Casino Wizard

Finally, I Got It Back.

Everything I ever wanted is here.

The Marquis of Tripolia murmured with a wistful expression as he returned to the VIP room.

At first glance, the interior wasn’t anything extraordinary. It had been decorated lavishly to suit the standards of the nobility, sure. But nothing too shocking.

In fact, the guest reception rooms and banquet halls in his own domain were far more extravagant than this.

In the end, what truly mattered wasn’t the furniture or décor.

It was the essence of the place—the value he had once taken for granted.

The Marquis of Tripolia was lost in blissful reverie.

Amid his daze, a familiar voice reached his ears.

“My brother-in-law invested in apricot brandy and lost big. He somehow ended up with over 500 crates of the stuff. Now he’s stuck figuring out how to get rid of it. My wife keeps dropping hints that I should help, but honestly? I really don’t want to.”

“Send them to me.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll have my guild members handle the distribution. Just covering transportation costs. Consider it a return favor for that letter of recommendation you wrote for my son last time.”

“Oh, really? That’s a huge help!”

A casual business conversation (by VIP room standards) between a noble and a commoner.

And yet, there was no rigid formality between them—just an easy exchange of goodwill.

Scenes like this were a daily occurrence in the VIP room.

Many people found business opportunities here.

It was precisely because of this that the Marquis of Tripolia, despite practically “working” at the casino every day, still managed to keep his domain running smoothly. Previously, he held discussions in the noble lounge. Now, he had the VIP room.

“There’s no other place like this.”

A deep sense of satisfaction welled up within him.

It wasn’t just business talk that took place here.

Vital, high-level intelligence was exchanged as well.

“The Duke of Lombardi visited the princess yesterday.”

“That’s news to me.”

“He moved discreetly to save face, but it definitely happened. Seems he’s pledged his support.”

“That means the princess’s standing is about to rise… A coronation within the year, perhaps?”

A bombshell of political news. The Duke of Lombardi—one of the kingdom’s most powerful lords, alongside the Marquis himself—had chosen to back the princess.

The Marquis of Tripolia wasn’t particularly ambitious for power.

But as the head of a prestigious noble house, ignoring politics wasn’t an option.

Here, he didn’t need to hire informants or actively seek out intelligence. He could simply sit back and stay informed.

This, too, was a privilege of the VIP room.

“It wasn’t all for nothing, after all.”

Overwhelmed by emotion, the Marquis allowed himself a moment of reflection.

Memories flashed through his mind—

Sleeping rough in front of the casino, shivering in the cold.

Storming the Dragon Kingdom’s embassy with his enraged comrades.

Arguing with his wife, who just couldn’t understand his loss.

(“You can play cards at home, can’t you?”)

Those were humiliating days.

Truthfully, it had been tough. There were times he wanted to give up. But he refused to surrender. He persevered.

“Marquis?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you like to play a round?”

“Of course!”

Now, all that was left was to enjoy.

Heart swelling, the Marquis of Tripolia strode forward.

Naturally, his destination was the baccarat table.

The best seat—directly in front of the dealer—was vacant.

Reserved for the most esteemed patron among the VIPs, the one who had fought the hardest to reclaim the casino: the Marquis of Tripolia.

It wasn’t just a simple courtesy.

It was respect.

To an outsider, it might seem like just a seat.

But—

“Thank you, my friends.”

“Think nothing of it.”

He couldn’t have asked for more.

With a satisfied smile, the Marquis took his seat.

“Would you like to place a bet?”

Of course. What kind of question was that?

He already had a strategy in mind—starting with conservative bets and gradually working up to his signature move: the “Reverse All-In.”

“1 gold on Banker!”

With a bright grin, he called his bet.

****

Three days since the grand reopening.

I was personally patrolling the casino floor.

As expected, the place was packed.

The wait time for a single baccarat game was at least two hours, yet no one seemed to mind.

Still, the effects of the temporary closure lingered.

“Hahh.”

“Excuse me, sir! Smoking is not allowed at the gaming tables.”

“Oh! My bad! Other casinos let me do it, so I just…”

“Allow me to escort you to the lounge for a break. Would you care for a glass of wine?”

Some patrons carried bad habits from other gambling halls.

Others—

“Hold it right there! Are you cheating?!”

“Pardon? Sir, I was just removing the burn card.”

“Wait… I— I made a mistake, didn’t I?”

—were so traumatized by the deception and scams outside that they falsely accused dealers.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what they had endured.

Cheating was rampant. Calling it out? A quick way to get beaten up.

Fights, insults, filth—

It was no wonder our customers had revolted.

The casino would continue thriving on its own.

Running it was even easier than before.

Word had spread—about me, the Baron, having secured the limbs of both the Dragon Kingdom’s archmage Hilde and her brother’s enforcers. That I had been granted a noble title and land, backed by two royal houses.

But I couldn’t afford complacency.

For my own safety, and that of my allies, I needed more wealth. More power.

“Deliver this letter to Madam Bonucci.”

“Yes, Baron.”

