Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 419 The Puppet Show Behind the Curtain
"The curtain has not yet fallen, but the applause has already begun; the actors are not dead, but the script has already been altered."

—Annotations to The King in Yellow and the Nameless Play

The golden palace, illuminated by candlelight, resembled stars fallen to earth. The grandest autumn banquet in the Alleston aristocratic circle was held as scheduled at Duke von Hett's estate; the night was still young, and the magnificent spectacle was in full swing.

Ladies wore jeweled gowns, noblemen wore family crests on their chests, and among the golden branches and jade leaves were aged champagne, silver-plated pastries, and insincere small talk.

The theme of the masquerade ball required each attendee to wear a symbolic mask: a fox face, a leopard face, a lion's head, a bird's beak... Beneath those faces, whether cold or alluring, their true expressions were carefully concealed.

The laughter and music, behind this mask of pretense, seem even more hollow and distant.

Novell Barletta, holding a silver cup and wearing a long silver-grey robe, stood quietly at the edge of the crowd.

His mask was in the shape of an eagle—a symbol of reason and sharp eyes—but he knew that beneath this calm exterior lay a heart pounding like a drum.

He was not the most dazzling figure among the nobles; in fact, in the eyes of most powerful and influential people, he was nothing more than a dilapidated family head burdened with the label of "remnant of the eldest son of the emperor."

But tonight, he represents the unborn heir to the throne, the last embers of the former glory of the nobility. He must shoulder the burden of a turning point in the kingdom's fate with his most frail shoulders.

Behind him, near a marble pillar in the banquet hall, stood a man in a dark robe, silent yet like a sword sheathed.

He wore an ordinary silver-white half-mask, covering the upper half of his face, revealing only his thin lips and indifferent expression.

He is "Aesop Lee Barletta," a distant relative of Norville in name only, but in reality, he is the "Master of Fate" who manipulates the chessboard without making a sound.

“You know what,” Si Ming whispered to Novell, his voice as soft yet clear as if melting into the air.
"The greatest charm of masquerade is not in the masks, but in the fact that everyone knows it is a mask, yet still takes it seriously."

Novell didn't turn around, but only tilted his ear slightly.

Si Ming continued whispering, "You're not attending a banquet; you're rehearsing lines with actors. They don't need to believe you; they just need to believe that the play will ultimately benefit them—that's enough."

Novell took a sip of his wine, his gaze sweeping across the center of the banquet: Duke von Hett was speaking at length to the guests surrounding him about an ancient battle.

He smiled, his voice gentle yet powerful, as if he were still the head of parliament, the aging pillar of the empire.

However, in the deep lines around his eyes and the barely perceptible signs of fatigue, Novell read a profound meaning: "waiting for revenge."

He slowly walked towards the central flame.

"Lord von Hett," Novell bowed respectfully, his tone neither humble nor arrogant.

"I have heard that you have recently acquired a lot of new books. I have always admired them and would be extremely fortunate to have the opportunity to see even a glimpse of them."

von Het paused, looked directly at him through the mask for a few seconds, and then nodded:
"Good eye. You have indeed acquired a few rare volumes of Selected Annotations on the Mandate of Heaven."

He put down his wine glass, turned halfway to the people around him and smiled, "Gentlemen, please excuse me for a moment. I have some difficult astrological prophecies to discuss with this young Mr. Barletta."

A soft laugh rippled through the crowd. Novell bowed slightly and followed the Duke into the dark red carpeted library.

The Fate God behind him also silently slipped into their shadows, like a line quietly brushing past a misty curtain—

The lines have been practiced thoroughly, and the costumes are already on.

Tonight is the night the puppets take the stage.

As Novell Barletta walked along the dark red carpeted corridors deep within the Duke von Het estate, his legs felt as heavy as if they were made of lead.

Every step he took felt like walking on a burning fire line, searing the unquenchable anxiety in his heart.

The words Si Ming uttered before his departure echoed in his mind—deep, calm, yet cutting through his chest like a blade:

"If there is no forest, then create one to protect your cabin."

