Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 282 Star Bridge Ceremony
The world is not made up of life.

Instead, it is a door.

Some are responsible for being born, and some are responsible for leaving.

But some people—must stay.
Become the last page of that door.

The deepest part of the Z-217 gate ruins area.

The space here seems to have been forgotten by time; the corroded dome, like an overturned skeleton, lies horizontally in the air, vaguely outlining the arc-shaped structure of the former ritual hall.

The shattered stone pillars collapsed in disarray, lying haphazardly, broken like severed limbs, embedded in the dust.

The sound of the wind swirled among the crumbling walls, like some long-extinct incantation still whispering.

This place was one of the earliest instance nodes built in the City of Bones.

Failure, abandonment, and burial outside the main program.

However, this also meant that Crazy Thirteen was unable to completely eliminate it in time.

Now, it has become the last gamble for these fugitives—

Yes, that's their only way out.

“Regional stability.” Nobuna Mishinin raised the Mystery of Fate in her hand, a faint arcane pattern appearing between her brows. Her tone was brief but certain. “The ‘Words of Breaking the Wall’ have resonated. Spatial coordinates can be linked.”

“Okay.” Vera nodded, her eyes sharpening as she immediately turned to Natasha: “Initiate connection.”

Natasha was already in position. She took out a faintly glowing [Life Rune Communication Anchor Card], gently touched the card with her fingertips, and whispered an incantation. The entire space trembled slightly as a result.

A barely audible tearing sound rang out in the air.

Then, a beam of blue-gold light pierced vertically into the ground from the center of the card, like a sewing needle, pinning them back to their original coordinates from the edge of the world.

Natasha closed her eyes, her voice as low as a prayer:
"Ruoli...this is our last request."

A few breaths later, a ripple of light appeared on the card, and a fragmented stream of consciousness pierced through the dimension—

It wasn't language, but a compressed mental signal that resonated with broken echoes in all the nerves holding mysterious links:

"—The construction of the Starbridge requires—a three-dimensional coordinate anchor..."

"Fate pattern recognition, spatial stability, world recognition—"

"You have life-bound markings; trust in Nai can ensure stability—"

"But you still need a 'world-system anchor'..."

The scene was silent.

"World system?" Lin Wanqing frowned, repeating in a low voice, her tone full of hesitation.

"She means..." she slowly raised her head, "...that we need a—World Card?"

Natasha's gaze swept across the group, and the next sentence slipped out:

Who possesses the World System's Primal Mystery?

There was a pause in the air for half a second.

Then, a hand slowly rose.

The hand wore a black finger cot, and a thin soul bell was tied to the wrist. The deep sound of the bell rang slightly with the movement, like the wind of the soul realm passing through the gate of memory.

Zhuang Yege took a step forward.

“Me,” he said.

His voice, like a hammer that had already been thrown, drew a perfect arc in the air before falling into a sea of ​​silence.

"I am—the Soul Guide of Fengdu."

"The card I possess is a World-type High-Rank Mystic Card - The Crossing to the Underworld: Death Tide Realm."

As soon as he finished speaking, the entire space seemed to fall silent for a second, as if even the space itself was listening to the name of that card.

He slowly raised his hand and pulled a bronze card from his sleeve.

The card is painted in a somber, dark color, depicting an ancient stone bridge spanning a river of the underworld.

The dead tide surged beneath the bridge, while a soul guide dressed in a black coat adorned with bells stood at the bridgehead.

That person had no face—

But everyone could see that it was Zhuang Yege himself.

【No. 8129 "Ferryman to the Underworld: The Realm of the Dead Tide"】

World-type High-level Mystic - Binding Type
"'Dead Tide Realm' is not my weapon."

Zhuang Yege spoke, his voice deep and resonant like a bell, yet firm and resounding like a vow.

"It is a bridge."

"Between worlds, between doors."

"I—I came here to see people off."

The air seemed to freeze, the sound of the wind was cut off, and only his voice echoed in the space that was about to be torn apart.

Lynn frowned: "You make it sound so easy."

