Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 287 Hunter's Bell Gray Tower
She raised her gun, not to pray, but to count down;

She clutched the pocket watch, not as a memento, but simply to let time acknowledge her existence.

One aims at the finish line, the other records the starting point;
They don't rely on miracles, but on order and rhythm.

They are not the main characters.

But it preserved the page of "living" for the main characters.

Right.

The right flank of the Xingqiao defense zone is composed of the ruins of a collapsed theater, with broken walls and beams interspersed and stacked layer upon layer, naturally forming a series of crescent-shaped "curved defense lines".

It was a scorched earth zone naturally suited for ambushes and strangulation.

And now, the third echelon of the numbered army is gathering and advancing here.

They are not purely a life form configuration.

Rather, it is a hybrid construct derived from the "Residual Consciousness Command" under Wang Yichen's will.

These "hybrids" combine the residual abilities of the three systems:
Life-related terms: insect swarms crawling, fire propagation, damp fog erosion;

World-based pseudo-domains—elemental transformation, illusion concealment, structural disruption;

Fragments of the Cursed Artifacts of Fate: Cursed Blade, Splitting Step, Nightmare Fire Talisman.

Their logic is chaotic, their reactions are slow, and their tactics are almost brutal, but in terms of stacking data modules, the numerical values ​​are complete, stable, efficient, and have devastating driving force.

Like crawling insects, they moved forward in swarms, their forces organized into groups of fifty, advancing in three waves that intertwined, like a web of flesh and blood.

They have no will.

However, there is a numbered execution chain.

They do not "judge the enemy".

They are "executioners".

—

Lynn stood quietly on a high, broken pillar behind the collapsed wall, his figure obscured by the collapsed stone arch, but his gaze went beyond the fog wall to the swarm of life-seedlings rushing towards him like a flood.

Her fingers slowly traced the silver pocket watch on her chest.

The watch face is engraved with barely perceptible inscriptions:
[The Ninth Law of the Gray Tower: Don't ask about miracles, only ask about the conditions.]

She murmured softly, as if reminding herself, or perhaps making a vow:

"Silent fog".

The card "Silent Gray Mist" was drawn, and a silver-gray star map trembled in her palm. A breath-like gust of wind quietly spread from beneath her feet.

In an instant, a gray mist barrier formed within a fifteen-meter radius centered on her.

The light is distorted, the images are blurred, the sound is silenced, and the sensory system is completely "uprooted".

As the fog dissipated, Natasha did not turn her head, but simply reached out and gently touched the ancient silver pocket watch on the side of her neck.

"Click" sound.

The second hand begins to reverse.

A red ray of light silently disappeared into the groove on the back of the pocket watch, like blood flowing backward, locking in the countdown.

"Countdown - 120 seconds."

She calmly raised her right hand.

Hermina and Lucia, wielding their crimson twin pistols, slid into her palms.

She doesn't need to aim deliberately, nor does she need to calculate the firing trajectory.

Because she knew that in this battlefield swallowed by gray fog, someone had already planned out the timing of her attack.

"Lynn."

"It's written."

Lynn's tone was calm, yet clearer than a command.

—

The life seed was pressed into the gray mist.

Their scanning devices began to frequently display interference markers, target identification failed, tactical path reconstruction failed, environmental coordinates became invalid, and spatial labels became disordered.

Like blind beasts, they stumbled into the "Lost Trap" constructed by the logic of the Gray Tower itself.

Lynn placed his left hand on the summoning card, and gray wind surged from his fingertips, drawing out a silver-white ripple.

"Mist Valley Grey Wolf - Co-op Battle"

The star map shattered, and a giant gray wolf roared out of the mist, charging into the enemy ranks with a chilling, frost-like killing intent.

Bit, tear, flip, collapse.

It is the hound of the Gray Tower, and also a beast beneath the passage of time.

Natasha, however, had already reached the top of the broken tower.

His trench coat fluttered in the wind, his gaze was cold.

Her fingertip rested on the trigger, but she never pulled it.

Because at this moment, she is counting down.

The fog swirled, and the air resembled a page of a poem that had not yet been turned.

The wind was as still as paper.

Lynn gently adjusted another set of engravings on the pocket watch.

