Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 421 The Forgotten Saintess and the Stars of Revenge
She wanted to be the dawn, but waited too long in the darkness.

"She gazed at the stars from the Holy Tower; that was the only light she remembered."

"But the stars are silent; they whisper only of destruction."

"And so she began to dedicate the cries of the entire city to that dark star."

—The Testament of the Tower of Saint Chastity: No one knows its signature

Tower of Saint Chastity, north of Alleston.

The morning light slowly climbed the pale tower walls, making the statue of the Virgin Mary atop the spire appear as if it were plated with silver. Gray crows circled the spire as usual, but the wind sounded colder today.

On the top floor of the tower, in the enclosed garden, all the petals had fallen. Several clumps of roses had withered and turned to ash, their branches decaying into bones under the autumn frost and the passage of time.

Only a stone bench stands quietly in the very center, and a slender woman sits on it, wearing a plain white robe, her golden hair tied up, revealing only her slightly lowered chin.

Princess Liseria.

She sat quietly, an old, blank book open on her lap, her fingertips occasionally tracing words that didn't actually exist on the pages.

"...They are all dead." She murmured softly, her voice dry and hoarse. "In my heart, they have all died long ago."

The air inside the tower was frozen and silent. Imprisoned, this princess, once hailed as the "Light of Areston," had long since lost all her glory and gentleness, leaving only a silent shell wrapped in an untouchable black fire.

She looked up at the sky.

A tall window casts slanted sunlight, which shines obliquely onto the wall behind her.

There used to hang a painting there, painted by the late King Henry VII for her, a silver crest symbolizing the princess's kindness and wisdom.

But now she has torn that painting to shreds with her own hands, the fragments burned to ashes, and sealed in a black wooden box under a bench.

She never threw away those ashes—just as she never truly forgot her father, her sister, the people, the kingdom, only… she no longer believed.

“You all said… I would be remembered.”

She whispered, her eyes welling up with tears, but none fell.

"But in the darkness, all I hear is your silence."

She rose and walked barefoot into a quiet room on the upper floor of the Holy Tower, where a tall mirror stood—forged from world-type crystals and once used by the royal family for astrology.

Now, it has become her mirror, reflecting her image and the deep crack in her heart.

She stood in front of the mirror, looked at her reflection, and smiled.

"are you still there?"

A faint light flashed in the mirror, and a blurry figure appeared. The face was indistinct, only the voice could be heard.

"Your Highness," the man said in a low voice, "the envoys of the Twelfth Duke are about to arrive. We will bring you the latest developments from the outside world, and... we look forward to your response."

Liseria lowered her eyes, her voice calm: "Has Alleston already begun its withering away?"

"The plague had just begun, and the famine was already deep," the other party replied. "We have indeed succeeded."

The mirror trembled slightly, like ripples on water. Liseria raised her finger and gently stroked the mirror, as if she were caressing a portrait of a deceased loved one.

“…Very well.” She smiled gently. “Then let them taste what it’s like to be abandoned. Just like I have tasted it.”

The figure paused for a moment: "Do you... want to continue the plan? This is the final step. Famine will cause riots, plague will force the church to remain silent, and then, war."

Liseria took a deep breath, as if she could smell the decaying stench of the streets of Areston.

She closed her eyes and said, "War... I don't like it, but this is their answer to me." She opened her eyes, her gaze turning cold. "Then let the whole city—weep with me."

The reflection in the mirror responded softly, then vanished into the light.

The mirror returned to silence.

She stood still for a moment, then asked herself softly, "...Liseria, what are you doing?"

There was no answer. Only her reflection in the mirror tilted her head slightly and smiled at her.

That wasn't her smile. That was another version of her—a second personality born from the long night, loneliness, and whispers; it was the Star of Vengeance, a malicious mirror reflecting the pain in her heart beneath the whispers of the Star Calamity.

She showed no further expression and turned to leave.

