Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 346 The Prince's Shield
Some princes were not born for the throne.

Rather, it was to ensure the throne was still worthy of its name.

—Quoted from "The Secret Scrolls of the Military Tower: Commentary on the Prince's Shield"

As winter fades and the sky clears, the bricks and tiles of the streets and alleys of the foggy city remain gray and dim, like a page of a script waiting to be rewritten.

At the entrance of the sixth alley of Pota Street, under the brick bridge that has collapsed and been barely repaired many times, there are still many simple stalls made of various wooden planks.

The most inconspicuous stall didn't even have a roof to shield it from the wind and frost; it was just a piece of old cloth, blackened by the passage of time, hanging down like a forgotten flag.

The stall owner, Hai Wend, sat there, his left sleeve hanging empty, revealing the shoulder hollow that had been brutally devoured by war.

During the Battle of Whale Tomb, he risked his life to save three comrades with his secrets, but was stripped of his military status and rank, becoming a cold, impersonal number outside the military.

Now, he displays several hand-drawn sketches of destiny and a tattered card album in front of his stall.

There are also three stone slabs that have been polished to a shine, covered with mysterious patterns that he personally revised.

"You're conducting illegal life-marking education," a passerby occasionally whispered a reminder.

Hai simply raised his head, his gaze calm yet neither humble nor arrogant, and replied, "This is called 'repair.' I am a soldier, and what I teach is patterns, not rebellion."

A dozen or so children surrounded him. The oldest was no more than fourteen years old, and the youngest was even wearing an old cotton-padded coat belonging to a military family member.
The old badge of Morning Star Free School can still be faintly seen on the hood.

In each of their eyes shone a light of longing, a fire that even the winds and dust of the foggy city could not extinguish.

But this brief peace was soon brutally shattered.

Three church officials, clad in fire-patterned robes, strode heavily and blocked the stall.

The leader held aloft the "Doctrine Inquisition" warrant, branded with the mark of the sacred fire, his voice like the clash of metal, piercing and cold:
"Hay Wend, according to Article 3 of the Sacred Flame Sanctions Act, anyone who teaches esoteric arts without authorization from the Church and the Council of Nobles shall be considered an instigator of heresy."

"You will be taken away to undergo the lock-mark ritual and be stripped of your mystique."

The children panicked; one girl even stood up without thinking.

She spread her arms to block Hai's path, her voice trembling as she cried out, "Don't take Uncle away! He's our teacher—"

A slap landed suddenly, and the girl fell to the ground, blood seeping from the corner of her lips and splattering on the ground like a bright red incantation of rebellion.

People gradually gathered in the streets and alleys to watch, but no one dared to actually take a step out.

Mothers of military dependents, retired veterans, housewives of tailors, and workers unloading goods at brick factories.
Their gazes were filled with anger and helplessness, because they clearly remembered that this was not the first time—and if no one changed, it would certainly not be the last.

Just as the inspector raised the mysterious lock token, about to activate the lock-marking incantation...

Suddenly, a series of neat and powerful footsteps rang out at the end of the street.

More than thirty people dressed in gray-blue military and police uniforms rapidly approached from a distance, their life emblems gleaming brightly on their chests.

The outlines of the stars, like burning marks, firmly surrounded the inspection team in the center.

At the front of the group, there was a person with steady steps and an iron-like posture.

He wore the insignia of the military guard regiment over his shoulders and announced in a calm but firm voice:

"Hay Wend, a survivor of the Battle of Whale Tomb and a remnant of the Sixth Army, has been included in His Highness Edel's list of pardoned soldiers."

"According to a special order from the military headquarters, what he did was an independent auxiliary study by the military personnel and was in compliance with regulations."

"If you insist on taking people with you, you must first submit a joint dispatch order between the Holy Mother Temple and the military."

The church inspectors' faces froze instantly; they hadn't expected the military to openly intervene and protect a soldier who had long been abandoned.

The crowd suddenly erupted in a long-suppressed cry: "He's a soldier who rescued people! He's not the monster you're making him out to be!"

Immediately afterwards, another voice shouted: "Soldiers are not heretics!"

Gradually, the sound ignited the silence of Broken Tower Street like a raging fire.

Some people began to shout, "Long live Prince Edel!" "We want the spirit of the army, not the sacred flame!"

The church watchdogs finally retreated.

Hai Wend comforted the child, his face streaked with tears and blood, yet a long-lost smile appeared on his face.

He watched the departing military and police contingent and murmured to himself:
"It turns out that the spirit of soldiers is still alive."