Vera spoke up, her tone calm: "She was referring to 'world-based anchoring.' It's not about opening a dungeon, nor is it about fighting a war."

"That means you—must become the body of that door."

"Stay still."

"Let the passage... be formed through your body."

Do you know what the cost of burning this card is?

Zhuang Yege smiled slightly.

The smile was very soft, as if it had seen through the soul on the other side.

"I know."

"I will burn—all the stars of reason."

"Maintain global positioning, maintain stable coordinates, keep that bridge... from collapsing."

"But I won't die."

He turned to look at Si Ming, his gaze passing through everyone else and landing on the ever-silent figure.

"Because I am not fighting."

"I am—the one who leaves the door open."

Everyone was silent for a moment.

Mu Sisi's eyes reddened, and she couldn't help but whisper, "Are you crazy...you are..."

“I am the soul guide,” Zhuang Yege interrupted her softly, her smile as gentle as smoke.

“In the past, this bridge was used to transport the dead across.”

"Sending a living person here today is not against the rules."

He slowly raised the card, his movements as steady as a ritual.

"--start up."

He uttered those two words in a low voice, like a divine judgment delivered by a falling hammer, or like a vow made by a worshipper to the gods before an ancient ancestral temple, a vow to guide the soul across the river.

He incorporated the cards into his destiny chart.

In an instant——

The entire Z-217 gate ruins area seemed to have been "restarted" by an invisible giant hand.

A deep, heart-pounding pulse suddenly erupted from the ground, like the sudden beating of a deep-sea heart, awakening the entire region from its very foundation.

The ground began to peel away.

It's not a collapse, but rather a forced "reconstruction" by an unnamed will—the original ruins, rock layers, and battlefield layout are being erased and rewritten little by little.

Gray, black, and white quickly covered everything.

Dust, rubble, array nodes, and observation devices all lost their original colors, swallowed up by the rules of the "Dead Tide Realm".

They no longer belong to the real world, but have become part of the underworld landscape.

This is Zhuang Yege's domain.

He slowly walked towards the heart of the ceremony, the "Bridge to the Underworld" that was materializing.

The soul bell had not yet rung, but its image had already appeared.

He stood still, his black clothes as dark as ink, his back like a monument, as if he were the only person left in the world, facing the bridge that was about to take shape.

His star chart ignited automatically without any human intervention.

The first star of reason—ignites.

Blazing light shot from his back to the top of his head, as if some dormant system had been awakened.

"Anchor point resonance has been established."

Shinna Mishinin's technique quickly synchronized with the mysterious movements, her voice short and sharp: "World coordinate stability rate increased."

The second star of reason—ignite.

The intense heat spread from fingertips to the soles of feet, and the bridge surface beneath them began to take shape.

"The energy pulse is stabilizing."

Lynn supported Xin Nai, who was still shaking, with one hand, and with the other hand he spread out the stabilizing rune: "The spatial interference has been cleared, and the dimensional layer has begun to refract."

The third star of reason—ignites.

Zhuang Yege looked up at the sky.

At that moment, there was no fear in his eyes, only a quiet and firm determination.

He muttered to himself, as if responding to someone, or perhaps comforting himself:
"I'll send you through this door—"

"Consider it a farewell for all those I've sent away... on their return journey."

He slowly knelt down and pressed his palms heavily onto the bridge surface.

Blood gushed from his palms and was absorbed by the bridge surface, like incense offered in worship.

"The fourth one..."

His voice trembled slightly, but his gaze remained firm, his eyes shining like an unquenchable lighthouse in the night.

"fifth……"

The sky began to move strangely.

A crack slowly tore open, like a layer of the sky's uterus being cut open, and a golden-white beam of light poured down from the gap, piercing straight into the core of the "Dead Tide Realm".

Darkness and light intersect on the same axis.

"sixth……"

The bridge surface was fully formed, revealing the complete bridge body, the Soul Bell, the Soul-Guiding Seal, and the Ferry-Sealing Talisman.

A "door" made of death but facing life slowly appears at the bridgehead.

