Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 336 Sacred Flame Law
"When a single order can define who has the authority to ignite a fire..."
Fire is no longer light.

It's about permissions.

—From "Political Manuscripts of Chongqing: Confidential Letters," page 42

The Golden Prison Hall of the Misty City is the location of the Noble Council.

This is the most expensive and quietest theater in the entire empire.

Three tiers of arched steps unfold around the center, where seventy-two nobles with gold decorations sit in full regalia.

Each person wore a cloak with family crests, and each had a different ornament on their chest, but they all wore the same mysterious ring—

Those are exclusive passes symbolizing power and lineage; each one represents the price and privilege a family has been etched into the system of destiny.

There will be no banquet or coming-of-age ceremony today.

Today is Bill Day.

Medea Trean sat at the head of the seats on the east side, her chair slightly higher than the others, but she was not wearing a divine robe, only the formal attire of the royal military and political system.

The life rune interface beneath the silver-gray cloak was not concealed, and a pale yet sharp life rune light traced through the thumb, like an unsheathed scepter, cold and solemn, yet not to be ignored.

Behind her stood two holy messengers of the Holy Mother of Procreation—white robes, silver belts, their patterns unseen, yet like shadows.

Symbolizing this day, she is attending parliament in the name of the church, which is quite rare in the century-long history of political participation in the city.

She spoke, her voice clear and calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation, like the striking of a chime bell, each note sharp and resonant.
"My lords, masters of the noble people, beacons of the foggy city for a century."

“What I am saying today is not about power struggles, nor is it about doctrine.”

"This is the order of the life fire."

She raised her hand, and a wall of light appeared at her fingertips. The projection scroll slowly unfurled, revealing a list of bills in golden light:
The First Draft of the "Sacred Flame Sanctions Act"

The bill's title is brief yet carries a strong theocratic connotation.

Following this are the main points, organized into six outlines: three for punishment, one for restriction, and two for structural supervision. The content is as follows:
All commoner sorcerers who have not completed registration within the church system must complete the fate mark verification and card registration within seven days. Those who fail to do so will be included in the "potential source of fate field contamination" list.

All evening classes and horoscope study groups must obtain approval documents from the Department of Culture of the House of Nobles; any gatherings held without such approval are considered illegal.

Anyone who spreads statements such as "lifeline autonomy" or "lifeline belongs to me" will be considered to be "spreading treasonous beliefs" and will be subject to adjudication by the Tribunal.

A “Fate Field Purification Inspection Team” was established, jointly managed by representatives appointed by the Church and the Noble Council.

Noble families are authorized to establish "Destiny Mark Autonomous Councils" with the right to interfere with and discipline card usage within their territories.

Inside the council chamber, there was a soft murmur, as if someone was trying to confirm the truth of the words before them.

What followed was an almost oppressive silence.

But this is not a silence of doubt, nor a silence of anger—

Rather, it was a silence among the nobles, a tacit confirmation of each other's positions.

It was a gaze exchanged between those in power, a tacit understanding that only exists between those in positions of authority.

Several heads of hereditary families nodded first, then raised their hands in agreement.

Like dominoes falling, voices of agreement rang out one after another, overlapping to form a chorus of consensus on power:
"Seconded."

"Seconded."

"The nobility must not be tainted by the rampant spread of fate markings."

"If the capital has no order of destiny, the throne is nothing but an empty fire."

There is no genuine reverence for God in these voices.

The nobles did not support Medici because of their faith in the Virgin Mary; what they supported was that the proposal rekindled their old privileges—a reclaiming of order.

A ceremony that used the name of "life fire" to actually "lock in power."

The bill was passed in just fifteen minutes.

The scroll was imprinted, the light wall sealed, and the golden patterns lit up line by line from top to bottom, like a giant chain slowly closing.

The parliamentary recorder finished his work and announced:

"The House of Nobles passed the Sacred Flame Sanctions Act with 59 votes in favor, 7 neutral votes, and 6 abstentions."

The Golden Seal Act will then be sent to the Royal Council for a final ruling by the Princes.

This ruling will determine who owns the "Life Mark" above the Fog City.

In the last row of the audience seats in the noble council chamber, a figure was leaning back in the shadow of the deep red curtain, gently clapping his hands.