The star map inscriptions climbed out like streams of light, winding around the heart of the pocket watch.

She recited softly:
"The Gray Tower Fragment - Prologue, Chapter One—"

"Time is not a line, but a network."

A burst of light emanated from the center of the pocket watch, and a silver ring appeared, unfolded, and rotated three times, quietly "locking in spatial coordinates".

"Anchor point setting complete."

She slowly closed her pocket watch, her voice calm yet firm:
"Now—this minute, I'll write it right here."

This sentence sounds like a spoken recitation, or perhaps a eulogy.

Time and the gray fog together bring the entire battlefield to a close, turning it into a frozen chapter of poetry that can be "revisited".

[Mysterious Entry: Time Anchor Point - Successfully Set]

From this moment on—

Lynn has fully documented the state of this battlefield in "Before Anchoring".

include:

Number of life seeds, advancement method, attack rhythm, friendly health, sanity fluctuation, and spell release time.

—She can replay any content within 30 seconds of this state at a key point, creating a temporal pseudo-restoration.

It's not a retreat.

It is a "fateful repentance" written into the structure.

this moment.

She is no longer just a Grey Tower warlock.

Rather, they are witnesses of time, standing before the web of the world, wielding their pens.

at the same time.

Lynn slowly pulled out a second card from the star map sleeve at his waist.

The edges of the card are covered with dry, cracked dust, and the metal layer is peeling and mottled, but the center is still clearly visible:

The crimson warhorse emblem and the worn knight's crest gleamed faintly in the gray mist.

She whispered its name:

"Knight of Calamity".

As soon as the words were spoken, a thunderous crash of iron hooves echoed through the fog—

A giant shadow sped out from the depths of the gray fog, its hooves thundering like war bells.

It was a deep black warhorse covered in tattered iron armor, its rider bound by red silk, his eyes lifeless, wielding a broad-bladed heavy sword as long as a door and as thick as steel capable of cutting through ships.

He didn't speak, yet he exuded a chilling aura.

The next instant, the black iron giant blade descended from the mist, its blade trailing a blood-red cascade, slicing the first wave of life-stealers that charged into the battle line into four pieces!

Limbs flew everywhere, and sparks flew as numbers were displayed.

Lynn stood behind the broken wall, watching this scene with a calm gaze, but his voice was as clear and distinct as the inscription beneath the clock tower:

"You are just numbers."

"And I am memory."

The Calamity Knight let out a mournful cry, like a lament from the top of the Blood Tower, echoing throughout the entire battlefield.

He lacks reason, tactical skills, and is even incapable of accepting orders.

He killed instinctively.

But Lynn knew.

He will automatically attack things that "the Gray Tower does not allow to exist".

And this group of destined beings before us—

It is precisely this existence that is "defined as an error by Gray Tower".

—

On the other side of the gray fog.

Natasha's actions did not stop.

The pocket watch is flashing a countdown: [90 seconds]

She stood atop the broken wall, her figure like a statue, her trench coat fluttering, her eyes cold as frost.

She raised her gun, tapping two fingers on the inscription on the barrel, activating the secondary secret technique:
"The Mad Double-Gun Girl".

"Hermina".

"Lucia."

She called out softly, her fingertips tracing the gun barrel, two scarlet lines quietly appearing, flowing along the barrel and into the gun's core.

The Frenzied Core is activated.

The cooling module shattered and exploded.

The gun barrel was instantly covered with cold, crystalline veins, like the blood vessels of a glacier freezing his bones.

The gun no longer spews flames.

Instead, it was an extremely cold mist with deep blue frost flames.

She murmured softly, like a prayer before a hunt on the snowy plains in ancient times:
"calm."

"Stablize."

"The end."

In the fog, the first batch of life-seeds broke through the edge of the perception zone.

With chaotic steps, they crashed through the defenses like waves, only to step into the hunter's "target zone."

Natasha's eyes flickered, and her right hand steadily pulled the trigger.

Click.

The first bullet pierced the fog and accurately hit the right shoulder of Z-06.

Target Generation

He froze, and the identification system instantly locked onto the "shot wound information".