I sent instructions to Bonucci.

The task? Recruiting a useful “friend” for an upcoming project.

Someone as glamorous and cooperative as Bonucci herself—

But not as notorious.

…

The Next Day. Right After Business Hours.

Swish— Madame Bonucci entered the casino through the VIP entrance.

Beside her stood a woman hiding her face behind a lace fan.

“Miss Marlena. Nice to meet you.”

Instead of answering, the woman lightly fluttered her half-opened fan.

Her name was Marlena Muti.

According to Madame Bonucci, she had been frequenting high society circles, looking for a lover—though in reality, a patron. A hopeful candidate aspiring to become the next Bonucci.

Her beauty was comparable to Madame Bonucci’s.

However, their styles were different.

If Bonucci emphasized her bust, Marlena highlighted her legs.

At that moment, both women were flaunting their assets.

Madame Bonucci wore an off-shoulder dress that revealed the upper part of her chest.

Marlena wore a dress with a slit that exposed one of her legs.

A firm thigh, a straight calf, a delicate ankle… My gaze lingered there for a brief moment. She had dressed that way to be seen, so looking was only fair.

But I couldn’t welcome her right away.

“Madame Bonucci. Why did you bring Miss Marlena?”

“Didn’t you request this, Baron?”

“I did?”

Feigning ignorance, I asked again. The fluttering of Marlena’s fan halted.

Bonucci let out a troubled smile and started coaxing me.

“Why are you acting like this, Baron? You clearly mentioned Miss Marlena—”

“Yes. I mentioned her, but—”

“That’s why I brought her. …And at the perfect time, might I add. Many gentlemen at my poker gatherings have shown interest in Miss Marlena. She turned them all down and only accepted your invitation. Surely, you understand what that means?”

Indeed, I had all the qualifications of a desirable patron.

Even before becoming a noble, I had amassed wealth. Now, I had a title as well.

But I hadn’t called for her because I needed a lover.

“My apologies, Miss Marlena.”

“…Pardon?”

“I’ve heard you’ve attended poker gatherings a few times. In truth, I did discuss you with Madame Bonucci in private. However, it seems she was a bit too hasty in bringing you here.”

“Oh my.”

At my apology, Marlena slightly furrowed her brows, alternating her gaze between me and Bonucci.

I handed her money.

A compensation of 2 gold and 50 silver for the misunderstanding and the trouble of visiting the casino.

I didn’t simply toss it at her—I placed it inside a neat silk pouch.

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

“…….”

“It’s not that you lack charm. It’s just that, right now, I don’t need a social partner.”

Marlena accepted the money but hesitated, unable to leave immediately.

Only Lucy, who had been watching from afar, gave a small nod before quietly departing.

A long silence followed.

Marlena fidgeted with her fan, hesitating, until finally, as if her patience had run out, she spoke.

“Then… what kind of person do you need?”

Marlena was a woman in financial distress.

A noble by name only, from a bankrupt family with no inheritance to speak of.

The reason she lingered around Madame Bonucci’s poker gatherings was, in truth, because she had no proper marriage prospects. After all, noble marriages were about family alliances—who would want to tie themselves to a fallen house?

Given that, she wouldn’t easily let go of someone who had just given her money for nothing. It was only natural that she’d try to establish a connection.

I pretended to hesitate for a moment before sighing.

“I do need extra hands, actually.”

“Extra hands?”

There was no need to drag this out or deceive her. I was using Madame Bonucci as a recruiter to gather workers.

If they did well, they would actually make good money—without even needing to endure anything unpleasant.

“Baron, may I hear more details?”

Her voice carried a hint of desperation.

Thinking this was enough for now, I sighed.

“Very well. Madame Bonucci and I are preparing a business venture.”

“A business venture?”

“You’ll find out soon. There is an opening, but I can’t say for certain if you’re the right fit. For now, discuss it thoroughly with Madame Bonucci. I’ll reach out to you soon.”

Marlena’s face lit up at those words.

Her fan, once idly fluttering, was now neatly folded and placed down.

With a smile, I sent her off.

…

Of course, I kept Madame Bonucci behind.

Though not as much as Marlena, she also looked visibly tense.

It seemed she had sensed there was something big at play.

“Madame Bonucci. There’s a project.”

“Is that why you wanted Marlena?”

“Of course. We need players, and you did well bringing her in.”

Hearing the word ‘project,’ Madame Bonucci’s eyes gleamed.

She had been waiting for this.

All this time, she had maintained her connections while barely making ends meet from poker games. Not because she wanted to serve as my informant forever, but because she had been accumulating experience for a bigger opportunity.

And now, I was finally giving her that chance.

“Who is the target?”

“Our competitors.”

My goal was the officially sanctioned gambling halls in the capital—those that had taken advantage of my fight with Hilde to reap secondary benefits.

Some had gotten greedy, striking while the iron was hot, only to mess up.

By now, they must be devastated by my casino’s reopening.

I planned to use Madame Bonucci to eliminate them and establish branch locations.

There was no need for multiple gambling lords in the city.