Arthur.

The applause was not loud, but it was extremely clear, like a silent comment falling in an empty theater.

He turned his head and whispered:
"What a pack of excellent dogs that can recognize scents and smells."

Victorian, leaning against his shoulder, chuckled softly, her eyes languid, her tone like a cat's tail brushing against a sharp blade:

"Dogs won't bite their own people."

"But you have to remember—after they bite someone else, they'll lick the soles of your shoes."

Arthur's gaze remained fixed on the bill that was slowly rolling up on the wall of light, as if he were looking at an unfinished script draft.

He whispered to himself:
"It's time to finish writing it."

Royal Cabinet Room & Princes' Seat Room.

Six thrones, arranged like star rings, stand facing each other around the central lifeline core, with no ministers behind and no gods in front.

This is the most secluded and authoritative space in the empire—the "Royal Chamber."

Here, no worldly authority is accepted, and no sacred intermediaries are involved. Only the royal bloodline itself and the life mark certification have the right to speak and vote.

At this moment, imperial power was no longer a symbol, but a projection of cast iron.

Today's meeting was convened on only one agenda item: the final ruling on the Torch Relief Act.

Henrian VII remained bedridden in the Quiet Palace, unconscious, with the Royal Council acting as regent.

All direct descendants of the royal family took their seats on time.

From left to right are:
Crown Prince Orion
Second Prince Edel
Eldest Princess Medici
Princess Liseria

The Fourth Prince Arthur

Princess Victoria

The hall was extremely quiet; not even the wind dared to make a sound.

Only the life lines hummed in the air, like six star charts probing each other, slowly intersecting, each line representing the trajectory of power behind a name.

As the proceedings officially began, the life runes rose from the stone ground, transforming into six beams of platinum light that encircled the area before the throne.
Like the lighthouse flame lit in an ancient ceremony, it illuminates the crossroads of destiny.

There is only one issue:
The Sacred Flame Sanctions Act, passed by the Council of Nobles, is now submitted to the Royal Chamber for review.

—

The first to get up was Medici.

She carried no manuscripts, nor did she wear her priestly robes; she was only dressed in a set of royal military and political formal attire.
His clothes were straight and crisp, and beneath the silver-patterned sleeves, the pale lines of his thumbs were exposed, almost blinding under the lights of the council chamber.

Without mentioning anything complicated, she simply placed a scroll of law already stamped with the nobleman's golden seal into the center of the wall of light.

Then, she spoke calmly, her tone like a steel blade cutting through glass, clear yet unmoving:
"My proposal is approved."

The entire hall was completely silent; the air seemed to freeze.

She gently raised her right palm, and the beam of life runes condensed in the center of her palm, the light like ice crystals flowing between her knuckles.

"The life line represents authority."

"If this fire is allowed to burn wildly, everything will turn to ashes."

"This case is not intended to suppress the people."

"But rather, it is for—saving the kingdom."

After speaking, she stood still, as if she had left her fate to the judgment of the natural order itself.

—

Next to stand up was Orion.

His gesture was more of an announcement than a response.

He didn't look at Medici, or anyone else; he simply scanned the empty hall, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt.

"If a dog were to learn to write, would you give it paper or a whip?"

He chuckled softly, a low laugh that carried a chilling coldness.

"They don't even understand what the life marks mean."

"Yet you dare to hold up your card and step into the entrance of the Foggy City?"

"Ridiculous—utterly ridiculous."

His right hand slowly drew his sword, the silver scabbard scraping against the throne platform with a deafening sound.

He plunged the sword upside down into the stone steps before him, his voice deep and resonant.
“I agree. In fact—I think it’s not ruthless enough.”

—

Across the hall, Liseria slowly rose to her feet.

She wore a dark blue royal robe, plain and unadorned, without a family crest or a crown, as if she were not there to participate in royal council meetings, but simply to enter a place where she had to speak out.

She held a notebook, a quill pen, and an unlit dream lamp in her hands.

She opened the notebook, the pages turning gently between her fingers, as if each page carried the first life line written by those children during a night class.

She didn't raise her voice, didn't shout, and didn't refute.

They talked about swords, but she only told one story.

"I teach children to write their destiny lines on Pota Street."

"The first one to learn it was a boy from Zhifang who had a disability in his left hand."

