Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 402 The Prelude to Blood Moon and Shadow

"When the Queen puts on the crown"
Alleston was destined to be shrouded in blood and lies.

Under the grace of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
It was the cries and groans of countless people.

And the light hidden in the darkness

Will it bring salvation, or deeper darkness?

— Prologue to *The Foggy City Revelation*

Dusk descends once more upon Areston, like a gentle yet cold curtain, slowly enveloping the city in illusory darkness.

The thick fog spread silently, like countless eerie tentacles, slowly caressing every inch of shadow in the city.

It was as if an unseen entity was lurking in the mist, whispering obscure and incomprehensible secrets, trying to evoke the deepest fears and madness in the hearts of mortals.

The streetlights struggled to light, their pale glow barely dispelling the immediate darkness within the thick fog.

The world further away was completely shrouded in boundless gloom and mystery.

Old Patton, carrying his heavy toolbox, strolled slowly down the cobblestone street.

He had lived in Alleston his entire life, knowing every street and alley intimately, yet now he felt utterly alienated.
It was as if the entire city was being slowly devoured by something.

"Old Patton, still out so late?"

At the street corner, a weary voice rang out from the thick fog; it was patrol captain Mo Sen.

He held an oil lamp, the light illuminating his pale and solemn face. The emblem of the Church of Our Lady shimmered faintly on his uniform, revealing a subtle luster of repression and vigilance.

"Yes, there's less and less work, so we have to do more," Barton forced a smile.
But he couldn't hide the growing worry in his eyes. "Mosen, don't you think this fog lately... is a bit strange?"

Mosen's eyes flickered slightly, then he said in a low voice, "It's just ordinary fog in early winter. Don't overthink it. Go home early; it won't be safe after curfew."

Barton nodded silently, but as he turned away, he vaguely heard Morsen's low voice, almost a prayerful murmur:

May Our Lady bless us all...

The night in Alleston was no longer peaceful; faint whispers echoed through the quiet streets, sometimes sounding like an old man's low murmur.

At times, it sobs like a child, intermittent, ethereal and frantic, as if it were coming from the depths of the earth, making people confused and uneasy.

Barton hurriedly stepped into his small house, quickly bolting the door shut to completely shut out the eerie atmosphere that was gradually approaching from outside.

His wife, Margaret, was standing in front of the stove cooking soup. The dim firelight illuminated her thin face, and her eyes were filled with exhaustion and fear.

"Barton, tell me, isn't all of this God's punishment for us after Queen Medici ascended the throne?"

Margaret said softly, her hand holding the spoon trembling slightly as if it might fall at any moment.

Patton was startled and quickly lowered his voice, almost sternly stopping him:

"Shut up, Margaret! These words must not be uttered; the cardinals' ears are sharper than fog!"

He subconsciously looked up at the window, trying to dispel the growing unease in his heart.

However, the next moment, his body suddenly stiffened, and his pupils contracted violently in horror:
The moon slowly rose outside the window, its color a ghastly crimson, as if stained with blood, exuding an indescribable chill and eeriness.
The vibrant red seemed to foreshadow some unspeakable disaster that was about to befall us.

Just gazing at the blood moon for a moment, Barton felt his mind begin to waver, his reason being slowly cut by an invisible blade, and the surging madness and fear almost swallowed him up.

Suddenly, sharp cries and mournful screams came from the depths of the streets and alleys—the desperate lamentations of life as it withered away.

Then, a barrage of coughs, groans, and low, anxious prayers spread like curses, quickly filling every corner of the city.

In the darkness, countless hidden and ferocious beings seemed to be awakened, opening their invisible mouths to thirstily devour Aleston's soul and life.

Patton trembled and took a step back, his face pale, cold sweat pouring down his forehead like a fountain, his throat moving with difficulty, but he couldn't utter a single word.

He finally realized that this once familiar and warm city had now stepped into a blasphemous boundary and was sliding step by step toward boundless madness and destruction.

Outside the window, the blood-red moonlight fell silently, like a divine punishment that had quietly descended, immersing the entire Areston in a strange, crimson shadow.

In the very center of the room, the elderly Duke von Het sat steadily.

His temples were already streaked with gray, his face deeply etched with the marks of time, yet his eyes remained sharp and piercing. He cleared his throat, his voice slow and solemn as he broke the silence:
"Gentlemen, I know that gathering you here is a risky gamble. But the current situation no longer allows us to remain silent."

The Duke's gaze slowly swept across the faces of the many nobles.

Some instinctively avoided it, some grimly gripped the ring in their hand, and others, filled with resentment, could only swallow their anger and remain silent as if in a grave.

"Since Queen Medici ascended the throne, the Church of Our Lady has seized our wealth and occupied our land in the name of faith."