Just then, Ruoli's consciousness flowed from the void, carrying a sense of traveling over a long distance:
"...Coordinates captured...Lifeline anchor point connected...7 minutes countdown..."

"seventh……"

Suddenly, everything went black before Zhuang Yege's eyes.

Blood pressure, heart rate, and mental capacity all fell to critical levels.

He was almost unconscious, but he kept his eyes wide open, just to take one more look at the "Gate of Return" that was gradually solidifying.

It was a door with the word "life" written on it.

And he, through "death," sustained its operation.

"eighth."

The last star of reason burned out in his star chart.

The entire "Dead Tide Realm" trembled and quickly stabilized, with all the floating structures sinking into the laws of reality as if frozen in time—transforming from a mysterious illusion into a part of the real world.

Zhuang Yege collapsed onto the bridge, her face pale and her breath weak.

But he was still smiling.

That smile was like a seal, completely sealing this "door to home" within this world.

"The bridge is still there."

The sky split open, and a beam of golden light descended from the breach, like a giant needle piercing through "this world" and "the other world," nailing the Bridge of Death Tide into the foundation of reality.

That is not light.

Yes—the way home.

Ruoli's voice echoed again, as clear as if it came from the end of the starry sea:
"Anchor point is stabilizing... Starbridge synchronization time is seven minutes."

"Please complete the jump before the countdown ends."

“Begin.” Natasha made the decision immediately, her voice without the slightest hesitation.

"Immediately begin route planning—non-combatants will be given priority!"

Her gaze was sharp as a blade, and she immediately swept it over the three of them: "Lin Wanqing, Mu Sisi, and Eileen, the first batch!"

The wind swirled on the bridge, like the whispers of ghosts, coiling around everyone's ankles, while wisps of grayish-white mist clung to them like silk.

They kept rubbing their skin, as if trying to confirm whether they belonged to the category of "living people".

Beneath the bridge, black fog churned endlessly.

That was not smoke and dust, but a death tide slowly swallowing—a bridge forcibly erected with Zhuang Yege as its anchor point was trembling between the world and the outside world, and every slight movement affected the critical points of countless rules.

Just before this critical state collapsed.

A soft laugh echoed slowly from the far end of the ruins.

The laughter had a metallic, enamel-like quality, as if someone were scraping the edge of a smiling mask, carrying a deliberately suppressed pleasure and provocation.

Wang Yichen has arrived.

He emerged from the black mist, his steps steady as if in a ritual, his eyes cold and clear, with the hunting party of Fate Seeds following closely behind him like a shadow.

They did not shout, they did not charge, and they did not declare war.

Their footsteps, however, seemed to announce a silent massacre.

A whole line of people, marching in unison, moving mechanically, like a pre-arranged "funeral procession" coming to bid farewell to the living.

Each destiny's prefix number was flashing silently, neatly and clearly, without a trace of confusion, as if performing a "renaming" ritual.

"This bridge—it's well-built."

Wang Yichen stood with his hands behind his back beside a tattered battle flag. Fragments of the flag trembled in the deadly wind at his feet. He raised his eyes slightly and smiled at Si Ming.

“I’ll just stand at the door and watch you all leave one by one.”

I won't interrupt.

"But I wonder—who will you leave behind to guard this door?"

His tone was unhurried, as if he were choosing the last piece in a game, rather than starting a deadly attack.

Si Ming slowly stepped forward, his eyes showing no surprise or anger, only a serene composure as if he had foreseen everything that was to come.

He didn't look at Wang Yichen.

He lowered his head first, his gaze falling on Zhuang Yege.

The man remained kneeling before the Yellow Springs Bridge, his ten stars of reason long since extinguished, like lighthouses being extinguished one by one in the wind.

His blood had long since soaked through his fingers, and even the tips of his hair had congealed into a grayish-white color.

But his body still held on—holding up the bridge that spans life and death.

Si Ming said softly:
"he."

"He's the one who held this door open."

Wang Yichen's lips curled slightly, as if he had grasped the meaning behind it: "So?"

Si Ming looked up at him.

