Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 267 Final Draw - The Eve of the Armory
"The survivors rise from the ruins."
The next card,

Perhaps it's a sign from Death.

The ruins lay silent in the faint light of dawn, with lingering smoke and shattered steel fragments still visible on the scorched earth.
Like an oil painting torn apart by flames, it lies quietly on the edge of time.

A gray-gold crack shimmered gently—a remnant of the dream's gateway, the last glimmer of light dissipating into the air.
Like ripples on the water's surface, gradually disappearing at the boundary between reality and dreams.

As Si Ming stepped out the door, the moment his feet touched the scorched earth, his clothes were whipped up by the wind, and his blood-stained garments seemed to have not yet faded from his dream.

He raised his eyes, looking slightly tired, and the first thing he saw was a familiar face.

Vera stood not far away, still wearing the silver-gray cloak covered in gunpowder and burn marks.
The wind ruffled her hair, but she remained silent, her gaze quietly fixed on Si Ming.

It was the look of a doctor watching a wounded patient return—neither anxious nor indifferent, a calm masking a subtle worry, as if assessing whether the patient could withstand the next wave of fate.

Just as Si Ming was about to speak, a red figure rushed up like a cannonball!

"—Why did you take so long?!"

Natasha rushed up to him and kicked away his hand that was holding Selene's.

Selene rolled her eyes and sighed insincerely, "Don't overreact, he was just playing dead."

As she spoke, she sat down to the side, lazily swinging her heels.

"I even acted out a scene of life and death with him, and he still complained that my acting was bad. What a heartless and disgusting master."

Si Ming staggered half a step, his temple twitched, and a complex expression appeared on his face, as if he had been tricked by fate a thousand times over.

"Could you...give me some time to recover?" He asked with a wry smile, supporting his knee.

"I feel like my soul has just been run over by a tank."

“It does look like it.” A deep, calm voice sounded from beside him.

Hermann had somehow moved closer and stood to his left, scrutinizing his pale face with a calm and precise voice.

"Do you need the Blood Coffin Girl's treatment?"

Si Ming nodded and sighed, "If I say 'no need' again, you might have to drag my corpse away the next second."

Hermann said no more, silently extending his right hand and igniting a pale red Star of Reason.

A star chart of destiny patterns slowly emerged behind him, rotating and projecting layers of blood-red ripples.

Then, a cloud of blood mist silently condensed.

That was Herman's life-related mystery—"The Blood Coffin Girl Bearing Misfortune".

The girl, dressed in a dark red dress, looked dazed and serene, her eyes as deep as a still pool. She floated over slowly, holding the black coffin lid in her arms.

She stopped in front of Si Ming, lowered her head slightly, her expression cold yet tinged with an indescribable pity, and then—silently opened the blood coffin.

Without hesitation, Si Ming allowed the blood mist to envelop him, slowly sinking into it.

The blood coffin closed, like a silent, deep well, engulfing Si Ming entirely within it.

The coffin was completely silent; even the sound of breathing was sealed within the thick blood.

But within that blood-red, viscous wrapping, the wound is being healed little by little.

The shattered nerves, bones, and the cracks in reason are being quietly mended;
The fragments of the spirit torn apart by time are like out-of-control puzzle pieces being gently pressed back into place by a pair of gentle hands.

He seemed to be asleep in the womb.

Or perhaps, in the darkness after fate extinguished its light, it briefly dreamt of profound healing.

Dozens of seconds later, the blood coffin opened with a "click".

Si Ming stepped out and slowly emerged from the red liquid.

He shook his head and yawned deeply, looking as if he had just soaked in a deep-sea hot spring.

"I feel... about 70% better."

"And what about the remaining 30%?" Hermann remained indifferent.

Si Ming shrugged, a sly smile playing on his lips: "Saving this for the madman's next lousy game."

“Tsk.” Celian glanced at him sideways. “You talk like you can win.”

Si Ming smiled and did not argue.

He simply stood before the newly closed gate, looking down at the star diamond he had just brought back from his dream, his fingers unconsciously clenching.

This is a gift left by my future self.

It is a spark in the echo of a certain failure.

Yes—that's the starting point of his next gamble.

The wheel of fate never stops turning.

And they—are already standing at the moment before the next bet.

Si Ming's gaze swept across the ruined square.

Those familiar or unfamiliar faces stood quietly at this moment, some sitting and resting, and some adjusting the mystery.

