Chapter 89 – Russian Roulette

When Croft and Shin reached the market, the afternoon sun hung high above the bustling streets, casting warm golden light over the crowded stalls. Merchants called out to passersby, advertising fresh produce, handmade trinkets, and steaming bowls of street food. The air was thick with the smell of grilled meat, freshly baked bread, and spices, while the constant chatter of shoppers blended with the clatter of wooden carts rolling across the cobblestone roads. As they weaved through the crowd, Croft suddenly reached for Shin’s sleeve and gave it a firm tug, catching his attention.

“Hey, Shin.”

“What’s up?” Shin asked, turning toward her with a curious look.

“Mind coming with me for a minute? I would like to go back to my house, but I need you to come with me for added security,” Croft said, glancing around as though she wanted to make sure nobody was listening.

“Sure,” Shin replied. He adjusted the strap of his satchel and gave her a puzzled look. “But I don’t think I can be of use as security at all.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” Croft assured him with a casual wave of her hand.

Shin shrugged and followed her, unaware of just how unusual their little detour would become. The two left the crowded market behind and ventured into a series of narrow, shady alleys where the sunlight struggled to reach the damp cobblestones. The cheerful noise of the marketplace gradually faded into the distance, replaced by the occasional drip of water from leaky pipes and the faint scurrying of rats beneath piles of discarded rubbish. The air grew stale, carrying the musty smell of rotting wood and neglected buildings. Croft walked ahead without saying much, her footsteps echoing between the weathered walls, until they finally arrived at a small, abandoned house.

Its wooden door hung crookedly from its hinges, and patches of faded paint peeled away from the exterior walls. Dust covered the windows, making it difficult to see inside, while weeds had begun to grow through the cracks in the stone path leading to the entrance. Croft pushed the door open, causing it to creak loudly as they stepped inside. The interior was dim and quiet, with thin shafts of afternoon sunlight filtering through the grimy windows. There was barely any furniture left, only a few wooden stools scattered around a dusty bar counter. Cobwebs stretched across the corners of the ceiling, and the air smelled of damp wood and years of neglect. Nothing suggested that anyone had lived there recently.

“This is my father’s house,” Croft said as she slowly walked farther inside. Her voice had lost its usual confidence, becoming quieter as her gaze wandered over the abandoned furniture. “My mother and I used to live here until she died. After that, I moved out and rented apartments, while my father continued living here until he died.”

“Oh,” Shin replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Ever since then, nobody’s lived here except spiders.” Croft paused beside the counter, running her fingers over its dusty surface. She stared at the faint marks left behind by years of use, as though she could still picture her father standing there. “He lived an honest and innocent life. He was not like the rest of us,” she muttered.

Shin watched her in silence. Something about Croft seemed different from usual. Her shoulders were unusually tense, and there was a strange heaviness in her voice that made him wonder what was going through her mind. He had seen her angry, sarcastic, and even vulnerable, but this was something else entirely. Still, he decided not to pry. Perhaps she simply needed some time to remember her father, and he had no intention of making her grief any harder to bear.

All of a sudden, Croft spun around and raised her pistol, pressing its cold barrel against Shin’s temple. The sudden movement was so unexpected that Shin froze, his eyes widening as he stared at her. The metallic click of the weapon sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent room. A moment ago, they had been having an ordinary conversation. Now, he was standing in front of a woman who was pointing a loaded gun at his head.

“Your Halochassis glove. Now,” Croft demanded, her eyes blazing with anger.

Shin remained motionless for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. He had not expected Croft to confront him so abruptly, much less threaten him with a firearm inside her own father’s abandoned home. Yet, despite his initial shock, he could not honestly say he was surprised. Sooner or later, Croft would discover the truth about him and his connection to Azazel. He had known that much from the beginning, and the possibility of this confrontation had always lingered somewhere in the back of his mind.

Did Qinglong tell her? he wondered.

Most probably. After everything that had happened, it was only a matter of time before the truth came out. Shin had hoped he would have more time to prepare for the consequences, but that hope had amounted to nothing. Now that Croft knew, there was no point in pretending otherwise.

