Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 430 Spectators at the Top of the Tower
"Tears can also make a great performance. It is the temperature and salt content that determine the luster of a play."

—The Secret Text of the Tower of Saint Chastity

The sound of the bell was torn apart by the wind, as if someone had made a cut on the city's drum with a blunt knife.

Alleston was caught between fog and smoke, the streets like a shattered chessboard, black and white engulfing each other on flames.

Liseria leaned against the stone edge inside the Tower of Saint Chastity, looking down at it.

Her fingers rested on the cold granite, as if gently pressing a rhythm.

She wasn't in a hurry; she sat up straight, like someone in the first row of a theater.

On stage, the scene that she had written, deleted, and rewritten came to be—the militia retreated at the alley entrance, the monks held up the holy emblem higher than the torches, and the cries, shouts, prayers, and the rhythm of iron boots hitting the stones blended into a chorus.

The city is a musical score that needs no rehearsal, and she is the one who can hear the true melody in the gaps of silence.

The shadows on her profile were sharp, and there was a barely perceptible curve at the corner of her mouth.

That wasn't pity; it was the audience's satisfaction.

“Okay,” she whispered to her text in her mind, “Now, let’s enter—the quiet before the climax.”

The wind climbed up the tower, whistling softly through the carved lines. She looked up for a moment; the clouds resembled an unstitched curtain.

She knew what lay behind the veil—not God, but the very bones of the narrative.

Her "star of misfortune" had a thin layer of frost on her bones, making all fates appear clearer and more fragile.

The ground suddenly trembled. It wasn't an ordinary tremor; it was the kind of force that first momentarily emptied the stone before pushing the whole thing back up.

The stone slab at the base of the tower bulges out with a ridge, and the crack looks like the spine of a book that has been roughly torn open.

Black scales, like a veil of stone dust, spread out from the gaps—a giant snake breaks through the earth in an almost silent manner, without the damp stench of a swamp, but carrying the scent of gravel from its long underground crawl.

The snake raised its head, its vertical pupils, like bronze bells, contracted in the shadow of the tower, and as it flicked its tongue, it left fine white marks on the base of the tower.

A red shadow leaped down from the serpent's crown.

Selene landed and lightly clapped her hands in the air, scattering the dust particles.

She looked up, following the tower upwards, and saw the face at the top—cold, pale, with a fleeting moment of tranquility.

Selene gave a cheerful, even somewhat impolite, smile, as if she were rowing a hunting boat to dock at an old friend's pier.

She raised her arm and waved towards the top of the tower without any restraint.

In that instant, Liseria's expression shifted rapidly, like a piece of refracted glass.

She suppressed her coldness and softened her features.

The lip color faded a little, and the eyelashes became darker and longer.

She let the tears rise to the surface—not overflow, but "rise," as if someone were pushing warm salt up from her eye sockets.

The tears were bright and thin, just enough to stay in the wind and not be carried away.

She had learned it, and she had paid the price—each time she forged such tears, her retina would ache faintly at night, as if she had burned an inch of herself as a lamp wick.

The princess at the top of the tower placed her hand on her chest, as if protecting a startled little bird.

She leaned down, her voice softened by the echo from the tower: "Selian... is that you? You've finally come."

That call, along with that single tear, was the prompt needed for this scene of "redemption."

Selene tilted her head back and laughed:

"Don't be afraid, little princess, I'll go up right away—" Before she could finish speaking, the snake beneath her feet twisted its body into an upward spiral, its scales rubbing against the stone wall, neatly carving out a set of steps for her to climb the tower.

"Watch out behind you!" Liseria suddenly exclaimed.
She portrayed shock with absolute certainty, as if she were being burned alive. A tear glistened on her eyelashes, trembled slightly—perfect.

Selene's hair was tossed forward by the wind, and she took a half-step to the side, like a predator hearing the stomp of another claw in the forest.

On the open ground in the shadow of the tower, more than ten knights of divine grace emerged from the light and the cracks in the stone—they did not appear suddenly; they had always been there, but only now were their existence made visible.