Furthermore, using the crime committed by the eldest son of Emperor Aurelion as a pretext, he thoroughly purged the three major families from the council.

Duke von Hett's voice gradually deepened, spreading through the air like a faint rumble of thunder.
"Don't you all understand? Today they are the ones suffering, but tomorrow it will be your turn—each and every one of us."

A buzzing whisper instantly filled the room, and faces flickered in the shadows, revealing endless anxiety and suspicion.

Countess Ophelia snorted coldly, elegantly raising her ruby-inlaid folding fan to conceal her contemptuous face:

"Don't you all understand? Queen Medusa has never taken us seriously. She uses church priests to erode our foundation and trample on the glory of the nobility."

If things continue like this, will Trelian still need nobles like us?

Her words resonated with the young nobles in the corner. One young man, his face contorted with indignation, suddenly stood up, his voice trembling as he said:
"Yes, our trade routes are blocked, and our family businesses are being eroded. How much longer can we endure this? Are we just supposed to sit here and wait to be slaughtered like lambs to the slaughter?"

Before the young nobleman could finish speaking, he was met with a chorus of scornful laughter from those around him.

The elderly nobleman, Earl Klein, sitting in the shadows, said disdainfully:

"Fight against Medici? You probably don't know what happened to those who opposed her."
Either your body is never found, or you're forever exiled overseas. Young man, is your neck that strong?

The room fell silent. The young nobleman slumped back into his seat, his expression gloomy and resentful.

Yes, these people may be able to complain, scheme, and plot, but they simply don't have the courage to actually stand up for what's right.

Duke von Het spoke again, his aged voice sounding like a sigh:
"We are indeed powerless to fight Queen Medici on our own."

But let us not forget that we have another bloodline to carry on—His Majesty Henrian's youngest daughter, Princess Liseria, who possesses the power of the Azure Lion.

The atmosphere in the room instantly became subtle, with gazes falling on the Duke with either surprise or doubt.

Countess Ophelia chuckled softly, her tone full of doubt:
"Princess Liseria? That princess is only interested in teaching poor children to read and write, and has no interest in politics. Do you really think she can become our banner in our rebellion against the Queen?"

A mysterious smile appeared on von Het's lips:

"Your Highness's indifference is her best disguise. If Your Highness were too enthusiastic and ambitious, do you think the Queen would still allow her to exist?"
We only need a banner, a symbol that can unite people's hearts. The actual action and control will naturally be carried out by us in secret.

The oppressive atmosphere in the room finally eased, and the nobles began to exchange secret and satisfied glances.

They are not good at charging into battle, but what they are best at is hiding behind others and manipulating the game of fate.

von Het slowly stood up, his gaze sharp and resolute:
"Gentlemen, please remember that we are not looking for a saint, but rather someone who can unite people's hearts and minds, inspire strength, and at the same time facilitate our manipulation from behind the scenes."

Princess Liseria is the most suitable choice for us.

There were no more dissenting voices in the room, only echoes and whispers.

They began to discuss excitedly, eagerly planning the resources and strength they could contribute to this gamble.

At this moment, the Duke suddenly fell silent. He turned his head and gazed at the oil painting on the wall depicting the kings of Trelian throughout history.

Finally, his gaze settled on His Majesty Henrian's solemn and dignified face, and he sighed softly:
"Your Majesty Henrian, if you were still alive, looking at what we have done today, could you understand our struggles and choices?"

In the painting, Henrian's gaze remains resolute and cold, but he is no longer speaking, only staring silently, as if scrutinizing the souls of all of them.

Night fell silently over Areston, and the Notre Dame Cathedral was deathly still.

Medici knelt on one knee before the altar, where the enormous statue of the Virgin Mary stood tall like a silent and cold deity, looking down upon her humble figure with a compassionate yet cruel gaze.

The burning scarlet candles were arranged in a disorderly fashion, like dripping blood candles, exuding a nauseating rose fragrance and a putrid smell.

The eerie, flickering candlelight cast Medusa's shadow into a twisted and terrifying monster, as if she were gradually shedding her mortal form and transforming into something indescribable.

She slowly raised her head, her gaze burning and obsessively fixed on the Virgin Mary's cold eyes, where a false compassion flickered, yet also concealed a chilling mockery.

Medici's lips moved slightly as she murmured in a voice somewhere between devout prayer and blasphemous whisper:

"Supreme Holy Mother, fertility lord born under the blood moon, please forgive my ridiculous lie."

Her eyes gradually became consumed by fervor, and an almost morbid smile appeared on her lips:

“I promised them that I would abandon the path of the Blood Moon Priests and simply be an ordinary mortal queen—but, a mortal?”

