Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 350 The Whispering Wind and the Illusory World: Beneath the Mask

"Illusions don't deceive you; they only show you the side you're willing to believe."

—Excerpt from *Theater Notes: Interlude - Between Truth and Falsehood*

The training ground is located in the ancient, massive stone theater on the hill behind the Barletta Manor.
This place was once the site of ritual duels held during the royal council of nobles, though it has fallen into disrepair over the years.
But now it stands again in the world, as if only to witness this "loyalty test" with hidden secrets.

The sky hung low like the ancient threads of fate, with layers of heavy, dark clouds pressing down, seemingly holding their breath and waiting for the storm to begin.

High on the viewing platform, Prince Orion sat in the center, wearing a deep purple cloak trimmed with gold thread. His gaze was like that of a winter eagle, cold and majestic.

Beside him, Viscount von Hett and two parliamentary representatives stood solemnly, each lost in their own thoughts.

Sol Balletta stood silently to the side, his expression tense and fiery, his eyes seemingly capable of burning everything on the field to ashes.

"Let's begin," Orion said in a deep voice, like the gentle tolling of an ancient bell.

The referee stood in the center of the arena, holding aloft a silver-white command flag. His voice, amplified through the sound transmission stone, resounded like the chime of a bell of destiny: "Martial arts test, begin!"

With heavy footsteps, Silver Claw Kvita entered first. This three-star Fate Mystic, known as "Fierce Fist Breaks Walls," was as tall and imposing as an iron tower.

He was clad in heavy black and gold armor, and every step he took left scorched cracks on the ground, as if wherever he walked, the ground was destined to be burned to ashes.

With a cold wave of his hand, Kvita shattered the dark red Mystic Card in his hand, which then descended from the void like a ball of flame, condensing into two ferocious gauntlets covered with black iron and silver flame patterns.

In an instant, a pale red flame of concept ignited around him, coiling and flicking like a living thing between his fists.

"【Destiny·Cursed Artifact·Flame Fist Contract】." Kvita's voice was like thunder, his muscles beneath his heavy armor taut like steel cables, and every leap of the flames carried the oppressive force of a burning will.

Ian stood on the sidelines, a slight smile playing on his lips, a hint of interest in his eyes: "The Flame of Concepts, a fire that burns not the body, but the will and soul? Interesting..."

Immediately afterwards, at the other end of the field, the female warrior Liana stepped lightly in.

Her silver-gray cloak billowed like a fox's tail, and a fox-patterned tattoo on her face shimmered with an eerie luster. She held a red and silver dagger in each hand.

As the mysterious card fell to the ground, a long and eerie fox cry echoed in the air:

"【Life, Summoning System, Spirit Fire Alliance】".

Suddenly, a phantom of a fire fox, nearly two meters tall, appeared behind him. It had a slender body and a tail flame that burned as brightly as dancing silk.

Liana and the Fiery Fox moved as one, weaving through each other like dancers or ghostly predators.

Ian nodded slightly, his eyes sharp: "Speed ​​synchronized with the summoning, swift but avoiding direct confrontation, is she planning to flank from the rear?"

"Iso Lee Barletta, enter the arena," the referee's voice rang out.

Ian slowly stepped into the center of the arena, his hands hanging at his sides. He carried no sword and did not conjure any secret techniques beforehand. The nobles on the viewing platform whispered among themselves:

"He didn't prepare any secrets beforehand? Was it arrogance or ignorance?"

Orion remained silent, only leaning forward slightly, his sharp eyes fixed on Ian's every move, a sense of unease creeping into his heart.

When Ian stopped, a mysterious card without an image appeared out of thin air in his palm.

The gray wind patterns on the card slowly rotate, as if containing an unknown theater of fate.

He softly uttered the summoning incantation: "[World System - Wind Whisper Illusion], manifest."

The card shattered like dust, and an invisible wave of wind suddenly spread out.

In an instant, a semi-transparent wind domain formed, enveloping him within it. The wind walls swirled gently, whispering like a dream.

The spectators were suddenly filled with a jumble of thoughts; some heard the soft chirping of birds in the woods, while others heard the distant sound of an organ.

Some even heard whispers that were hard to discern as real, as if countless worlds were simultaneously whispering secrets to them.

Fonte's expression changed drastically, and he exclaimed in a low voice, "This is a domain-type mystery?"

Orion's eyes narrowed suddenly, and his fingers clenched slightly.

He was well aware of the mysterious meaning of the domain type—it was not only a manifestation of power, but also a symbol of absolute control.

Ian closed his eyes, a faint smile appearing on his face, but his voice was like an undercurrent in an icy river, subtly carrying a sense of oppression:

"Welcome to the Whispering Fantasy World."

The next second, all the sounds were no longer pure.

