Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 427 Shadows and Crowns

"The gods planted the seeds of a crown in the shadows."

Some people think they are gardeners.
Little did they know that buried beneath the soil was a poisonous vine.

—The Secret Scroll of Trelian Court

The Duke of von Het's private residence, its exterior walls resembling a still, black giant ship in the night, with tightly closed windows that let in no light.

Only in the secret chamber deep within the main hall, where golden light rippled, could one hear soft laughter and the clinking of wine glasses, faintly heard behind the heavy velvet curtains.

The long table was adorned with silverware, enamel, and crystal, displaying unparalleled luxury—glistening roasted pigeons, lamb chops with saffron sauce, and wine aged twenty years that gleamed crimson in the candlelight.

Outside the city, the groans of the starving people were carried by the cold wind into the high walls, becoming background noise at the banquet, ignored by everyone.

von Hett, holding a wine glass, glanced at the guests—

Novell Barletta's eyes burned with a premature ambition;

The young master of the Marquis Roland Triss has a gentle smile, yet it hides a sharp edge.
General Agnes Rett, her silver armor concealed beneath a military cloak, held a wine glass yet remained ever vigilant;

And, tonight’s special guest—Lucien Blackhill, the new Duke of Blackhill.

Lucien wore a precisely tailored dark suit with the Black Mountain family's twin-peak emblem embroidered on his epaulets.

He remained composed, but when the conversation turned to the "Tower of Saint Chastity" and "Liseria," the turmoil in the depths of his eyes inadvertently surfaced.

The "Aesopi Barletta" present—Si Ming's disguised identity—sharply caught this moment of lapse in judgment, a half-smile appearing on her lips.

"If Trelian's future must be led by a monarch of pure blood,"

Novell raised his glass, his tone light as if discussing a grand hunt, "That monarch should grow up under our wings and ascend the throne under our protection."

“Of course,” Roland echoed, “and the monarch’s mother—Miss Sophie—will enjoy the honor of being the mother of the nation.”

von Het put down his wine glass and looked at Lucien meaningfully: "What do you think of this future king, Your Excellency?"

Lucien tapped the glass lightly with his fingertips, producing a low, rhythmic sound.

He answered slowly, "A crown needs a suitable head, not a puppet that is pushed on."

As soon as she finished speaking, Agnes and Novell exchanged a brief glance.

von Het narrowed his eyes slightly—the words seemed to come out casually, yet also deliberately.

The God of Fate kept this in mind.

He knew that the new Duke of Montenegro's moves would not be confined to the table.

The candlelight flickered between the silverware and the wine, illuminating the polite smiles on everyone's faces and the shadows in their eyes.

The wind outside the sealed room rattled against the blinds, like tapping on an unopened, sealed bottle.

“Then it’s settled,” von Het said, tapping the carpet lightly with his cane as if to conclude. “Next, we must ensure the safety of Sophie and her child in the palace.”

Si Ming raised his wine glass, his tone gentle yet firm: "Leave it to me. As a member of the Barletta family, I will personally deliver a congratulatory gift sufficient to appease the court and the Queen Mother."

The candlelight flickered slightly, as if hinting that the curtain was about to rise for the next scene.

Sophie's palace is located in an old annex palace within the inner city of the capital—once the royal reception hall.

Now it has been repainted and gilded, as if to proclaim her and her unborn child's nobility with all the visible wealth.

A soft lynx fur rug covers the entire bedroom, making every step feel like walking on warm snow.

The tapestry hanging on the wall is woven with the royal coat of arms of Trelian, and the winged lions outlined in gold thread seem to move with the wind in the candlelight.

The air was filled with a rare blend of sandalwood and rose, spices that had been airlifted from the South at ten times the market price, just to soothe her emotions.

Sophie leaned against the ivory and velvet couch, holding a thick, soft pillow in her arms, her hand gently stroking her swollen belly.

A maid was squatting at her feet, slowly pouring warm goat milk into a gilded silver basin, the milky white liquid rippling gently.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of the milky fragrance and warmth seeping into her skin, as if the whole world consisted only of her and the life inside her.

A slight smile played on her lips as she silently murmured, "When you are born, everything in this kingdom will belong to you... to us."

There was an almost fanatical tenderness in his tone.

However, beneath the luxurious facade lurks a silent chill.

Every window in the palace was covered with heavy velvet curtains, behind which tiny gaps were hidden—behind which the Divine Knights guarding the palace could observe any activity within.

At each end of the corridor stood guards clad in silver armor, their faces expressionless, yet their hands were always resting on the hilts of their swords.

A bronze incense burner, beautifully shaped and carved with patterns of a sacred tower, sits in the corner.

However, if anyone approaches, they will notice the tiny holes hidden in the hearth—these are audio crystals that Medusa herself ordered to be installed, capable of transmitting all sounds from the bedchamber back to the palace's secret chamber.

