Jack didn't hesitate. He never did when a threat presented itself.

  He whipped out his fixed-and-upgraded steamrune shotgun. Pulling the trigger decisively. A thunderous boom echoed through the chamber. A spray of enchanted lead tore through the air. Propelled by a steam-burst.

  Simultaneously, Reina's hands moved like a blur. She drew her twin steamrune handguns and shot. Not just once. But many times. In a rapid-fire rhythm. Her bullets flew straight in extreme speed. Leaving puff of mystic fog on the guns' muzzles.

  Barnaby wasn't idle either. His fingers danced across the strings of his lute with a frantic, rhythmic intensity. This wasn't music for a tavern. It was the utilization of his supernatural power. The [Melody of Suppression].

  Tangible waves of golden sound rippled outward. Trying to pin a clown like figure to the spot and strip away its defenses.

  The air in front of the jester shimmered. The shotgun blast, the mystic bullets, and the crushing weight of the melody hit an invisible wall and simply… stopped. The bullets flattened and dropped like dead insects. The visible sound waves shattered like glass.

  The jester threw his head back and laughed. An annoying sound that felt like grinding metal pieces.

  "No, no, no!" He mockingly said. "Such naughty guests! Did you not hear the bells? Did you not see the décor?"

  He hopped off the dais. Landing silently. He wagged a gloved finger at them. "This is the Amusement Haven. My haven. Here, the laws of your dull, grey world are suspended. Violence is a bore. It's forbidden. Only the spirit of the game can settle accounts here."

  Jack lowered his shotgun. His eyes narrowed as he activated his [Eyes Of Judgement]. He could immediately 'see' the spatial restriction.

  It was a zone effect. [Devil Sacred Playground]. Here, all damage other than the one caused by a game agreed by the devil was nullified. It bound them and also the jester in front of them. The one his appraisal called the 'Jester Devil'.

  "Who are you?" Jack asked in his his flat voice.

  "You can call me the Jester of Amusement Haven." The jester introduced himself with low bow. His bells were jingling discordantly as he did so.

  "What a ridiculous name." Jack commented dryly. "The one who gave you the name must be running out of inspiration."

  "And..." He continued an unnerving chuckle. Completely ignoring Jack's words. "You impolite people are the interlopers in our territory. Usually, I'd turn you into bowling pins. But I'm feeling generous today. Win a game, and you walk away unharmed. Lose… and your souls become the stuffing for my next set of juggling clubs."

  Barnaby gripped his lute tighter. His face was dead serious. "We don't have time for games, Devil. Where are the children? What are you planning to do with them?"

  "One thing at a time, Minstrel!" The devil shrieked. "The game! Propose a game. Or I shall choose one that involves much more… flaying."

  Jack looked at the devil. The entity was powerful. Fueled by the twisted law of the pocket dimension they were trapped in.

  But Jack had something the jester didn't. The collective cynical knowledge of a twenty-first-century Earth. He knew a great number of scams, logic puzzles, and cheating games in existence.

  "A game, then." Jack said. "No tools. No cards. No dice. No boards. Just us. Luck. And our mouths."

  The devil's eyes sparkled with malice. "Intriguing. A test of luck? I accept. What are the rules?"

  "It's a game called 'The Death's Number'." Jack lied. Inventing a name on the spot for a classic mathematical trap. "We will count from one to thirty. On your turn, you can say one, two, or three consecutive numbers. For example, I say 'One! two!'... Then you can say 'Three!' or 'Three! Four!' or 'Three! Four! Five!' The person who is forced to say the number thirty loses."

  The jester tilted his head. His painted grin was widening. He was a creature of chaos. But he was bound by the logic of his own games. He processed the rules instantly. It seemed simple. It seemed like a game of chance and minor strategy.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "And the wager?" The devil clown hissed.

  "Why not betting all at once? Life for life!" Jack said. "If I win, you die, and your life essence will heal our friends here. And, we leave this room. If you win, I die. You can use my soul however you want."

  "Dear, are you sure?" Reina whispered. Her hand was touching Jack’s arm.

  "Trust me, Love." Jack said. His voice was brimming with a cold confidence. "He's already lost. My luck is unbeatable."

  The jester cackled. "I accept! Since it is your game, I shall let you go first. Show me an interesting game, Mortal!"

  Jack smiled. It was a predatory expression. "One!"

  His opponent didn't hesitate. "Two! Three! Four!"

  Jack immediately replied, "Five!"

  The devil paused. His eyes were darting back and forth. "Six! Seven!"

  "Eight! Nine!" Jack said instantly.

  The devil jester frowned. He sensed a pattern but couldn't quite grasp it yet. "Ten! Eleven! Twelve!"

  "Thirteen!" Jack said.

  The jester began to sweat black brine. "Fourteen! Fifteen!"