The sound of the wind is no longer just the wind, but a whisper that probes the faintest hesitation and fear in the heart of the opponent.

The entire venue seemed to have become his domain and stage, and his opponents could only obey the rhythm of fate he wrote.

Kvita launched the first attack, his footsteps like thunderbolts, each step shattering the dust on the field.

As he swung his fists, flames, like the tongues of a dragon devouring everything, burst forth from his arms.

The air trembled, and the scorching trail of flames drew a ferocious arc, as if it could burn through even space itself.

However, Ian simply turned to the side, moving slightly to the right with a light and nonchalant air.

The wind had already whispered in his ear, informing him of the path of the punches and the direction of the power.

He had even calculated the precise trajectory of Kvita's next step in his mind, like a star map.

The fist-shaped flames descended from the sky, the scorching tongues of fire brushing against the robes, yet leaving not a single scorch mark.

Just then, Liana darted in like a shadow, while the Fire Fox Beast had already moved to Ian's left flank.

Two red and silver daggers reflected the flames of the fire fox's tail, their stabbing trajectories as exquisite as ancient military formations.

But the wind is still whispering.

It told Ian: "All her movements are guided by the rhythm of a fox's breathing; her heartbeat is half a beat ahead, a diagonal attack, aiming straight for the vitals."

Ian still didn't open his eyes, only slightly raising his fingertips:
"Wind barrier".

"Wind whispers in the illusory world, a barrier that deflects the currents."

In an instant, a vertical wind barrier rose out of thin air, like a wall of light and shadow woven from countless fine wind threads.
It completely distorted the visual structure of the field, instantly disrupting Liana's impact trajectory.

The Firefox crashed into it, as if it had entered an incomprehensible, distorted space.

His body instantly disintegrated, and Liana was forced to slide to the side, her two daggers whittling through the air, missing the chance to deliver a fatal blow.

On the viewing platform, Thor clenched his fists, his eyes blazing with a long-suppressed, fanatical light.

Orion's previously distant gaze finally underwent a subtle change, and his center of gravity unconsciously shifted forward an inch.

On the field, Kvita roared like thunder: "Dodging won't solve the problem!"

The next moment, he slammed his fist into the ground, and the mysterious power exploded with a loud bang.

The flames of concept surged along the veins of the arena, like a giant fiery python roaming freely, instantly sweeping across the entire edge of the martial arts training area.

The air distorted, the ground was instantly scorched black, and even Ian's wind barrier was scorched and trembled violently, rippling with unreal, dreamlike waves.

Ian's lips curled slightly, his voice carrying a hint of mockery:
"The flames are so powerful, they even dare to burn my winds? Then, in response—"

He slowly raised his hand and recited the incantation:
"The whispers of the wind appeal to the enemy's heart."

The wind in the area suddenly changed, no longer expanding evenly, but like a soft yet deadly current, swirling tightly around Kvita.

As time passed, Kvita's movements gradually slowed, and his expression became increasingly uncertain and doubtful.

The whispers of the wind seeped into the depths of his consciousness, like the mockery and questioning of fate itself:

"Your fire is about to go out."

"The traitor is right behind us."

“Liana is not your ally; she is targeting you.”

"Don't move, don't trust her."

Kvita whirled around, his right fist, crackling with flames, nearly slamming into Liana behind him.

"—Kvita!" Liana exclaimed, struggling to dodge, her eyes filled with shock and confusion.

She instantly understood: he was being consumed by mental illusions.

On the viewing platform, von Het's expression changed drastically, his tone revealing undisguised shock:
"What level of psychological interference is this? It's no longer an ordinary illusion, but a continuous, low-frequency erosion that directly interferes with the target's language and cognition?"

Orion narrowed his eyes, his gaze sharp as a cold star in the night, and said in a low voice, "He can even 'set' the meaning expressed by the illusion?"
This is no ordinary sorcerer; this is—playwright-level manipulation.

The rhythm on the field was completely out of control. Kvita became increasingly stiff, his gaze was dazed and unfocused, and although the flames in his fists had not been extinguished, they had completely lost their direction.

His attacks were completely haphazard, futilely scorching the air and nothingness, as if his fate was completely dominated by a script woven by the wind.

Ian stood quietly in the center of the wind, its whispers swirling around his fingertips, like invisible threads in the hand of fate.

It is easily manipulating the characters' every breath and heartbeat.

Beneath his feet, the ancient stone slab that had once been a dueling arena for nobles seemed to tremble slightly, welcoming this writer who truly controlled the realm of mystery.

Liana launched another offensive, but quickly realized that...

Whenever she was about to jump or launch a surprise attack, Ian would always be able to predict the future and construct a vortex of wind in advance, making every step she took feel like stepping on an invisible trap.