She spoke softly, as if afraid of disturbing something.

"His drawing was crooked, the lines were so messy they looked like they were about to fall apart. But he looked up at me and asked a question—"

She paused.

His gaze was calm, yet it fell upon each member of the royal family:
"'The fact that I can write this means... I'm not an animal?'"

The council chamber fell silent for a moment.

Even the pillar of light from the life runes seemed to tremble slightly, as if sensing some silence that should not be interrupted.

She gently closed her notebook and slowly scanned the entire room:
"He wasn't rebelling. He was just—asking himself if he deserved it."

"And the bill you are trying to pass is precisely to tell him: he is not worthy."

—

Medici's eyes remained fixed, her tone as cold as ever:

"Emotions cannot constitute order."

Liseria remained unyielding, her voice gentle yet sharp:

“But you won’t even give them the right to ask questions.”

"It's not that they want to overthrow the throne."

"You even want to seal off the window that allows them to glimpse the stars."

The moment her words fell, the light from the life runes suddenly trembled slightly.

That wasn't the sound of rebellion, but rather a slight crack in some old structure.

It wasn't broken, but it already made a sound.

The council chamber trembled slightly for the first time.

It wasn't the stone ground, nor the life lines, but the air of power—as if a crack had finally appeared in a subtle statement.

Victorian chuckled softly, leaning against the side of the throne, her golden hair falling loosely, a sarcastic tenderness playing on her lips, her tone like a needle laced with sugar:
"My sister is really starting to resemble that newspaper editor-in-chief more and more."

"Poetry, lamplight, destiny markings... You want our royal family to legislate and acknowledge the fantasies of the lower classes?"

Her voice wasn't loud, but it reached the ears of everyone in the hall precisely, as if she were reminding them, or perhaps questioning them.

Liseria looked back at her, her gaze gentle yet firm, her tone calm yet resolute:

"It's not a dream."

"It is their fire—not your ashes."

This sentence, like a needle piercing a royal robe, shattered the silence and legitimacy of the nobles who had always prided themselves on being "the embers of order."

—

Edel remained motionless, like a silent statue, standing aloof from all danger.

At this moment, he slightly raised his eyes and slowly nodded to Liseria.

She saw it.

She knew that this was the only silent "support" she had received that day in this royal chamber.

He wouldn't speak, nor would he stand beside her. He was a soldier, not an orator.

But—he heard it.

—

Arthur, who had been quietly twirling the ink brush in his hand, slowly tapped five times on the steps.

The sound was soft, yet exceptionally clear.

It was as if he waited for everyone to finish speaking before writing down his starting point.

He looked up, his gaze still gentle, a habitual smile on his lips, like the most disciplined reviewer in the royal court.

“I heard the voices of every single one of you.”

"Sister, you need to control the fire."

"Brother, you must cut off the root."

"Sister, you must make them remember the starlight."

His tone was gentle and refined, more like a comment than a participation:

"But none of you answered a single question."

"Where did this fire come from?"

As he spoke, he stood up, and the pillar of life runes behind him trembled slightly, as if the most fundamental structure of his body had been stirred by the invisible flowing force emanating from him.

His steps were slow, each one landing on the steps of destiny, each echo like an irreversible mark driven into the power structure.

He didn't look at anyone, he just kept walking until he reached the wall of light in the center.

That was a "consensus projection" when the throne was vacant.

At this moment, on that wall of light, only a bill already stamped and submitted by the House of Nobles was reflected—the "Sacred Flame Sanctions Act." Arthur finally stopped.

He gazed at the paper, his tone still calm, yet as precise as a surgeon's scalpel opening a skull:
"You want to use this piece of paper because you are afraid of fire."

He turned around, slowly looked at Medusa, then passed over Orion, and finally landed on Liseria.

“You are afraid that their fire will set the idols on fire.”

“You fear their fire will reach the throne.”

“You…” He looked at Liseria, his tone gentle, but his voice was like a blunt knife slicing through the air.

"They fear their fire will be extinguished."

He smiled, a very faint smile, like a breeze in a foggy city, fleeting and ephemeral:
"As for me, I'm afraid they—won't be able to get it burning."