Before Natasha could get a response, she subtly adjusted the angle of the gun by five degrees with a slight flick of her wrist.

The second shot—

It went straight through the heart.

【Tracking and Penetration】

The life seed staggered back three steps, uttering a non-human sound from its throat. The next second, the identification flame went out.

He suddenly twisted in mid-air, shattering into several fragments, which were quickly frozen by frost energy and wrapped into a memory ice coffin without a number, heat source, or information.

Like an unrecognized chapter, forcibly sealed into the abyss of oblivion.

Natasha exhaled softly, her eyes remaining expressionless.

She simply uttered one sentence:
"First."

The countdown continues.

【87 seconds】

She made no unnecessary movements or exaggerated expressions.

Because she is not a god.

She was just a hunter.

A human being who, on the edge of snow and wind, pulls God from his high position into hell with each shot and each pull of the trigger.

The fog grew deeper.

But her battle has only just begun.

The Destinies have finally adapted to the interference of the gray fog.

Their scanning system began to remodel, identify and adapt to fog features, and instead of blindly rushing through, it built multiple low-order domain projections on the periphery.

Flames soared, cursed water swirled, phantoms intertwined, and wind blades weaved through the air.

These are not their original abilities.

Instead, it is the "assembly ability group" extracted from the mysterious core left by Wang Yichen.

Low quality, chaotic, and illogical, but extremely numerous, with ever-changing combinations, yet still possessing a suppressive force amidst the chaos.

The fog oscillated violently, and the disorder in identification once again approached the critical point.

Several flames pierced through the Calamity Knight's defenses, their blazing tongues burning inch by inch against the mist barrier.

Three Fate Seeds had already circled around from the flank and rear, their footsteps as silent as hunting dogs as they pounced, their target Lynn.

She remained expressionless, her fingers tracing the silver frame of the pocket watch.

His gaze was calm, his tone icy:
"Number X-23, F-11, B-37 - Slay them."

In the gray mist, the Calamity Knight suddenly turned, his warhorse neighing, flames rising from its hooves, and its giant blade sweeping across.

But—it was still half a second too slow.

A gust of wind had already pierced Lynn's shoulder.

Blood splattered in the mist, forming a bright red flower that pierced the cold tones.

Lynn's body trembled, and he staggered half a step, but his fingers did not tremble at all.

She did only one thing—

Press down on the pocket watch.

"Review – Execution".

"Click."

The pocket watch suddenly opened and closed, the silver gears reversed, and the hands went backward.

Time seemed to be pulled back, tracing back a small section of time along the "anchor point" she had set.

Within thirty seconds, all states return to their predetermined coordinates.

—The wind cone has not yet been used.

—The seed of destiny has not yet circled around.

—Her shoulder was not yet bleeding.

Lynn opened his eyes, his gaze as cold as a mirror:
"The Ninth Law of the Gray Tower".

"It's not a prediction."

"It's a copy."

"You're not fast."

"It's me—writing about you slowly."

This review, though exhausting her "cannot be rewritten after rewinding" authority, preserved the battlefield situation.

This is not a "correction", but a perfect "structural declaration" of time.

—

On the other side of the gray fog, Natasha's countdown was entering its final 45 seconds.

She didn't stop moving, her expression remained unchanged, but her eyes were as sharp as a hunting knife drawn from its sheath.

She had already identified the three most dangerous numbered units on the current battlefield; the data appeared faintly on her retinal screen.
Number E-99 – Right lung marker.

Number R-04 – Brainstem marker.

Number X-45 – Pericardial cavity marker.

She pressed the dual-gun core, and Hermina and Lucia simultaneously entered the "target + penetration" combination mode.

Silvery-blue crystalline frost spread across the surface of the gun barrel, like cracks in a glacier.

The bullet left the barrel, its trajectory clearly visible, drawing a series of zigzag lines of ice crystals before precisely piercing the target node.

She remained calm and composed, her voice low and hoarse, like a whisper before a trial.

"the second."

boom--

The frost exploded, and E-99's chest cavity froze.

"The third."

Frosty veins bloom, R-04 falls to the ground and becomes a sculpture.

"the fourth."

The pericardium was hit; X-45 broke like an icicle.