The back of the satin cloak was embroidered with the reflection of holy symbols, and the holy inscriptions on the silver armor rippled slightly in the wind, like tightly locked boxes.

Tiny specks of light clung to the tip of the long-handled spear, dust left behind after the blessing.

The lead knight pried open the helmet buckle by a finger's width so that his voice wouldn't be muffled by the metal.

His smile was not vulgar, but even polite: "Her Majesty the Queen had already anticipated this, Princess Celian."

The floor in Alleston has many cracks, and you just had to pick this one. Please come over; we'll take good care of it.

“Take care of?” Celian seemed to hold the word on the tip of her tongue, tasting a drop of wine.

She slowly turned around, the knuckles of her hands rising beneath the skin, revealing slender, translucent, blood-red claws at her fingertips.

It wasn't just a simple weapon; it was more like a transplant of some deep-sea characteristic—light was broken off upon it. She gently rubbed her heel against the ground, crushing a small bronze prayer plaque left behind by a believer, the dull thud like a proclamation.

"Go with you?" She raised an eyebrow. "I have absolutely no interest. However—"

She took a breath, as if carefully discerning the aroma of wine, and said, "You people seem... quite novel."

Her smile dipped slightly, and the thin line in her eyes suddenly sharpened. "Why don't you stay and become my dinner?"

The Divine Knights tightened their formation. The four knights extended their lances forward, forming an inconspicuous "silent cross," with the lead knight subtly adjusting the center.

The two people on the other side raised the holy emblem to the height of their eyebrows and chanted softly, the chanting pulling the air tighter like a rope.

The wind high above was momentarily blocked by the force of the attack, and tiny glints of light flashed in the lamplight of the tower base—like the tongue of a snake foreshadowing its next flick.

Lyseria leaned against the stone edge, her eyes brimming with tears, but her gaze remained steady.

She saw the entire operation clearly: the angle of the knights' toes, Celian's shoulder line, the serpent's momentum, and the reflection of the holy oil in the cracks of the tower's foundation stones.

She treated each parameter as a punctuation mark in her own text.

She even wrote down their dialogue in her mind, deciding when the first clash of metal should occur and when someone should roll on the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

She gently pushed her palm against the stone surface—not a technique, but a rhythm—she liked to add a tiny, inaudible wooden fish sound to her performance at the most opportune moment.

"May the glory of Our Lady protect us!" the lead rider suddenly cried out, calling out "Our Lady."
But he wasn't looking at the holy emblem in his hand. His left wrist twitched slightly, the last syllable of his words coinciding with his gesture—a mark of agreement among the Divine Knights.

Selene "saw" that melody; her toes answered before her eyes.

She took a step to the left, and her blood claws unfurled, like stretching a red thread straight through the air. She smiled, revealing her canine teeth, and the light beneath the tower seemed to lengthen in that instant.

“Come,” she said, “prayer will warm the blood.”

"Raise your shields." The lead rider's command was so short it sounded like a cough.

Four walls of light rose between the shield's edges—not physical objects, but glass formed from prayer words in the air.

The incantation flowed along the edge, making a soft tinkling sound, like someone turning a slender silver spoon in the distance.

The snake's head reached out and crashed into the light barrier. A ring of fine white dust burst out between the scales and the incantation, like snow rising against the summer sun.

On the tower, Liseria took a deep breath, which raised her shoulder line just right.

Her tears slid down her nose and dripped onto the stone surface, as cold as the back of a freshly sharpened knife.

She didn't pray; she just watched. She was waiting—waiting for the real "entrance gong."

It arrived as scheduled:

Selene's right arm swept back, and her blood claws suddenly slashed down along the edge of the light barrier.

She wasn't cutting light, but rather the gaps in the prayers—each sacred word has a breath, and between breaths there's a blank space that can be pinched between fingertips. She found it.

Her fingertips disappeared into that inch of empty space, like reaching into an invisible pocket.

The next instant, a thin crack appeared in the light barrier without a sound.

“Now.” Liseria tapped this in her mind, like a note landing on a piece of paper.