At this moment, his gaze was no longer just that of a mysterious master of fate, but carried the "defining pressure" of a world-type expert, a scrutiny that belonged only to the narrator.

"I'll guard the gate."

He turned to face the Legion of Fates.

The wind blew again, tearing through the layers of mist on the bridge.

Beneath his feet, a gray-white chessboard quietly unfolded, its grid pattern like a shadow—the illusory corridor reappeared, the spatial boundary trembled, and the recognition system began to quiver slightly.

The door was not closed.

"But if you wish to cross over—you must first write your name down here."

"And I will cross it out, stroke by stroke."

His words, though not harsh, were like a carving knife, etching a thin crack into the logic chip of the entire Destiny Seed Array.

The hunting party approached slowly, their steps unhurried, the sound echoing on the cracked stone slabs like the reverberation of an unborn fetus pounding against its mother's umbilical cord.

Si Ming walked slowly to Zhuang Yege's side and gently squatted down.

The Bridge to the Underworld, constructed from world systems, now appears as a crack, tearing through reality and leading to a star bridge that has not yet collapsed—golden light ripples like the surface of a lake, with the outline of the "path home" shimmering within the ripples.

Zhuang Yege remained kneeling with his hands on the ground in front of the bridge.

His eyes could no longer be opened, and his consciousness had been extinguished like fireworks, yet a wisp of his remnant soul was still breathing slowly.

The ten extinguished stars of reason turned into stardust, slowly rotating around the trajectory of the passage, like the lamps of the dead in the hands of mourners, persisting in the darkness.

Si Ming leaned down and asked him in a low voice:
"Are you still listening?"

no respond.

But a barely perceptible breath escaped from the corner of Zhuang Yege's mouth.

He didn't speak, but answered Si Ming with his remaining physiological response—he was still there, he heard.

Si Ming reached out and gently took one of his hands.

The hand was dry yet burning hot, as if it were still burning with the last of its soul, using this broken body to support this door that could only be used once.

"I will help you—protect it."

he said softly.

Before the words were finished, the wind rose again, whipping up the dotted lines at the edge of the chessboard, scattering that vow into the impending battlefield.

This is not a time for guarding the bridge.

Yes—it is about upholding the meaning of the words "going home".

He lowered his head and held "The Corridor of Illusion" high in his hands.

At that moment, the outline of the world trembled once again.

The realm—the Court of Illusion—unfolds once more.

The gray mist poured down as if from the broken ceiling, tearing a crack in the boundary of the entire space, and layers of folded "possibilities" surged out from the will of the Fate Master like a tide.

A hundred illusory images, like the afterglow reflected from a mirror, quietly emerged.

They are the gods of fate.

It's not like I'm the God of Fate.

Some people stand at the bridgehead, gazing ahead, as still as stone statues;

Someone stood on the side of the bridge, holding cards in their hand, but never made a move;

Someone floated in mid-air, watching the entire chessboard, like a god watching the chess pieces;

Others stand in the enemy's shadow, indistinct and quiet, yet chilling.

These virtual images do not speak to each other, yet they are linked together in silence, like objects on the edge of "identity" and "narrative".

They are not an army.

They are—the reflected 'possibilities'.

It is the shadow of the god of fate, his fiction, his unwritten script, and a "fragment of existence" that even he himself cannot confirm.

His will is no longer just "himself".

It is a network of stories about 'him'.

Do you want to come over?

He looked at Wang Yichen, his voice as low as water seeping into a ravine, without a trace of anger, yet chillingly cold.

"Then you must first pass through—illusion."

"Passing through these, I'm not even sure if 'I' even exist."

"If you survive this—I will let you say a name."

His tone was calm, yet it was as if he were recounting a civilized trial.

Wang Yichen stood at the very front of the race to hunt down the Fate Seeds, his eyes slightly narrowed, and for the first time, he did not smile.

There was no mockery or smugness on his lips, only silent observation.

He finally realized—

This is not a battlefield.

Rather, it is the boundary.

The bridge in front of him does not connect enemies and friends.