The three life seeds burned out their energy in the air, exploded with the frost, and fell to the ground as silent ice sculptures.

No number.

silent.

No awareness.

Lynn drew a card from the flank.

[Mist Valley Grey Wolves - Assistance and Support]

The two gray wolves ran along the "dead line" cleared by Natasha, forcibly blocking the remaining lifelines' path and dragging them into the biting zone.

Lynn stood behind the time anchor point, her expression unchanged.

"Fifth shot, ready."

Natasha raised her eyes slightly, and a sharp smile finally appeared on her lips.

Her fingertips rested on the top of the pocket watch, skillfully feeling the most familiar "click" sensation.

She knew the final episode was about to begin.

"Click."

The moment the countdown reached zero, the second hand of the pocket watch returned to its original position, aligning with the initial silver markings.

The entire battlefield suddenly froze for half a second.

It's not a domain freeze.

It wasn't a matter of ability to interrupt.

That was time itself, waiting for those five gunshots.

Natasha raised her head, her icy blue pupils seemingly buried deep beneath the polar seabed—calm, silent, yet deadly.

Her breathing was slow and steady, her fingertips touched the gun barrel, and the muzzle slowly rose in the breeze.

"First shot."

Target locked: No. T-03, mid-level command unit in the fire field simulation.

At this moment, he was raising his hand, attempting to unleash a second wave of flame domain fluctuations.

The scorching heat hadn't even been released yet, and the crimson light had just gathered at his fingertips—

Snapped.

A bullet, like a footnote to death, pierced precisely through his brow.

A burst of extremely cold light, interwoven with blue and white, erupted from the back of his head.

His domain collapsed instantly, the intense heat backfired on him, and the flames receded and rolled back, freezing him into an ice sculpture.

The next second, the temperature dropped to zero, the ice sculpture shattered into charcoal powder, and with a gust of wind, nothing was left.

—

"Second shot."

Target: Number C-11, wielder of the Wind God's Curse Blade, extremely high-speed displacement scout.

He sensed the sniper's trajectory and immediately activated Wind Release: Backflash, his footwork erratic and unpredictable.

Natasha remained motionless.

Her bullets were already embedded with the logic of the wind, bending along the trajectory of the cyclone, calculating the inner vortex line of the wind wall in advance.

A sliver of cold light in the wind.

The throat was cracked, and no breath could be heard.

The body of the creature numbered C-11 was tilted to one side, and its head slid off almost silently.

He died because of the speed he was best at.

—

"The third shot."

Target: H-92, a life-type summoning wizard with control over fire ant colony infestation.

He was about to issue a resonance command, but the summoning seal in his hand had not yet been cast.

Natasha calmly marked the junction of his thoracic nerves.

At the moment the gun went off, he even "saw" the bullet.

But the bullet had already entered his left eye.

It wasn't him who exploded.

It refers to all his summoned creatures.

The fire ant colony self-destructs the instant the command channel is cut off, exploding, burning, jumping around erratically, and ultimately incinerating its host.

He collapsed in terror amidst the flames, unable to complete even one command before he died.

—

And at the same time.

Lynn initiated a partial anchor point update.

The silver engraving wheel spread like ripples on water, and the edge life form, which had just attempted to circumvent it, was instantly frozen in place, with its action data delayed by 1.3 seconds.

Lynn watched this scene and slowly uttered:

"The Tenth Law of the Gray Tower".

"Rhythm is not divinely inspired, but man-made."

"She's not a sharpshooter."

"She is—the answer that time has given you."

At that moment, time became the tactical text.

And Natasha was the sharpest bookmark in that book.

—

"Fourth shot."

Natasha's gaze softened slightly.

Target locked: Z-21, possesses the "Confusion Illusion" simulation skill, primarily used for harassment rather than direct combat.

She didn't hesitate.

She didn't need the other person to speak.

All she needed to do was make him shut up forever.

One shot, calmly penetrating the left temporal lobe of the brain.

The illusionary realm was interrupted before it could be formed, the flow of thought shattered, and the mental fluctuations were like glass being thrown away.

The consciousness of the life seed was extracted before it could be deployed, and the outer troops were briefly trapped in the "illusion interruption claustrophobia".

