Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 233 The Morning Beneath the Throne of Ash
"God has fallen, the play has ended;"

But the real mystery lies in who emerges from the ruins.

The shrine has collapsed.

The pseudo-mysterious remains that once sat atop the altar are now nothing more than burnt-out ashes and scattered fragments of mechanisms.

Those once blazing and dazzling cursed flames are now reduced to wisps of lazy, drifting blue smoke, lingering between the dawn and the ruins.

The clouds on the horizon had not completely dispersed, and the dark fog had not yet completely dissipated.

But the sun had already risen, and a ray of golden light pierced through the clouds, casting a slanting glow on the dilapidated torii gate and the collapsed roof tiles of the temple.

The dust had not yet settled, and the air was still filled with the rusty smell of burnt metal and blood.

Si Ming wandered alone through the ruins, the hem of his robe brushing against the charred ash on the ground.

His steps were light, yet slow—as if each step was a confirmation of whether a dream of slaying a god had truly occurred.

He walked to the place where the throne once stood, the now dilapidated core of the main axis.

The original magic circle had long since collapsed, and the support of the spell wheel had turned into fragments like broken bones.

The ground was covered with countless cracks from the surgical techniques, like scattered scrolls lying in the dust, as if this stage had once witnessed the cruelest dramas of fate.

"...This is her laboratory."

Si Ming murmured to himself, his voice carried by the wind into the ruins of the broken shrine.

He crouched down, parted a charred ritual tablet, and found several tattered pages of ritual paper under the broken tiles. The runes were charred and twisted, and the contents were already blurred.

His eyes showed no surprise, only a cautious calm.

Just then, he suddenly looked up—

In the distance, a figure was kneeling on the scorched earth.

Wang Yichen.

He kept poking at the ashes with his hands; it was a layer of earth that had been almost crystallized by the high temperature.

Beneath the rubble, fragments of bone metal and cursed runes, left behind after Minako's remains melted, still radiate a lingering warmth and eerie light.

His fingers had already been cut by sharp shards, and blood seeped into the scorched earth through the gaps between his fingers.

He was completely unaware of it.

Instead, he moved even closer, a twisted fanaticism appearing in his eyes.

It was the desire of a wild beast that had caught the scent of forbidden bait in a desperate situation, a desire that had been suppressed to its limit, like golden pupils suddenly opening in the abyss.

His breathing became faster and faster, almost like gasping for breath.

Cold sweat mixed with dust clung to his face, making him look disheveled.

But there was no pain on his face.

There was no confusion.

Only—greed.

A kind of greed that has finally seized fate by the throat.

—Then, he found it.

His fingertip gently brushed against a piece of charred debris, and a faint golden light escaped from the gap.

That was the edge of a card.

Wang Yichen's fingertips trembled as he pulled it out bit by bit, as if grasping a sacred relic.

The first one.

Then the second one.

Next, the third one.

His hands were trembling—not from fear, but from excitement.

His pupils suddenly dilated, his breathing became rapid, his knuckles turned pale, and a smile involuntarily crept onto his lips.

Like a ghost that has finally reclaimed the reins of its destiny amidst the ruins.

He murmured, his voice almost a dream, repeating only one word over and over again:
"My...my...my..."

Just then, a gaze fell upon him.

Sima Ming.

He stood under a broken pillar not far away, hands in his pockets, with a half-smile on his face.

He stared at Wang Yichen for a long time, then slowly looked away as if he hadn't seen anything.

At this moment, Selene leaned closer and whispered:

"It looks like he found something."

Her tone was like that of a hunter who had just eaten his fill—lazy yet sharp.

"Should we go over and get it?"

Si Ming shook his head, smiled, and a faint glint of sharpness appeared on his lips.

"No rush."

His gaze had already turned to the other side.

There, another figure had already taken a step.

He Chengxun.

He strode forward like a silent mountain, his body as steady as iron, and walked straight toward Wang Yichen.

Upon hearing footsteps, Wang Yichen instinctively turned around, his expression suddenly changing.

He quickly hid the three cards behind his back, a hint of wariness in his eyes.

But the next moment, he was pressed to the ground by a forceful pressure!
"Let go."

He Chengxun shouted in a low voice, his tone as firm as a hammer striking a rock, leaving no room for doubt.

"It's... mine!" Wang Yichen roared hoarsely.

His eyes were wild, his tone was shrill, like a hungry wolf unwilling to surrender its prey.