Sophie may know, or she may choose not to delve into it.

She simply stirred the goat's milk in the silver dish with a jeweled long spoon and said leisurely to the maid, "Go and bring those pickled puffins... Remember, only the best."

The maid bowed and turned to leave.

As soon as her figure disappeared into the shadow of the porch, another, even darker shadow flickered slightly before falling silent.

Outside the window, the last rays of dusk were being swallowed by the night.

The palace lights were lit, like a lighthouse on a deserted island, warm and bright—like a jewel set in a gilded cage, for people to admire and also for people to monitor.

Sophie gazed at the candle flame, her expression shifting between gentleness and indifference.

She knew she was a pawn in this power struggle, and she was willing to use that pawn to achieve her only goal—to place the crown on the child in her womb.

In the dark chambers of the sacred tower deep within the royal palace, the lights burn eternally.

The walls were inlaid with a whole wall of silver-white sacred bone stone, which gleamed coldly; the long table in the center was covered with the latest intelligence files and sand table.

Queen Medusa sat quietly in a high-backed chair, her long golden hair cascading down, her face appearing stern and solemn in the candlelight.

She rested her chin on one hand, while casually turning a golden chess piece—a prince shaped like a miniature crown—with the other.

The layout on the chessboard is like a microcosm of the city of Areston, with black and white pieces intertwined as if engaged in a silent battle.

A clear crystal stands on the side of the table, its interior reflecting an image of Sophie's bedroom:

Lynx-skin rug, scarlet curtains, goat's milk in a silver basin—and her half-closed eyes and smiling expression as she stroked her belly.

Medici's lips curved slightly, but not with tenderness; rather, it was a hunter's patience and calculation.

"She couldn't see the chains on the cage, so she thought she was walking towards freedom."

The Queen's voice was low, both a soliloquy and a reminder to her attendant and commander of the Divine Grace Knights, Sephiroth Grand.

Sephir knelt on one knee, his silver armor gleaming coldly in the candlelight: "Your Majesty, her actions are all under control. Every entry and exit from the palace has been recorded, and not a single private message has escaped our notice."

However… Novell Barletta has been making frequent connections abroad, and recently he has been very close to Lucien, the heir to the Duke of Black Mountain, perhaps intending to forge a new alliance.” Medusa gently pushed a white knight piece down on the chessboard, blocking the black piece’s path.

“Lucien… an old friend of Orion, and a secret admirer of Liseria.”

She said calmly, "Such a person will not be content with the status quo, nor will he refuse to become a disruptor in the game."

The candlelight flickered, and Medici's eyes were sharp as blades.

"Their goals are nothing more than two things—the fetus in Sophie's womb and Liseria in the Tower of Saint Chastity. In that case, let them think they still have a chance."

Sephir looked up, a hint of unease flashing in his eyes: "Does His Majesty mean... to let them do as they please?"

“To let things go unchecked does not mean to be unprepared.”

Medici slowly rose, walked to a cabinet at the other end of the dark room, took out a silver badge engraved with sacred symbols, and handed it to Sephiroth.
"Give this badge to the person you trust most and send them into the underground passage of the inner city—they will think they have found the secret passage to the Tower of Saint Chastity, and I will be waiting for them there."

Sephir accepted the badge and bowed deeply: "Yes, sir."

Medici sat back on her throne, her fingers lightly touching the center of the chessboard—below the golden crown piece, where a faint crack was faintly etched.

Her voice was as soft as a murmur, yet it carried clearly to every corner of the dark room:

“Let them move to the center of the chessboard… the closer they get to the crown, the less room they have to retreat.”

In the drawing room of Areston Blackhill House, the fireplace flames flickered low, casting a warm, orange glow over the entire room.

Outside the window, the snow and fog of the deep night silenced everything.

Duke Lucien Blackhill leaned against the fireplace, draped in a dark cloak, his hair slightly disheveled.

His profile was particularly sharp in the firelight—a high nose bridge and eyes like a lake that had been hidden behind the shadows of mountains for years, calm yet harboring deep currents.

Across from him, Novell Barletta held a wine glass, his eyes gleaming.

On the table lay a charcoal sketch—the plan of the Tower of Chastity and the speculated route of the underground passageway.

"You really intend to touch her?" Lucien's voice was low, as if afraid of disturbing some sacred name.

"If Princess Liseria doesn't leave the tower, there's no chance of winning this game."

Novell gently placed a small chess piece in the center of the map. "Her existence is more important than any army or any gold coin."

Lucien's hands tightened slightly, his knuckles turning white beneath his cloak.

In that instant, he felt as if he had returned to the royal garden of his youth—Orio and Liseria walking side by side in the morning light, with him lagging behind them, his heart filled with indescribable light and warmth.