Like a group of people whose dreams have been abruptly cut off, they fall into stillness, panic, and misjudgment.

—

"Fifth shot."

This time, she did not raise her gun immediately.

Instead, he slowly looked into the distance—

There, at the edge of the battlefield, a nearly forgotten figure stood on the edge of the ruins.

Number: V-00.

An incomplete number.

An early escaped life form, marked as "number lost" and classified as a "remains-intelligent composite".

He has no offensive capabilities, no breathing, and no chain of command.

But he stood there, like a forgotten but not deleted sentence.

Natasha slowly raised her gun.

She had no reason.

Just said one sentence:
"This bullet is a message to incomplete existence."

Gunshots.

The bullet struck him between the eyebrows, causing the identification number to jump wildly for a moment, and the recognition layer to collapse.

Number V-00 fell backward, its body shattering into countless semantically blank dust particles in the air, like a meaningless "draft".

The wind blows.

He was finally completely deleted.

Not a kill.

It's a "retraction".

Fifth shot, back in position.

The entire right-wing front collapsed.

Five shots.

Five cuts.

Not one was left out.

The names of the five mid- to high-ranking commanders were all "deleted" within a mere hundred seconds.

As the gunshots fell, the entire battlefield fell into a brief silence.

No roar.

No wailing.

Only the gray fog swirls slowly in the air, like torn page numbers in a document, losing its logical anchor in the void.

Those numbered beings that were killed had their bodies disintegrated into scattered characters, and their numbered data lost its binding.

They are like deleted sentences, instantly severing the last layer of reference to "existence".

They did not fall.

They are—stripped from the definition.

At the edge of the fog, Lynn stood quietly.

She gently closed the pocket watch; its silver case was dull and lifeless, like a sealed file with completed records.

She spoke in a low voice, calm and steady, like the final signature page of the Gray Tower experiment report:

"Anchor point reset to zero".

When she said those words, there was no sadness or joy, no tremor in her voice.

It's like completing a final step in a process that has long been written into the rules and procedures.

She looked up at Natasha atop the broken tower opposite her.

The latter slowly put away his dual pistols, a wisp of mist rising from the edge of the barrels, the last residual heat of the cooling module quietly evaporating, like dissipating killing intent.

The wind blew in through the cracks in the broken wall, making her white tactical cloak flutter.

Flames surged behind her, the shattered fragments of the life seed still burning, but her gaze remained unchanged—calm, composed, and imbued with a sense of "not yet finished."

Lynn said softly:
“I wrote down the time.”

"And you, you wrote down the conclusion."

Upon hearing this, Natasha turned her head to look at her, a very slight smile curving her lips.

Not sharp, nor mocking.

It was just a long-lost comrade-in-arms response.

"Sixth shot."

Lynn raised an eyebrow slightly:
"...You have one shot left?"

Natasha did not laugh, but simply replied:
"The sixth shot isn't for them."

"It's for my own sake."

These words, spoken very softly, sounded like the most intimate heartbeat.

Lynn paused for a moment, then did not press the matter.

Then, she nodded gently:

"I understand."

She opened the pocket watch again.

On the blank page, the cycle of time has returned to zero.

Her fingers gently traced the engraved lines, as if recalling an unfinished letter:
"grandfather……"

“There are still people writing in Gray Tower today.”

She didn't look up, and her voice was so low that only the wind could hear it.

Natasha had already turned away from the broken tower and headed towards a more distant front.

The flickering firelight illuminated her figure; her steps were neither hurried nor halting.

The two pistols were gently placed in her hands, like closing the pages of a hunter's notebook.

Her voice was as light and gentle as the opening of the next chapter, which had no title:

"Hunting mission complete."

"Next rhythm—continue."

They did not cheer.

There's no need for a celebration.

There are no winners, and no bystanders.

Because they are never the "main characters".

They are simply those who guard the path before the main character arrives.

And this road, now.

It still exists.

They still finished writing it while standing.

They don't tell stories.

They were just writing down the final beat.

They are not the main characters.

But they gave the protagonist the right to continue the story.

Some bullets are meant for the enemy.

Some bullets are meant to protect names that are not yet dead.

(End of this chapter)