Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 354 Her Song Is Not Sung for God
"Even if her faith has been taken away, as long as the light of dreams still burns in her heart, what she sings is not a hymn of praise, but the flame of her undying self."

—Excerpt from "Memoirs of Mysterious Night Class: Fragments of Dream Island"

The cool moonlight shone through the stained glass windows of the Church of Our Lady of the Twelfth Diocese and fell into the clergy's lounge.

Rex sat alone at the table, the teacup in front of him long since cold. He tapped his fingers lightly on the surface, his gaze fixed on the sliver of light filtering through the crack in the door, his expression calm yet brimming with turmoil.

The report on destiny prediction written in secret magic on the table stung his eyes like a hot iron.

The report records the hidden, bloody truth beneath the church: the fresh flesh and blood of young girls are gradually filling the void in a divine lifeline.

He had to send the letter out. The world needed to know that Medici, beneath the mask of the "Madonna," was using humanity as fuel to build a throne of flesh and blood.

But he could not light the dream lamps—within the realm of the Church of Our Lady, the light of every dream lamp...

Everything will be exposed under the watchful gaze of "the secrets of prayer and surveillance," and lighting a lamp is tantamount to betrayal; he must not take the risk lightly.

Rex sighed silently, rolled up the secret letter, and tucked it into a blank page of the sacred text at his waist, muttering to himself:
"I need someone... who can truly pass on the fire."

Just then, a broken, struggling yet highly emotional singing voice faintly drifted from the choir hall.

His eyes sharpened, and he rose, donned his sacrificial robe, and walked toward the source of the sound.

The choir rehearsal hall was dimly lit by candlelight, creating a dreamlike atmosphere. Rows of young girls stood on a silver-inlaid altar, holding white hymn pages, chanting softly, their voices filled with suppressed fear.

The air was filled with a subtle scent that mingled with the aroma of sandalwood and the stench of blood.

At the end of the procession, a girl with red, swollen whip marks on her cheeks and trembling left hand opened her mouth to sing, but was repeatedly stopped by high notes, her voice broken and bitter.

The head nun raised her mystical staff and coldly rebuked, "Elphmoun, you have failed for the twelfth time! To be unable to sing pure praises is to harbor evil within!"

The nun lashed down with her whip again, the girl's thin shoulders trembling violently, but she clenched her teeth and remained silent.

Rex stepped in quietly, his tone gentle yet authoritative: "Please allow me to interject, Sister."

The head nun turned around in surprise: "Father Rex?"

Rex did not answer, but slowly walked up to Elf.

He leaned down and looked directly into her eyes, which were glistening with tears yet held a stubborn determination.

For a fleeting moment, a strange sense of familiarity seemed to flash in Elf's eyes.
But it was quickly concealed by the disguise of the fate markings—a smokescreen set up by the Fate Master, so that no Dream Class student could see through Rex's true identity, even if he were standing right in front of them.

Rex's voice was gentle yet firm, like that of the mysterious lecturer who gently illuminated the first life line during a night class:
“Child, the Virgin Mary did not ask you to imitate other people’s songs. What she really wants to hear is the truest voice in your heart.”

"Don't try to conform to so-called holiness, bravely sing out your understanding of the world. It may not be perfect, but it must be real."

Tears finally streamed down Elf's face. She nodded slightly, took a deep breath, and spoke again.

At this moment, her singing was no longer a simple submission to the gods.
Instead, it is filled with human emotions: fear, hope, persistence, and struggle intertwine into musical notes that echo beneath the church dome.

Rex nodded in satisfaction, turned to face the slightly hesitant head nun, bowed slightly, and said politely but with a hint of sharpness:

Please forgive my rashness. But I believe that the Virgin Mary is forgiving of hesitant hearts. After all, true light always needs time to be ignited.

The head nun was taken aback, but was ultimately intimidated by Rex's unquestionable yet gentle and holy demeanor. She bowed her head and replied, "...You're right, she needs to keep trying."

Rex nodded slightly, but a sharp, cold glint flashed deep in his eyes.

"Her voice has been illuminated by the dream lamp, even though she herself is unaware of it."

He knew that the stubborn girl might be the one he had been searching for to pass on the torch.

She was not yet fully awakened, but he knew that the flame deep within her heart had already begun to burn quietly.

