The Extra is a Genius!?
Chapter 82: Balthor

Chapter 82: Chapter 82: Balthor

The cards shimmered faintly as they were shuffled, glowing runes flickering across their surfaces before fading back into stillness. The air around the table was thick with heat, sweat, and smoke—and tension.

One of the mercenaries at the table gave Noel a curious look. "You know the rules, kid?"

Noel shrugged, casual. "Heard a bit here and there."

Balthor let out a deep, rumbling laugh, shaking the table with his broad arms.

"Hah! That’s what every loser says before coughing up their boots. Sit down, lad. I’ll give you the quick version—no tears later."

Noel pulled out the chair, cloak settling around him, and leaned forward slightly.

"Magical Poker," Balthor began, gesturing broadly with one thick finger. "Five-card hands. Betting rounds. Simple enough. But here’s the twist—"

He snapped his fingers, and one of the cards on the table lifted itself into the air and flipped slowly.

"You can cheat. With mana, with sleight of hand, with whispers to the cards themselves. Anything goes."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "That seems... reckless."

"Only rule is: don’t get caught." Balthor grinned. "You get caught, you lose the hand. Get caught twice, and I kick your ass out—maybe literally."

The others chuckled.

"Anything’s wagerable," Balthor added, voice dropping just slightly. "Money, magic, items, secrets—hell, even favors. As long as everyone agrees."

Noel nodded once. "Understood."

The dwarf slammed the deck down. The cards bounced, glowing briefly, ready.

"Then let’s begin."

The first hand was a disaster.

Noel barely understood the rhythm of the table—who bluffed, who twitched, who pulsed mana through their cards like amateurs. He played safe, cautious, calculated.

And lost.

Five gold vanished into Balthor’s growing pile with a flick of the dwarf’s thick fingers.

The second hand was worse.

By the fifth round, Noel had nothing left to slide across the table.

He turned slightly toward Elena, who stood behind him with her arms crossed and one eyebrow already rising.

"So..." he said quietly, "about that money."

Her eyes narrowed. "Is that why you told me to bring gold?"

Noel nodded without shame. "Pretty much, yeah."

She sighed in defeat, pulled out her pouch, and dropped five coins into his palm.

"Here. But you’re on thin ice."

He smiled like he hadn’t heard the warning.

And then it happened again.

And again.

Seven times.

Each round ended in loss, each bet absorbed into Balthor’s ever-growing mountain of gold.

Elena stood frozen beside him, jaw slightly open.

"You’ve burned through everything I gave you."

She sounded halfway between disbelief and murder.

Noel didn’t respond at first. He tapped his fingers on the table, watching the cards reset, watching Balthor chuckle and sip from his ale.

"Guess I’m just unlucky tonight," he muttered.

Elena leaned closer. "No, you’re cursed."

Balthor banged the table in amusement, his voice echoing.

"Never seen someone lose this bad and still sit straight. You got anything else to bet, boy? Or are you finally done?"

Noel didn’t answer yet.

Because the real game was just beginning.

Balthor leaned back in his chair, tankard sloshing dangerously as he took a long swig. Coins clinked as he restacked his winnings, clearly enjoying the show.

"Well then," he said, wiping foam from his beard, "seems you’ve run dry, lad. Unless..."

He looked past Noel, directly at Elena."You feelin’ lucky with something else? Like, say... her?"

Elena froze.

"A pretty elf like that would make a fine barmaid. Could use some fresh charm behind the counter—clean, sharp, quiet if trained well."

Noel’s voice cut through the air like a blade. "She stays out of this."

He reached into his cloak and pulled something small, smooth, and dark—a black ring with a faint emerald pulse.

He placed it gently on the table.

The effect was immediate.

The air shifted. Conversations in nearby tables softened. Even the cards stopped shuffling for a moment, as if sensing something had changed.

Balthor’s smile faded into something more thoughtful. He leaned in, eyes narrowing.