At that moment, Si Ming gazed at the lights twinkling in the night sky of Alleston, his eyes filled with no pity, only a cold, almost cruel calculation.

Novell remembers clenching his teeth and not answering, because he knew it wasn't a suggestion, but an order—carrying the reality of zero tolerance for the weak.

Sophie's unborn child is about to be born, which should be joyous news for the royal family.

However, in Queen Medici's eyes, it was a potential threat, a "living proof" of legitimacy.

Once this child is born safely, the world will be unable to deny his legitimate bloodline.

At that time, the Barletta family will face not only political suppression, but also a planned extermination and purge.

The God of Fate was right: if there is no forest, then create one.

Without support, weave an alliance, even if the web is stitched together with lies, interests, and false loyalty.

Otherwise, what awaits them is a man-made fire that will burn the Barletta family to the ground.

“And the first old tree in this forest,” Novell murmured to himself, “was that of Duke von Het.”

The aged First Speaker of the Noble Council, now over seventy years old, once held the power of prime minister for twenty years.

His son, Marquis Rowena von Het, who had been the adjutant and close friend of the eldest son of King Orion, was forced to commit suicide in the shocking "parricide case" that gripped the kingdom, leaving behind a suicide note containing only a short sentence:
"I cannot watch the truth be buried, nor can I stand by and watch lies become reality."

The Fate Master told Novell that the suicide note had been burned by von Het.

He outwardly submitted to the female regent's rule, even praising the glory of the monarchy and the church at her funeral.

But he did not erect a tombstone for Rowena, nor did he allow anyone to mention the words "church trial" in his presence.

“After that night,” said the Fate Master, “he would drink alone in his study until late every night, and then attend the council chamber as usual the next day, as if nothing had happened.”

But if you look closely at his left little finger, you'll notice that the jade ring he wears year-round has developed fine cracks—it was placed on his finger by Rottweiler himself at his coming-of-age ceremony.

That crack represents all of von Het's forbearance, anger, and grief.

Tonight, Norville will be handing a match to this dry, almost bursting piece of firewood.

They finally entered a quiet study, the door slowly closed, and the noise from the outside world instantly receded like a receding tide.

The room was dimly lit, with the only oil lamp casting heavy shadows on the ancient books on the bookshelf, as if a group of old ghosts were listening quietly.

Duke von Hett slowly sat down, his expression calm and composed. But Novell knew that deep within the old man's bones lay the embers of a war.

"Have a seat," von Het said softly.

Novell stood still, staring directly into the deep shadow in his eyes, and said in a deep voice, "Your Grace, I have come to settle an old score."

Fonte raised his eyes, his gaze sharp as a blade: "Your tone is very similar to that of Rowena back then."

These words struck a chord with Novell. He suddenly realized that he was the old card that Fate had arranged, to be turned over tonight, just to awaken the memories of this aging man.

He took a deep breath, suppressing his unease and hesitation.

“My sister is pregnant with the imperial heir, and the regent is already plotting to silence her.”

Novell said in a low voice, "I don't ask you to stand up for my Barletta family. I just want to ask one question—do you remember your son? The Marquis of Rowena, what he looked like when he last stood beside His Highness Orion?"

Feng Hete remained silent. He slowly removed the jade ring, its surface deeply cracked, and placed it on the table, gazing at it for a long time. In the flickering candlelight, the crack seemed to pulsate gently, like an unhealed wound.

“I remember,” he said. “I remember him coming to me the night before he died and saying that the legitimacy of the kingdom had been overthrown, and that all I had to do was keep quiet.”

“But I didn’t shut up.” von Het sneered. “I praised the Queen’s divine authority before her, stamped the Church’s judgment documents, and then—I received my son’s will.”

He looked up at Novell, his eyes devoid of anger, only filled with the chill of ashes left after the fire had burned out: "What do you want me to do?"

Novell said, word by word, "Form an alliance, provide protection, and launch an uprising. Protect my sister and the heirs, and when the time is right, together we will expose Medici's usurpation and tyranny."

After a moment of silence, von Het finally nodded slowly: "Have you already started?"

“It has begun.” Novell nodded, taking a piece of parchment from his pocket.