Without making any sudden movements, Shin reached for his satchel and slowly opened it. Inside was the Halochassis glove, its dark surface catching a faint glimmer of light from the nearby window. He carefully exposed the artifact, allowing Croft to see what she had come for. Keeping her pistol trained on him, she stepped closer and snatched the glove from the bag before slipping it into her pocket.

“Did Qinglong tell you?” Shin asked, his voice remaining surprisingly steady despite the gun still pressed against his head.

Croft nodded as she secured the glove in her pocket. “Yes. But no worries, I already put him out of his misery.”

Shin's expression changed slightly. He had expected Croft to discover his secret, but he had not known what she intended to do about Qinglong. Her answer left him with more questions than before, though he could not tell whether she meant that she had killed him or simply ended his suffering in some other way.

“Did Lena know?” Shin asked.

Croft shook her head. Whatever she intended to do, she apparently had no intention of involving Lireina in it. She then gestured toward one of the wooden stools beside the counter, her face giving away nothing of what she was thinking.

“Sit.”

Shin obeyed without protest. He pulled out the stool and sat down beside the counter, its rough wooden surface creaking beneath his weight. A thin layer of dust clung to his clothes as he settled into place. Across from him, Croft took another stool and sat down, keeping her pistol aimed directly at his head. The distance between them was barely a few feet, leaving Shin with little room to react if she decided to pull the trigger. The abandoned house seemed even quieter now, and the faint sounds of the distant marketplace could barely be heard through the walls.

“If you want to kill me, then kill me already. You want justice for your father, don’t you?” Shin taunted, meeting her gaze without flinching.

Croft's grip tightened around her pistol. For a moment, her eyes seemed to burn with an even greater intensity, but she did not immediately pull the trigger. Instead, she stared at Shin as though she were trying to reconcile the man sitting before her with the monster she believed he had become.

“I am not like you. I don’t kill people just for petty reasons such as revenge. You are a demon, Shin,” Croft said coldly.

Shin let out a quiet breath through his nose. He had heard plenty of accusations throughout his life, but being called a demon by someone he considered a friend still carried a certain sting. Nevertheless, he refused to let his feelings show on his face.

“Then you will let me go?” he asked.

“I’ll let the Goddess decide our fate,” Croft replied.

She finally lowered her pistol and tucked it away, but Shin barely had time to relax before she reached for another weapon. This time, she produced a revolver and placed it on the dusty counter between them. The worn metal caught the afternoon light, revealing scratches along its barrel and signs of age around its wooden grip. Croft then took out a single bullet, holding it between her fingers for a moment before carefully loading it into one of the chambers.

“Do you know the game Russian roulette?” she asked.

Shin glanced at the revolver before looking back at her. He understood what she was suggesting, and the implications were obvious enough that he did not need her to spell them out.

He nodded. “We pull the trigger one by one until one of us dies. I’ve heard of it.”

“Good. Saves me the explanation,” Croft said.

She held up the revolver, turning it slightly so that Shin could see its cylinder. “We have six chambers here, and only one bullet. No spinning of the cylinder. Our game will be over in six triggers max.”

The rules were simple, but their consequences were anything but. With only one bullet loaded into the six-chamber revolver, each pull of the trigger could bring the game closer to its inevitable conclusion. There would be no second chances if the bullet found its mark, and neither of them could know for certain who would be the one to die.

Croft placed the revolver on the counter and spun it around, making the weapon rotate against the dusty wood. Its metal body scraped against the surface before gradually coming to a stop. When it finally settled, the barrel pointed directly at Shin.

For a few seconds, neither of them moved. Croft watched him intently, searching his face for any sign of fear or hesitation. Shin, however, merely reached for the revolver and wrapped his fingers around its worn grip. The metal felt cold against his skin, and the weapon's weight rested heavily in his palm.

He looked at Croft with an uncaring expression, as though the possibility of death were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Perhaps he had already accepted that his past would eventually catch up with him. Perhaps he simply refused to give Croft the satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

Without another word, Shin raised the revolver, pressed its muzzle against his temple, and bravely pulled the trigger.

Click.

There was no gunshot, only the faint mechanical sound of the hammer falling on an empty chamber. The noise echoed through the abandoned house, leaving both of them in silence.

Shin was still alive.