—

Medici frowned slightly, her voice finally carrying a hint of obvious displeasure:

“Your Highness Arthur, if you have reservations, you should propose an amendment.”

"Instead of posing as a screenwriter, I'm giving this speech."

Arthur gave her a slight bow, his expression respectful but without any apology:
"Of course I can fix it."

As he spoke, he lightly raised his right hand, and a life-manifestation command appeared from his palm. A page of light slowly unfolded and floated above the council hall.
“I propose to add a ‘supplementary adjudication system’—the Fate Field Purification Inspection Team.”

The hall fell silent once more.

His tone was like reciting rules, with almost no emotional fluctuation, but the content was as sharp as an ice blade:

"This group has the authority to intervene on-site in areas with abnormal life patterns during emergencies."

"They have the right to access civilians' secret usage records, card binding information, and life rune behavior logs."

"When necessary, it has the authority to temporarily seal the cards."

Victoria clapped her hands lightly, a faint smile on her face, her eyes conveying a captivating emotion:

"Yes, it looks a lot like you."

"Replacing the power of adjudication with the power of preemption... is the only way to thoroughly handle the spark."

Orion frowned, his knuckles tightening slightly, but he did not utter a word of denial.

He simply commented coldly:
"You're saying—preemptive deprivation."

Arthur nodded, readily admitting:
"Exactly."

"We can't wait for them to start a fire before we put it out."

"Before they pick up their pens, let them think about whether the clergy already know about this life line they are writing down."

He paused, then looked up.

The sound faded slowly, like an ashes falling into the core of the throne:

"It's not about stopping it."

“It’s a reminder.”

“Remind them—who is watching.”

Liseria had never realized so clearly that Arthur was not trying to reconcile.

He was silently weaving fear into every single word.

It was not a knife, nor fire, but an invisible hand that reached into the life lines and inscribed a seal "before writing."

She stood up abruptly, the chair leg scraping against the stone floor with a loud thud, breaking the silence in the hall.

Her voice rose, like sparks flying onto the snow:
"You want to turn the right to your lifeline into a license that can be revoked at any time?"

"Is this the law? No, this is a warning."

Arthur remained gentle, a slight upturn at the corners of his lips, raising only an eyebrow as if his response were superfluous:

"You're wrong."

"This is not a warning."

"That's advice."

His tone was polite, but his words were sharp as blades concealed in their sheaths, sending a chill down one's spine.

—

Liseria strode toward the wall of light, her life runes rising with the movement of her palm, silver arcs swirling around her fingers like morning stars, sharp and intense.

“The life mark is not yours.”

“You are not maintaining order—you are destroying the act of ‘writing’ itself.”

"If you block their cards today, you can shut their mouths tomorrow."

She turned and looked at every member of the royal family in the chamber, her voice like the striking of a tower clock:
"I object."

"I oppose the entire bill."

"I object to you deciding, before deciding how the fire should burn, who deserves to breathe."

—

At this moment, Edel finally spoke.

His voice was not loud, but it was like a resounding echo from deep within the stone steps, deep and carrying a sharp judgment that came from someone who had come from the military.

"She's right."

His gaze swept over the crowd, finally settling on Arthur, his tone like that of a general assessing the situation:

"You are not revising the bill."

"You are guiding us to sharpen our swords."

He took a step forward, his life lines pulsating like the clanging of iron chains:
"But do you know who this sword is going to fall on?"

Arthur looked at him, his expression unchanged, his eyes calm as a mirror:
"And what about you, Edel?"

"Are you against it?"

Edel remained silent for a moment, as if weighing his options or perhaps mourning.

Finally, he answered softly:
"I abstain."

—

At that moment, the air pressure in the council chamber seemed to suddenly drop.

The vibration frequency of the life runes decreased for a moment, as if this hall, where decisions were written in stone and blood, was recording the "crack" of this moment.

—

Medici slowly rose to her feet, her silver hair swirling slightly in the pillar of light emanating from her life runes. Her expression was calm and composed, without any anger.

Her life lines unfolded in her palm, like a ball of holy flame rising, re-unfolding the entire bill and placing it in the center of the council wall.

“I accept the proposed revisions.”

"The Sacred Flame Sanctions Act will establish a subsidiary agency called the 'Life Field Purification Group'."

"The permissions include card registration, inspection, and banning."