Rather, it is—"dead tide" and "illusion".

The train carrying the numbered soldiers hesitated for a moment.

It's not because they're afraid.

It's not because they can't identify the target.

Ahead lies a dead tide.

Beneath the bridge lies a place of no return where consciousness has collapsed.

Behind the bridge lies illusion.

They can identify the "endpoint," but they cannot deconstruct the "ambiguity."

Death is the command to terminate.

Falsehood is when a command cannot be established.

At this moment, these two originally logically contradictory extremes are forcibly spliced ​​together by two people.

Zhuang Yege used death to support "the way to the end".

The God of Fate uses fiction to guard the "door to return".

They did not shout angrily.

There was no dazzling burst of energy.

There was no earth-shattering explosion of light and flame.

They simply used their bodies, their memories, and their spirits to hold back the collapsing world, inch by inch, this exit that belongs to humanity.

The entire space was enveloped in an indescribable silence.

Time seemed to stand still.

The wind stopped.

An indescribable, sweet and pungent smell rose from under the bridge, like a rotting fetus buried deep in bloody soil being lifted, and the air was filled with damp and scorching gray-white particles.

At the edge of the Dead Tide, the waves ripple like the breathing of the seabed.

Then, they arrived.

One after another, figures slowly stepped into this golden light from the end of the bridge, from the cracks in the void, and from the edge of the ruins.

not human.

It's not a monster either.

They are those "strange existences" wrapped in "familiar" memories.

They wore tattered combat suits, with metal components sewn onto their limbs that did not belong to them, and some still faintly showed remnants of their identity badges on their chests.

A worn-out guild badge represents a training ground that has long been burned down.

A broken military unit number belonged to a branch unit that was wiped out several years ago.

There was even a broken and silent plaque for a civilian medical volunteer.

There was no light in their eyes.

Their faces were expressionless, with occasional twitches of nerves beneath their skin, as if mimicking human emotions of the past, but ultimately returning to lifelessness. On their foreheads and chests were branded sets of deep red, blood-like numbers—

【Destiny Number N-41】

【Destiny Number Z-12】

【Destiny Number H-78】

[Destiny Number M-09]...

They are not resurrected.

It's not a ghost.

They are not old comrades-in-arms.

They are corpses whose identities have been stolen by stories, wearing the shell of memories, becoming the front line of this hunt.

They no longer have names.

But now, I stand before a bridge paved with the dead and guarded by storytellers—

But the door remained open.

Wang Yichen slowly walked out from the team of destiny seeds.

He wore a robe that resembled that of a tribunal, black with silver trim, sleeves hanging low, and his steps were steady, each step like the reading of an irrefutable verdict.

He did not draw his weapon.

There is no need to draw your weapon.

He simply stood there, hands behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the gate of home made of starlight.

Then he spoke.

His voice wasn't loud, but it was so clear that it seemed to penetrate the entire boundaries of the Dead Tide Realm, the Star Bridge, and the Court of Illusion, striking straight to the heart.

“You are afraid of them.”

"Because they were once like you."

"No mystery, no name, no backer, no star map."

"They just...want to survive."

The voice was neither fast nor slow, yet it felt like a blade slicing through the chest inch by inch.

"The results of it?"

"They were forced into the game and died in the trials."

“The bodies are not even allowed to be retrieved.”

"And you—stand at the door, with your stars of reason, your sense of superiority, escorting each other on their way home."

After saying that, he suddenly laughed.

His smile was indifferent, as if he no longer cared about anything.

"And they, they can't even truly die."

He turned his head and his gaze fell on Si Ming.

There was no anger in his eyes, only a suffocating, desperate calm.

So you're asking me—why are they pursuing you?

"Not because you are the enemy."

"It's because you are the one who survived."

He tilted his head slightly, as if gazing at the crack at the end of the Star Bridge, a chilling smile curving his lips.

"You survivors—"

"To live is already a sin."

At this moment, he stood at the forefront of the army of destiny seeds, with dust-covered wreckage and scorched earth beneath his feet, and behind him surging blood mist and shadows of numbers.

