Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 409 Beneath the Silent Island, Fate Remains Unslept

"As long as the monarchy remains, as long as the bloodline continues, destiny never truly sleeps."

"At the moment when the island of silence refused to call her, Medici finally realized..."

The real fear comes not from the enemy, but from the future before we are even born.

—Excerpt from *The Hidden History of Trelian: The Bloodstained Chapter*

In the royal palace of Areston, crows stood silently in the hall, and the throne at the end of the red carpet was covered with pale gold and scarlet silk.

Beneath the icon, Medici sat serenely, holding a scepter, her expression calm and profound, like a goddess enshrined in time.

Cardinal Ambrose quietly entered the hall and bowed deeply: "Your Majesty, there is unexpected news... 'Isolele Barletta' seems to have returned to Alleston alive."

The hall remained silent for a long time, with only the incense burning in the golden censer, slowly releasing wisps of blood-red smoke.

Medici did not move, but simply raised a finger and lightly tapped the top of the scepter.

"Him?" Her voice was indifferent, as if she were whispering casually, "Just a doll that isn't quite dead yet."

Ambrose hesitated for a moment: "My subordinates have sent spies to confirm that he is currently staying at the Barletta Manor and his behavior is not unusual. The family... seems to have tacitly accepted his identity."

"Heh." Medici laughed, her lips curving slightly upward, but there was no joy in her eyes.

She stood up and slowly walked to the window, looking down at the hazy morning mist of Areston and the church bell tower shrouded in fog.

Before the morning bell rang and the streets were still asleep, her gaze pierced through the stillness.

“Let him dance,” she said calmly. “Let Aesop leap and bound among those aristocratic ashes. But the fire of destiny has already been lit.”

She slightly opened her right hand, and a perfectly round, dark, mysterious card appeared in her palm, engraved with the outline of the Immovable Island and thirteen golden runes.

The thirteenth is Shizuishan Island.

But the card remained cold and silent, resisting her touch like a closed temple, refusing to let heretics step into its threshold.

"...This card has never acknowledged me."

For the first time, a hint of barely concealed annoyance flickered in Medici's eyes. She spoke very softly:

"If it doesn't belong to me, then it can only belong to someone else."

Ambrose's lips barely moved: "Your Highness...?"

Medici nodded and responded softly:

"Sophie's unborn child has been chosen by this card. Shizushima chose Orion's bloodline. The child is not yet born, but its destiny is already engraved on the card."

She turned and slowly sat back on the throne, her voice suddenly sharp:

"Therefore, there can be no accidents before he is born. Let Sophie live, let her continue to be crazy, and don't let her come into contact with anyone, especially—nobles."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

“Aesop Lee?” Medici smiled slightly. “Let’s spare his life for now. He thinks he’s orchestrating things, but he’s just a supporting character in the script.”

The scepter tapped the ground lightly, and the entire royal palace seemed to tremble slightly.

The cardinal withdrew, and the statue of the Virgin Mary became hazy in the smoke, as if a blood moon were in the sky and a black tide was rising in the city, and all the chess pieces had been laid out.

But the child in Sophie's womb is the real, sleepless island that keeps the Queen awake at night.

In the study of the Barletta family manor, morning light streamed through the heavy curtains, casting dappled patterns of light on the carpet.

Novell sat behind the table, his brow furrowed. Before him lay the documents for the last few family properties that had not yet been frozen, as well as a notice from the church announcing a "financial audit."

The air was filled with the musty smell of old paper and a sense of oppressive anxiety.

The once magnificent Barletta Estate is now reduced to empty corridors and silent servants.

Novell clenched the official seal tightly with his fingers, but in the end, he could only helplessly let it go. He sighed softly and looked up at "Aesop Lee" across from him.

"Why did you come back?" Novell's voice was low and hoarse, filled with wariness and barely concealed suspicion.
“You should know what returning to Alleston means to you.”

“Of course I know.” Si Ming remained disguised as Aesop Lee, his face calm and his voice gentle. “But it is precisely because I know that I must come back.”

His tone was unhurried, like a strategist explaining the astrological chart to the head of the family.

"Norville, I came back not to protect myself, but for you. For this family."

Novell sneered:
"For me? Do you know that the family has been targeted by Queen Medici? Is she letting us live merely to demonstrate forgiveness, or to demonstrate the cruelty of her power?"

"That's precisely the key point." The Fate Master's gaze was sharp as he leaned forward.

"Have you ever thought that if Medici really doesn't care about us, why not just eliminate her altogether?"

Novell frowned, hesitating: "You mean, what... is she worried about?"

Si Ming gently tapped the table: "Sophie."

The moment that name was uttered, the atmosphere in the study seemed to freeze instantly.

"Do you still remember the inheritance ceremony on Jing Island?" Si Ming lowered his voice.
"That mysterious card is no longer in your hands, nor in mine, nor in Medici's. And its name is—Orion."

Novell's eyes widened instantly.

"But Orion is dead."

"It was because he died that Shizushima turned his attention to his unborn son."