Her originally precise, clockwork-like steps gradually turned into a disorienting, struggling dance. The Fire Fox growled uneasily; as a mysterious summoned beast, it felt a natural rejection from the laws of the world within this "Wind Whisper Illusion Realm."

Its outline began to blur frequently, its limbs seemed to be cut by the wind, and even ghostly double images appeared.

On the viewing platform, the councilors began to whisper, one of them saying in a trembling voice, "Is this... complete domination of the World-type realm?"

Ian slowly approached Kvita, each step he took seeming to tread on some invisible string of fate, stirring up invisible ripples.

"Your flame shouldn't just be a flame of concepts," he said, his voice gentle yet chilling.
"True flames originate from the will, not the body."

He then raised his hand, and the wind instantly enveloped Kvita in a reverse tornado-like formation.
The once intimidating flames were stripped of their visual significance in the blink of an eye, leaving only a pair of empty fists waving aimlessly.

Ian calmly added, "What truly extinguished your flame was never me, but your fear."

The next moment, Kvita collapsed to the ground as if his bones had been removed, the flames went out completely, and he remained silent.

This scene silenced the entire training ground. Time seemed to stand still, and Thor on the viewing platform stared wide-eyed, his chest heaving.

Liana, however, felt humiliated and turned into anger.

She was the sharpest blade among Orion's guards, yet now she had become the dramatic backdrop for a strange young man.

"Spirit Fire - Consecutive Slashes of Fate"

She bit her finger, the blood dripping into the scabbard. The two short daggers crossed, and the Fire Fox roared, unleashing multiple fiery shadows that wove a complex and deadly misaligned battle formation.

Liana's figure merged into it, transforming into a deadly wind that silently pounced on Ian.

From the spectator stands, Thor exclaimed, "He can't hold on!"

Fonte shook his head, his gaze serious and somber: "No, he saw through everything long ago."

Ian opened his eyes in the middle of the field, his deep blue pupils as lonely and vast as the starry sky.

"The Second Rule of the Wind Whisper Illusion Realm - The Wandering Wind".

The surrounding winds no longer passively defended themselves, but instead began to move actively and precisely, as if the hand of fate was gently touching every nerve of Liana.

Just as she leaped up, she felt a gentle breeze caress her back, wrists, and knees—a breeze that seemed to whisper of her deepest, most hidden fears.

In an instant, she saw another phantom wind fox, which was exactly the same as her fire fox.
He stared at her blankly, as if questioning why she had turned him into a killing machine.

Her heart skipped a beat, and she lost her balance the moment she landed, stepping right into the displaced wind barrier that Ian had already set up.

The wind wall rose around her in an incredible checkerboard structure, folding space and capturing all her escape routes.

Liana couldn't tell whether the fire fox ahead was real or an endless illusion of wind and goggles. Her blade suddenly pierced out, but only cut through the wind and the void.

Ian had appeared behind her unnoticed, his voice low and deep, a soft sigh like a dream:

"Defining yourself as an assassin is far too simplistic. You should be an elegant dancer."

She turned around with all her might, and thrust out her short dagger again with lightning speed, but the tip of the blade silently slid into a clear mirror, piercing through the void.

She only hit an illusion.

The real Ian, however, had already silently raised his hand and precisely touched a nerve node on her shoulder and neck, his voice as soft as the wind:

"Go to sleep, and find the person you truly want to be in your dreams."

The wind whispered in her ear, turning into a gentle murmur, and the world before Liana's eyes suddenly changed.

She saw the scene of playing with the fire fox as a child, and the dagger slipped limply from her hand.

The Fiery Fox gently licked her palm; her eyes no longer held any murderous intent, only boundless tranquility.

She slowly collapsed, and the storm subsided.

The training ground fell silent once again.

Kvita lay sprawled on the scorched earth, while Liana nestled quietly in the embrace of the Dream Fox.

The referee raised his arm high, his voice resounding like the long tolling of an ancient bell:

"Martial arts test over—Isoli Barletta wins."

The stands were deathly silent; there were no cheers, no applause, only a profound and bewildered silence.

Ian slowly withdrew his mysterious aura, and the Whispering Illusionary Realm quietly dissipated, as if the entire drama had never happened.

But all the spectators knew that what had just happened was not a simple battle, but a theater of fate.

Viscount von Het whispered, "He controls not only the wind, but also the battlefield, the rhythm, and the hearts of men."

Orion narrowed his eyes, his gaze deep and sharp as he stared at Ian's departing figure, muttering to himself:

"What he wields is the power of the wind, which we have never truly mastered."

After the martial arts demonstration, Prince Orion did not leave immediately.

With a gentle wave of his hand, Viscount von Hett silently understood and left.