He didn't move, but the entire space seemed to sink with his words.

At that moment, he didn't seem like an enemy.

More like a black priest, a priest carrying the memories of all the forgotten, speaking in a tone that was calm to the point of cruelty.
Uncover the blood and mud deliberately concealed behind this "game".

"Have you ever thought about this...?"

His tone suddenly lowered, as if he were whispering in everyone's ear:

"While you're holding the cards, activating skills, and deducing the rules—"

"Are there people in the same instance who only have the options of 'escape' or 'wait to die'?"

"The 'ordinary people' you talk about are just obstacles, sacrifices, backgrounds, and statistics in your minds—right?"

He takes a step.

That step was like an iron nail, driving those words deep into the nerves of every mystery master.

"You live not because you are stronger than us."

"You are alive because—we died first."

"You have highlights because—we laid out corpses."

Suddenly, the wind lifted the hem of his robe, making it flutter and revealing a deep wound on his chest.

It was a fatal wound that pierced the heart, like a piece of time's indelible scar that had not yet healed.

He didn't try to hide it.

Instead, she slowly pulled open her clothes, completely exposing them to everyone.

"This is the first piece of evidence that I died."

"Do you know what? I died so badly in the first round that I didn't even have a face left."

He reached out and pointed to the blood-red shadow hanging high above the tide of death.

Angela.

"But she—she took me back."

She said, "I died beautifully."

"Then, she dissected me into emotional modules, numbered logic, and foreshadowing of fate."

"Sew it up again."

"Let me open my eyes—the first thing I say to her is 'Mother'."

He looked away, scanning over everyone who was still breathing.

Those who are still standing between life and death, and have not yet fallen into the numbered category.

"You are alive, be glad I'm dead."

"But now I'm alive."

His voice suddenly rose, like the sound of tearing silk, shattering the silence of the entire battlefield:
"I just want you all to experience this flavor!"

He raised his arm high, pointing at the God of Fate, his voice almost a roar:
"Why do you guys have cards?!"

"Why are you called 'mystic masters'?!"

"Why can you guys quit, while we have to act out our deaths all over again?!"

His eyes were wild, blood vessels were spreading in the whites of his eyes, and his whole being seemed to be ignited by the will to venge him.

"You are not noble!"

"You're simply standing on a—cleaner stage!"

"I'm not here to destroy you!"

"I just want you to stop living so carefree!"

At that moment, the wind seemed to have been sucked away.

The creatures of destiny stood silently behind him, their eyes vacant, yet ignited by Wang Yichen's emotions, beginning to exhibit a terrifying "synchronization."

They didn't shout for killing, they didn't roar.

But their silence is more deadly than any declaration of war.

They don't need tactics.

All they need to do is watch—

Will these so-called "survivors" eventually bow their heads in submission?

Finally, the God of Fate spoke.

His voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet at that moment, it pierced through all the dust, all the emotions, and all the impending killing intent.

"you're right."

These four words resounded like thunder.

The entire audience was stunned.

In that instant, the wind seemed to stop, and even the air currents retreated.

The Fate Master... admitted it?

"I am alive because I left a little earlier."

"I am not a god, and I have never felt that I deserve to live more than anyone else."

"I'm just—not replaced by you yet."

He looked directly at Wang Yichen, his voice neither fast nor slow, as if recounting an old story, each word solid and firm as stone.

"But since someone needs to stay here to open this door."

"I stayed."

"It's not to atone for sins, nor to prove anything."

"Just because of—the people you mentioned."

"They deserve a funeral—without a number."

Si Ming stood before the bridge, his back straight.

He did not unfold the cards.

But at that moment, his figure was heavier than any barrier.

Heavier than a door, stronger than a bridge.

It wasn't because of the pressure—

It is a statement.

He stood there, no longer a pawn in Madman Thirteen's script.

He is a stone tablet that refuses to be numbered, standing before all those who "must be categorized".

His existence is a resounding "No" to the logic of destiny.

Wang Yichen was stunned, his eyebrows trembling slightly.