Rex stepped out of the choir, but he did not leave immediately. Instead, he turned and gazed at Elf one last time.

At this moment, the life mark between the girl's brows trembled quietly, like the first flame of a candle—her "card" was waiting for her to pick it up somewhere in the Dream Sea.

Rex felt a slight stirring in his heart, knowing that with her there, the boy must not be far away.

The moonlight outside the church was cold and still, like stagnant water, while the evening prayer bells echoed between the towers.

The entire church of the Twelfth Diocese was sealed behind a prayer curtain, heavily guarded, as solemn and dignified as ever.

But Rex knew that beneath this facade of solemnity and tranquility...
A blood-red altar is surging, the lives of ten thousand girls are being drained, and a "goddess" yearning for ascension is at play.

He strolled leisurely through the side aisle of the church, his steps relaxed, appearing to outsiders as nothing more than an ordinary clergyman taking a walk after prayers.

However, in the lens he wore on his right eye, a very faint red dot was slowly moving in the shadows.

Rex stopped, slowly turned around, looked at the shadowy, deserted area at the end of the corridor, and sighed softly, his voice low and slightly mocking:
"Alanhwin, your shadow is too restless."

Before the words were finished, the shadow split open like a thin mist, and a slender young man darted out of the shadows with lightning speed, kneeling on one knee with a spell seal already formed in his hand.

A dark red life pattern appeared on his left arm, and a card quietly materialized from it:
Life-type Hybrid Mysterious Card: Daywalker.

The card gleamed like fresh blood, emitting a faint, eerie light. The young man's eyes were like those of a ferocious beast as he coldly shouted:
"Tell me, who are you?"

Rex didn't dodge at all, but instead quickly moved forward before the cards were fully activated.
He grabbed the boy's wrist with one hand, spun around quickly, and dragged him into a nearby church storage room in an instant.

The door slammed shut, plunging the room into a dim, half-lit atmosphere.

The boy continued his struggles, trying to fight back, but then he heard Rex's deep, harmless voice slowly emerge:

"Quiet down, Alan, I don't lay a hand on my own students."

The boy was startled and looked up abruptly, only to see Rex removing the Destiny Lens from his right eye. In the fleeting moment of light, he finally recognized the familiar yet secretive look in the eyes of the person before him.

"Mentor...it's you?" Alan's voice was filled with undisguised shock and joy.

Rex leaned against the locker, slowly lit a cigarette, and said calmly with a half-smile:
“You were late for the dream class five days ago. That class happened to be about ‘how to identify a fake priest’.”

Alan hesitated, unsure of what to ask.
His mind was filled with urgent and chaotic thoughts—he wanted to ask his mentor how to infiltrate the church, he wanted to ask if Elf was in danger, and he wanted to know if his mentor was still teaching.

But in the end, he only whispered the most pressing question:
Are you... still lecturing?

Rex looked up into the smoke, a fleeting, profound look in his eyes.

He calmly flicked away the ash from his cigarette, took out a scroll sealed with a secret technique, and handed it to Alan, his tone firm and deep:
“Take it with you and leave the parish.” “Go to Broken Tower Street, Mirror Street, or anywhere there is no church in sight, and light your dream lamp again.”

Under no circumstances should you be discovered by the inspectors, and the church must not interrupt your dream. This letter must be delivered personally to the Deity.

Alan solemnly accepted the scroll, clutching it tightly in his palm, his voice low but unable to conceal his anxiety:
“That Elph, she…”

Rex's deep voice was resolute:

"I will protect her. And you, you must guard the greater flame."

The boy remained silent for a moment, his gaze gradually hardening. He then nodded slightly, a resolute glint igniting in his eyes.

Seeing this, Rex finally showed a rare smile and added in a low voice:

"The lamplighter's light is never extinguished."

The boy looked up, his gaze firm and fervent:
"I know the light has always been in my heart."

Rex watched Alan walk out of the storage room, gazing at his departing figure in the moonlight, a wave of relief mixed with determination slowly rising in his heart.

He knew that this revolution without gunpowder had already been quietly lit like a dream lamp, and would never be extinguished.

At this moment, the shadows and light of the entire Twelfth Diocese are destined to be ignited, illuminating the hidden staircase beneath the church that leads to the truth.

