Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 417 The Poison of Rumors and the Fateful Gamble
"Power does not fear lies, but rather those who believe lies as truth."

"Beyond the script, those who manipulate fate have never left their seats."

—The Gambler's Book by Calquesa

Before the mist had even dissipated, more than a dozen heavy gallows had already been erected in the central square.

The air was thick with the smell of damp stone slabs mixed with burnt meat. Red-robed inquisition monks stood in solemn rows, and the banner of the Church of Our Lady fluttered in the breeze like a scavenging vulture about to pounce.

Thousands of citizens were driven around the square by the army.

The crowd was as silent as still water, with only the occasional cry of a baby and suppressed sobs.

The elderly women and young ordinary people who were being pushed and shoved to the front row had eyes full of fear.

They didn't even know what they were watching—all they knew was that someone had been dragged away last night for "saying the wrong thing" and had never returned home.

Then, the inquisitors read out a list of "crimes": spreading cult rumors, attempting to incite public opinion, and insulting Her Majesty the Holy Mother's divine status... The charges were vague, but every word was like a knife, and it would not be too much to behead the accused a thousand times.

One of them was an elderly pastor who had run a small orphanage in the old town.

His lips trembled as he stood before the gallows, uttering his last words haltingly: "I... I only said that the book... the book about the man in yellow... was just a play, nobody believed it..."

His response was a "click" as the thick rope tightened.

The next moment, he was hoisted up and suspended high in the morning light. His kicking legs shook out a rusty key—the key to the orphanage's gate—which clattered to the ground, and no one dared to pick it up.

The three "heretics" on the pillar of fire fared even worse—a cardinal of the church personally presided over the lighting ceremony, the flames illuminating all living beings, and the hymns of the sacred texts echoing in blood and grease.

"Burning it as a sacrifice is a way to remind people to respect the gods."

In the instant the flames erupted, children screamed and ran into their mothers' arms, while women tried to run but were pinned to the spot by the soldiers.
Many more could only close their eyes and endure it, fearing that if they looked any longer, they would become tomorrow's victims.

The entire city seemed to hold its breath, numbing and sinking into this ritual of authority and fear.

In a corner of the square, a middle-aged man in a gray robe and a low-brimmed hat gently waved a folding fan in his hand.

He watched as the flames devoured the innocent, a faint, indifferent smile playing on his lips: "This is what the Queen calls the order of faith? How splendid."

Beside him, a thin young man replied in a low voice, "The rumors have been suppressed."

"It's been suppressed?" The gray-robed man snorted, squinting at the ashes dancing in the square. "They've just been burned into a different shape by the flames."

The real poison lies in those whose hearts are filled with fear; they won't forget, they just haven't spoken it aloud yet.

The young man's Adam's apple bobbed, but he didn't dare to reply. He vaguely knew that this man was one of the people who had spread the rumors.

The gray-robed man closed his fan, turned and left, leaving only one sentence:

"Let her suppress it. We'll just wait and see how many people she kills before she can still call herself a saint."

That night, the sky over Alleston was once again tinged with a blood-red glow.

The stakes of fate have been quietly placed on the gambling table.

Deep within the palace, in a secluded chamber veiled by red velvet curtains, the candlelight was dim.

The golden chandelier swayed slightly on the ceiling, casting distorted and twisted shadows on the surrounding Madonna reliefs, as if faith itself was trembling.

Medici leaned against the high chair beside the scepter, her expression cold and stern, her gaze piercing through the kneeling cardinal before her like a sharp blade.

"Are you sure?" Her voice was slow and low, yet it carried a suffocating air of authority.

“I personally interrogated seven ‘rumor-mongers,’ and each of them mentioned that it was a certain ‘playbook about the King in Yellow’ that made them begin to doubt the legitimacy of the monarchy.”

The cardinal knelt on both knees, sweat beading on his forehead. "They don't know each other, yet they say similar things. I believe this is not a coincidence, but... a rumor orchestrated by someone."

Who was behind this?

The cardinal whispered, "We suspect... it's the Fate God."