He noticed that even "ordinary people" like Duan Xingzhou and Lin Wanqing were not immersed in the illusory peace of surviving the disaster—Lin Wanqing was flipping through her notes, carefully recording every past prohibition and judgment;
Duan Xingzhou squatted in a corner, polishing a demolition device assembled from scrap iron. His knuckles were covered with scratches, but his expression was firm.

At this moment, Zhuang Yege walked over, wearing a trench coat with charred edges, her steps light and her usual playful smile on her lips.

"One good news and one bad news."

He spoke as he walked, as if he were making a trivial conversation.

“I guess you’re going to say—'Listen together,'” Si Ming interrupted.

Zhuang Yege chuckled, raising a finger to point above her head: "You know, after dealing with our line of work for so long, you can't really tell the difference between good and bad anymore."

They looked up together at the sky.

There, a huge card with a jet-black border hangs high in the night sky, like a pupil looking down from above.

The card depicts a rotating military city, its spiral structure slowly turning like a celestial eye, cold and high-dimensional.

"The good news is—" Zhuang Yege paused, still smiling, "Our side, everyone survived."

"The bad news is..."

His voice lowered slightly.

"Crazy Thirteen just announced that most of the other surviving groups have been wiped out."

The air suddenly turned cold.

Even Natasha and Selene, who were still bickering not far away, fell silent.

Siming's smile also froze.

"We are the last minority."

He looked up at the "host card" in the air and suddenly realized—

At this moment, they may have already been pulled into the final stage set up by Madman Thirteen.

"What did it say?" Si Ming asked.

“We’re about to draw lots,” Zhuang Yege said, his voice unusually serious, “to decide who will challenge its armory.”

Si Ming looked at the crowd behind him, exhaled, and spread his hands: "So you were all waiting for me to come back?"

“Okay.” He looked down and patted his chest, which had mostly recovered. “I admit, Lady Luck has always been on my side.”

He slowly raised his head and looked at the constantly rotating pupil in the center of the card high in the sky.

"My dear host—"

"When will the lottery begin?"

His response was the sound of electricity from the card vibrating.

A deathly silence pervaded the ruins.

Suddenly, the card projection began to vibrate violently, and a cold, data-driven sound abruptly tore through the night sky:

[System Prompt]

[Overall progress statistics complete. Current survivors: 43.]

[The Endgame: Scorched Earth Fortress is about to launch.]

The next moment, that extremely familiar smiling face slowly appeared on the screen.

Madman Thirteen's face was pieced together from countless gears, his eyes rotating with a time curve that constantly expanded and contracted.

His lips curled up in a wide smile, like the dirge playing on an old record.

"Ah... all of you precious data samples are still alive."

"very nice."

He lowered his head, as if turning over a script that didn't exist at all.

Today's performance: "Scorched Earth Fortress: The Final Defense Line".

"The name might be a bit old-fashioned, but the content—"

He smiled and flicked his finger. "That's awesome."

High in the sky, new rules are projected.

The characters, glowing red like burning metal, resembled pulsating high-temperature circuits, gleaming brightly on the ruins.

Rule 1: Implementation Mechanism

This challenge is divided into three phases. You will enter the "Von Blanc-controlled" military testing ground, with each phase corresponding to a layer of the "heart of war" protective core.

Outer ring: Minefield and automatic turret network
Middle Circle: Energy Corridor and Heavy Armor Defense
Inner Circle: The core area of ​​the furnace, guarded by Von Blanc himself.

Rule Two: Three-Pronged Advance

Each round, players must choose an advance path (A/B/C) and send 2-4 people to carry out an assault mission.

Von Blanc will deploy Secret Logic forces on two of the lines.

If the lightest deployment area is selected, the advance will succeed; if the heavily armed area is selected, forced fire suppression will result in injury or failure.

Rule 3: Enemy Dynamic Feedback

Every two rounds of advance, the enemy's position will undergo a [repositioning], and a "tactical jammer" will be dispatched to track the player's formation.

If a line is used continuously, it will trigger a "self-destruct trap chain", causing the entire team to be randomly banned (such as being unable to speak or use a certain type of secret).

Rule 4: Fault Tolerance Mechanism

If the four rounds of advancement fail to make progress, the "armory melting overheating mode" will be triggered, and Von Blanc will intervene by projecting his own will to forcibly initiate a clearing operation.

Rule 5: Failure Conditions

Three key players collapsed with serious injuries.

The campaign was halted, and the area clearing target was not achieved.
If the main furnace device is not destroyed within 10 rounds, the system will classify you as "test waste".

The information has been finalized.

The entire battlefield fell into a silence as if a countdown had begun.