The formation of the Divine Knights tightened and expanded with a barely perceptible tremor, and the lead rider thrust out his lance, the tip of the lance meeting the crack.
The snake's tail swept across, stirring up a gust of wind filled with stone dust; Celian's laughter stretched into a sharp line in the wind.

Above the tower, the old bronze bell in the clock tower rang softly, not loud enough, but just right.

The fight has begun.

The Tower of Sacred Chastity shuddered violently. Dust and cold light spewed from the cracks in the tower, and mysterious spells lit up the stone walls, their lines resembling a net awakening.

The next second, several beams of "angelic light" descended from the top of the tower, enveloping the base of the tower and the square in concentric circles.

Selene stopped, her serpentine body coiling up. The Divine Knight raised his shield, his holy emblem blindingly bright. As the beam of light fell, engravings rose from the ground, like chains. The air was thick with the smell of scorching iron and fragrant oil.

"Seale her." The lead rider said coldly.

Two knights stepped forward simultaneously, their prayers overlapping on the light barrier, forming a cross-shaped pouch that snapped shut towards Selene.

With a swift sweep of her tail, the pocket ripped open with a white tear. Selene bent down, her blood-red claws creating a second gash. She moved slowly and deliberately, as if unwrapping a gift.

The angelic light fell once more, forcing the Divine Knight to retreat half a step and press the shield wall even tighter.

At the top of the tower, Liseria stood behind the railing, still looking like a saint with tearful eyes.

The angelic light brushed across her cheek but did not harm her, leaving only a thin glimmer on her silver necklace.

She whispered, "Please don't hurt her...please."

The knights below did not look up.

On the other side of the city, Alan Herwin ran across the rooftops, his clothes smeared with dark gray by the fireworks.

He saw the pillar of light on the tower and his heart sank: "Something's happened."

"Keep up!" he waved, signaling the Night's Watchmen behind him to speed up.

"Target?"

"The Tower of Sacred Chastity. Quickly!"

Alan ran, clutching the old bronze badge tightly—a mark given to the princess during her evening lessons.

He remembered that the lights were dim that night, and His Highness said, "Don't rush to light the fire; first learn to navigate in the dark."

Now the tower was as bright as day, but he was even more panicked. He whispered repeatedly, "Please, please, Your Highness, please ...

Another muffled thud sounded from the street corner. Angelic light swept across the distance, like a giant ruler, dividing the street into two halves of light and shadow.

Some of the watchmen hesitated, but Alan didn't turn around; he just shouted, "Run!"

At Dawn Manor, Si Ming folded the teacup back into the wooden box and brushed away two tea leaves from the table.

He stood under the veranda, gazing in the direction of the tower, as if admiring a painting that had finally been hung up properly.

“They thought you were just an ordinary vampire,” he laughed, “and that you were prey.”

He tapped the railing lightly with his finger, his tone as if announcing a very simple rule:

“Selene, you are the Wild Hunt, you are the Blood Eater, you are the princess of the Eternal Night Blood Alliance. You are also my companion star—of lies and illusions.”

A breeze rustled through the garden, causing the wind chimes to tinkle softly. He added in a low voice, "Tear off the disguise, discard the formal attire. Unleash your true nature. I grant you permission—to slaughter to your heart's content, my Blood Princess."

The beam of light from the base of the tower suddenly contracted, as if it were being gripped by an invisible hand.

Serian raised her head as her snake eyes narrowed, blood gathering between her fingers, and her claws grew an inch longer.

The entire Divine Grace Knights were deeply saddened.

The next strike is about to begin.

But Celian smiled.

As if she had finally heard a familiar call, her shoulders relaxed slightly, and the ancient seal within her body snapped with a "crack".

The next instant, she seemed to melt into a pool of red.

Blood exploded at her feet, spreading along the tower base and turning the ground into a tidal wave.

The three knights closest to the front had no time to dodge. The blood wave rose up, like countless thin spears piercing through the heavy armor from below.

The iron sheets bulged and collapsed, and their chests were corroded into fist-sized holes in an instant.

The three let out low screams; their human forms remained, but their strength had been drained.

The blood wave surged again, dragging them into it.