"You are just a mortal passing by."

He Chengxun kicked him to the ground, then grabbed his arm and forcibly took the three cards.

Wang Yichen lay on the ground, his face buried in dust and charred stones, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth into the dirt. He trembled all over, like a dying beast.

He didn't dare to move.

But even with its eyes pressed to the ground, a faint, lingering metallic glint still shone through.

—The obsession has not died.

He Chengxun presented the card to Xiao Lianyin with both hands.

She took it, her fingers lightly brushing across the card, her eyes flickering slightly as she sensed a subtle echo, and she sighed softly.

"Minako..."

She shook her head, a look that seemed both bitter and pitiful, then casually tossed the card to Nobuna with a flick of her wrist.

Shino took the three cards, looked down at the cards, her eyes as deep as an ancient well.

"elder sister."

she whispered.

"In the end... you still left them to me."

In the distance, Si Ming watched all of this quietly.

He looked at Xiao Lianyin, then slowly turned his head to look at Wang Yichen, who was still lying in the ruins, covered in ashes.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and remained silent.

That moment——

He seemed to see a lingering golden light between Wang Yichen's fingers, appearing and disappearing like a hidden fourth card.

Si Ming remained silent.

He simply smiled, turned and left, his silhouette sweeping away like the wind through the embers of war.

Everything seemed to have come to an end.

But he knew that some gambles never truly end.

The wind swept through the ruins, stirring up the ashes and agitating the remains of the broken mechanisms. Embers from the burnt-out spells still lingered among the rubble of the altar.

Wang Yichen slowly got up, his knees covered in scorched earth and ash. He looked down at his palms, his gaze deep and his expression complex and silent.

He didn't argue anymore, didn't speak, and didn't look at anyone.

But his eyes never truly closed.

Liangzhen and Martin collapsed beside him.

He was not killed by the enemy.

It was the backlash from the power.

That mysterious life force, which was not of mortal origin, was now slowly devouring their bodies and souls.

The body convulsed violently, blood vessels swelled, and unidentified mutated organs beneath the skin writhed and deformed like maggots, bursting open like flowers.

Their wails no longer resembled those of humans, but rather those of uncontrolled sacrifices in the abyss, being burned inch by inch into inhuman forms by the poisonous flames after the spell collapsed.

As the technique burned out, the soul was torn apart, and irreparable cracks extended from the mind to the bone marrow.

They struggled, they screamed, but their bodies were no longer under their control, and their minds were no longer their own.

Si Ming stood a few meters away, his gaze calm.

He watched this scene without moving or speaking.

His expression wasn't indifferent, but rather a clear-headedness honed by reality, a trait he had long since developed from witnessing all of this.

"The consequences of mortals acting recklessly and mysteriously."

Nobuna stood beside him, her hand on the hilt of her sword, her black hair swaying gently in the wind, her gaze as cold as frost and snow.

“Your companion—” she glanced at Xiao Lianyin’s departing figure, her tone sharp as a knife, “is truly ruthless.”

Si Ming chuckled lightly, offering no rebuttal:

"She's just... used to making others her 'sacrifices'."

"And what about you?" Si Ming turned to look at Xin Nai. "Have you found the answer you were looking for?"

Nobuna then slowly took out a thin book with charred edges from inside her battle robe and gently unfolded it.

The paper was charred black and stained with blood.

"My sister's diary."

Her tone was low and slow, yet as heavy as a stone falling into a deep well.

"Her theories, her sacrificial drafts, the records of her first failed experiments... are all in there."

"What about the things she stole?" Si Ming asked.

"The key card."

Shino shook her head, a look of coldness and regret appearing in her eyes.

She didn't stay.

"Perhaps... from the very beginning, she handed them over to the 'madmen' at a higher level."

Si Ming slowly narrowed his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the charred well deep within the ruins.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. “There are still many nights to go. There’s plenty of time.”

Just as the words were spoken, a familiar sound of footsteps came from behind the ruins.

"Alright—it looks like the nightmare is over."

Xiao Lianyin walked gracefully out of the charred ashes of the flames, untouched by the dust, her demeanor still elegant.

A faint, lingering glow remained on her red lips. Her expression was calm as she gracefully stepped over the bodies of the two out-of-control "loyal dogs."

She did not bow her head.

There was no stare.

There wasn't even a moment's pause.

It was as if they never belonged to her "loss," but were merely "execution units" in her techniques.