In the mirror behind him, the shadow still stood there, its lips slowly splitting open, the smile growing increasingly eerie.

It was as if to say, "The next scene is about to begin."

Inside the Tower of Holy Chastity, in the dimly lit ritual hall, the high-level world-type mystical artifact, known as the "Mirror of Repentance," stood silently, emitting a pale blue glow.

The silver-threaded frame seemed to pulsate slightly, each tremor of light like an unknown pupil in the abyss, peering into the hearts of those before them.

"Connection started."

As the incantation was activated, the mirror rippled like water, revealing the phantom of an old man in a noble robe—the representative of one of the twelve dukes, named Karal, the oldest and most cautious member of the alliance.

His reflection in the mirror was blurry, as if his facial features had been deliberately erased.

"Your Highness," Karal bowed respectfully and with restraint, his voice seeming to come from a distant valley.
"We have received feedback on the Fate Disruption Array that you assisted in setting up. Currently, 50% of the grain fields in the inner city of Areston have failed, and two of the three main trade routes of the Holy City have been blocked."

Before the mirror, Liseria wore a white and gold robe and an old saint's crown. Her eyes were gentle, and her expression carried just the right amount of sorrow and tranquility.

She lowered her head, seemingly blaming herself: "I didn't want to see this happen... but if I don't intervene, Alleston will only sink deeper into Medici's lies."

Her tone was slow, melodious and poignant like a hymn, yet every word was carefully crafted within the moral context of "passivity," "sacrifice," and "unavoidable circumstances."

She didn't say, "I caused the famine," she said, "It was to prevent a greater catastrophe." She never suggested "letting Alleston collapse," she said, "It was the price of purification."

Karal nodded in the mirror, seemingly moved by her "compassion".

“The Queen has indeed gone mad,” he said. “Her Order of Divine Grace recently even burned down two civilian settlements with spirit fire, just to ‘purify the space,’ which has caused many nobles to begin to waver.”

Liseria's eyes flickered slightly: "I'm very sorry... she used to be my family."

She lowered her head, revealing a faint red mark on her neck—an old scar she had deliberately left, as if it were evidence of the Queen's imprisonment and torture of her.

Karal remained silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the wound, his expression growing increasingly grave.

“If that’s the case,” Karal’s tone became firm.

"As agreed, we will continue to cut off trade routes to the capital and send more 'messengers' into the city during the next blood moon to spread the truth about the disaster. We are ready to issue a public statement in your name—you are the only legitimate survivor of the royal family, possessing the secrets of the Azure Lion, and should act as regent."

"Your Highness, please confirm—are you still willing to abide by our agreement?"

Liseria slightly raised her eyes, her gaze as clear as silver leaves after rain, her voice plaintive: "I do not wish to bear this crown, but if it is to bring Trelian back on track, to protect the unborn next generation... I am willing to accept the bitter cup of fate."

She straightened her back with feigned determination, her voice perfectly steady: "I will be the judge of this fallen kingdom."

Upon hearing this, Karal nodded solemnly: "Very well. Your benevolence will become the foundation of the legitimacy of this alliance."

The mirror gradually dimmed, and the image it represented slowly faded away.

The moment the projection went completely off, Liseria's smile froze and then vanished.

She slowly rose and walked to the window. Outside, the tower stood atop a sheer cliff—the highest point overlooking the entire city-state, isolated and gripped by fierce winds. She stood on the edge of the platform, her robes fluttering, like a lone star about to ride the wind away.

She closed her eyes and murmured to herself.

"You all think... I was forced to make a choice."

"But the entire chessboard had already been overturned the night I woke up from my dream."

She opened her eyes, her pupils no longer filled with tears, but with a cold, obsessive determination from the abyss. Her voice was gentle, yet carried a frenzied rhythm:
“I will destroy all of this with my own hands—and then build my kingdom from the ruins.”

"Not for justice, not for faith, not for the people."

"It's just because...you owe me so much."