He hadn't expected that Si Ming's response wouldn't be a roar or a counterattack, but rather—such a calm, composed, yet incredibly powerful choice.

Just as the silence was about to envelop the entire room again, another voice rang out without warning.

"I'll stay too."

It's Nobuna.

She stepped out of the group with clean movements and firm steps.

She didn't look at Si Ming, but stared directly at the group of numbered individuals, just as she had faced the shadows and rules of her family countless times before.

Her voice, though devoid of any sobbing, conveyed a sense that her blood and tears had been burned away.

"My sister was killed by you."

"She is the hope of the Mishinin family, and my only pride."

“She died a gruesome death… but I have to get some compensation for her.”

She pulled out the card, her fingertips trembling slightly, but she didn't hesitate.

"I want her to rest in peace."

"And I'll shut you all up forever."

Followed by.

"I'm not leaving either."

Natasha walked out slowly, her signature thorny smile on her face.

"Are none of them leaving? Do they think it's embarrassing for me to run away?"

She deftly tossed aside her trench coat, revealing the rusted mechanical interlocking armor on her shoulder, its cold light reflecting off her already incomplete silhouette.

"This is the lousy life I have."

"You're all putting on a tragic act. If I don't stay, wouldn't I be letting this atmosphere down?"

She scoffed, but gripped her weapon tighter.

Next up is Hermann.

He shrugged, a nearly tasteless tobacco dangling from his lips, his tone as languid as ever:

"The Faceless One has not issued an evacuation order."

He exhaled a puff of smoke and smiled as if he were talking about an ordinary business deal.

"Besides, if you all die, I won't be able to collect your bodies."

He pointed at Wang Yichen, his eyes carrying three parts contempt and seven parts provocation:

"Why don't you try giving me my number?"

Then it was Lynn's turn.

She slowly stepped forward, her silhouette standing out against the golden light of the star bridge, her figure both aloof and clear.

His voice was hoarse, but his words were as firm as iron.

"If you stay, I'll stay too."

"The descendants of the Grey Tower should not just hide the light in their pockets."

"This time—I'll stand guard for Grandpa."

She did not turn back, nor did she hesitate.

And the last one to emerge was Celian.

She had no words.

He simply walked up to Si Ming's side.

Stand still.

He didn't look at anyone, didn't make any unnecessary movements, and didn't even unfold any cards.

She just stood there.

Si Ming didn't ask her why.

Because he knew she wouldn't give a reason.

She stood beside him, never because of orders, nor because of victory or defeat.

She—but never intended to leave his side.

Just like some people who never take an oath, but have already written their vows.

The bridge is still standing, and the gate remains open.

On the eve of the world's collapse, a group of people who could have left chose to stay, facing their fate, their numbers, their forgotten names, and the silence to come.

They stood as a barrier.

Not for victory.

Just to tell the army of the Fated Ones:

They are still alive.

And choose to live like this—standing up.

At that moment, Vera walked up to the Fate Master.

Her steps remained steady, but her gaze was no longer as sharp as a knife.

That was exhaustion, an exhaustion never before seen in her eyes, like realizing, after countless trials, that the real cost was only now beginning to be calculated.

"I don't want to leave."

Her voice was low and hoarse, almost inaudible.

"But I'm taking them back."

Si Ming looked at her and nodded gently.

"I know."

Vera reached out and grasped his hand.

Between their palms, there was no longer cold, lifeless metal, but the most fundamental trust between comrades.

She said in a low, solemn voice:
"I will take them out."

"And then—I'll come back."

Si Ming smiled slightly, his eyes like a lamp in the deep night, gentle yet unextinguished:
"Then I'll wait for you at the door."

—

The Starbridge is still burning, and the dead tide is still stabilizing.

And the "gatekeepers" have already assembled.

Vera stood before the Star Bridge, a golden-white passageway unfolding behind her like a celestial gate cracking open.
The light swirled and rolled, like a vortex, or like the opening of a womb, both gentle and resolute.

That is the "return journey" and also the "final journey".

