Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 340 The Thirteenth Quiet Island

Some doors are not meant to be pushed open.
It's meant to be forgotten.
—Page 13 of "The Forbidden Book of Secret Language Structures"

North of Jinghai, at the edge of the foggy city, a dark strait stretches across the land like a crack, as if the gods forgot to mend it.

The royal class warship "Silent Voice" was anchored in a deep bay at the edge of the strait, its hull entirely black and its deck covered with silence spells.

Its anchor chain slowly sank, each echo of it hitting the bottom seeming to be swallowed by the seawater, sinking into a silent abyss.

The entire sea was completely still, not even a ripple stirred, as if this body of water itself refused to echo anything.

It neither welcomes nor tries to keep you.

The priest stood at the very front of the deck, escorted by a church guard on each side.

His wrists were bound by the Silence Lock, but his expression was calm, his gaze was unfocused, and his steps were unwavering, like a chapter waiting to end.

This is not an escort mission.

It's more like a sea vacation.

But those eyes, hidden in the shadows, were fixed intently ahead.

It's not about staring at the sea, nor is it about staring at the sky.

Instead, he stared at a spot where space had collapsed.

That's not the terrain.

Instead, it's a door.

—

"Prepare to depart."

At the captain's command, three secret guards stepped forward simultaneously, crossed their hands, and pressed the deck's incantation slots to activate the mechanism.

A [Gate Engraving Plate] composed of seven life-marking wheels appeared on the bow platform.

A thin, misty layer slowly tore open in its central region, as if reality had been cut open, revealing the crimson light and the lingering echoes of the incantation within.

Within the crack, something seemed to be breathing in reverse, waiting for visitors.

The knight in charge of escorting them spoke in a low voice, his tone like rust cracking bones:
"The following content is prohibited from being recorded, repeated, or observed."

"Close your eyes, close your mouth, close your mind."

Si Ming tilted his head slightly, a smile, as always, appearing on his lips, carrying an inappropriate sense of relaxation, even bordering on pleasure:

"so sorry."

"I have a natural love for eavesdropping."

"I didn't hear clearly... how could I steal it?"

—

The knight snorted coldly and did not respond further.

He knew he couldn't stop this person's morbid obsession with language.

next moment--

[The Words of the Door], open.

—

That wasn't a sound.

It can't even be called a language.

That was a misalignment of a period of time, a structural oscillation where existence was dissected.

Like a forbidden spell etched into the deepest part of the soul, being reversed and played back at this moment.

Si Ming stood at the door, trying to "listen," trying to use his mind to capture, piece together, and organize those frequencies.

But in that instant, it felt as if an invisible finger had smoothed out his brain, and something had been forcibly erased.

It was as if someone gently pressed down on his auditory cortex and then used the pen of fate to draw a deep black "You shouldn't know".

—

He remembers the rhythm of his breathing during each bet, and the thud of the dice hitting the ground.

He remembered the echo of the announcement before the train departed.

He remembers the half-second of shock that lingered in the air when each card was slapped onto the table.

but--

He listened to the whole conversation about the gate.

But it was as if it had never started.

It was like a dream, forgotten before I even fell asleep.

—

The edges of the space slowly opened up.

It's not that the door was pushed open, but rather that the structure of reality itself was "turned over."

Like a script for the world, a corner is quietly lifted, allowing the next page to unfold.

Si Ming's eyes narrowed, and he finally saw the only passage:

A pontoon bridge, only wide enough for one person to pass at a time, extends from the carved plate at the gate.

Like a snake's spine, composed of incantation patterns and fragments of divine consciousness, it traverses the void and points into the distance.

At the end of the pontoon bridge lies a solitary floating island.

It has no port or pier, and is surrounded by dense sealing runes and life rune perception shields, like a prison that has been forgotten and redefined by the whole world.

In the center of the island stands a tall, straight black tower.

It has no windows or doors, yet it seems to be accessible from everywhere.

That is--

The thirteenth island of silence.

Si Ming gently closed his eyes, as if speaking to a certain destiny:
"I have arrived."

"Walk."