Unfolded on the table, it contained lines of names written in various handwriting styles; some used their full names, while others used only the abbreviation of their family crest.

In the bottom right corner is the name of von Hett's son, Rowena, circled in light gold ink.

von Het slowly reached out, picked up the old ring, and pressed it onto the paper, landing right on the gold band.

“Then I will begin,” he said, his voice deep and thunderous. “I am willing to make another choice for my son.”

Novell lowered his head, not to express gratitude, but to hide the slight moisture in his eyes.

In the forest of destiny, the first old tree has been planted.

The Barletta family's alliance plan had been underway for three days. Logically, with the Duke of von Hett's banner in hand, Novell's advance should have been smooth sailing.

However, once he truly entered the heart of the aristocratic circle, Novell realized that the so-called "alliance" was far from being a wall that could be built with an oath and a few seals, but rather a swamp full of mud and reefs.

That night, it was another extremely lavish ball—ostensibly to celebrate the coming-of-age ceremony of a viscount's daughter, but in reality, it was just a common excuse used by the powerful and wealthy.

They needed the lights and music to numb themselves, to forget the smoke and fire rising in the capital amidst the drumbeats and goblets.

In the vast Crystal Hall, crystal chandeliers poured down thousands of golden rays, golden cups and jade dishes were piled up on the table, and long silk dresses trailed on the floor like ripples on a lake.

On the dance floor, young noblemen danced gracefully, their whispered laughter masking all their unease.

They talked about the latest plays and the love affairs of a countess, but never about the Queen or the unborn heir—as if those were filthy words that would taint the champagne at the dinner.

Novell moved among the crowd, always with a gentle, calm, and humble smile.

He offered his wine, whispered, listened, and probed each potential ally.

However, he soon discovered that these nobles were all as smooth-talking as polished pebbles. They would either feign deep thought or change the subject.
Some people even became serious and indifferent upon hearing him mention the words "posthumous child," and refused to engage in further conversation with him.

“We all respect Your Excellency von Höcht and understand your situation,”

In a smoking room, a marquis, flicking a gold-leaf cigarette, whispered to Novell,
“But without solid evidence that the ruling party intends to harm us, we cannot rashly get involved in this kind of political struggle.”

With that, he smiled and stubbed out his cigarette, then turned and entered the crowd, leaving Novell standing alone in the sandalwood-scented room, his wine glass slightly cool and his fingers trembling.

After several nights of running around, the results were meager. Some of the companies recommended by Feng Hete did privately express a willingness to listen.
But many more were observing, delaying, or even secretly tipping off Medici.

Even more remarkably, a renowned marquis privately hinted to Novell: "As long as the Queen bestows the title of Crown Prince, my Barlow family will naturally remain loyal for generations to come."

Novell knew perfectly well that these people didn't want legitimacy; they wanted rewards.

They wanted to gamble, but only on the seemingly winning side. His sister's child, in their eyes, was nothing more than a broken hand yet to be revealed.

Night had fallen, and the ball was over.

Back in his study at the Barletta Manor, Novell slumped wearily into a chair, as if his entire being had been drained.

He looked down at the list of conspirators in his palm. There were still very few people who had signed it. He slammed his fist on the table, the sound echoing in the empty room.

"These damned cowards!" he growled.

“Apart from von Het, they are all all show and no substance! They don’t even trust the new king they personally supported, and they only care about whether they should bet on multiple fronts now!”

He looked up at the window; a faint crescent moon hung in the sky, its light fading like a blood-red crescent. His face was filled with despair. "Can we really win? With these people?"

From the shadows, Aesop Lee Barletta slowly emerged. He was still clad in that simple gray robe, as if he had been waiting for a long time.

He approached slowly, poured Novell a glass of wine, and said in a gentle tone, as warm as the night breeze: "You have done more than expected, Novell."

Novell looked up, his eyes weary. "But it's not enough."

Si Ming shook his head and smiled, then took out a clean handkerchief to wipe the rim of the wine glass.
"These nobles are not driven by ideals or justice. They are mercury, which only flows to the smoothest surfaces."