She turned around, returned to the mirror, and lightly traced a line on the mirror surface with her fingertip.

A tiny rune of destiny burned out from her fingertip and disappeared into the depths of the mirror.

Thousands of miles away, a faint spark in the grain depot of Trelian's Seventh Defense Zone trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly... unlocking the first lock.

The darkness seemed to solidify into amber within the tower.

The bells of the Tower of Sacred Chastity stopped ringing yesterday.

No one cares anymore whether this "royal heir" is safe and sound.

Those priests and nobles who once bowed and knelt before the icons now only remember the silent ones within the high walls and prison cells as pawns that could be replaced at any time.

She sat there. As if sitting on the ruins of fate.

Do not cry, do not move, do not speak.

The only sound in the air was the faint burning of the kerosene lamps, which sounded like a hoarse whisper in the silent tower.

She had lost count of how much time she had spent sitting in this room. Maybe three days, maybe thirty.

No one told her how the calendar turned. She no longer longed to know. The guards in the tower changed batch after batch, but her silence remained constant.

The suffocating feeling of being "buried alive" had long since seeped into her flesh and blood, becoming the only real existence in her life. "They've all forgotten."

She uttered those words slowly, her voice as soft as dust brushing against glass.

“After my father died, they forgot about me. My sister Medici forgot too. The townspeople, the knights, the priests… they all forgot.”

She looked up slightly; the night sky outside the window was being filled by a dying star. The star emitted a pulse of dim blue light, as if it were not illuminating the night, but rather devouring it.

She called it softly, "Sorrowful Star."

No one taught her this name, and it doesn't exist in any astrological catalog, but she knows it, just as she knows she is no longer the original Liseria.

That star first appeared at the onset of her illness. That day, she stood alone at the top of the tower and heard someone crying in the wind.

It did not come from the human world, but from some far deeper place—not heard by the ears, but poured into the soul by a layer of mournful lamentation.

From that day on, the old personality began to break apart, like a spider web of veins on ice, crumbling little by little.

She was once a princess, a saint beloved by all.

Her existence symbolizes peace, compassion, and order.

She once used the power of the lion in her hands to inspire soldiers and protect the people.

She once stood up for a nobleman and pleaded for a peasant who had been wrongly accused.

Before Medusa became a goddess, she and her sister played hide-and-seek in the temple's back garden, their laughter filling the air amidst the falling cherry blossoms.

But those "once upon a time" are now just a dry well. She leaned down and heard an echo, not memories.

In her dreams, there was no longer her father's warm hand, but countless faces crying, twisting, and bleeding in the darkness outside the tower.

She tried to reach out to them, but each time she saw her fingers turn into feather-like tentacles, covered in eyes, watching over the entire city.

So she learned to stop asking for help.

So she began to learn to be indifferent to cries and numb to suffering.

She understood: if gentleness cannot make the world remember you, then let the world weep for you.

“You don’t need them anymore,” Ai Xing whispered in her ear.

"They betrayed you."

"They imprisoned you so that they could live longer and with more dignity."

"It is you who will write the ending for this city."

She wanted to retort. But before she could finish speaking, she heard another voice speaking for her.

"Yes I will."

She stood up abruptly, and the mournful star outside the window seemed to tremble slightly as if it were sensing her presence.

Her reflection was shown in the mirror on the wall.

But that wasn't her.

The face in the mirror showed no sadness. Only an empty calmness, like the still flame of a church eternal lamp before it is extinguished by the wind.

Her face was expressionless, yet it seemed as if she were delivering a verdict to the entire world.

At that moment, the real Liseria had fallen into a deep sleep. Her core was imprisoned in the depths of a nightmare from which she could not awaken.

Now, what governs her consciousness is the "Lord of the Stars of Sorrow," the second personality she evolved from the information entropy of the celestial disaster, an "inheritor" stitched together from disappointment, anger, loneliness, and divine narcissism.