The knight of judgment spoke in a cold, hard tone, and placed one hand on the shoulder of the judge.

Si Ming did not resist, but only staggered slightly before stepping onto the floating bridge leading to the void.

The pontoon bridge was extremely narrow, like a thin thread floating between reality and unreality.
Every step I took felt like stepping on shattered stars, the stars twinkling but without light.

Above, a sliver of morning light, like a thread breaking free from the pull of logic, twisted violently in mid-air, as if the entire space was unwilling to accept this "passage".

As we walked to the middle of the pontoon bridge, the wind began to get cold.

The guard suddenly stopped and took something out of his shoulder bag.

It was a little lamb, snow-white, still young, with slender hooves and damp wool, bleating softly, but the sound seemed to come from another world, lacking texture.

He picked up the lamb, his hand merciless, yet his smile was strangely gentle:

"Don't you always like to test the waters?"

He suspended the lamb outside the bridge, his laughter as cold as a question posed by a problem setter.

"Then why don't you take a look at the price outside the door first?"

—

Before the words were even finished, the lamb was gently tossed around.

It's like a script line that wasn't allowed to begin, falling weightlessly.

The next instant, the sheep's body fell into the void at the edge of the pontoon bridge.

There were no cries of anguish.

There was no blood.

There wasn't even a response when it landed.

It's as if it was "deleted" the instant it "existed".

Immediately afterwards, a grayish-purple storm surged forth at the point of impact.
Like a piece of logic torn from another dimension, it briefly stirred in the air before devouring everything.

Even its name no longer exists.

The God of Fate stood still, without moving or turning his head.

He uttered only a whisper, as if offering the sole commentary on a life that had never existed:

"...It doesn't even qualify as 'death'."

—

The knight chuckled, no longer feigning superiority in his tone:

"If you jump, no one will even be able to tell your story about your 'corpse'."

"That wind will swallow up the structure of your name."

"So that you no longer belong to any script."

Si Ming nodded slowly, his expression calm, as if he were listening to a young boy telling a myth on the street corner.

He moved on.

The moment I stepped onto the final stop of the floating bridge—Jingdao Island—I heard a very soft "click" behind me.

The pontoon bridge collapsed.

It's not a break, it's "disappearance".

He turned his head and looked back the way he had come.

The fog, the boat, the guards, the bells—all were folded back and concealed.

He murmured softly:
"...There is no exit."

Then a very faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips:

"very good."

"Then I'll turn the stage upside down."

—

As he took his final step and his foot touched the ground, the entire island of Jingdao seemed to be tugged by an invisible thread.

It's not that the terrain has changed, but rather that the "logic" of the entire space has been restructured.

The perception of the life runes was forcibly refreshed.

He lowered his head, trying to activate his senses of destiny, but received a clear but silent response.

—Elostia, Lord of Delusion: Its whispers are faint and indistinct.

Si Ming raised an eyebrow and muttered to himself:
Even he stopped saying anything.

He glanced around and smiled faintly:
"It seems this place is indeed—quite interesting."

—

There is no sky, no land, only an island here.

The Thirteenth Quiet Island floats in a gray-blue void layer, like a section of land suspended between time and memory.

The island's edge is secured by forty-six ancient rock anchors inscribed with the "law of dissipation."

The black iron chain sank deep into the unseen storm, as if dragging the very essence of a long-sunken spell.

In the center of the entire quiet island stands a black tower that pierces the sky.

That is the "Tower of Silent Words".

The tower resembles the claws of hell, its structure a mixture of seals and warnings from different eras, language systems, and deities, with its surface engraved with fragments of star language and religious incantations.

There are no doors, no windows.

The mere existence of the tower is the command.

Ninety percent of the island is now covered by prison structures.

A claustrophobic cell, a life-pattern hub, an underground transcribing node, a burning star sealing layer... Structurally, this place doesn't seem like a place to imprison criminals, but rather a place to preserve "inexplicable concepts".

Even the most core clergy of the church are only allowed to "submit a trial application," but can never "command the warden."

Because this island does not belong to the king.