What you're doing now isn't changing them, but shaping them and guiding them into the channels we've laid.

“But they don’t even have the courage to be a tree!” Novell growled in a low voice.

“I wanted to build a forest for my sister, but it was full of weeds and thorns.”

Si Ming gazed at him silently for a moment before speaking: "You are wrong. They are indeed not a forest."

He slowly raised his hand and pointed out the window. "They are the first line of defense. Fragile, messy, and unstable, but they can hold back a storm in a critical moment."

"The real line of defense..." He paused, his gaze lingering on the horizon.

"It was Lord von Het who contacted the Twelve Dukes. That is the old forest with deep roots and branches, a force that stood and fought in the previous empire."

What we're doing now is simply providing shade for those old trees, allowing them to sprout new buds.

Novell was stunned.

The Fate Master was referring to something he had heard von Hett mention before—legend has it that in the early years of Emperor Henrian's reign, there were twelve grand dukes who formed the "Imperial Noble Council."
If that tattered old council could truly be assembled, it could shake the entire structure of the capital. "But can they step forward?" Novell asked in a low voice.

Si Ming smiled, but his eyes were as deep as an abyss. "As long as we set the fire big enough, even an old tree will be awakened."

Novell remained silent for a long time. He gazed at the list of allies before him, then at the flickering lights of the noble mansions outside the window under the blood moon.
Suddenly they realized: they had only just begun to lift the curtain on this game.

In the darkness of night, those who raise their glasses and laugh may not even realize that they are already on the chessboard.

He silently put away the list, stood up, his expression even more resolute than a moment before: "Then let us be the fence behind the fence, until the real forest awakens."

Si Ming smiled slightly and raised his glass in a toast: "Just what I was thinking."

The candlelight flickered, casting distorted shadows on the wall, like a playwright who had waited patiently for years, watching the play gradually take shape on stage.
The actors waited for each one to put on their masks, stand in the light, and speak their destined lines.

The day the envoys of the Twelve Dukes' Alliance arrived at the Barletta Estate, the sky was as heavy as lead.

von Het personally welcomed them in, accompanied by only two envoys, both dressed in black and gold formal attire representing the old royal family, with grey and white lion cloaks draped over their shoulders—symbols of the blue lion, the legionary emblem of the old Trelian Empire.

The meeting was held in the back hall of the manor, and no outsiders were allowed to attend.

At either end of the long table, Novell and Iso Lee represented the Barletta family, with Duke von Hatter sitting in the center at the head of the table, flanked by two official representatives from the twelfth duke.
One was Roland, the young master of the Marquis of Hertu, and the other was Agnes Rett, a noblewoman from the old province of Toland.

Young Master Roland was gentle and refined, but his tone left no room for doubt.

He didn't say much, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he handed over a letter with all twelve noble seals on it. Although the seals were old, they were enough to alarm the capital.

“We accept the initial proposal of the Noble Alliance, but only on the condition that the House of Barletta accepts the three basic principles of the Alliance of Twelve Dukes.”

After he finished speaking, he looked at Aesop Lee, as if he knew that the real decision-maker was in that unassuming gray robe.

Novell glanced at Aesop Lee, who nodded slightly, so he raised his hand in a gesture of invitation to speak.

General Agnes bluntly stated:
"First, the regent must be the successor of the Azure Lion—Princess Liseria."

The Alliance of the Twelve Dukes is a shield of loyalty formed at the behest of her father, Henrian VII. We obey only the rightful heirs who inherit the will of Henrian the Lion.

Princess Medea did not inherit the Azure Lion and is not the subject of our Dukes' oath.
Sophie is merely a princess, and has no right to be regent. Only Liseria meets the requirements of our vow.

Novell's expression shifted slightly, but before he could respond, Aesop Lee calmly interjected, "This is a matter of principle, which we respect. However, the form and actual operation of the regency can be discussed in detail in the future."

"Second, the ancestral domains of the twelve dukes must regain some autonomy."

We are not fighting to install a prince, but to legitimize the old order.

Roland said calmly, “The Queen has revoked the jurisdiction of most noble territories. We must take back everything we once had—including military and political power, taxation, and limited sovereignty over internal secrets.”