“The gambler of fate.” Medici chewed on the title softly, her voice like a venomous snake slipping from its hole.

She slowly got up and walked to the star chart in the center of the secret room.

The entire capital of Aleston was presented to her in relief form: noble mansions, church halls, newspaper offices, underground casinos, ports and markets... each location was marked with a miniature black chess piece.

She extended her fingertip and flicked it lightly along the edge of the map, tossing one of the pieces off the board.

“That’s what he’s trying to undermine,” she said calmly. “Since he likes gambling, I’ll gamble with him.”

The cardinal paused, his voice low and urgent: "Your Majesty, regarding the three mysterious cards of the Fate Master... we have roughly completed our deductions."

"explain."

"His main card is the supreme Fate-type card, [Lord of Fate]. His secondary card is likely a high-level Fate-type artifact."

The rumored artifact is a deck of cards called "The Dirge of Fate"—capable of manipulating the course of a game without triggering explicit spells, making it a true gambling marvel.

“And the third card… is a life-related card.” He hesitated slightly. “We suspect it’s Princess Selian of the Eternal Night Blood Alliance.”

Medici frowned slightly. "Her?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. That woman is a descendant of the vampire royal family and possesses the power of a life-based blood pact."

Intelligence suggests that she never leaves Siming's side, possibly becoming his 'entrusted mystery,' or perhaps his gamble itself.

“Ha.” Medusa sneered, “He actually used his companion as a gambling tool? Turning a Blood Princess into a chip of fate… How romantic, how insane.”

There was no envy in her voice, only disdain and a hint of anger.

“If he’s betting her fate, then we just need to hold onto this chip—his hand will crumble on its own.”

The cardinal prostrated himself and said, "Your Majesty, please give your instructions."

"Tell the church inquisition to begin the second phase of the bait setup."

She glanced back at the astrological chart and said softly:
“Let’s force him out. Let’s take a gamble…and see who’s betting and who’s being written into the script of lies.”

The nights at Blackstone Casino are always shrouded in mystery, like a pot of constantly churning mud, mixed with the smell of lies, desire, and blood.

Tonight, a secret message is circulating: a "lost high-level fate-related mystery card" will be auctioned off by a mysterious seller, and the transaction will take place right here, auctioning off its ownership under the guise of gambling.

Rumors spread like wildfire, attracting a large influx of gamblers and speculators. The casino was brightly lit and bustling with activity, creating an atmosphere of restlessness.

Amidst a commotion in the crowd, the gray-clad, silver-haired Siming led Celian slowly into the arena.

His gaze swept over the gambling table, the corner of the wall, and the ceiling, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"You're quite skilled at throwing the hook."

He whispered, and as soon as he finished speaking, he casually tossed a worn-out deck of cards onto the nearest table with a "thud".

The playing card spun and flipped in the air, creating a barely perceptible tremor as it landed, as if the trajectory of the flipped card had carved a crack of fate into the surrounding air.

"Let's start the table," Si Ming said calmly, casually pulling over the dice cup with his other hand as he sat down.

Before the cards were even turned over or the dice were even rolled, everyone in the casino already felt a sense of pressure from the unknown.

The gambling began, and a blood-red, misty frenzy quietly spread.

In the first round, he bet on small, and the dice rolled a three.

In the second round, he placed three bets on the opposite side and won all of them.

In the third round, an experienced gambler skilled in lip reading was trying to guess the subtle movements of Si Ming's lips.
Then he saw the other person turn his head and reveal a meaningful smile: "You guessed it? Very good, then you should lose your bet."

The old gambler panicked on the spot, bet in the opposite direction, and still lost.

The crowd grew larger, and gasps of surprise filled the air; however, even more people chose to sit at the gambling tables.

They tried to gamble on a chance against this "gambler of fate"—but they lost so much they were almost out of clothes.

Cards, dice, bone slips, mysterious tarot... whatever the form, Si Ming seems to effortlessly control the ending, just like in a game.

Every time he dealt cards, every time he rolled the dice, it was like poetry, as if a god were hurling down the hammer of fate.