They led Iso Li Barletta, who was still standing in the center of the venue, into the main hall, which symbolized the power struggle.

The hall was dimly lit, and the bronze candlesticks burned with a ceremonial orange-yellow glow, reflecting off the gold emblem, as if countless eyes were silently watching this secret power struggle in the darkness.

Ian walked slowly into the hall, bowing with a humble and elegant demeanor.

Although his robes bore some creases from the recent battle, his demeanor remained as calm as the deep sea, showing no signs of fatigue or dishevelment.

Orion sat on the couch, a deep amber liquid swirling in his wine glass.
His gaze was cold, yet it subtly revealed an undeniable admiration.

“You are far more powerful than I imagined,” the prince said in a low, slow voice.
As if examining a delicate yet dangerous work of art, "Kvita and Riana are not easy pieces to defeat."

Ian bowed slightly and calmly replied, "I merely relied on the power of the Mystic Arts, entirely thanks to Your Highness's great kindness."

von Het stood to the side, staring intently at Ian, his gaze sharp and unwavering. The spectator record card in his hand trembled slightly, and the doubt and inquiry in his words seemed to pierce the darkness.

"Did you use more than one card in the Secret Trick you just activated?"

Ian's smile remained unchanged, his expression serene and unwavering: "Viscount, are you referring to the difference between the illusion of whispered words and the reality of romance?"

“Exactly.” von Hett’s sharp gaze seemed to be trying to extract some kind of truth from Ian’s soul.

"Illusion control and physical manipulation are not the same thing. How exactly do you resonate between the two?"

Orion put down his wine glass, his eyes growing sharper: "Tell me, what is the true nature of those two mysterious cards?"

Ian was silent for a moment, a barely perceptible smile appearing on his lips, before slowly speaking:

"The Whispering Illusionary Realm was originally the mystery I first awakened. Its true meaning lies in the 'mental reflection of illusion,' which can be classified into the Perception Rune system of the World System."

The other one leans towards the manipulation of wind elements, also belonging to the physical interference spectrum within the world system.

He paused slightly, raised his eyes, and a deep, unfathomable mystery flickered in his gaze:
"If we must define them according to the categories of mortals, then the former can be regarded as the 'illusionist of fate,' while the latter can be called the 'manipulator of the laws of nature.'"

But in my opinion—the world has no boundaries, and mystery has no absolute boundaries.

He did not give a direct answer, but instead constructed a perfect illusion in his reply that would allow both the prince and the viscount to get what they wanted.

Orion understood about 70%, while von Het understood everything, but their doubts had been completely dispelled by Ian's words.

Orion's scrutinizing gaze gradually turned into appreciation, and a hint of barely concealed pleasure even appeared on his lips.

He stood up and slowly approached Ian, his voice low yet carrying a power that seemed to control destiny:

“You are not an ordinary warrior, but a sorcerer who orchestrates destiny. What I need is not only strength, but also the wisdom to orchestrate it.”

He stopped in front of Ian, gently placed his hand on his shoulder, and lowered his voice, as if conveying a secret known only to the two of them:
"I heard you possess ten star destiny patterns, is that true?"

Ian lowered his gaze, a slight smile playing on his lips, his voice as calm as a still well:
"If the star chart is not deceiving, my destiny markings are indeed ten stars."

Orion's smile deepened, his voice oppressive and secretive, carrying an undisguised ambition and desire:
"From today onwards, you will join my private army, under the name 'Wind Whisperer'. I want you to become my first tactical deputy commander, to build an unprecedented 'Battle Formation Mystery Group' for me."

Ian nodded slightly, his reply as calm and steady as the tide in the dark night: "Your Highness, I will certainly not fail your expectations."

As he left, the hall door closed quietly. von Het stood there, his eyes subtly shifting, as if an undercurrent was churning within him.

Orion raised his glass and downed it in one gulp, as if sealing away the barely concealed excitement he had just felt. He turned to von Het, a smile playing on his lips:

What do you think of him?

von Het's brow furrowed deeply, and his words were cautious and cryptic:
"His answer was too clever. He never truly deceived you, but he was never honest with you either. He just happened to provide the kind of truth you most wanted to hear."

Orion chuckled softly, his voice filled with fervent satisfaction:
"That's enough. He knows how to be my pawn, and what does it matter whether he has other plans in mind?"

von Het did not respond, but as he walked out of the main hall, his gaze remained fixed on the tightly closed, heavy doors, and he murmured to himself:

"The most perfect piece is sometimes not the player who wields the piece, but the stage set by another playwright."

"If a card can reflect two worlds, then the third card... is hidden in the eyes of a liar."

—Excerpt from "Notes on the Mirror of Fate Patterns, Chapter Four"

(End of this chapter)