She turned and looked at the six thrones, her gaze as cold as a mirror:

"You are unwilling to wait for fate to self-immolate—"

"Then let God choose fire first."

—

Victoria stood up with a light laugh, as if she had just found some enjoyment in a long, drawn-out script.

She straightened her clothes and walked briskly towards the star map:

"I agree."

Let them dream.

"We'll decide—which page the dream begins on."

—

The light in the council chamber gradually dimmed, not because the candles went out, but because the pillars of destiny were converging and rising, like a sacred yet chilling final judgment ceremony.

Before each member of the royal family, a star chart with life runes slowly unfolded, automatically connecting to their respective seals of authority.

This is the final stage of the royal family's internal meeting:
"The Ceremony of Judgment".

By signing with the insignia of destiny, the will of the royal family was formally embedded in the law, making it the highest-level decree of the empire.

—

The six men on the throne remained silent.

But the silence of fate has never been so loud.

—

First Throw: Crown Prince Orion.

Without uttering a single word, he simply stood up, drew his sword, and pointed the blade directly at the pillar of life-patterned light.

"Agree."

The lifeline descended smoothly, meandering like burning blood into the law, with the Orion rune imprinted upon it.

—

Second throw: Eldest Princess Medici.

She walked to the seal, her expression calm, the life runes on her hand unfurling like silver blades.

"The sacred flame is judgment."

"The lines on one's destiny are ordained by the gods."

She pressed the seal of authority, and the emblem of the Virgin Mary landed at the beginning of the bill, surrounded by silver flames, like the light of a proclamation.

—

Third throw: Princess Liseria.

When she stood up, her fingers trembled slightly, not out of fear, but because her will had taken shape.

Her gaze fell upon the still-extinguished wall of light, and she spoke softly yet clearly:

"I object."

The life runes appeared on her hand, but instead of falling to earth, they transformed into a silver arc in the air.

At the end of the silver arc, it transformed into an unlit dream lamp.

The dream lamps were not lit, but they could be seen throughout the hall:

She was the only one who wouldn't let the fire go out.

—

Fourth throw: The second son of the emperor, Edel.

He rose as if made of iron, his life lines bound like chains.

"I abstain."

"Because this war should not be started by documents."

"But I will take responsibility for its consequences."

He pressed a corner of the star chart, and the life pattern did not fall on the seal, but only lit up with a dark silver light pattern of "neutral annotation".

—

Fifth throw: Princess Victoria, the third princess.

Her gait was light and graceful, as if she were in a dream.

"I agree."

"I hope their dream lasts a little longer."

The lines on one's fate are like a mirror, reflecting the unlit shadow of a dream lamp as they fall, like a silent mockery.

—

The sixth shot: Arthur, the fourth prince.

The moment he stood up, the entire hall vibrated, and the sound rang out without wind.

Without him raising his hand, the lines on his life chart appeared on their own.

He gazed at the wall of authority, his expression calm and serene, yet his voice carried the certainty of writing the future into a notebook:

"I agree."

He paused, his smile as faint as a blade as he swept across the page:
"And I am willing to draft the 'Heretical Law' for this fire."

As he pressed the seal of authority, he embedded a draft of an appendix into the wall of authority.

Above, four words written by Arthur himself were engraved:
"The life mark returns to the king."

At that moment, everyone understood—

The history of destiny patterns has been rewritten.

Fate is no longer determined by anyone's actions.

Rather, it's about who gives you permission to light the fire.

The wall of light closed in, and the life lines formed a seal.

The bill has been passed.

Fully authorized arbitrator:
Royal ruling: Four votes in favor, one vote against, and one abstention.

Bill Status: Passed as an amendment, officially enshrined in the Kingdom's Central Code, becoming the "Sacred Flame Sanctions Law".

Beneath the wall of light, Liseria still stood, holding the unlit dream lamp.

No words were spoken.

But she just stared at the firelight—slowly, turned and left.

Behind her, the sound of life marks being imprinted echoed continuously, as if the future of the kingdom was reading a script without the consent of the people.

"Stars can burn, but fire can be extinguished."
But once the fate mark falls into the hands of another,

Fate is no longer one's own.

—From *The Prologue to Heresy: The Day of Judgment*

(End of this chapter)