She stopped, her smile as always, her trademark.

"Us?" She looked at Si Ming, her eyes slightly raised.

"Shall we... find a place to sit down?"

Si Ming narrowed his eyes and looked behind her.

Loyal dogs—only He Chengxun and Fabio remain.

The two most silent and obedient ones survived.

Those with weak constitutions and unclear beliefs—had their faith extinguished.

“Mortals…” he murmured, his tone carrying an indescribable sigh.

"In the end, it's still too fragile."

At this moment, Wang Yichen slowly stood up from the ground, covered in dust and dirt, his shoulders drooping slightly.

No one called him, and no one pushed him.

He slowly walked towards the crowd, standing neither too high nor too low, as if he wanted to blend in but was also ready to leave at any moment.

The light in his eyes dimmed, yet it was not extinguished.

Like a wisp of embers buried under ashes.

Xu Jinxiao remained standing beside Si Ming, silent like a ghost, as if even the wind was unwilling to linger on him.

Si Ming turned her head to look at him, a slight smile playing on her lips:

"You seem to be living a pretty stable life."

Xu Jinxiao smiled slightly, said nothing, and simply nodded.

"This guy," Siming chuckled, "is quite resilient."

He turned to Xin Nai and Xiao Lianyin, his tone calm, yet like an actor about to step into the next act of a play, slowly announcing:

"Let's go."

"Go find my companions and reunite."

He gazed into the distance, where the dawn was breaking through the horizon.

"If they were still alive—"

"Then let's try to piece together these nights into... an answer that belongs to us."

"The throne of God is reduced to ashes,
The real show has only just begun.

She is not a loser who wasn't chosen by the stars.
She's a madwoman who dares to glare at the stars.

The night had not yet completely dissipated.

Beside the subway station ruins, broken steel bars and twisted tracks lie in the shadows, and the charred walls still bear the marks of the cursed fire.

A sparse campfire crackled and popped in the corner, its faint light illuminating Nobuna's profile.

She sat quietly, her fingers turning the pages of a diary that was almost a third burned.

The edges were charred black, and the pages licked by the flames still bore traces of spiritual flame left by the backlash of the spell, still feeling slightly hot to the touch.

She gently brushed away the dust and unfolded the pages one by one.

The handwriting was elegant and the strokes were steady. It was written on special paper for mysterious beings, and there were faint spiritual patterns echoing beneath the ink, as if the breath of the recorder was still rising and falling between the lines.

[Part 1: The Day of Ten-Star Advancement]

Date: 21st year of the Imperial Calendar, Spring Thunder Moon, Upper Moon 5
Written by: Minako Mijinin (Main Lineage)
"Today, I have been promoted to ten stars."

"I am the youngest ten-star mystery master in the history of the Imperial Divine Academy. For the first time, there was no disappointment in my father's eyes, and the elders' incantations no longer skipped over my name."

"They said I am a voter of the star."

"I chose it from the secondary mystery slot—Fate-type Amaterasu Wheel."

"The moment the Wheel of Fate spins in my palm, it's like the stars are whispering."

"I believe—my steps will lead me to godhood."

The pen strokes on that page were like a song, like a poem, each stroke carrying youthful spirit and an unconcealable pride and ambition.

In the corner of the page, she drew a design of a spell wheel—a golden spell wheel, like a fragment of the sun.
Layer upon layer of symbols engraved with the mysterious ring, the lines precise, revealing a fanatical, almost devout obsession.

Nobuna closed the page, her fingertips gently tracing the still-wet ink marks, remaining silent, as if she could see through the delicate handwriting...
I saw that girl from back then, standing under the altar, her eyes gazing at the starry sky.

She turned to the next page.

The handwriting has changed significantly—no longer neat and stable, but increasingly sharp, with the pen marks pendant ...

Part Two: Preparations Before the Cataclysmic Disaster

Date: Mid-month of the 21st year of the Imperial Calendar, the month of Twilight Fire

"I have arrived at the eleventh star."

"The life chart expanded as I expected, without much resistance."

Amaterasu's Destiny Wheel and Tamamo-no-Mae have begun to interact; in my dreams at night, I can see Tamamo-no-Mae's fox shadow patrolling the area.

"The family records only mention two paths to advancement—Fallen Star Necromancer, and Aberrant Beast King."

"The former is a fusion of three systems: life, destiny, and world. The latter is a hybrid structure of two destinies, possessing the attribute of 'rare object'."