The gambling money on the table quickly piled up into a mountain, and gold coins, silver chains, and even some low-level mystery cards of unknown origin fell into his hands.

"You're cheating!" a burly gambler roared, slamming his fist on the table. "You're not gambling at all, you're manipulating the game!"

"Of course, gambling is inherently a game of cheating." Si Ming shook his head gently, but his voice carried a cold indifference. "Fate likes me; it's biased. Is that my fault?"

He raised his hand and flipped over two more cards, a "ten of hearts" and a "ten of spades".

In a daze, a faint red light seemed to wander among the veins of the cards, like fate turning a page.

Everyone's expressions changed drastically.

A moment later, several high-ranking casino officials secretly retreated; some went to inform others, while others secretly gathered thugs. Si Ming collected the chips scattered on the gambling table and pointed to the bronze dice cup on the side of the table, which was called a "high-level fate-type mystery card": "I'll take this with me."

"Wait a moment." The casino manager stood up stiffly, and several burly men slowly surrounded him from behind.

"This is not something you can win."

Si Ming stopped in his tracks, slowly turned around, his expression neither joyful nor sorrowful.

"So, you want to raise the bet?"

The air suddenly turned cold.

—The real gamble has only just begun.

The air was thick with tension, as the gamblers held their breath. Everyone knew this was no ordinary argument; it was the prelude to a bloody disaster.

The casino manager's eyes turned cold, and he whispered, "Make your move."

In the next instant, several burly men pounced out from the shadows, their blades and fists clashing, their target Si Ming and the seemingly delicate red-eyed woman.

Then, the world fell silent for half a second.

Half a second later, a bloody storm arose.

The woman who had been holding Si Ming's arm—Selian—slowly raised her head, a strange smile curving her lips.

At that moment, a crimson light shone deep within her eyes, like blood reflected in an abyss. The air seemed to suddenly sink into an icy lake, and the temperature plummeted.

"Wild Hunt, Blood Devour, Slaughter, Princess Selian," Si Ming whispered softly, as if tenderly pleading in the night breeze.

But that was the curse that ignited the nightmare.

With a flash of red, Serian vanished from the spot.

"What—" The nearest thug only managed to utter half a syllable before his pupils dilated and a line of blood slid down his throat.

As blood gushed forth, he slowly knelt down, like a puppet with its strings cut.

A flash of blood appeared, the crimson trails seeming to write a dancing incantation in the air.

Selene's figure was like a fleeting afterimage, moving swiftly through the enemy ranks, her claws leaving trails of blood. Her robes billowed like a red butterfly emerging from its cocoon, dancing with every movement, a mad dance that intertwined slaughter and elegance.

"She...she is the manifestation of a mysterious life form? No, no! She is...she is the Bloodthirsty..."

Before the expert on mysticism could finish speaking, Celian pounced on him, her hands working in unison. One claw tore through his armor, the other pierced his heart. His cries for help were choked by blood, leaving only his convulsing eyes.

Chaos erupted throughout the casino, with screams, panic, and pleas for mercy mingling together like the wails of demons.

"Let...let her come over, quickly form an array!" Several church spies immediately summoned holy symbols, silver chains, and purification amulets, attempting to form a rudimentary holy light barrier to stop this "Blood Demoness".

"I'm sorry." Si Ming smiled gently, before they started.
With a flick of the finger, the cards of fate flew up, and one of them, the "Tower of Death," slowly flipped and fell in mid-air.

The ground rumbled, and the barrier shattered before it could even take shape.

Selene rushed into it like a red streak of light.

Blood splattered everywhere, like blooming roses. She leaped lightly, stepping on shoulders, turning, and crossing her claws, completing a series of deadly trajectories in the confined space, taking five lives.

"She...she's laughing..."

A surviving gambler cowered under the table in terror, and through the gap between the table legs, he saw the woman in the blood-red light glance back, her lips slightly upturned, her eyes smiling, as if she were announcing good news to her lover.