Shin lowered the revolver and placed it on the dusty counter. The weapon made a dull clack against the wood, its metallic surface glinting faintly in the afternoon light. Across from him, Croft reached for it with a trembling hand. She tried to maintain her usual composure, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her. After taking a deep breath, she raised the revolver and pressed its cold muzzle against her temple before pulling the trigger.

Click.

Once again, there was no gunshot. Croft closed her eyes for a brief moment, releasing a shaky breath before lowering the weapon. Although she had survived the second pull of the trigger, the experience had clearly taken its toll on her nerves. She swallowed hard, then placed the revolver back on the counter and slid it toward Shin.

It was his turn again.

Shin slowly reached for the revolver, wrapping his fingers around its worn wooden grip. His movements were deliberate, almost unnaturally calm, as he lifted the weapon and brought its muzzle toward his temple. Before he could pull the trigger, however, Croft spoke, her voice cutting through the oppressive silence of the abandoned house.

“I will give you another chance to escape. Admit it to Lena. Admit that you are Azazel, and I will let you live.”

Shin paused, his eyes fixed on the revolver. For a fleeting moment, he thought about Lireina, the woman who had trusted him enough to share her life with him. He could confess everything to her, but doing so would mean exposing the secret he had desperately tried to keep hidden. Even now, with death potentially only a trigger pull away, he could not bring himself to betray the identity he had built his life around.

“I do not,” Shin replied.

He pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Click.

The empty chamber answered him with another dry, mechanical sound. Shin lowered the revolver, his expression unchanged, while Croft stared at him in disbelief. Then, to his surprise, she suddenly burst into laughter. The sound was sharp and humorless, bouncing off the bare walls of the abandoned house.

“You are a psycho,” Croft said, shaking her head as she tried to compose herself.

“Go on, do your thing,” Shin replied, holding the revolver out toward her.

Croft accepted the weapon, her fingers tightening around the grip. For a moment, she looked as though she might turn the barrel toward Shin and end the game right there. Her gaze settled on his face, and her expression hardened as she considered the possibility. Instead, she seemed to remember the rules they had agreed upon. With a frustrated sigh, she raised the revolver and pressed its muzzle against her forehead.

Click.

There was still no gunshot.

Croft lowered the weapon and stared at it for a moment, as though the revolver itself had personally offended her. She then released her grip and placed it on the counter. The metal scraped against the wood as it settled between them, leaving the weapon ready for Shin to take his turn once more.

Four of the six chambers had now been tested. Two pulls remained before the game reached its maximum of six, and neither of them knew where the single bullet was waiting.

For the first time since the game began, Shin felt his confidence beginning to crumble. He reached for the revolver, but his fingers trembled as they closed around the grip. The faint creaking of the abandoned building seemed louder than before, and he became acutely aware of the cold sweat gathering along his palms. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, each thud reminding him that he was still alive only because the bullet had not found him yet.

What the hell am I doing?

The thought surfaced uninvited, forcing him to confront the absurdity of his situation. He had willingly placed his life in the hands of chance, sitting across from a woman who despised him while pretending that he had nothing to fear. He had faced powerful enemies and survived battles that would have killed ordinary men, yet here he was, struggling to keep his hands steady while holding a simple revolver.

Was he truly prepared to die? Or had he merely convinced himself that he was brave because he had never seriously considered what death would feel like when it was within his own reach?

“What is it? Are you afraid now?” Croft teased, noticing the trembling in his hands.

Shin looked at her, but she continued before he could respond. Her lips curled into a bitter smile, and her eyes narrowed as though she had finally found a weakness she could exploit.

“I know what you are thinking. ‘This gun is in my hand. Screw this shitty game. I can shoot her. I just need to pull the trigger once or twice, and I can blow this bitch’s brains out.’”

Croft leaned forward across the counter, her voice growing sharper with every word. The fading sunlight illuminated the anger in her eyes, revealing the hatred she had been holding back since they entered the abandoned house.

“If you want to see Lena again, then you can always kill me and live the rest of your life as a lying two-faced bastard. Admit it. You are just a lowly NPC scum who got his hands on power and got corrupted by it. Admit that you’re no better than those Celestial Wardens you killed.”