  "Sixteen! Seventeen!" Jack said. He was leaning back now. His shotgun resting casually on his shoulder.

  The devil jester's movements became twitchy. He realized he was being funneled. No matter how many numbers he chose... one, two, or three... Jack was countering him perfectly to land on specific 'safe' stones in the river of numbers.

  Jack was aiming for the numbers before the 'losing' positions... 2, 6, 10, 14, 18, 22, 26. Since Jack started with 1, he had already secured the rhythm. By ensuring the jester was always the one to land on or pass these points, Jack was controlling the end.

  "Eighteen!" the devil shouted.

  "Nineteen! Twenty! Twenty-one!" Jack said.

  The devil clown let out a low growl. "Twenty-two! Twenty-three!"

  "Twenty-four! Twenty-five!" Jack countered.

  The jester froze. He looked at the number remaining. If he said twenty-six... Jack would say twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine... and he would have to say thirty. If he said twenty-six, twenty-seven... Jack would say twenty-eight, twenty-nine. If he said twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight... Jack would say twenty-nine.

  "You… you cheated!" The devil screamed. The checkered floor beneath him beginning to crack. "There is no chance in this! It is a trap!"

  "It's not cheating." Jack said calmly. His voice dropped an octave. "It's mathematics. And luck. You agreed to the rules. You lost the moment you let me go first. Actually, you lost the moment you thought this 'Haven' of yours made you smarter than me."

  "I will not say it!" The devil shrieked. His body was beginning to fray at the edges like burnt paper. "I refuse!"

  "The game is the law here, Devil." Jack reminded him. "You made it yourself. This Amusement Haven of yours demands a conclusion."

  The jester's mouth moved against his will. The magic of the room, the contract of the game he had so gleefully accepted, forced the air from his lungs.

  "Twenty-six… twenty-seven… twenty-eight… twenty-nine…" He gasped. His voice was a pathetic wheeze.

  He looked at Jack with pure, unadulterated hatred. He didn't want to say it. He struggled. His limbs were twisting into knots.

  But the law was absolute.

  "THIRTY!" The devil jester screamed.

  The moment the word left his lips, the dais exploded. The Jester didn't just die. He was unraveled. His flamboyant outfit turned into black soot. And his body dissolved into a swirling vortex of purple and black energy.

  Because the wager was 'Life for Life', the devil's massive store of life force had nowhere to go but into the victors.

  A wave of warmth washed over the group. Jack, the main receiver of the force, felt his human incarnation's power quality... thickening and becoming more refined.

  He made a quick appraisal on her attributes...

  [Attributes: Physique (93) Mysticism (93) Passion (93) Essence (99)]

  A one-point increase for [Physique], [Mysticism], and [Passion]. Not too bad.

  Meanwhile, the others also received their shares of the force. Although what they received was just small fractions compared to what Jack acquired.

  Reina took a deep breath. Her fatigue vanished. Her mystic energy reserves recovered to the maximum.

  Barnaby experienced the same thing. His stamina and primal energy were completely recovered.

  The two former prisoners also benefited from the victory. Mirella, who lay slumped on the floor, suddenly took a deep, rattling breath. Her pale complexion gradually transformed into a healthy flush.

  The unconscious man was the same. He even showed the signs of regaining his consciousness. He fingers were twitching. But before it happened...

  The room began to dissolve. The obsidian floor turned back into grey stone one. The walls, ceilings, and light sources shifted from extraordinary to mundane ones.

  They were back in the cell.

  A groan came from the corner. The man in the checkered outfit, the one who had been unconscious all this time, sat up. He rubbed his head and looked around with wide, confused eyes.

  "Is it morning already?" The man asked randomly.

  This small man was quite young. He had a thin mustache. And a face that looked like it was designed for smiling. Although it was currently twisted in a grimace of pain.

  "Riff?" Mirella asked. Her voice was much stronger now. "You're awake."

  "Mirella?" The man asked back, and immediately complained. "Lord, my head feels like it was used as a percussion instrument for a giant."

  He stood up unsteadily. Dusting off his checkered tunic. He looked at Jack, Reina, and Barnaby. "Who are the newcomers? Prisoners like us?"

  "They saved us, Riff." Mirella answered. Pointing at Barnaby, she continued. "This is Barnaby. My partner. As for the others..."

  "I'm Reina." Reina introduced herself. "This is my husband, Jack. And his fairy guide, Rune."

  Rune pulsed with a soft, celebratory green light. Hovering near Jack’s shoulder.

  The man, Riff, bowed deeply. Though he wobbled slightly. "Riff, the wandering minstrel, at your service. Or I would be, if I hadn't been tucked away like a spare sock in this gods-forsaken hole."

  "How did you end up here?" Jack asked, while casually reloading his steamrune shotgun in practiced, methodical movements.