Not God.

Instead, it's a "door".

Si Ming was escorted to the "Border Observation Corridor" at the entrance to Shizuishan Island.

That was the only open transitional zone on the island, a gray area used to "identify whether inmates are 'classifiable individuals'".

In front of him, a dozen prison guards stood in neat rows, wearing unnamed "blank cloaks" and figurative cover masks made of metal with no engravings on their faces.

They had no numbers, no names, and could not speak. They stood neatly arranged like a human barrier, so quiet that even breathing seemed to have been replaced by a spell.

Their life runes are standard high-level world-system three types of spell cards: [Silence], [Life Spell], and [Logical Closure].

Their sole purpose is to prevent any visitor from bringing their "language" into the tower.

—

The knight of judgment walked up to one of the prison guards, presented the life-marking order with both hands, his tone restrained yet carrying a subtle sense of apprehension.

"Jailer, ID number Z013-A001, crime level: undetermined."

The prison warden did not respond, but simply nodded, extending a hand clad in a glove with a life-mark seal to gently brush against the chains on the wrists of the Fate Master.

The life-pattern chain trembled slightly, and then pale golden data ripples appeared.

[Fate Pattern Registration Launched]

[Identification Level: Extremely High Risk - Conceptual Distraction Type]

[Advanced Regulatory Level: Star Rating S / Code: Undefined]

At that moment, a "thump" seemed to come from the depths of the island's core, like a bell, like a heartbeat, like a long-dormant being slowly turning over.

The sound landed, causing a slight tremor throughout the island, and a chain reaction gently spread through the network of life patterns.

—

Si Ming was led into a long corridor, which resembled a circular stone mountain. A giant lighthouse in the center was surrounded by dazzling lights that signaled patrols, while the outer ring of stone chambers, layer upon layer, served as their prison cells.

It is said that a "precursor" was once imprisoned here.

From the fourth to the eighth floor, all entrances are sealed off, and only the "key holder" can enter; their very existence is shrouded in mystery.

The God of Fate was not assigned to these areas.

He was escorted directly to the middle level—the primary observation area.

There are no other prisoners here.

He was escorted, imprisoned, and subjected to separate "monitoring and review."

—

After the six logic locks, the four layers of curse seals, and the two contemplative corridors.

Si Ming arrived at his destination.

It was an empty stone chamber, simple in structure, yet filled with intricate logic.

At the junction of the floor and walls, thousands upon thousands of palindromic incantations are inscribed, endlessly repeating.
It creates a visual "gaze paradox," as if you are looking at it while it is looking at you.

The chains were removed, but the life-binding marks remained.

A jailer announced in a low voice at the door:
"Prison uniforms have been prepared, but the number has not yet been assigned."

"Seven days after the initial positioning, the 'warden' will personally review and determine the classification."

He paused, then added seemingly unintentionally:
"However, you already have a name."

Si Ming tilted his head, his tone languid:
"Oh?"

The man's lips twitched, and he uttered a few words:
"Thirteen years later...the screenwriter who committed the crime."

—

As the door lock closed, the entire space emitted a low, muffled "humming" sound.

Si Ming was officially locked into this world with no way out.

He looked around; there were no mirrors, no paper, no books.

Only a faintly reflective metal sheet leans against the corner of the wall, as if it once belonged to a character from a vanished story.

He walked over, sat on the cold stone bed, leaned against the stone wall, and exhaled a long breath, as if exhaling the final curtain call of an entire past stage.

Then he laughed.

The smile was quiet and unassuming, carrying a kind of mischievous satisfaction.

"Ten years ago, I failed to hide my cheating skills properly and ended up in prison."

"Ten years later, a sacred flame sent me to the pile of divine discarded manuscripts."

He slowly raised his hand. Although his life runes were sealed and the Burning Star could not be activated, his fingertips still conjured four cards from his remaining senses—

The Magician, the Fool, the Hanged Man, the Judgment.

He unfolded them one by one, then slowly put them away.