"I don't like the word 'aberration,' because it implies instability and uncontrollability."

"I chose the former, I chose 'the necromancer', I chose 'the world of gods'."

"Today, I ordered the construction materials for the Curse Wheel Temple. The third mystery—the World System's Six-Armed Curse Wheel—will become my path to celestial calamity."

Upon reading this, Nobuna's gaze sharpened, and her fingers tightened slightly.

She remembers that time.

Every day, my sister would go in and out of the Investiture of the Gods Library, flipping through spellbooks, tracing divine marks, and silently taking away page after page of the oldest and most dangerous spellbooks from the library.

She—didn't even have the right to approach that area.

She remembered standing outside the forbidden gate, hearing the chanting of incantations from within like a tidal wave.
But she could only stand outside the door, sword in hand, watching the "rightful heir" walk towards the unknown celestial calamity. She turned to the next page.

The handwriting became more hurried, the ink was heavy, the lines were rough, and there were obvious signs of erasure and repeated strokes in many places, indicating that the writer was on the verge of a breakdown.

That was no longer the pride of a Star-level player, but the confession of someone caught in a great contradiction and fear.

That page—the content that is about to be revealed—may be the "core crack" of the entire sacrifice plan.

Shinobu took a deep breath, her finger hovering over the edge of that page.

The firelight danced in her pupils, and the night seemed to hold its breath for a moment.

Part Three: The Night the Dead Awaken

Date: 22nd year of the Imperial Calendar, Night of the First Snow, Moonless Time

【extract】:
"A celestial calamity has descended."

"I stood in the center of the esoteric temple's altar, my life runes and star chart unfolding above my head like an open eye of the Milky Way. But... that starlight did not fall upon me."

"I heard the whispers of the dead—"

"It's not a hallucination. It's not."

"They are calling my name."

With the voice of the family elder who died young, with the claws of the dead cursed dog, with the lingering ashes from the brazier, whispered to me in my ear, in my marrow, beneath the star of destiny—

"You are not depraved enough."

That sound was not an echo.

It is not like language, but more like a curse meme fermenting from the remains of ancestors, a sin rooted in the bloodline, which fully awakens on this night.

It doesn't enter through the ears or the mind, but rather—penetrates directly into the soul.

I knelt in the center of the star map.

The eleventh star ignites, and the life runes glow like blazing flames, burning to their zenith.

But the light flickered, like the faint breathing of a drowning person, and could go out at any moment.

The surrounding area was no longer the altar for judging trials, but rather tombstones.

I thought I was in the trial grounds for advancement in the Star Calamity, but that night, I realized:

That's not an "altar".

—It is the grave of the "grave digger".

"I tried to channel the energy of the dead, cast incantations to stabilize their souls, and appease them with techniques passed down in my family."

"But one corpse after another crawled out from outside the burial ground."

They had no pupils, only starlight-white rays swaying slowly in their eye sockets.

They are not ordinary undead; they are—the "Mirror Judgment" cast by the Starscramble.

Each figure carries the face of a failed sorcerer whom I once betrayed, abandoned, and destroyed.

I incantated. I cast a spell. I attempted to suppress.

But all the technical terms twisted into antonyms in my mouth, and the talisman cracked into star-shaped fragments between my fingers.

The technique I created myself is ineffective here.

No, it was a celestial disaster—it never recognized me as "human".

It rejected me, not because I wasn't strong enough.

It's because I'm "not clean enough".

I ran away.

I fled the altar, rushed to the forbidden chamber, and hid in my dreams.

But even dreams have become a prison.

"At night, I have recurring dreams in which the stars open their eyes, but coldly close them."

It saw me. It heard me.

But it closed its eyes.

It's not a rejection.

It's ignoring me.

I started hallucinating:
The shadow in the corner—no longer a shadow, but the "corpse of my future self"—lies there, waiting for the moment when it will take over my destiny.
The runes began to flow backward on the spell paper—they reverted to their original state, back to the unformed prototype of the family's forbidden spells, a primal and savage force tearing at my magic.

I saw "another me" crawl out of the sealed coffin, its eyes vacant, its voice like mist:
"You are your own failure."

I began to fear the firelight—it was no longer warm; it had become the "burning pupils" of the Star Calamity after it opened its eyes.
I began to fear the starry sky—it was no longer a guide, but a "judgment seat" hanging behind me;
I started to avoid my own name—

Whenever I try to pronounce the name "Minako," I question: Does this name... still belong to me?