"What’s this, then?"

"A ring," Noel said simply. "And no, I don’t know what it’s made of. But I’ve never seen another like it."

Balthor didn’t touch it right away. He studied the subtle runes etched into the band, the emerald gleam that pulsed like a heartbeat. The light made the metal look deeper than black—like it held weight beyond steel.

Finally, the dwarf let out a low whistle.

"Boy... now that’s an offer."

He reached into his own pouch and began stacking coins—ten, twenty, fifty, more.

The gold towered quickly.

"You wager this ring—I’ll match you. Five hundred gold."

A hush spread through the tavern.

Tables turned. Heads craned. Even the music seemed to lower in volume.

A thousand coins.

More than most saw in a year. All resting on a single game.

Elena shifted beside Noel, tense under the sudden weight of every gaze in the room. She pulled her cloak tighter, trying not to be noticed—though it was far too late for that.

Noel noticed.

Without a word, he pulled the chair beside him back just slightly and nodded toward it.

Elena blinked, surprised—but sat.

’You’re more considerate than you let on, Noel,’ she thought. ’Your words always deflect, but your actions never lie.’

Balthor cracked his knuckles and grinned, his eyes never leaving the ring.

"Alright, boy. Let’s see if you’ve got more than just bad luck in you."

The cards glowed as they were dealt, slow and deliberate, sliding across the worn table like pieces in a ritual. The pot sat between them—a gleaming pile of gold on one side, the Ashen Sigil on the other.

Noel picked up his hand without flinching.

Trash.

He kept his face neutral, letting the silence stretch. Balthor grinned across from him, clearly savoring the moment.

They played.

The first round, Noel folded quickly—let Balthor feel confident.

Second round, he let the dwarf manipulate a card mid-play again.

Just like before.

But on the third round, Noel moved.

A soft twitch of his fingers. A flick of mana. His second and fourth cards swapped, barely visible to the naked eye.

Balthor didn’t notice.

Noel won.

The dwarf grunted, leaned forward.

By the fifth round, the dwarf was shifting in his seat. His hand twitched once, but Noel was faster—flipping one card, then bluffing with a deadpan expression.

He won again.

Elena muttered under her breath, arms crossed.

"You’re cheating."

"I’m playing the game," Noel replied, eyes on the table.

"You better not lose that ring."

"I’m not going to lose."

Sixth round.

The game turned brutal.

Balthor tried to double-shift. Noel triple-swapped and baited a raise. Then he slammed the hand down—full house.

The dwarf cursed loud enough that half the tavern jumped.

The gold kept coming Noel’s way.

Seventh round.

Noel didn’t blink. One bluff. One real swap. One stare.

Balthor snapped his cards onto the table with a growl. Lost again.

It was over.

The tavern held its breath as Noel calmly dragged the last pile of coins across the table, stacking it neatly in front of him.

He leaned back, exhaling slowly, then reached for the Ashen Sigil and slid it back onto his finger. It pulsed once, warmly.

Balthor stared at the gold, then threw his head back and let out a booming laugh.

"By the forge—you’ve got fire, boy!"

He stood and clapped a thick hand on the table.

"You know what? I like you. Got guts, brains, and you protect your woman. You’re a proper man."

Noel didn’t react.

Elena, however, turned beet red.

"O-oi! I’m not his woman!"

A couple mercenaries chuckled nearby.

Noel raised an eyebrow and thought to himself:

’Do we really look like a couple? That’s the second time tonight someone’s said it.’

Balthor smirked.

"Could’ve fooled me."

He turned and jerked a thumb toward the back of the tavern.

"Come on, lad. You earned it. I’m guessing you’ve got something you want to spend all that gold on."

Noel stood, gathering his coins. Elena followed, still visibly flustered.

They walked side by side behind the dwarf as he pushed open the back door, leading them into the shadows.

The real reason they came had only just begun.

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