With a flick of the left hand, the cards closed, and when unfolded again, only one remained:
【magician.】

His smile as he looked at the card was like a gentle raised eyebrow directed at a future reader.

whispered:
"The show is about to begin."

The "daytime" of the thirteenth quiet island is without light.

The ceiling was maintained by a constant low-light oscillation projected by high-level magic, like the dawn that could never be fully lit, cycling overhead.

The concept of day and night is deliberately erased, leaving only a continuous state of "temporal ambiguity".

For the prisoners, there are only two kinds of time here:
"It has not been forgotten."

"Or, it no longer exists."

—

The place where Si Ming resides is the Zeroth Floor - Elementary Observation Room - a gray area with an undetermined number.

Outwardly, he appeared to be a newly imprisoned man awaiting trial; his life mark was completely sealed, his number was blank, and his identity was not documented. But everyone knew:
What does this number "Z013-A001" mean?

That was the first "conceptual prisoner" since the Thirteenth Quiet Island adopted its new logical numbering system.

He was not detained for his actions, but rather defined as a prisoner because "his thoughts themselves are disruptive."

—

But Si Ming had no interest in this.

He doesn't care about the serial number or how others perceive him.

What he cares about is the sound.

And—the people on the other side of the wall.

—

Jingdao Prison is not completely closed off. In particular, the central control passage for the "interrogation-meal delivery area" is opened at fixed times each day in the special observation area on the zero floor.

At this time, some sounds from other cells will be briefly "released".

Si Ming sat on the cold stone bed, his wrists still bound by the chains of fate, but he turned his head, closed his eyes, and listened.

It wasn't out of curiosity.

Rather, it was because he wanted to know if language still existed in the world of "madmen".

—

From the cell on the right, a hoarse, repetitive whisper could be heard.

He was a former astrologer who was said to have been afflicted by a celestial disaster during a failed celestial summoning attempt, and whose brain resonated with the residual signals of his life runes for a long time.

Now, his life lines have begun to "write themselves," like a pen that no one is holding, yet it continues to move.

His voice came out intermittently, but it always repeated the same sentence:
"My life line... is behind you."

"You can't see it..."

"But it will... pop up while you're sleeping."

The sound was like needles pricking, carrying the cursed fluctuations that the life runes automatically reflected. Anyone who tried to get close could be passively triggered to experience auditory hallucinations and speech disorders.

—

The sounds from the cells on the left were even more muffled.

That was an old knight who had once been loyal to the church but was later "purged in failure".

His throat was filled with talisman lead, and with each word he spoke, black liquid would gush from the corner of his mouth, like drops of thick ink on his ceremonial robe.

He could not speak, and could only tap his fingers on the ground.

Siming initially thought he was sending a coded message, so he tried to decipher it using the whispering spell of life patterns.

But it turned out that——

He's playing a song.

The rhythm is slow, the melody is old, and almost no one remembers it anymore:
"In my dream, the fire was still burning..."

"But the church is empty."

That was a melody that had been banned by the church on the eve of the Old Age.

—

At the farthest point is a female prisoner who proclaims herself a "god".

Her voice was the clearest, yet the least genuine.

Every six hours, she would pray aloud, her tone unchanged, her rhythm constant, as if reciting an eternal vow:

"I was born for the door."

"The door sees me as its eye."

"As long as the door remains open, I will not rest."

She sat on the edge of the curse seal circle, but was never truly locked in the cage.

She had no prison number, no life lock, and not even a numbered file.

She was like a totem long forgotten, still sitting quietly as a gatekeeper, her gaze unwavering, not even blinking.

Her life lines were strange yet stable, as if they were "drawn" out, yet they always shimmered with an eerie light.

—

Si Ming listened, but the longer he listened, the more eerily quiet it became.

These are not human languages.

It's more like "the roar of the life runes themselves".

He suddenly missed the chattering of children in the night classroom on Pota Street.

The questions, the arguments, the laughter, the timidity, the boldness—the sound of turning pages…

Here—there is none.

—

Perhaps, this is the truest punishment for the Thirteenth Quiet Island:
"It's not pain."

"Instead, it makes you hear only madness, and you can no longer distinguish which words are human voices."