These words made Novell's expression tighten—this had touched upon the very foundation of the empire's political system.

“This is practically a coup,” he said in a low voice.

“It’s not a coup,” Agnes said, “it’s a return to the Old Testament. Otherwise, why would you risk your life for your sister?”

“We are not Medici’s tools,” Roland said in a deep voice, “but we will not become new puppets either.”

von Het did not interrupt, but simply lowered his head and stroked the scepter in his hand, his weathered eyes watching Novell's reaction.

“Third,” Roland paused, his tone more serious than before.

"We will only send troops once we confirm that Princess Sophie's child is male and alive."

If she suffers a difficult childbirth, if the child is female, or if any error results in the failure of the royal bloodline to continue, this covenant shall be immediately void.

There was silence in the room.

Novell clenched his fist, almost retorting, but Aesop gently pressed down on his elbow. He gritted his teeth, finally exhaling a breath of stale air, and forced himself to remain calm as he said:
"These conditions are too harsh."

“It’s harsh because this is a gamble,” Aesop Lee responded on his behalf, his voice as calm as a deep well.

“You’re betting your fate, and so are we. They won’t fight each other for a prince who hasn’t even been born yet, or whose gender is still undetermined.”

Aesop Lee changed the subject and continued:
"However, we also have our own safeguards."

Princess Sophie is still under our protection.

She was not yet due to give birth, and danger could occur at any moment.

Therefore, we request that, prior to her delivery, your esteemed party must dispatch trusted secret agents from each duke's household to jointly guard the birthplace, with the coordination and deployment of the Barletta family in charge.

“Yes, we requested advance notice of support,” Novell quickly added.

"And once production begins, we demand that the allied forces of the twelve dukes be arrayed outside the capital within three days to escort the regent and the prince into the palace; otherwise, we will consider the alliance invalid."

Agnes and Roland exchanged a glance, and after a moment, they each nodded slightly.

“We will dispatch mystics and knights to protect you as promised,” Agnes said.

“But you must understand,” Roland smiled faintly, “that once we send troops, the alliance will be made public. That will be a clear signal of betrayal of Queen Medici. Once this begins, there will be no turning back.”

“We have nowhere left to retreat,” Novell said firmly.

After seeing the two envoys off, it was already late at night.

von Het remained in the hall, silently drinking strong liquor, while Novell stood by the window, his face pale, exhausted but forcing his back to straighten.

Aesop Lee sat to the side, flipping through the copy of the oath, his expression indifferent.

“They want too much,” Novell finally whispered, “almost like cutting the entire empire into twelve pieces and feeding them…”

Aesop Lee put away his oath and said calmly, "They're just offering an impossible price."

"But you made me agree."

Novell angrily retorted, "They want regency, they want the restoration of power, they want a male heir. If they get their way in the future, won't the empire fall apart? What are we protecting after all?"

Aesop Lee didn't look up, but simply smiled calmly and said slowly:

"What you promised was nothing but an empty promise."

"You're willing to gamble on a child's future, so why wouldn't you dare gamble on the expiration date of a promise?"

He raised his eyes, his gaze as cold as the night. "Novel, until they get what they want, all the conditions are just verbal agreements. You only need to do one thing—protect the prince's birth, and everything else..."

He flicked the sheepskin covenant lightly, "...it's nothing but a lie about the future."

Novell stood there, stunned, for a long time before letting out a bitter smile and looking up at the map of the kingdom:

"Then I'll lend them this map for a few days."

Aesop Lee stood up and rolled up the initialed covenant again: "A wise man knows when to lie; a wiser man knows when to keep his word."

A breeze stirs outside the window, and the lights of the distant palace still shine. The Twelfth Duke's blue lion banner will quietly enter Alleston before dawn, while Norville's gamble has yet to be wagered.

The night was as dark as ink, and the fog grew even thicker.

An unusual damp chill rose from the old forest border near Alleston, a smell only found on the battlefield.

The private armies dispatched by the old nobles quietly entered the outskirts of the capital under cover of night, setting up camp on the site of Henrian VII's former encampment during his unification wars. This news had already reached the royal palace without a sound.