Her words struck deeper than Shin wanted to admit. He could tolerate insults about his strength, his origins, and even his identity as a commoner who had somehow acquired the power to challenge the greatest heroes in the world. But Croft was questioning the very reason he had fought against the Celestial Wardens in the first place. She was accusing him of becoming the same kind of monster he had once sworn to destroy.

Shin clenched his jaw. The revolver trembled in his grasp, and he could feel his pulse racing beneath his skin. For a brief moment, he wanted to throw the weapon aside and end the game. He could probably overpower Croft, take back his Halochassis glove, and walk out of the abandoned house. He could even tell himself that he had done nothing wrong because he had merely chosen to survive.

But doing so would mean admitting that her accusations had gotten under his skin.

Annoyed, Shin forced himself to straighten his back. He raised his chin and put on his usual brave expression, refusing to let Croft see how deeply her words had unsettled him. Then, without offering her a reply, he brought the revolver to his temple and pulled the trigger.

Click.

There was no gunshot.

For a moment, Shin remained perfectly still, listening to the fading echo of the hammer. Relief washed over him so quickly that his knees nearly weakened beneath the counter. He swallowed the lump in his throat and lowered the weapon, trying to hide the fact that his heart was still racing.

He had survived another pull.

Without saying a word, Shin extended his arm across the counter and placed the revolver directly into Croft's hand.

Croft froze.

Her eyes widened as she stared at the weapon resting in her palm. She had expected Shin to take another turn, perhaps to hesitate or even beg her to end the game. Instead, he had willingly handed the revolver back to her, leaving her with the choice of whether to continue playing by their rules or abandon them altogether.

The silence stretched between them. Dust drifted through the narrow shafts of sunlight, and somewhere outside, a distant cart rattled over the cobblestones. The ordinary sounds of the afternoon seemed strangely out of place in the room where the two of them were deciding whether the other deserved to live.

Shin tilted his head, a devilish smile spreading across his face.

“What’s the matter, Croft? Scared?” he teased.

He leaned back on his stool, watching her with an expression that was almost mocking. Yet beneath his smile, his nerves remained taut. He had no way of knowing what Croft would do next, and the revolver was now entirely in her control.

“I know what you’re thinking. That’s right. Screw the rules. Now, with a single pull of the trigger, you could kill me. You could kill Azazel, the one who murdered your father. You could kill Shin Rebellium, the liar who fooled Lireina Ashford.”

Croft's fingers tightened around the grip. The weapon suddenly seemed heavier in her hand, its worn metal offering no comfort as she stared at Shin. She had spent so much time imagining what she would do when she finally confronted the man responsible for her father's death. She had pictured anger, justice, and perhaps even the satisfaction of watching him pay for his sins. But now that the opportunity was sitting directly in front of her, she found herself hesitating.

Shin's smile widened as he noticed her uncertainty.

“But... I'll have you admit one thing. If you kill me, you are nothing but a cold-blooded murderer. Just like us.”

“I am not like you,” Croft said firmly.

Her voice sounded steady, but the tension in her face told a different story. She looked down at the revolver, then back at Shin, as though she were searching for an answer in his expression. He had given her the opportunity to kill him, yet he had also forced her to confront what that decision would make her. If she pulled the trigger, she could avenge her father, but she would have to live with the knowledge that she had deliberately taken another person's life.

Croft drew a slow breath. Her grip shifted, and the revolver rose in her hand.

For an instant, Shin thought she was finally going to point it at him. He watched her movements carefully, his smile fading as the weapon moved past his line of sight. But instead of aiming at his head, Croft turned the muzzle toward herself, pressing it beneath her chin.

Shin's eyes widened.

“Croft, wait—”

A deafening gunshot shattered the silence.

The sudden blast rang through the abandoned house, its echo reverberating off the walls as the acrid smell of gunpowder filled the air. Croft's body jerked from the impact, and blood splattered across Shin's face. Warm droplets struck his cheeks and forehead, leaving him frozen on his stool as the revolver slipped from Croft's hand and clattered onto the wooden counter.

For a moment, Shin could neither move nor speak. He stared at Croft, unable to comprehend what had just happened, while the ringing in his ears drowned out every other sound.