Si Ming whispered as if in a curse, "That child is the real reason why Medici doesn't dare to touch Sophie now."

“You mean—” Novell murmured, “Meddes is afraid of us?”

Si Ming nodded:
"In a sense, yes. It's not that they're afraid of the power we hold, but that they're afraid we'll die too soon. They're afraid that the last vestige of 'legitimacy' we possess will trigger a chain reaction, touching upon the deepest anxieties within the entire aristocratic class about the 'legitimacy of the royal succession'."

Novell shuddered slightly, sat back in his chair, and fell into deep thought.

Si Ming rose and walked to the window, pulling back a corner of the curtain. Gazing at the misty heart of Areston in the distance, he murmured:
"That's why we have this opportunity."

"When she thinks she has everything under control, what we need to do is write our own script from outside her control."

Novell slowly raised his head: "Who...who are you?"

Si Ming smiled slightly and turned around, "I am your friend, your brother Aesop Lee, and also—the pen you want to become the true 'Lord of Balletta'."

Novell remained silent for a long time, and finally said softly:
"Alright, then let's use what Medici fears most to make a brilliant bet."

The fog outside the window grew thicker, as if the city was slowly closing its eyes, or waiting for something to be awakened.

Sophie Barletta sat in a high-backed chair by the window, her slender hands folded over her slightly protruding belly, her gaze passing through the thick glass as she looked at the gloomy sky in the distance.

Her expression was like a stone carving, completely still, and there wasn't even a hint of life in the corners of her mouth.

His grey-blue eyes stared blankly at the Areston skyline, at the fog that seemed to never dissipate.
Like thick ink clinging to her consciousness, it obscured all the light of reality.

Two maids stood nearby, one serving tea and the other holding a book, but neither dared to approach.

Suddenly, Sophie turned her head slightly and seemed to hear a familiar male voice in her ear, deep and gentle, yet as distant as if from another world.

"Sophie... wait for me... wait for me to come back..."

Her pupils constricted sharply, and she murmured a few words: "Orion..."

The maids were startled, exchanged glances, and then silently took a half-step back, as if what was echoing in the room was not human speech, but some kind of divine oracle from the underworld.

Sophie slowly placed her fingers on her abdomen, her voice extremely low:
“He’s still here…he’s always been here…we had a pact of fate between us, and Alleston’s destiny is not yet over…”

She suddenly stood up, her movement so quick that the maid behind her almost lunged to help her. But she simply shook her head and whispered:
"I am fine."

She slowly walked to the ancient, gilded wooden table, on which lay a thick prayer book, a sacred text gifted by the church.
But she never opened it. She simply looked down and slowly scratched a line of words onto the table with her fingernail:

"The Lord of Jing Island has not yet been born."

Then, she smiled as if satisfied and murmured, "He hasn't been born yet, so everyone is waiting for me."

Just then, the fog outside the window suddenly thickened to the point that the rooftops were almost invisible. The entire sky seemed to be draped with a thin yellow curtain, and something was whispering on the edge of the city.

Sophie gazed quietly at the yellow light. Her pupils seemed slightly reddish under the yellow glow, but not blood-red; rather, they possessed a somber luster like the setting sun sinking into the sea.

She began to hum softly, the melody ancient and melancholic, not a church hymn, nor a nursery rhyme from her memory:

"The island of stillness sank into the abyss, while the royal power rose atop the unborn child."

The blood moon hangs low, yellow robes flutter down, and beneath the lies, no one can distinguish truth from falsehood.

As the play begins, you will hear the final whispers of fate.

The maids behind them were stunned. For some reason, the melody made their hearts ache, as if they were hearing their deepest childhood nightmares.

Sophie slowly turned around, smiled slightly at them, as if she had never said anything.

"The tea has gone cold, go and get me a fresh pot."

She sat back down, her abdomen rising and falling gently. The fog outside the window thickened, as if something long dormant was slowly opening its eyes above the city.

As night fell, the study in the Barletta Palace was divided into two layers of shadows, one deep and one light, by the heavy lighting.

The fireplace in the corner burned quietly, its flames casting flickering spots of light on the gold-edged bookshelf.

Novell Barletta stood by the window, his back to the room, his hands behind his back, his expression calm, yet unable to hide the hesitation in his eyes.

On the sofa behind him, Si Ming was sitting calmly as "Aesop Lee," his fingertips lightly tapping the armrest, as if he were examining a chess game that was not yet finished.

“Novel,” he finally spoke, his tone leisurely yet undeniably sharp, “do you realize that Sophie and the child in her womb are the only real bargaining chip your family has?”

Novell didn't turn around, his voice dry: "I understand. But that also means that Medici will make her move against them sooner or later."

"Quite the opposite." Si Ming slowly rose and walked to Novell's side.
"It is precisely because Medici dares not make a move that this is the best time for you to counterattack."

Novell glanced at him sideways, his eyes filled with instinctive wariness and confusion.

"You don't understand yet, do you?" Si Ming chuckled softly, but there was no hint of amusement in his eyes.

"You think you're just barely hanging on, and she's in control. But in reality, she's walking on thin ice right now."