At this moment, the flames on Broken Tower Street finally had their own color.

In the central courtyard of the military tower, the wind was silent, like a whisper suppressed from the depths, and the stone pillars stood silently in the unaware snowlight.

Edel stood before the three-story-high Battle Wall of Destiny, his hands behind his back, his gaze slowly and firmly sweeping over the hundreds of military inscriptions crisscrossing the wall.

Those branding marks are silent oaths etched in the blood and lives of generals throughout history, and are like a deep tomb, burying the empire's loyalty and glory.

Behind him stood Alfred, Ivyna, and Lester, all dressed in neat military uniforms with silver swords at their waists, their expressions solemn.

They held in their hands scrolls recording the day's patrol, which documented the cries and resistance of the military families and civilians struggling to survive in the shadow of the church in the streets and alleys.

“You did the right thing.” Edel finally spoke, his voice like an anchor sinking into the abyss, steady and firm, yet carrying an undisguised weariness.

Alfred bowed slightly: "The Church's influence has gradually spread from Broken Tower Street, and next they will turn their attention to the Numbered District and the Retired Personnel Camp."

If we remain inactive, it may not be a simple expulsion, but a complete and bloody purge.

Edel sighed softly: "Military dependents are not lambs raised by the church, much less servants driven by nobles."

They are the continuation of our bloodline and our vows.

Lester clenched his fist, a hidden yet sharp fire burning in his eyes like stars: "Now, you are the only 'king' they can trust."

Upon hearing this, Edel turned around abruptly, his eyes brimming with endless complexity and pain: "I am not the king, I am a prince. My king is still here—he is still alive."

Avina, however, gazed at the wall depicting destiny, her voice like a low, echoing night:
"But if His Majesty were to awaken, he might only see flames and ashes—a throne whose foundation has been burned."

A silence fell, like an endless dark night.

Edel slowly walked to his desk, took out letter paper and sealing wax seal, and waved for someone to bring the military headquarters' "Sixth Army Administrative Order Book" and "No. 3 Letter Format".

He picked up his pen, his handwriting as cold and sharp as a knife's edge, and slowly wrote down the command:

Churches are prohibited from entering the veterans' family registration area in any form;

The life-mark cards are subject to independent approval by the military law department and must not be confiscated by clergy.

Any noble guards who interfere in the affairs of military dependents will be considered to have violated the Military Dependents' Freedom Act and will be dealt with severely.

After writing, he solemnly stamped the bottom of the letter with the military's distinctive star mark and handed it to Alfred and the others: "This is our bottom line."

His voice was as low as a hammer blow, carrying an unwavering determination.
"Let them know that not everyone will kneel before the throne—there are still those who guard it, not to beg for survival."

At that moment, the snowfall outside the window finally stopped. A faint but firm whisper drifted from the distant streets of the foggy city: "Your Highness Edel..."

Edel did not respond, but simply gazed at the powerful oath engraved on the wall of destiny:

"To keep our oath with our lives, and to protect the people with our hearts."

At the third parade ground of the military camp in northern Chongqing, the morning light had not yet fully illuminated the gray land, but hundreds of soldiers had already completed their daily drills.

Their steps were uneven, and their equipment varied greatly; some were former demobilized soldiers who had been reassigned and exiled, but were now being reinstated.
There were also veterans who were forced to be re-conscripted during the storm in the capital, and even those who had served the nobles in the Whale Tomb and remained in slumber.

They no longer shout slogans or play military songs; they are simply struggling to maintain the last shred of military order on a land where glory and rights have been stripped away.

But today seems different from usual.

"Form ranks!" With a loud command, a squad of military guards in gray-blue uniforms stepped into the training ground, their steps resolute and orderly.

At the head of the procession, Alfred, holding the military decree personally signed by Edel, stepped into the center of the square. He slowly unrolled the scroll and read it aloud in a loud and firm voice:
"From this day forward, all military dependents and children, as well as retired personnel holding life marks, are subject to the military's explicit protection within a five-kilometer radius of this camp."

"The military will protect your freedom, and will not allow the church to interfere or the nobles to meddle in politics."

The square fell into a brief but profound silence.

Then, a gray-haired veteran slowly walked out of the crowd.

He raised his hand, gave a long-absent and solemn military salute, and uttered the first, hoarse, and heavy shout:
"Long live Prince Edel!"

Then a second person, a third person, followed suit, raising their hands in succession, and their voices gradually merged into a unified and resounding resonance:

"We are willing to serve King Edel!"