Is it me?
Or was it—that failed creator of a god who died long ago on the night of the trial of the curse wheel, rejected by the star disaster and abandoned by the world?
Nobuna silently finished reading the page, her fingertip lingering on the sentence that had been crossed out multiple times.

"You are your own failure."

A gentle breeze blew by, lifting a corner of the book's pages.

The firelight flickered uncertainly in her eyes, but her gaze was deeper than the night.

The sister who once gazed at the Milky Way and vowed to become a god—had her face torn to shreds by herself before the Gate of Star Calamity.

It's not that she's not strong enough.

She simply no longer believed she was worthy of being called a "human being".

"I failed. Once, twice, three times."

With each failure, my destiny chart dims a little, and a portion of my rationality is permanently stripped away.

That kind of pain is not physical pain, but a stripping away of self-awareness, as if some being that has written its name in the soul is erasing who I am inch by inch.

The calamity still whispers.

It said I wasn't enough.

Not decadent enough.

—Astral calamity is “rewriting” me.

But what it cannot rewrite is the silence in that deathly stillness after I call out.

"I prayed, I offered sacrifices, I cried out. But the calamity never looked back at me."

I burned thirty-three out-of-control shikigami, turning them into spiritual matter to sacrifice to the core of the celestial calamity.

I ground my mother's remains into ash, mixed it with a blood curse, and created a "blood kinship mark," which I branded onto my lifeline.

I even... bit off my left thumb and used my blood to write that vow in the center of the star map:

"I will be plunged into the astral calamity."

I gave away my skills, my memories, and a part of my body.

But I've always—held onto something.

That part cannot be removed using any technique.

It was like a tiny spark, stubbornly flickering in the swirling, devastating snow.

That is—I am still missing her.

my little sister.

Nobuna.

I cannot part with her name.

I cannot completely remove her from the core of my "identity framework".

She is the final proof that I am "human".

The root of my failure lies not in technique, star, or necromancy.

But the key is that I still retain "love".

The celestial calamity has been seen.

It said, "You are not depraved enough."

So—I've gone mad.

"Am I not depraved enough?"

Then I will make the gods fall!
I will no longer pray for astral disasters.

I will have the planetary calamity pray to me!
I want to pull the gods down from their thrones and make them prostrate themselves in the shrines I build.

I want to reverse Amaterasu's Destiny Wheel into a "tool".

I want to create a planetary disaster where no qualifications or choices are required, and you can advance as long as you dare to gamble your humanity.

I want to become—

The creator of gods for those who are not chosen.

The firelight flickered, and Nobuna's fingers trembled slightly.

The words on that page seemed to still be burning in the light and shadow, but her heart felt as if it had fallen into an eternally cold spring.

elder sister--

That night, I went completely mad.

Nobuna turned to the next page.

The edges of the paper were damp, with fire marks and ink stains overlapping. The handwriting went from messy to neat, as if it had been re-formed after wavering between a torn consciousness and a calm will.

Part Four: The Designer of the Sacrifice

Date: Unknown; records are incomplete, with numerous rewrites and chaotic patchwork marks between the lines.

"I finally understand."

It's not that I'm not strong enough.

"This world simply refuses to accept me."

"They use 'failure' to mark those who are not docile enough."

"Using 'madness' to cover up inexplicable genius."

"But I don't care anymore."

"I don't want to be chosen anymore; I want to create my own choices."

"I declare—God is dead."

"From now on, it is no longer God who chooses us."

"It is I who will write the bones and blood of the gods."

"Tamamo-no-Mae's core has become stable."

"The Cursed Wheel Temple has been completed, enabling the normalized simulation of the 'pseudo-planetary disaster domain'."

"Amaterasu no longer is just a card; it has begun to whisper—it is more than just a card; it wants to become a 'script'."

"very good."

"Since the celestial calamity refuses to favor me, I will dismantle the authority of this world and piece together my path from corpses, from the defeated, from the fragments of every 'quasi-god'!"

"I've begun collecting—card core fragments, spell shards, and memories of corpses."

"I created the first Mysterious Remains."

"It failed. It went mad. I threw it into the energy pool and watched it devour itself in hallucinations until its consciousness collapsed."

"At that moment, I finally understood: 'Failure' is the most necessary sacrifice in the construction of divinity."