As the moon rose that night, a dark figure swiftly leaped over the parish stone wall and disappeared into the vast darkness.

He is Alanhwin, a boy who once lit up his destiny mark during the Dream Night Class, a "Night Walker" walking on the edge of darkness. And now, he will take on a new identity—the torchbearer of the lamplighters.

The wind lashed his cheeks like blades. He lowered his body, his breath blending with his shadow, and silently moved between the parish eaves and the guard tower, stepping between the cracks in the stone slabs.

Even the flapping of a crow's wing would be enough to alert the Church's Dream Guardians, causing this secret transmission to fail at the last minute.

He clutched the cursed scroll his mentor had given him tightly in his hand; it was small but incredibly heavy.

That was neither an ordinary letter nor simple intelligence.

That was the sound of a true revolution being launched.

The memory of that cramped storage room was still fresh in my mind:

Rex leaned against the counter, surrounded by smoke, a smile playing on his lips, as if nothing could threaten him.

But it was that smile that made Alan willing to follow—no matter where it led.

He said, "You must protect the bigger fire."

In that instant, Alan truly understood: he was not protecting any one person, but protecting the future of all those who light the way.

“Some of us in this generation must go out and explore.”

As he traversed the back alleys of the parish, he activated the life-based arcane ability "Daywalker," instantly increasing his speed.

Faint life patterns appeared beneath my feet, like shadows and swift winds, sweeping past the blind spots of the guard tower and through the sandalwood spring in the prayer courtyard.

Finally, he leaped up and gripped a piece of old brick on the outer wall of the parish tightly with his fingertips.

Looking back at the lighthouse of Our Lady atop the tower behind me, its light, pure and proud, no longer illuminates any living soul.

He could almost hear again the words his instructor had left him during the night class five days ago:
"The life line not only teaches you how to live, but also how not to die at the mercy of fate."

He didn't understand then, but now he has fully realized it.

Alan landed lightly, and just as he was about to step out of the alley, a sudden chill ran down his spine. A slight gust of wind approached, and he turned back, his heart clenching instantly—

Two white-robed Holy Mother guards, their eyes gleaming with a cold, magical light, were slowly approaching.

Alanher's heart pounded like a drum. His left hand swiftly stuffed Rex's secret scroll into the hidden spell pouch in the sole of his boot, and he silently made up his mind:

"Even if I perish tonight, I will ensure that the flame is spread."

He gritted his teeth, took a step, and rushed towards the alley entrance without hesitation.

The moonlight was cold and icy, and the church tower stood silently like a huge skeleton in the silvery night.

At this moment, in the darkest part of the tower, Rex stood quietly, his priest's robes as deep as the night.

He was unarmed, showed no trace of magic, and had only a long-extinguished prayer lamp at his feet.

His gaze was distant, looking out over the neighborhood beyond the parish walls.

That was Alan's escape route, and also the future direction of the revolution.

Rex's breathing was steady, but the turmoil in his heart never subsided.

He knew he couldn't chase after them, couldn't send them away, and couldn't let himself be noticed. But he still stood there, watching that faint yet stubborn flame gradually move away from the darkness of the empire and towards the unknown light.

His fingers lightly brushed against the life-marking seal hidden within his sleeve, a slight smile playing on his lips as he murmured to himself:
"Sometimes, you can never pull the trigger of a gun yourself. But as long as the bullets are loaded, there will always be someone who dares to pull the first shot."

He looked up at the night sky, his gaze resolute and profound:
“Let’s go, Alanhwin. Give the gun that I cannot fire myself to the Lamplighters.”

At that moment, a familiar yet resolute singing voice could be faintly heard from inside the choir hall.

It's Elf; she's still practicing singing, strong yet fragile.

Rex silently turned and left the tower, stepping into the deep shadows of the church's corridors.

He knew that all he had to do was guard this darkness until someone from afar returned with the true "fire."

Behind him, the church tower still stood cold and proud, completely unaware that the flames that were truly enough to consume it had already quietly begun to ignite.

Not everyone can ignite the flame; some are destined to be night watchmen.

But as long as there are watchmen, the fire will not perish in the darkness.

—From *The Mysterious Revolution: The Biography of the Nameless Night Watchmen*

(End of this chapter)