Now, the players in the game fell into one of three categories.
The first type, like Stark and Bruce, realized the moment the rules were announced that this was actually a game about manipulating the probabilities of the suits.
The second type didn't catch on at the beginning but gradually discovered the intricacies of the game as they played. Although they had made some mistakes, there was still a chance to redeem themselves.
The third type remained clueless until the game ended, utterly unaware of what the key to winning this round was, resulting in a confusing loss.
Both the first and the third types were rare; few people aboard this ship possessed any significant wisdom, for if they were truly clever, they wouldn't have ended up gambling on this vessel. But they weren't extremely stupid either. The truly foolish, lacking the courage, also found it difficult to commit outrageous disasters.
Most people on the ship had a bit of cunning; they were the cream of the crop among ordinary folk, having achieved success due to the era or by riding on the coattails of opportunity. Eventually, however, they were devoured by certain things, leading to their downfall.
The vast majority gradually realized during the match that the Straight Flush was the game's ace in the hole. To achieve a Straight Flush, one had to ensure they held most of the cards in at least one suit, without breaking sequence in their values.
In the duel between Bruce and Rhomann, because Rhomann had cleared out all of his smaller cards, Bruce's hand was very complete with small cards, holding everything from A to 8, and the golden values that were key to Bruce's victory, 2 to 6, each had several of them.
Bruce had maximized the probability of having a Straight Flush in his hand because Rhomann had not caught on from the start, entirely playing into Bruce's plan. Simply put, the difference in skill was too great, and the gambling process was almost a one-sided crush.
But most people weren't like that; nearly simultaneously with their opponents, they realized the key to the gameplay, making their contests especially fierce.
When Bruce's match with Rhomann ended, most people were still in tense negotiations. Since there was no rule against gods and their followers establishing their own rules for swapping cards, many started using psychological tactics to get the cards they wanted.
The dizzying nausea and the pain in the respiratory tract from chest tightness and shortness of breath, coupled with the hollowness in his chest from an irregular heartbeat, caused Shiller's vision to blur increasingly.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump…
The environmental sounds grew more distant as the beats reverberated against his eardrums, the blood pumped by his heart began to breach the barrier between body and spirit, flowing into Shiller's psyche, tearing open a fissure in that respectable reality, revealing the true face of this world before his eyes.
"A nostalgic past…" Shiller murmured with his eyes narrowed.
When he reopened his eyes, people's heads had turned into multicolored, pulsating flames, magnifying and shrinking repeatedly in the rippling, hazy field of vision, with streams of flame surging.
Those were flames of Greed. Shiller saw many pieces of kindling at the base of the flames, which were their rationality, love, and sense of security.
As the flames burned fiercer, the materials fueling the fire began to show charred edges, gradually consuming the healthy parts of it, followed by their brains, their hearts, and their bodies.
The ash carried aloft by the fierce flames veiled their eyes. A gusty wind howled, with countless fragments and ashes swirling before their eyes, but they could not see anything.
Shiller crossed through the flames in a semi-conscious state; the wind whispered past his ears, the trailing flames seared the hem of his clothes, and the ashes whirled before his eyes.
Until, amidst a blazing source of fire, Shiller found the sole oasis—a modest flame, more akin to a campfire lit by travelers.
The sound of a spring gurgling, the subtle sway of greenery, the breeze that hit his face was so cool and moist it brought tears to one's eyes—Green Arrow Oliver Quinn.
There he was, Shiller saw. If every place in the world were to catch fire, his spirit would be the last refuge the human race had elevated from their primitive instinctive Greed.
A moment of refreshing breeze chased away the deadly dizziness and nausea, and Shiller took his inhaler with trembling arms and forcefully took a couple of puffs; the ubiquitous scorching heat in the room finally dissipated.
In the last second before the great fire vanished, Shiller looked at the woman opposite Oliver, seeing a fire different from the others, more fierce than anyone else's—to the point where it engulfed not just her shoulders but her entire body.
This was a red betraying extreme anger, a flame Shiller had seen on Batman, but that was long ago, before Batman had realized the darkness lurking within, the black edge revealing such red, ignited fiercely by an answer Shiller had given—revenge.
When Shiller came to, he found himself standing at the edge of Oliver's and that woman's match. Due to long probing and several verbal skirmishes, they had only reached the fifth round of card swapping.
Shiller didn't bother to check what cards they each held because it wasn't important. The first round of betting didn't draw blood; most people bet only 1 or 2 chips, and who lost or won did not necessarily determine the ultimate victor.
The rules of the game were designed to be simple, even though there was a twist akin to a brain-teaser, requiring players to shift their focus from the ranks of the cards to the seldom-considered suits, it was still not very complex.