Urban Plundering: I Corrupted The System!

Chapter 41 Cheap Glasses, SIX!

Parker sat back, staring at the glowing prompt in front of him.

[7 Random Spins!]

This was his shot. Seven chances at whatever random crap the system decided to toss his way. And random was exactly the word for it. One second you're winning big, the next you're stuck with a prize that's so useless it feels like the system's actively trolling you.

Still, Parker wasn't about to dive in headfirst. Call it paranoia, but there was no way he was spinning without making sure he hadn't missed anything.

"No need to overthink, right?" he muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Okay, system. How exactly does this spinning thing work?"

The system responded instantly, its usual robotic tone cutting through his thoughts.

[Host! The Random Spin works like roulette in this world. Each spin costs one Spin Point, which is your stake to earn a reward. But...]

There it was. Parker had been waiting for that ominous 'BUT'.

[...the host can choose how many points to stake per spin. For instance, you may stake two, five, or even hundreds at once!]

Parker's eyebrows shot up. "Hundreds, huh? Sounds tempting. What's the catch?"

The system didn't hesitate.

[Host, staking more points does guarantee better rewards but not many rewards. It only increases the chance of receiving a higher-tier prize, such as a treasure if you spin thirty points at once, instead of a lower-tier item like a bottle of soda.]

Parker snorted. "A Coke? Man, that can be a treasure on a hot day! But alright, I get the gist."

Satisfied with the explanation, Parker leaned forward. "Alright, let's start small. One spin, system."

At his command, a plain black roulette wheel appeared on the screen. It was minimalist—just a pointer spinning around—but the energy it radiated was almost tangible. Parker could feel the possibilities buzzing in the air.

The wheel slowed to a stop.

[Ding! Host has received Unranked treasure: Cheap Glasses.]

Parker blinked as a pair of glasses materialized in his lap. They were sleek, lightweight, and colorless. At first glance, they looked like designer eyewear—expensive, but... nothing extraordinary?

He picked them up, turning them over in his hands. "Not bad," he muttered, squinting at the frame. They were... nice? But nice wasn't exactly what he was looking for.

"Appraise," he said, holding them up.

"Priceless!" Dionysus cackled, spilling his wine. "The invisible glasses—what a gift! Imagine walking around with those on. 'Oh, look, a man wearing nothing, but wait! My glasses are missing!'"

Apollo nearly fell off his chair, wiping tears from his eyes. "Can we talk about the fact that these are Amphitrite's birth tears? She cried those when her firstborn popped out. Literal baby juice turned into eyewear!"

Even Hera, who usually kept her composure, had to cover her mouth as she laughed. "Oh, I needed this," she said, shaking her head. "Parker, poor thing, is so unlucky it's almost tragic."

Hestia, usually gentle and reserved, chuckled softly. "You'd think the system would've picked something a bit more... useful. We have an endless treasury of divine artifacts, and it chose that?"

"That system is either drunk," Poseidon rumbled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "or it has the best sense of humor in all the realms. And Amphitrite isn't even here to defend herself. She'd be mortified."

"Oh, she'd kill him if she was," Athena said, smirking. "Can you imagine? He called her tears useless and suggested she might as well add them to the ocean. The ocean."

Hephaestus, who rarely joined in the mockery, snorted. "Hey, to be fair, it takes real skill to screw someone over that badly. Props to the system."

Hera leaned back, a sly smile on her face. "I'd almost feel bad for him. Almost."

The laughter died down when Parker's voice came through.

"System," he said, his tone sharp. "I'm done with this one-spin bullshit. Use six spins at once."

The gods went quiet.

"What did he say?" Hermes asked, leaning forward.

"Six spins?" Apollo echoed, his golden brows shooting up.

"Is he insane?" Nyx muttered, appearing from the shadows. They knew what this meant, SIX.

In Olympus, the gods froze. The laughter died.

"Six spins?" Hera leaned forward, her voice sharp with curiosity.

Athena frowned. "That's... unusual."

Dionysus chuckled nervously. He of all gods didn't know what SIX meant "Why does it feel like he just hit a nerve with the system?"

Even Ares, usually eager for chaos, seemed wary. "Six isn't just a number, Dionysus." he muttered.

The wheel began to spin, and for the first time, the gods held their breath—not from amusement, but from anticipation, and the fear of what they refused to believe.