"Olion died under mysterious circumstances, without even a chance to defend himself."

Lucien looked up, his tone turning cold. "I swore that if I had the chance, I would take back what was rightfully his. Liseria... is his only sister, and I will not let her die at Medusa's hands."

Novell smiled slowly after hearing this, raised his glass to him, and said, "Then what we both want is the same—to rescue Liseria."
Let her witness Sophie's child ascend the throne. Then, whatever position you desire, I will fight for it for you.

The firelight flickered in Lucien's eyes, reflecting an unfathomable expression.

He didn't agree immediately, but instead took a small ebony box from his cloak and pushed it in front of Novell.

“This is the family crest ring left by my father. The Black Mountain family’s oath is not to be taken lightly—since you’ve made me say it tonight, it is a promise made in blood and blade.”

Novell looked at it, his fingertips touching the relief on the ring face. It was a double-edged axe crossing at the foot of a mountain, the lines as if carved into the rock.

The two looked at each other, and the red wine in their glasses seemed to flow like blood under the candlelight.

"Then for the new king of Trelian."

"For the revival of Montenegro and Baleta."

The clinking of wine glasses echoed crisply in the empty hall for a long time.

Unbeknownst to them, a thin silver line was silently trembling in the shadows of the fireplace chimney—an unknown eavesdropping rune transmitting their every word into the depths of the Holy Tower.

Deep in the sewers of Alleston, the damp air, mixed with the smells of rust and putrid mud, was like a dead snake coiled beneath the city walls.

Selene leaned against a cracked stone pillar, her black cloak stained with sewage and dust, her scarlet eyes shining like two faint lights in the darkness.

She could hear the commotion above—the Divine Grace Knights were patrolling the streets, dragging their heavy boots, and occasionally a beam of holy light would pierce through the well opening, sweeping across her hiding place like a blade.

She licked her lips, revealing tiny fangs, and murmured softly:
"Prey? No... I am the hunter."

A rat scurried along the slippery stone wall. Her fingertips twitched, her nails transforming into slender, blood-red blades. With a gentle flick, she...
A sweet, metallic scent immediately filled the air—a hint to the pursuers above: she was still here, still in danger.

Meanwhile, in the west wing study of Dawn Manor, Siming stood quietly on the star-patterned floor.

The heavy curtains blocked out the outside light, and the only light source in the room came from the flickering candlelight in the center of the magic circle.

The magic circle was drawn with silver powder, mysterious ink and dozens of unknown materials, swirling and intertwining like a giant spider web, bringing the end of each line to his feet.

A faint humming sound filled the air, as if something unseen was watching and responding to his call.

He bent down, dipped his fingertip in the last drop of blood from the vampire princess, and made the final stroke on the missing corner of the magic circle—as fine as a hair.
This caused the entire array to suddenly rise and fall as if breathing, with silver light surging from between the lines and reflecting in the pupils of the God of Fate.

"Lies have been etched into the orbit of the celestial calamity."

His voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the crackling of the candlelight.

At the royal palace altar, Medusa stood barefoot within a crimson holy ring, with the blood moon hanging low outside the towering window behind her.

She had been offering sacrifices day and night for months, and at this moment, the blood-red disc hanging in the sky suddenly let out a satisfied, almost murmured sigh—as if some being beyond the human world was responding to her sacrifice.

Inside the Tower of Holy Chastity, Liseria sat in the shadows, her long silver hair cascading down like a tide, her eerie eyes seeming like two black holes leading to nothingness.

In her ear, the "Whispers of the Stars," which only she could hear, was being sung, a song that was a hymn to her upcoming promotion, as if it were a rehearsal for an unknown and indescribable rebirth.

In Sophie's bedroom, on a soft lynx hide, she leaned against a cushion, her hand stroking her swollen belly.

The fetus suddenly kicked playfully, causing her to frown slightly, yet an involuntary smile of satisfaction appeared on her face.

But in her ears, the wails of the dead in the city and the fawning flattery of the nobles in the palace intertwined to form a strange melody—an elegy for the empire, both sweet and corrupt.

At that moment, Celian, underground, seemed to sense something, abruptly raising her head and staring in a certain direction in the darkness, a strange smile spreading across her lips. She knew she had stalled for enough time.

The candlelight in the manor suddenly flickered, as if responding to a signal from underground. Si Ming raised his hand and slowly extinguished the candle.

In the darkness, the light of the magic circle continued to flicker, like a heart awakening.

"The blood moon sighs, the mournful star sings, and the heart of the empire beats in decay."

When the last stroke is made, the calamity finds its end—

And the place of one's final destination is the source of one's destruction.

—The Secret Records of Lies, Volume Three: The Hidden One's Handwriting

(End of this chapter)