The armor plates, leather, and bones rapidly changed color, leaving only bright red "blood skulls" with spasms in their knuckles, trying to get up, only to be pushed back down by the next wave.

The remaining dozen or so Divine Knights all took a step back, raising their shields to their highest point, their eyes fixed on the pool of churning blood. Prayers rang out in rapid, chaotic chants.

The blood-red surface swelled up into a human shape.

She walked out step by step—covered in red, yet clean and neat.

The blood flowed automatically down her shoulders, waist, and legs, converging as if draping her in a tight-fitting battle suit, with the emblem of eternal night standing on her chest.

Her hair was cascaded into a dark waterfall by the blood-red light, and her pupils were like glass ignited by the night.

“Wild Hunt Blood Eater Serian,” the lead rider murmured, as if recognizing the name on the list.

After the seal was broken, she was clearly different. She pursed her lips, like an earl who had just awakened from a blood coffin; her manners remained, but her patience was gone.

Hunger and desire drove away all her worries.

She stuck out the tip of her tongue and lightly licked her canine tooth, as if confirming the sharpness of her weapon.

“I’m hungry,” she said. “Let’s eat.”

With a flick of her left hand, a mid-tier World-type Mystic Card lit up in her palm. The card depicted the silhouette of an ancient building, with its eaves soaring high and its window frames like a net.

She softly read the proclamation: "—Fanlou. Let my prey rest in peace."

The card surface glowed, and with a "click" in mid-air, the entire ancient building rose from the ground. Carved beams, vermilion pillars, and flying eaves layered upon each other, yet the building itself felt weightless, as if suspended between the tower and the ground.

As the building's shadow settled, an invisible flute sounded simultaneously from all four directions.

The voice was gentle, yet it went straight to the depths of the eardrum.

The Divine Grace Knights guarding the front row were hit immediately.

A man suddenly clutched his head—in his eyes, flames descended from the sky, and his armor cracked like charcoal;

Another person fell to the ground, grabbing at nothing, and "swam" forward—he was drowning;

The third person knelt down straight, silently praying. Snow began to fall from his shoulders, his fingertips turned white little by little, and the mist he exhaled became lighter and lighter.
Many more people turned pale and swung their swords wildly, only hitting the wind and phantoms.

"Hold the formation!" the lead rider shouted, but his voice, as if dulled by the sound of a flute, reached his companions too late.

"High-ranking four-winged Radiant Angel, step forward!" He raised the holy emblem and pressed it down sharply.

Three beams of white light rose from behind the formation, and four wings spread out, their feathers edged with gold.

The angel held a sword, holy light condensed into a sharp blade, and as soon as the sword appeared, the shadows in the square were shortened.

They descended through the air, their swords pointed at Selene—

"Click."

Jormungandr raised its head from the shadow of the tower, and snapped its massive jaws shut, as if it had bitten off a piece of the sky.

The three holy swords were swallowed up along with the holy light emanating from them before they even touched the ground.

The angel trembled violently in mid-air, his hand now empty, his feathers of light lost their balance, and he fell in a sorry state.

The serpent's mouth opened and closed again, and the three high angels vanished into Jormungandr's terrifying jaws, leaving only a cold, vertical gleam in the serpent's eyes.

The lead rider froze for a moment, a moment enough for Selja to approach. A chill ran down his neck, as if the night wind had touched an artery.

Selene stopped half a step in front of him, tilted her head, as if carefully examining a dessert on the table.

“The greatest tragedy of mankind,” she said calmly, “is excessive arrogance. You have always thought of yourselves as hunters.”

She raised her finger and gently touched the holy emblem on his chest.

"But actually—you are the prey."

The emblem of the lead rider is split in two.

The flute music from Fanlou was lowered again, and the wind beneath the tower was neatly sliced ​​into countless thin slices.

The shadows of the Divine Knights were drawn by the lanterns in the building, all stretching in the same direction—as if their footsteps were being carried away by an invisible door.

"When the world is moved into a building, everything outside the building must die according to the rules inside."

—From "Fanlou Ji: Fragments"

(End of this chapter)