At that moment, this not-so-loud voice seemed to ignite, like a spark, the long-suppressed vows and courage in everyone's hearts.

Some raised their arms and shouted, while others took off their military caps and whispered old oaths that had been lost for many years.

Ivina stood in a corner of the square, gazing at the scene before her, her eyes moist as the morning mist of frost.

At midnight, the military towers stood tall like sharp blades, piercing the clouds in the moonless night, with only the flickering candlelight beneath the vast sky.

Inside the tower, only Lester gently knocked on the heavy door of his office.

He pushed open the door, slowly stepped into the shadowy room, lowered his head slightly, a complex smile playing on his lips, his voice a whisper, carrying a mixture of unspoken respect and slight mockery:

"Your Highness... no, now, how should I address you?"

Edel did not turn around; the candlelight cast a long and solitary shadow of his back.

The sword in his hand gleamed with a faint, cold light, as if he were polishing it into an inescapable promise.

"Are you mocking me?" he said in a low voice, a hint of pain barely perceptible in his tone.

Leicester's smile vanished, replaced by a serious and composed expression.
"No. I just meant that we are almost without a king."

"Now all that's left is someone who still remembers what 'protecting the country' means."

Adel paused, then gently fastened the silver clasp on the scabbard. The sound was barely audible, yet it seemed to resonate within the lifeblood of every slumbering being in the Fog City.

"I never wanted to be a king."

“But if I do not stand up now, there will be no one else in the world who can convince them that the king’s oath has not been completely extinguished.”

These words, as light as a sigh yet as heavy as thunder, carry immense weight.

Like a resonance of destiny, it instantly spread to every abandoned and forgotten corner of the city.

At the top of the tower, the night was heavy and still, and the wind came from all directions, gently brushing the military cloak on Edel's shoulders.

He stood on the observation deck, his gaze like that of a deity beneath the stars, calmly and ruthlessly observing the foggy city before him.

The paper he clutched tightly in his hand contained the "Oath Codex" of the kingdom's generals throughout history, and countless names engraved with blood and loyalty trembled gently between his fingers.

The dim, yellowish lights of Broken Tower Street resembled candles about to burn out, while the Morning Star emblem on the wall of Mirror Street stubbornly and faintly flickered in the shadows.

Further away, the towering bell tower of the Basilica of Our Lady slowly and heavily propelled the empire toward its demise.

He knew that this city, this kingdom, was no longer the homeland where he had once held a long sword, galloped across battlefields, and fought for his father's glory when he was young.

And he was no longer the little boy who could only silently pray for the throne to be secure.

Edel slowly pulled out a blank sheet of military order paper, and with his characteristic steady handwriting, he carefully wrote his own decree, each word carefully traced across the paper:

[Military Command's Seventh Life Mark Independent Clause]

All military dependents' right to use the life mark shall immediately be transferred to the exclusive jurisdiction of the military headquarters;
The church and the council of nobles have no right to detain, burn, interrogate, or transfer any military personnel's life marks;

The authority to use, teach, and pass on the Life Mark and Life Card rests entirely with the Military Law Administration.

Anyone who disrupts the independence of the lifeline is considered a traitor to the military spirit and will be dealt with according to military law without exception.

After finishing the book, he slowly stamped his mark with sealing wax—the emblem belonging to the prince, now as heavy as a rock, more awe-inspiring than the seal of the throne.

The messenger traveled under the cover of night to every corner of the foggy city, delivering the "Life Mark Protection Method" to all military dependents' garrisons.

But Edel did not stop there. He turned back and softly called to the scribe, his expression as calm as the eternal starlight of the night:

“I have one more verbal command.”

The clerk hurriedly spread out the paper, the ink still wet in the candlelight.

Edel raised his head, gazing at the faint yet tenaciously burning lamps of the dream street in the distance, his voice low and firm:
"This order shall be recorded in the 'General Volume of Military Oaths - Appendix Chapter' and signed by me personally."

"This oath is not for the throne, nor for glory, but only to protect the people of the Fog City and the soldiers returning home."

"If the throne has fallen, I will offer my body as a shield."

Before dawn, Edel's commands and oaths, like a sharp star, pierced the long night and spread through the streets and alleys of the foggy city.

The throne has not yet fallen, but people have begun to look up to him—the prince who does not sit on the throne but stands with a sword in his hand has become the only belief in their hearts.

"The prince is not always second place."
Sometimes, he is number one.
The person who would shield a soldier from a sword.

— Chronicles of Fate Marks: Chapter of Edel

(End of this chapter)