She smiled slightly, her expression tinged with undisguised contempt and sarcasm: "Mortal lives are far too insignificant, fragile, and fleeting. Once you've tasted the power of a celestial calamity, how can you willingly return to that state of being like an ant, at the mercy of others?"

Medici's pale fingers slowly traced the statue's hard, cold surface.
She could almost feel the power of the Virgin Mary slowly seeping into her soul like thousands of invisible tentacles, a mixture of cold and heat, compassion and cruelty.

Why do those people willingly remain in a state of humility? Why do they cling to a false sense of peace when they clearly fear the truth?

Her voice gradually became sharp and trembling, and a frenzied flame burned deep within her pupils:

"Did they never understand that the calamity of the stars is the most generous gift? The path to the stars is the true liberation and salvation."

The statue of the Virgin Mary seemed to tremble slightly under her gaze, and a barely audible whisper and murmur emanated from the silence.

It seemed to come from the depths of the stars, gradually tearing at her reason.

Every nightfall, she would pray to the Virgin Mary in this way, through this ritual,
Slowly drawing upon the power of hundreds of thousands of mortal lives in Areston, it approached the forbidden path step by step.

She slowly opened her palm, and a drop of bright red blood instantly condensed in the air. The blood trembled slightly as it fell into her palm, instantly seeping into her skin and merging into her bloodstream.

In an instant, countless vibrant life forces, like sweet mead, poured into her nearly withered body, and Medici's face contorted with a mixture of satisfaction and pain:
“Holy Mother, this is your blessing, and also my inescapable sin…”

Her body trembled slightly, as if countless writhing, eerie creatures lurked within her.
Beneath her skin, the slow, frantic struggles and whispers of insects were faintly visible—that was the true face of the Star Calamity's power, the mad seed planted deep within her soul by the ancient ruler.

Her consciousness gradually blurred in the cold and eerie crimson moonlight, as if she were standing before an endless dark void.

They glimpsed countless ancient gazes from beyond the stars.

"What is the meaning of the rules for mortals, the struggles of nobles, or even the laughable resistance of the descendants of the Azure Lion?"

Medici chuckled softly, her laughter gradually becoming sharp and manic:
"In the eyes of the true gods, they are nothing but ants, dust, and insignificant, pathetic creatures. Their rebellion is nothing but an absurd drama!"

The statue trembled slightly, and a fine, spiderweb-like crack silently appeared on the Virgin Mary's forehead—a symbol of the gradual dissolution of the power of the celestial calamity and the barriers of the mortal world.

Medici greedily stroked the crack, as if touching a string of fate intertwined with birth and destruction, and she whispered a prayer:
"Holy Mother, grant me more power, let me become your perfect incarnation, let me weave the greatest deception for the mortal world with lies interwoven with falsehood and truth..."

She knew perfectly well that all she needed was a little patience, and the hundreds of thousands of ordinary and innocent souls of Areston would eventually become sacrifices on her path to godhood.

What she craved was not the glory of being a mortal queen, but the eternity and immortality of being a true god.

Medici slowly rose to her feet, her gaze as cold as frost:
"Lyseria, daughter of the Azure Lion, will you become the final obstacle on my path to the throne of godhood?"

She sneered, her contempt chilling:
"Whether you are a member of the royal family or a banner of nobility, you are ultimately just a mortal destined to fall."

She turned and stepped out of the church, while the statue of the Virgin Mary behind her swayed silently in the shadows.

Countless scarlet eyes slowly opened on the surface of the statue, greedily watching her gradually disappearing figure.

A strange whisper drifted from the void, ethereal and frenzied:
"Truth is a lie, falsehood is eternity... The descent of the gods begins from this moment..."

The Lion Fortress was shrouded in night, and the candlelight struggled and flickered in the breeze, casting countless eerie illusions in the shadows of the rooms.

Liseria sat quietly at her desk, her fingers gently tracing the pages of a book left behind by the God of Destiny. The candlelight illuminated the faint serenity on her face.
Yet it could not conceal the complex emotions surging like a tide deep within those clear eyes.

A gentle knock on the door broke the silence with Marlene's soft yet cautious voice: "Your Highness, the children for night class have arrived."

Liseria smiled slightly and replied softly, "Understood, Marlene."

She got up and straightened her dress. The simple long dress was soft and hazy in the moonlight, like a silent disguise that concealed the storm that was secretly brewing in the depths of her heart.

In the small pavilion deep in the courtyard, the students had already gathered, their bright, knowledge-eager eyes shining in the darkness.

"Your Highness, what story will you tell tonight?" a boy asked excitedly, raising his hand.

Liseria quietly looked around at the children, a hint of sadness in her gentle smile: "Today, I want to tell a somewhat melancholic fairy tale."