Behind them were non-combatants who were already fully prepared and ready to go.

Mu Sisi clutched the picture book tightly, her knuckles turning white;
Fujimiya Sumire's hands trembled as she grasped Lin Wanqing, as if she were grasping at a straw that could lead to reality;
Eileen bit her lower lip, her whole body trembling slightly, appearing more vulnerable than in any battle.

Vera turned back to look at them, then turned back to look at those behind her—

Those who stayed.

They stood one by one at the back of the passageway.

Si Ming, Selene, Herman, Lynn, Natasha, Xin Nai… each of them stands between the tide of death and illusion.
Like a group of "footnotes" destined to be written into the final chapter, yet still striving to hold up the pages of the book.

This one glance may be our final farewell.

Mu Sisi suddenly burst into tears.

It wasn't a sob, it was an uncontrollable wail.

"You...you should leave too!"

"You're human beings too!"

Why aren't you leaving?!

Her voice was like a lake surface suppressed by flames, every drop of water boiling, every inch of air scorching.

The God of Fate smiled, but did not answer.

He just looked at her, as if she were someone who had finally been protected and made safe.

Lynn reached out and gently patted Mu Sisi's head, just like she used to comfort her younger siblings when she was a child.

"Just remember us, that's enough."

"We live not to escape death."

"We're staying so that you can leave."

Mu Sisi couldn't stop her tears, and she choked out a scream:

"But I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave behind only your paintings—"

Just then, Zhuang Yege's voice came from the Dead Tide Bridge, low and slow, like a tomb door locking:
"Then draw our backs."

"Paint our backs as we leave, standing like monuments."

At that moment, everyone fell silent.

Vera took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing her emotions and keeping her voice steady.

She whispered in Si Ming's ear one last time:
“If any of you die, I will come back and break your tombstones.”

Si Ming nodded slightly and responded with a smile:

"Then I won't die, I'll leave you a monument."

The two looked at each other, their smiles laced with barbs, like the sharpest vows.

The next moment, wind rushed into the core of the star bridge, the pillar of light trembled, twisted and began to rotate faster.

That was the door urging them on.

If we don't leave now, we'll never be able to leave again.

Vera turned around immediately, her voice like a long sword slicing through all hesitation:

"Everyone, proceed to the Star Bridge!"

"Transfer all personnel within one minute—Go!!!"

Mu Sisi was pulled into the portal of light in Lin Wanqing's embrace, her cries swallowed by the golden light;

Fujimiya Sumire was practically dragged along; Duan Xingzhou protected Rudolf as they retreated, gritting his teeth as he looked back:
"If any of you come back alive, it won't be worth it for me to scold you!"

Hermann whistled, his laughter sounding like a farewell, or perhaps a vow:
"You wait, we'll bring the body back with us."

The beam of light rapidly contracted, and a countdown began to sound as the space started to collapse.

At the very last second, Vera stopped in her tracks.

She turned her head again, looking at Siming standing at the forefront of the battlefield, her eyes burning with intensity:

"On the other side of the door is life."

"But if you choose to stay 'outside the door'—"

"Then you have to live 'death' like a poem."

Si Ming looked up at her and smiled gently.

"I'm good at endings."

The next second, the beam of light engulfed her.

Vera's figure disappeared through the gates of the living.

—And the battlefield finally began to collapse.

A sea of ​​blood surged forth.

The seeds of destiny surged onto the battlefield like a crimson tide, advancing layer by layer. Angela's figure rose high in the distance like a blood moon.

The umbilical cord fell to the ground like a tentacle, and her prayers, like the whispers of a god, echoed in the sky.

And on this border that is on the verge of collapse.

The seven people remained motionless.

They stood before the passageway, at the edge of the world.

Like a monument.

Like a lighthouse.

Like a name that hasn't been fully spoken yet.

You can escape the battlefield.

But you can't escape that moment that makes you want to stay.

Some people stand so that others don't have to kneel;

Some people stay behind so that others can go further.

The light was shining—

It's because someone is guarding the exit with their back to the light.

(End of this chapter)