It is neither human nor god.

"I will swallow all the cries of this city."

She leaned close to the window, her long hair fluttering in the night breeze, her arms outstretched as if to embrace the entire abyss.

"The louder they cry, the more I can hear my name."

"The more desperate they are, the clearer my mission becomes."

"This is a ceremony, this is atonement."

“This is mine—the crowning of the stars—for the true princess.”

She chuckled softly. The laughter was cold and distant, echoing in the Tower of Sacred Chastity like the final tolling of bells on the eve of a sacrifice.

The sea in the Beiyang region was churning with waves, and the sky hung low like an iron canopy pressing down on it.

"With the water pressure rising, the vibration rate of the seventh-floor air valve on the starboard side has decreased by three points."

"The bow has been turned ninety degrees. Target: southwest. Expected to arrive near the capital within ten days."

On the bridge of HMS Royal Rose, the radio operator and helmsman were urgently reporting to each other, as this expeditionary ship, painted in azure and with an insignia like a blooming rose, was leading dozens of ships of the Beiyang Fleet, turning back to port.

A tall, slender young man in a cloak stood on the deck, his silver and gold epaulets shimmering faintly, the sea breeze ruffling his hair. He didn't speak, but simply gazed at the distant eastern horizon gradually sinking into shadow.

Prince Edel Trean.

He received the secret order seven hours ago.

A secret report from an urgent messenger of the Royal Capital Military Headquarters was sent three times via telegram and sealed mirror, confirming its accuracy.

Alleston is afflicted by disaster.

Trade routes were cut off, and disease spread.

[Unusual activity is taking place in the twelve ducal territories.]

The Queen's movements are shrouded in mystery, and the Divine Grace Knights are frequently being redeployed.

At that moment, Edel felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

Now, his hands gripped the edge of the bridge command console tightly, his eyes sharp as blades. He knew that everything was tilting toward destruction—the empire that once belonged to Henrian VII was being torn apart into a hunting ground for religious fanatics, noble separatists, and vengeful madmen.

"Sister... what exactly did you do?"

He muttered to himself, his tone devoid of anger, only filled with sorrow.

Medici was his respected elder sister, whom he never dared to get close to.

She was intelligent, strong-willed, chosen by fate, and torn apart by fate.

And Liseria...

Edel snapped his eyes shut, the image of the girl who had chased him at the end of the corridor, calling him "brother," flashing through his mind. Was she still safe and sound in the Tower of Saint Chastity? Yet, he vaguely sensed that this calamity was connected to her.

He couldn't wait any longer.

He must go back and regain control of the empire.

Go stop your sister, stop the Twelfth Duke, stop all the forces that are devouring this country.

"Vice-Captain," he said coldly.

"exist."

"Immediately notify the entire fleet that all warships shall return simultaneously to the waters near Areston. Maintain strict vigilance en route. If intercepted by any maritime outposts, dispatch them at full authority according to the Navy's orders."

"As ordered!"

The officer beside him immediately ran towards the signal tower. Edel turned and stepped onto the high platform of the bridge, gazing at the numerous ships gradually completing their course adjustments.

He is not a politician and does not understand power struggles and intrigues.

But he knew he was a soldier, a prince, and the last remaining pillar of the Trelian royal bloodline.

He must return.

He must lead the Rose and the Legion through this night that has been torn apart by the Yellow Coat, the plague, the church, and the madmen.

He gave the order in a low voice.

"Full speed ahead."

boom--!
The ship trembled, and the magic engine at the bottom of the warship roared like thunder, a long blue line breaking through the sea of ​​fog.

The Beiyang Fleet has embarked on its return journey.

"She is waiting for destruction to come."

“But in the distance, the sails of ships are cutting through the waves.”

"The storm is coming, and the stars will decide their wills—the destiny written by man is not yet over."

—From *Trian Naval Archives: The Return Diary of the Beiyang Fleet*

(End of this chapter)