The children immediately quieted down, their eyes filled with curiosity and anticipation.

"Long ago, there was a small town called Happy. The people in this town were carefree. They had never experienced sadness and did not know what tears were."

Her voice was as gentle as the breeze on a summer night, slowly drifting into the children's ears:

"Until one day, a traveler stepped into this city. His singing was incredibly beautiful, yet it carried an indescribable sorrow. People were initially just curious, but unknowingly, they shed tears."

So, filled with fear and sorrow, they drove away the traveler, thinking that in doing so they could regain their past happiness.

"However, after the travelers left, people found that they could never return to their former carefree lives. It was as if something invisible had ripped out their hearts, and the whole city gradually fell into an inescapable melancholy."

Liseria paused slightly, her voice low and deep:
Later, an old man finally understood the truth and told people: 'We thought the traveler brought sadness, but sadness had actually been lurking in the hearts of each of us for a long time.'

His singing simply awakened the truth we had been avoiding.

The children fell silent, their eyes slightly unfocused, as if the seeds of the story had been quietly sown, waiting to sprout at some point.

As night deepened and the children left one by one, Marlene quietly walked to Liseria's side and whispered, "Your Highness, the Noble Council has sent another letter and gift."

Liseria's eyes turned cold, but she quickly concealed it beneath a gentle smile: "They don't truly support me; they only do so because my sister has threatened their interests. They merely see me as a convenient pawn."

"Your Highness, isn't this too dangerous?" Marlene asked in a low voice, a hint of worry in her eyes.

Liseria slowly turned her head, her gaze clear and sharp, piercing the night like a blade:

"Danger? Marlene, I've been in danger since the first day I stepped into this world."

I am no longer the naive princess I once was. The God of Fate taught me that power and destiny are forever a struggle between lies and truth. Having stepped into this game, I will not turn back.

Marlene hesitated and whispered, "But, the children..."

Liseria gazed at the star-studded night sky in the distance, her voice calm and serene:

“Those children are the true future of this country, while those greedy nobles are nothing more than pawns in the power game who may turn against us at any time.”

Their loyalty is illusory and fragile, but the people's trust in me is as real and unwavering as steel.

She paused slightly, her voice gradually taking on a sharp edge:

"My sister thought she had all the lies under control, but Si Ming once said that the highest level of lying is to make everyone believe that it is the truth."

My lies will be more powerful than hers, and more capable of reaching the boundaries of truth.

Marlene listened, her heart trembling, a slight chill running down her spine. The Liseria before her was no longer the innocent and gentle princess she remembered.

Her gaze was deep and sharp, sending chills down one's spine.

Liseria gently patted Marlene's shoulder, her tone softening again:
"Don't worry, Marlene. Everything I do is to protect those who truly deserve protection."

Marlene lowered her head and said softly, "Yes, Your Highness."

A gentle night breeze caressed the garden, and the flowers and plants swayed slightly in the moonlight, as if whispering some secret.

Liseria stood in the darkness, calm yet unfathomable.

She has grown up and seen through the game of lies and power struggles.

Her lies will become invisible chains, quietly binding everyone's hearts, while only she herself can touch the ultimate truth.

Meanwhile, under the cover of night in Alleston, Madison's lies have swept through the city like a hurricane.

"Princess Liseria is having an affair with a follower of the Reflection King!"

"The youngest princess intends to usurp the throne; the Church of Our Lady will conduct a thorough investigation!"

Rumors spread as quickly as birds, each whisper piercing people's fragile and sensitive nerves like a sharp needle.

Inside the cathedral, Medici sat high atop the throne of the Virgin Mary, her pale, slender fingers pointing towards the distant Lionheart Castle, a cruel and chilling smile playing on her lips.

"People of Trelian, any sinner who dances with darkness will be exposed, even if she is my dear sister, even if she has the noblest blood, she will not be forgiven!"

The believers prostrated themselves on the ground, shouting praises and expressions of devotion to the Queen.

In the streets and alleys, knights clad in black, like silent ghosts, coldly searched for hidden "traitors."

A storm is about to break.

On the balcony of Azure Lion Keep, Liseria gazed silently at the rising crimson moon in the distance. Its scarlet light fell upon her serene face, and she murmured softly:
"Sister, I was prepared for this storm of lies long ago. And you?"

In this silent standoff, her gaze was firm and resolute, as if she were about to embark on that lonely road leading to the boundary between reality and illusion.

The storms of power never show mercy to the weak; they only obscure the truth and make lies more alluring.

By the time people finally see the true face of the storm, it is often too late.

—Excerpt from *The Secret History of Trelian: Queen Medici and the Rebellion of the Young Queen*

(End of this chapter)