That night.

The cursed light was as faint as ashes, and the enclosed corridor was silent, as if the unit of time "daytime" had never existed here.

Time stands still on the thirteenth island of stillness.

The God of Fate remained seated on the stone bed.

His life runes were locked, his Star Burning System was frozen, and even the lowest level of mental incantation was stripped away.

The world consisted only of cold stone, low incantations, metallic echoes, and his own breath.

But at this very moment—

He suddenly heard the wind.

It's not the wind in reality.

Rather, it is the sound of the wind swaying in front of that "dream lamp" in the deepest part of my memory.

The wind didn't blow the hem of my clothes.

It only stirs the deepest parts of fate, the pages forgotten by the writer, yet not truly extinguished.

Before my eyes, a wisp of pale blue flame quietly appeared in the air, like a ray of light sneaking out of a dream.

Si Ming's eyes flickered, and he murmured softly:

"...Dream?"

He blinked, as if he couldn't believe that he could still establish a connection with the outside world within the logical layer of "Silent Island".

"You actually... were able to get in."

The flame did not respond, but hovered silently before him, flickering with extremely faint life runes—

It wasn't triggered by external forces, but rather by a lingering trace he secretly left on the edge of his memory.

He finally remembered.

That was the "undying flame of a dream lamp" he had secretly hidden in the seam of his robe at the end of his last lesson on Broken Tower Street. A flickering flame that never lit, yet never went out.

At that moment, taking advantage of his mental fluctuations, it ignited a ray of light just before his consciousness was about to fade away.

The next moment, the wind reversed and the light flickered.

The entire cell seemed to have a crack cut through the air. He saw what happened.

—

A wall.

A chain.

A figure sitting sideways with his back to him.

Slender, with slightly curly hair and a straight back, her back still resembled an unbroken bow despite her tired sitting posture.

Siming's throat tightened, and he whispered:

"...Allison?"

The figure neither turned around nor uttered a sound.

But in that instant, the metal chain clicked slightly, and the life runes resonated briefly in his perception—like a drop of water falling on a dusty lake, triggering an undeniable directional guidance.

Siming's heart skipped a beat, and his eyes sharpened in an instant:

"North side - three underground levels."

"The Dream Lantern signal cannot penetrate completely, but the connection point... has been confirmed."

He closed his eyes, exhaled, and a quiet yet genuine smile slowly appeared on his lips.

"Thank you, Dream."

The blue flame trembled slightly and began to slowly die out.

But before it disappeared, it cast a line of words on the ground beside him.

It's faint, like a line of poetry written in a dream.

"She said she still remembers your gambler's star."

—

The indoor temperature remained unchanged, and the runes continued to pulsate in the corner of the wall.

The life runes remain locked, cards cannot be activated, spells cannot be invoked, and language logic is still under full-domain monitoring.

But Si Ming slowly raised his hand and pulled out several cards that had been hidden in his sleeve.

They looked like old pieces of cloth sewn onto prison clothes, dyed a dark color, with a rough texture and no trace of magical power.

But as he pulled them out one by one with his fingertips, they slid smoothly in his palm.

Playing cards.

Each one seems to hold a story yet to be told.

He gazed at the stone chamber, which contained only "paradoxical palindromes," as if looking at a theater that was not yet fully built.

He spoke in a low voice, as if it were a monologue, or perhaps a dedication:

Thank you, everyone.

"Next-"

He collected the cards, flipped them in his palm, flicked his fingers, and the cards fell back down, leaving only one.

He opened his palm again, and the Magician's card lay squarely in his hand.

The God of Fate smiled as he looked at the card.

The gaze reflects a faith that scorns fate, a persistence that insists on beginning the new chapter even after everything has been locked away.

He uttered a sentence softly, like a declaration before the curtain rises in a theater:

"The show is about to begin."

Before the nightly "silence time" in the prison area, all prisoners must face the stone wall.

Kneel for ten minutes to prevent the life lines from remaining in the consciousness layer and subtly interfering with the structure of the Silent Island system.

This is an order.