Si Ming stood not far away, his gaze as gentle as ever, and softly uttered four words:

"The Blood Princess is holding a banquet."

No one could stop this carnage. The casino, once hailed as the king of the underworld, had become a graveyard of blood and broken bones.

As the last enemy convulsed and fell, the only sounds in the casino were the soft licking of blood from Selene's fingertips and the echoing footsteps of the crowd receding into the distance.

"Are you all done cleaning up?" Siming asked.

Selene nodded, then grumbled, "The blood here is too gory; it's not worth my time to taste it."

After saying that, he gently tossed a bloodstained earring into the center of the gambling table, as if to end a banquet.

"Clean and efficient," Si Ming praised. "A good win at poker tonight, time to collect interest."

The two turned to leave, leaving behind only the lingering stench of blood and the lingering fear.

In the shadows of a corner, a half-dead church spy, enduring excruciating pain, slowly crawled out of the casino, clutching a blood-stained notebook tightly in his arms.

He recorded every moment of the night, intending to submit it to the Queen.

But he had a vague understanding in his heart that the church had already lost this round.

Morning Star Manor.

Before dawn broke through the thick fog, Si Ming was already leaning on a balcony bench, wrapped in a cloak, gazing absently at the gray sky.

He gently held an old playing card between his fingertips—not the King of Hearts, nor the Queen of Spades, but a black and white clown with no patterns or suits, only a blurry smile drawn on the center of the card.

The clown's laughter, intertwined with the shadows, emitted a strange stillness in the chill of dawn.

Celian brought over hot tea and said in a low voice, "The news from last night has already spread. Some people saw me, and some... escaped from the casino alive."

"Hmm." Si Ming's tone was casual, his voice seemingly carrying the mist of a winter morning.

He slowly flipped the Joker card over and put it back in the deck, stacking it neatly.

What do you think Medici will think?

Selene hesitated for a moment: "She'll think you've been exposed."

Si Ming chuckled, the weariness and paleness in his eyes unable to conceal a hint of mockery:
"She might think she's finally got the cards up her sleeve. Poker, vampires, emotional weaknesses. The easiest things to exploit in a gambler."

He looked up, his voice slow, almost a murmur: "But she forgot... this hand of cards was never about kings and queens, nor about victory and death."

There are only two of them.

"Black and White Clowns".

"One is responsible for lying, and the other... is responsible for turning the truth into a joke."

Selene stared at him in silence. In the distance, the morning bells tolled, and the city awoke from the gray fog.

Meanwhile, deep within the palace, Medusa had changed into a secret warfare robe with a blood-red emblem and was quietly listening to the intelligence officer's report in the prayer hall.

The church spy's notes, the remains of a corpse, the lingering scent of playing cards, and the inscribed incantation—"Wild Hunt, Blood Devour, Slaughter, Princess Celian."

She tapped the scepter with her slender fingers, a cold and smug smile playing on her lips.

"The vampire's daughter... He really is raising her as a life-type mystic."

"That deck of cards is also a curse of fate. The Lord of Fate, the Gambler's Lament—it's all there."

She turned her head, her eyes sharp, and instructed the cardinal: "Spread the word that in three days, a church-led atonement ceremony will be held in the Church of the Holy Blood."

"Please invite her over."

“Let’s also ‘return that deck of cards’ to the throne.”

"A gambler of fate... always wants to place the last bet."

"Unfortunately, he didn't know... this time, he was betting on 'people's hearts'."

……

As dawn approached, Medusa stood before the crystal window atop the palace tower, bathed in the last rays of the blood moon, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Meanwhile, in the distant Morning Star Manor, the Fate Master stood in the mist, whispering to the Joker card:
"Come, Your Majesty."

"Come and be an audience member."

"The next scene is not a game of strategy."

"It is a sacrifice."

"Truth is the leftovers the world gives to fools."

"A lie is the veil that fate bestows upon the wise."

"And I, hiding between the two, wearing the clown mask, whispering the script to madness."

—From *The Gambler's Notebook, Page Zero: The Laughing Man's Monologue*

(End of this chapter)