words hit her like lightning. Free. She’d whispered it to herself in every prayer, dreamed of it every night. To hear it spoken aloud, real and solid, nearly buckled her knees.

She braced against the wall, breath hitching, emotions she thought long dead flooding back—relief, disbelief, joy, and something else she didn’t recognize.

The crowd stood stunned for a moment, then—

"Aaaah! He freed her!"

"He’s not just handsome—he’s righteous!"

"Save me next!"

"Break my chains, pretty boy!"

The women were near climbing each other just to get closer, their eyes glittering with half-serious hope. One girl even threw petals from a wilted bouquet she’d stolen off a shrine.

Evethra’s lips trembled. She wanted to say something, to thank him, to offer something—anything—but her thoughts knotted together. What could she give a man who could turn one gold into a mountain?

Before she could find words, Kael’s gaze shifted. His smile thinned.

He’d spotted them.

Raquif’s thugs, creeping away with sacks of silver and bronze clutched to their chests like rats running off with bread crusts. One tripped, scattering bronze coins like cheap confetti.

And Raquif himself—hauling a sack, trying to vanish into the crowd with all the grace of a rat in silk.

Kael’s voice cut through the noise, low and cold.

"Leaving already?"

The street stilled. Raquif froze, sack slung over his shoulder. The crowd peeled back from him like he carried plague.

He forced a smile, voice cracking. "I was just—retrieving my money..."

Kael’s smirk was pure devilry. "You mean my money?"

Raquif sputtered, searching for a retort. None came.

Kael strolled a step forward, gesturing lazily to the coins at his feet. "It was a duel. In a duel, the loser loses everything. You gambled pride. I gambled all this gold. You lost."

A ripple of ’Ooooohs’ spread through the crowd. Someone dropped their mug.

"Checkmate," someone whispered.

Raquif’s lip quivered. Kael snapped his fingers. Instantly, the thugs froze mid-step. Their muscles locked. No matter how they strained, they couldn’t move.

"Leave the bags," Kael said, voice cool. "Or end up like the guards."

That reminder was enough. The thugs hurled the sacks down like they burned. Raquif faltered, then dropped his too. His face was pale as chalk.

He turned to slink away, but Kael stopped him again.

"Wait." His voice rolled like thunder. "One more question."

Raquif ground his teeth, but turned back. "What is it?"

Kael’s golden eyes narrowed. "Are you leaving this here... or do I have to expect you trying something later?"

The crowd’s stares stabbed into Raquif. They were mocking, condemning, daring him to prove he was as petty as he looked.

His nails dug into his palms, rage boiling under his skin. He wanted to scream. He wanted to lash out. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not against this man.

He forced a shaky sigh, masking his fury with false calm. "I lost fair and square. I’ll let it go."

Kael tilted his head, instincts whispering their truth.

[The human’s words are judged as a lie.]

His smile curled again. Raquif shivered. No matter how far he stepped back, the dragon’s gaze clung to his neck like cold steel.

And then—

"Help! Kael—!!"

The voice shot through the noise, muffled but clear to his sharp ears. Familiar.

Lyra.

Kael’s face darkened. He turned toward the brothel with the crude sign painted over its door—’Street Lady.’

Without another word, he crouched low. The cobbles cracked under his legs as he leapt.

Boom.

He landed in front of the door in an instant, golden eyes blazing.