And they, the remaining players.

Standing atop the ruins, we look up at the final stage that madman left for them.

The final chapter of fate's cycle officially begins at this moment.

Beneath the ruins, everyone remained silent for a moment.

The wind blew from the edge of the battlefield, sweeping over the broken steel wreckage and the still-warm scorched earth, bringing with it a wave of scorching ash and dust.

It slowly diffused in the air, like embers settling after a volcanic eruption, enveloping everyone's heartbeats and breaths.

Si Ming raised his head, his gaze slowly sweeping over the black-framed floating sign hanging high in the air—from the burning title, the hot, flowing rule paragraphs, all the way to the very bottom line.

The victor will receive a clue to my location.

His eyes darkened, and he said in a low voice, "So this is the final key."

“Madman…you’ve been preparing this for the ‘Creator Planetary Scourge Race’ all along.”

He wasn't playing a game.

He is screening.

It refines the life and soul of each participant.

He refined all his fears, struggles, beliefs, and reason into his ideal—the creation of the Star Calamity.

Si Ming slowly withdrew his gaze and looked at the group of companions behind him who were no longer "survivors" but gamblers who had truly stepped into the abyss of this script.

Vera nodded silently, her expression calm and composed:

"He is gathering all the conditions necessary for creation—will, limits, and transformative factors."

"He's waiting for us to unleash our power."

Natasha bit her lip, then suddenly raised her hand, drawing both pistols with a clang.

She grinned, her eyes filled with that familiar madness and arrogance:
“Then give him some—the kind of popularity he has to keep track of.”

Herman spoke in a low voice, his tone as calm and iron-like as ever: "The Blood Coffin Girl, we can book her once more today."

His gaze swept across the entire scene, as if he had already tacitly approved of the impending casualties.

Nobuna, on the other hand, drew her sword immediately.

The glint of the blade reflected in her eyes, and she uttered softly:
"Mijinin will not be a bystander."

Those figures, originally scattered among the ruins, now silently gathered together, like embers that could still coalesce even after they had burned out.

Si Ming nodded slightly, then suddenly looked up at the host card hanging high in the night sky.

A slight upturn at the corners of his lips revealed a familiar smile:

"Your Excellency, host?"

Where are our tickets?

Crazy Thirteen laughed, his laughter like the intermittent turning of an old machine, jarring yet carrying a strange pleasure.

The screen suddenly flickered.

boom--

Nine scorching gates appeared in the sky!
Each door is framed by a metal structure, with a rotating gear and a blazing core at its center, like the opening of a furnace.

Following that were nine different areas of the von Blanc arsenal, each burning with intense crimson and industrial flames, as if the gates of hell were open to humanity.

The ground then began to shake.

Click, click, click—

Gears deep within the earth rolled like a tidal wave, their deafening roars resonating beneath the surface, as if a colossal monster were awakening, its breath igniting the entire sky.

That was the rhythm of death.

That's the breath of weapons.

At that very moment, the military license plate numbers on everyone's wrists reappeared.

The white light traced out numbers inch by inch on their skin, familiar yet strange—representing their seating arrangement in this testing ground.

They are data.

It's also a gamble.

Si Ming stared at his number, his fingers unconsciously clenching. He knew that after this draw, in every subsequent round, someone would be injured—or even die.

But he also knew that Crazy Thirteen's "creation" had already entered its final stage.

They were the final variable that he personally adjusted.

And they will be the only possibility in this iron script that could derail the plot.

He slowly exhaled and looked at the nine high-hanging, blazing gates.

"Let's go."

His voice wasn't loud, but it resonated like a bell.

"Let's go big tonight."

He took the first step, his steps steady and firm.

Beneath their feet, the scorched earth was no longer cold, as if it had been ignited with a long-lost warmth by this command.

The others followed, each figure stepping into the scorching, molten metal gate.

They walked shoulder to shoulder into the fortress forged from steel, sulfur, laughter, and madness.

—Behind the ruins, a fortress built of flames and gears is slowly baring its fangs.

A barely audible sound of gears meshing filled the air.

That wasn't a mechanical sound.

That was the pendulum of doomsday, slowly tolling at the end of the world.

The door of destiny has been opened.

How much blood and flesh will it take to turn the final page of the script?

They were about to move on. Towards the place the madman called—

The final line of defense.

That's not a fortress.
That was the world's last furnace.

Burn it with your life and your reason.

Fate has placed the final chips on the gambling table.

This time, even the audience dared not place bets.

(End of this chapter)