Medici sat in the Star Chart Hall of the palace.

The Star Chart Hall was originally a military stronghold during the establishment of the old royal palace. In the center was a silver map depicting the entire continent, with the emblems of the major duchies carved along the edges. Now, most of it has been smashed by the scepter.

She wore a dark gold-patterned robe of the Virgin Mary, her face stern.

Several female officials and cardinals stood beside him, all with their heads bowed and silent.

The only one who dared to speak out was the chief inspector from the Church's Inquisition Bureau, an elderly man with a gray beard who respectfully but cautiously reported:
"...Before dawn today, Duke von Het personally received messengers from the former duchies of Hertau, Vieux and Turan, and the alliance treaty was indeed initialed."

Furthermore, the defenses around the Barletta Manor have been significantly reinforced, with nearly ten esoteric practitioners stationed at the pregnant woman's residence. Our people... will find it difficult to approach.”

Medici's right hand slowly traced the western border of the star map. She looked at the original locations of the twelve badges and gently ran her fingernail over each one, making a soft, metallic scraping sound.

"The remnants of the Azure Lion's army."

She uttered those words softly, her eyes devoid of emotion, only revealing a hint of ruthlessness born of exhaustion.

She remembered it clearly; she was five years old that year, and King Henrian VII personally led his knights in a fierce battle against Duke Turan at Red Rock Valley.

In the snowstorm, her father returned to camp wearing a blood-stained cloak and said to her, "Meddes, only by using force and intimidation to make these nobles kneel will the empire have a future."

Now, those broken, withered branches are trying to sprout again in the twilight.

“Ridiculous.” She stood up and stepped into the center of the star map, the shattered lion emblem beneath her golden boots reflecting in her shoes.

"They thought this empire was some parliamentary kingdom where twelve hyenas would devour carrion."

She looked up at the window on the high platform. In the night, Alleston was as silent as the tide. Her tone was low and soft, like a murmur, yet every word was clear:
"Since that's the case, let's take this opportunity to bury them all in the dust of history."

"Someone come here," she ordered.

A cardinal in a robe stepped forward respectfully from behind: "What are Your Majesty's orders?"

“List the private armies, secret formations, and deployment routes of the twelve duchies.” Her tone was cold. “Have the people of the Judgment Bureau lure the three weakest groups into a pre-set trap.”

She turned to the star map and stroked it with her fingertip: "I don't just want to kill them, I want them to know—they no longer belong to this empire."

She looked around the room and finally whispered her true ambition:

"It is time to end this unification war that began with Henrian VII."

Her voice gradually rose in pitch, echoing in the high ceiling of the stone hall:

"This empire will no longer have twelve dukes."

"Trian, there is only one will."

"A throne."

"A destiny."

She slowly raised the scepter of papacy in her hand, the symbol of the [Born Mother], the tangible embodiment of the Supreme Life System Mystery Card.

"And I am the sole holder."

"Eldest daughter of Henrian VII"

"The successor of the Supreme Card [Our Lady of Procreation]".

"Queen Trean".

"The Blood Priest of the Star Calamity God's Path".

Her voice became unusually low and slow in the mysterious atmosphere, yet it seemed to be carried by the wind to the entire sky above the royal city:
"Trian is my divine kingdom!"

As her declaration ended, a beam of moonlight pierced through the thick fog, illuminating the Star Chart Hall.

Beyond the thick fog, the invisible Star Calamity Blood Moon silently watched over the Blood Queen from high above, as if whispering:
"Sacrifice... is still not enough."

"It's still a little worse."

"How much... is still needed?"

Medici's eyes remained unmoved; she seemed to have heard, but disdained to respond.

Because the blood moon only whispers temptations, but never tells you the end.

The final destination can only be written by herself.

"The crown of twelve stars has fallen, and all old vows have been shattered."

"Beneath the shattered kingdom lies the footsteps of the divine realm."

"Listen, the blood-red bells are about to toll, and God's handmaiden has ascended the throne."

—Preface to *The Blood Moon Fragments of Trelian*

(End of this chapter)