"You think she let Sophie go out of pity? No."

Si Ming lowered her voice, "She's afraid. She's afraid that after Sophie dies, Quiet Island will fall into the hands of Edel, who is far away overseas."

“Edel…” Novell murmured, his eyes gradually revealing understanding and astonishment.

"He is the only brother that Medici cannot control."

"He commands the army and possesses the Saint Trean. If he were to acquire Quiet Island again..." Si Ming murmured.

"Do you think the nobles of Alleston will immediately side with the 'true king'?"

Novell's Adam's apple bobbed, and he clenched his fist: "She's afraid he's more orthodox than she is."

"So she would rather have a prince born than not control him."

"She won't kill the child, but she will never set him free."

Si Ming paused, "And you—as long as you hold Sophie's hand, it's like holding a token that she dares not act rashly."

Novell lowered his head in thought, and after a moment murmured, "Then what should we do?"

“Weave a story.” Si Ming’s lips curled up. “A lie that no one can expose.”

"Tell the nobles that Sophie's child is the true heir to the throne."

“Tell the council that the prince in her womb has been chosen by God and will inherit the throne of Shizuishan.”

“Tell the people that this is the ‘legitimate bloodline of the gods’ that will bring light to this nation swallowed by sorrow.”

“And you,” Si Ming turned to look at the flickering firelight in the hearth, “are the one who started this ‘story of hope’.”

Novell took a deep breath, and for the first time, a true light appeared in his eyes—not the arrogance of the past, nor the dejection of the future, but an awakening that truly belonged to the "Lord of the Future".

He asked softly, "And who are you?"

Si Ming chuckled softly: "Me? I'm the writer in the theater, the narrator of lies, your assistant writer."

He looked at Novell, his tone strange yet gentle:
"Just do as I say, and when you stand on the podium of the noble council, when you recall those old family members who scattered out of fear..."

You will understand: a lie becomes the truth if enough people believe it.

In the firelight, Novell's shadow gradually lengthened on the wall.

At midnight, Alleston was shrouded in thick fog.

The clock towers on all sides have stopped ringing; only the night wind blows through the narrow gaps in the streets and alleys, carrying away discarded newspapers that drift quietly throughout the city.

A torn page of the Morning Star was turned, the handwriting distorted and blurred; it was a fragmented short article, with only a few lines of ambiguous paragraphs remaining:
"The man in yellow appeared in the east of the city. He looked at the fog, and the fog looked at him."

"The island of tranquility appeared in my dream; beneath the palace walls, a pair of unopened eyes were whispering."

"Under the blood moon, the choir lost its voice, and sorrow became a curse."

"What you perceive as reality is nothing more than a script I rewrote at will..."

In the lingering echoes of this untitled essay, the city seemed to undergo a strange transformation.

The baker on the street corner woke up in the night. Outside the window, the fog was thick as snow, but a line of black graffiti appeared on the wall: "The yellow robe is flying, fate is silent."

He frantically wiped away the words, only to find his palms covered in a layer of brownish-yellow powder, like the ashes of a tattered robe.

He didn't sleep all night, and the next morning people said he had gone mad because he could no longer stop whispering.

In the library of Alleston University, a librarian, while filing documents alone late at night, discovered an unregistered notebook on a shelf of restricted books. The cover read:

The Play Is Not Over: The True Face of the King in Yellow

He resisted his curiosity and turned to the first page, only to see a line of aged handwriting:

“Those who see Him will no longer be able to distinguish between dreams and reality.” Then he seemed to hear the theater bells ringing and the audience chuckling softly in his ears.

He covered the notebook with his clothes, but found he could no longer put it back—it remained lying there, staring at him.

On Pota Street, a night patrolman stumbled out of a dead-end alley, his eyes bloodshot. He muttered a phrase repeatedly:

"That child has no face... He has no face, he... He only has a mask..."

He was taken away quickly, and the news didn't get out, but that same night, the children on the street began to have the same dream:

A man in a yellow robe smiled at them in the dream theater, holding a brand-new mask in his hand, and said, "Put this on, and you can tell the truth you want to know."

That night, the sky over Areston was shrouded in a fog of four overlapping colors:

Crimson red represents the fading light of a blood moon, the oppressive power of religious violence, and the indelible mark of the Church's Inquisition.

Azure represents sorrow and tears, the lingering depression and emptiness in people's hearts.

Dark Gold is the mystery of the King in Yellow, a bizarre rewriting and chaos outside the script.

Gray and white represent a theater where reality and illusion intertwine, a web of fate woven by the god of destiny.

The four colors intertwined and tumbled in the fog, like a curtain drawn on a divine nightmare, swirling layer upon layer above the city. The wind blew through the fog, as if lifting a veil.

An invisible war has quietly begun.

"Fear doesn't come from the roar of a monster, but from that whisper you're never sure if it even exists."

"When you start to doubt whether the ending of the story is written, that is proof that you are already in the script."

—Excerpt from "The Yellow-Clad Theater: Opening in the Mist"

(End of this chapter)