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Chapter 12 — The Weight of the Dice
The moon loomed high.
Silver light filtered through the twisted branches above as Chester knelt on the cool dirt, a rare silence settling around him. The cold kissed his skin, and for once, he wasn't grinning.
Five days remained. Eleven contestants.
And the game had only just begun.
He sat cross-legged, breath shallow, eyes on the space before him.
It was time to roll.
His heart beat in sync with some unseen rhythm. Not of this world. Not even of this nightmare.
The moment the countdown reset, the Chance Pillar had whispered in his ear, opening the gates of possibility again.
He could roll.
Three rolls.
He stared at his hands.
"Is it desperation or instinct?" he wondered. "Maybe both."
He exhaled slowly, then whispered into the empty night, "Let's play."
First Roll — Descent
A shimmer appeared in the air, as if reality had been folded. The Chance Interface responded with a flicker, and the first option wheel formed in front of him.
He rolled.
A spinning kaleidoscope of colors blurred into motion, then stopped—hard.
Result: "Confetti Bomb" — Common Tier
"...What?"
A small bag materialized in his palm. Bright. Sparkly. Ridiculous.
He opened it. Confetti exploded in his face.
He sat there, stunned, blinking as rainbow bits fluttered down his hair and coat.
"...Really?"
The forest watched in silence.
He exhaled. Then laughed—short and sharp.
"Okay. Okay. First one's a joke. That's fine."
But inside? His gut churned.
He was running out of time, and the world didn't care.
Second Roll — Providence
He took a breath. Focused.
He rolled again.
The wheel spun wildly. Lights surged. A pulse echoed—Boom. Boom. Boom.
Then—BOOM.
A golden explosion of light erupted from the center.
The forest itself recoiled.
The words materialized in burning script:
> Result: Mythical Object — Dice of Providence
The very air shifted.
And from nothing, it descended.
A single, glassy six-sided die—shimmering with light from dimensions unknown—fell gently into his palm.
He didn't breathe.
The die pulsed in his hand, warm and cold, heavy and weightless.
He could see things in it—flickers of himself, of futures he hadn't lived, of deaths he hadn't died.
His fingers curled tight around it.
"The Dice of Providence..."
A smile began to creep across his face—genuine, reverent, wide.
This was not a toy.
This was fate made tangible.
He stored it instantly, hidden from view, heart still racing.
"I could kill a god with this one day," he whispered.
The forest didn't argue.
Third Roll — Joke's On You
His heart still drumming, Chester whispered, "Alright... let's see if the universe still hates me."
He rolled a third time.
The wheel turned. Slower this time. Almost mockingly.
Result: "Inverted Compass" — Useless Tier
An old, broken compass fell into his hand. The needle spun lazily in circles, refusing to stop. No direction. No power.
Just junk.
Chester stared.
...
He blinked.
He laughed.
Then he lay back in the grass, letting the cold settle into his spine.
"One out of three," he said softly. "I'll take it."
He turned his head toward the sky, arms spread. A madman basking under the moonlight.
He wasn't angry. He wasn't disappointed.
Because in his palm—in his inventory—was the Dice of Providence.
And somewhere out there… the traitor was still playing their hand.
They thought he was the fool.
They had no idea what was coming.
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End of Chapter 12
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