"I need more 'crazy' people."

So I started writing letters.

On that page, the handwriting suddenly changed.

The penmanship changed from its previous frenetic style to a neat and orderly one, as if it were no longer a diary, but a letter addressed to someone.

To all those who stopped before the Cataclysmic Disaster—

We are people abandoned by the world.

But we don't need to look up to them.

We can fake the sky.

Come to the City of Mysteries.

Come--

Let us together uncover the true name of the celestial calamity.

Nobuna stared at the last line, speechless for a long time.

The firelight illuminated her eyes, but it couldn't penetrate the chill in her heart.

From that moment on, Minako was no longer her older sister.

She became the designer of the sacrifice.

It became—

The forger of divinity.

She lost in the name of "love," and ascended to godhood in the name of "hate."

Ultimately, she constructed this sacrificial stage from which no one could escape, using the script of "creating a god."

Nobuna closed the page of the diary, her fingers lingering on the back cover, gently stroking the scorched leather.

In the center of the back cover, there is a sentence written in blood.

It wasn't ink, it was blood.

The blood had long since dried, but it remained as deep red as ever.

Unsigned, undated, only a solitary line of text, like the final declaration of some dying consciousness:

"I'll show the Starsick what to do—"

Even gods can fall into depravity before her eyes.

The campfire flickered, its flames struggling to burn on the ashes. The wind swept through the ruins, stirring the remaining tiles and tattered scrolls, as if the lament of the gods were slowly wandering among the broken walls.

Nobuna slowly stood up, clutching the half-destroyed diary tightly in her hand.

She walked towards the fire with steady steps, as if bidding farewell to a piece of history, or as if burying with her own hands a name that once stood under the stars and possessed dazzling brilliance.

The group sat quietly around the fire.

No one speaks.

Each person carried the lingering heat and exhaustion of slaying a god, their gazes cast deep shadows by the firelight.

Xiao Lianyin sat on a half-collapsed torii gate, her arms crossed over her chest, her black hair cascading down, her eyes deep and unfathomable.

She stared blankly at the firelight, her expression unreadable, neither showing sorrow nor utter indifference.

Si Ming sat closest to the fire, slowly flipping through an old, yellowed playing card in his hand, without saying a word.

Martin and Liang Zhen have been reduced to charred remains, and even their ashes have been devoured by the spell.

He Chengxun leaned against the broken wall, closed his eyes to rest, and remained silent as a rock despite his many wounds.

Fabio squatted in the corner, holding a charred piece of metal in his arms, staring at it for a long time, as if recognizing a mark of loyalty that once existed within it.

Nobuna stood still.

She gazed at the group of people, at the pairs of eyes still alive in the firelight—eyes that might soon die.

She spoke, her voice low and calm, yet like ice water poured onto a fire:
"This is the truth behind Minako Mijinin's fall from grace."

Her voice was neither trembling nor emotional.

"She was not an accident, not the madness of some lunatic, not a chance depravity."

"She is the most perfect failure produced by this system."

"She wanted to become a god, not to conquer, not to transcend."

"She just wanted to prove that 'divine right' could be written by humans."

Her eyes lowered slightly, and a sarcastic smile, almost cold, appeared on her lips.

"She's not crazy."

"She simply saw the flaws in this world earlier than all of us."

The firelight illuminated her profile, but couldn't penetrate the desolation hidden deep in her eyes.

There was silence.

The night was not yet over, but dawn was already slowly tearing a corner of the sky.

Amidst the ruins, a golden line pierced through the dark clouds, illuminating her profile.

She bent down and placed the diary into the fire.

There was no ceremony.

Only farewells.

The paper burned, releasing a fragrant aroma.

Those lines of text that attempted to rewrite the fate of the gods are now turning to ashes, returning to dust, and drifting away with the wind.

“However,” she said softly, looking at Si Ming, her tone gradually softening, yet deeper than the firelight.

"This is probably just the tip of the iceberg of the truth about this City of Remains."

"Minako was just a pioneer."

"She is not the end."

Si Ming looked up and gazed at her silently for a long time.

After a long pause, he smiled slightly, a gentle smile playing on his lips.
"This place..."

He gazed at the horizon, at the way the first rays of dawn fell upon the ruins.

"Indeed, it's very suitable for writing screenplays."

She wasn't chosen by the stars.

She simply learned too early—how to tamper with star charts.

(End of this chapter)