It is also a ritual that completely deprives people of the "possibility of expression".

The God of Fate did as instructed.

He knows the rules and is familiar with control.

He understood "compliant silence" even better than the island's "logic judges."

After all, he doesn't intend for them to find out yet that he's already "putting pen to paper".

—

The incantation in the stone chamber continued its own cycle at a fixed frequency, like a poem that had been forcibly reversed and rewritten.
Each time, it attempts to tear apart the prisoner's mental structure, using semantic distortion to create auditory hallucinations and illusions.

But the God of Fate did not resist.

He simply closed his eyes, listening to the incantations circle back to the starting point over and over again, like a playwright savoring someone else's poor retelling of his story.

At this moment, in the deepest part of his consciousness, his true power—his "Second Mystery"—has not been extinguished.

That card was the true source of his destiny.

[Fate System: Supreme Mystery]

No.: No.0
Empty Fame: Lord of Destiny

Real name: The Thousand-Faced Weaver of Destiny

—

Medici's setup to block him was flawless.

Shizushima Thirteen's domain mechanism is sufficient to seal off [King of Illusion - Irostia] - his second mystery.

The card fell silent, as if sealed in the deep sea, no longer responding.

But the master of fate never works within a "permitted" script.

Because the essence of the highest mystery of fate is:
"The world you write about does not include me."

—

On the stone wall, an extremely faint halo of light quietly appeared.

It's not a trace of the Burning Star in the Life Mark.

Rather, it was the favor of fate.

A "gift" triggered by a mysterious term quietly appeared in the eyes of the Fate Master.

He got it.

Medici already knew who he had come in for.

She even mobilized the authority of the Shizushima prison department early on, but hesitated to take action—

It's not because of kindness.

Rather, it's because she hasn't figured out which "world structure" to use to completely erase the self of a "master of destiny."

Si Ming lowered his head slightly.

It is not submission.

Instead, they were listening.

He was listening to fate's reply, written in the most subtle of strokes.

Then, he gently pulled out three cards from the sleeve of his prison uniform.

These weren't cards in the true sense; their surfaces were worn and their texture was brittle—they were "cards" he had hidden away long ago.
He spread them out in his palm and looked at them one by one.

First image: [The Fool] - No name, no affiliation, stepping into the world for the first time.

Second picture: [The Hanged Man] - His life hangs in the balance, the perspective is upside down, and the smile has not yet faded.

The third card: [The Magician] - One finger points to the sky, the other to the ground, and at his feet are four tools: a sword, a cup, a scepter, and a gold coin.

He stared at the Magician card for a long time, as if waiting for the character to step out of the card.

Then he slowly folded the cards, tucked them back into his sleeve, and whispered:
"correct."

I've told you, I like you.

"Because you never write the ending."

—

The incantation still swirled on the walls, but at the very bottom of that paradoxical language, a new structure was quietly taking shape.

It cannot be recognized by any system.

Because it is not an action.

It had no movement, no breath, no spells.

It is—"fate written" itself.

A faint thread of destiny is silently piercing through the wall, crossing the rock layers, and extending into the depths of the three lower layers of the island.

Climbing towards—

That cell, numbered E404.

The person who slept before the "Mirror Image Spell" was erased.

No alarm was triggered.

The spell array was not activated.

Because this is neither an attack nor a jailbreak.

This is fate writing the next line of the prophecy.

That night, Si Ming slept very soundly.

Because in his dream, he had a rehearsal:
He dreamt that Allison was sitting opposite him, and neither of them spoke, but they exchanged a yellowed page of the script manuscript.

Two lines of text were written on the paper:
"This is the thirteenth quiet island."

"This is the center of the theater."

When he awoke, the life runes of the Lord of Fate were still slowly shimmering.

He chuckled softly:
“Meddes, you don’t know what ‘Supreme’ means.”

"It's ok."

"I will write it down for you to see."

They thought they had locked their fate in a stone chamber.

Until one day, they discovered that the key to the world was left inside that prison cell door.
—Opening Remarks to the Jingdao Manuscript

(End of this chapter)