Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 431 A Feast Offered to the Crown

"In the court of the gods, the names of rebellion and loyalty are written on the same line."

Because He only needs one kind of subjects—a retinue that can be fully devoured at His feast.

—Fragments of the Blood Moon Ritual

The main gate of the royal palace.

The bronze door crashed down, kicking up dust mixed with the smell of gunpowder.

Duke Lucien of Black Mountain gripped his lance, stepped over the broken door hinge, and the soles of his boots clattered on the white stones of the palace courtyard.

At that moment, he felt that he had stood at a turning point in history.

"The palace has fallen!" the soldiers behind him shouted, raising their arms.

Thousands of armored soldiers and over a hundred esoteric masters surged in, their battle banners fluttering, the clanging of armor like waves propelling them toward victory.

Duke von Hett rode up, his beard trembling, his voice booming: "For the new king! For Alleston! Today the queen will pay for her crimes in blood!"

The team roared in response, causing the air to tremble.

However, the courtyard was too quiet.

In the center stood only a few dozen Divine Knights. Shields in hand, spears at their sides, their armor gleaming coldly in the light. They neither charged nor blocked, but simply waited.

Lucien sneered: "These remaining remnants? Is that all?"

von Het waved his hand: "Press it down!"

The leading Divine Knight, Sephir, stepped forward, and his metal mask was gently pried open a crack.

Those eyes held no light, nor any hostility, as if they were looking at a herd of livestock walking toward the altar.

“Your justice, ambition, revenge…” Sephir’s voice was soft, yet it resounded in every corner of the courtyard at the same time, “In the eyes of God, it is nothing but the music before a sacrifice.”

She raised the holy emblem and whispered her last words—

"Now, kneel down."

The ground cracked open.

Blood-red veins, like blood vessels, crawled out from the cracks in the stone and quickly spread throughout the courtyard.

The sky turned a dark red, the air became viscous, and every breath carried the smell of rust.

The figure of the Divine Knight changed first—armor and flesh merged together, spikes bulged from the shoulder armor, the holy emblem was embedded in the skull, and vertical slits appeared in the eyes.

Some people chanted incantations in a low voice, while others made panting sounds like animals.

"Infection—!" A noble guard stepped back in alarm, bumping into his companion's shoulder.

Blood was seeping up his neck, and the whites of his eyes were rapidly turning crimson.

Lucien roared, "Break through!"

He brandished his spear, summoning the "Phantom Black Cavalry." The jet-black cavalrymen materialized in a blood-red glow, their charge shaking the stone slabs.

Sephir simply raised his hand.

The beams of the blood moon fell straight down from the sky, and the courtyard ground collapsed into a blood-red swamp. Countless hands reached out from the mud and grabbed the leg armor of the warhorses.

The Black Cavalry's charge faltered, and they were instantly dragged into the churning blood.

The screams were forced into the blood, turning into strings of bubbles.

The blood-red hand reached higher, pulling the man and horse deep into the depths, turning into a boiling red expanse.

Sephir gazed at Lucien, his tone as calm as if reciting a prayer: "The Kingdom of God has descended, and you will serve the one and only Crown—the Blood Moon."

Around the courtyard, more soldiers' bodies began to twitch and contort.

The armor cracked, the bones reformed, and bright red lines oozed from the skin.

The once-formed army now raised their heads in unison, their eyes reflecting the same blood moon.

The air in the royal palace felt thick and sticky, as if it had been soaked in blood.

The walls and dome of the palace are covered with dark red veins that undulate slightly like breathing.

A phantom blood moon hung behind the throne, its radiance seeping into the array patterns on the ground, making the entire hall seem as if it were located in the heart chamber of a giant heart.

In the delivery room, Sophie was locked on a platform made of intertwined flesh and blood, her abdomen swollen like a translucent sac, with shapes slowly rolling inside.

Her screams were mixed with sobs, as if someone were peeling and stitching her skin back together inside her.

With each spasm, amniotic fluid mixed with blood flowed down the pedestal and was absorbed by the grooves in the floor.

Medici sat on the high seat, her legs crossed, her fingertips lightly tapping the armrests.

Her eyes held an almost elegant interest, as if she were admiring a completed sacred object.

High Priest Rex, dressed in red, stepped into the hall and bowed respectfully: "Your Majesty, the main force of the nobles and dukes has all become Blood Moon followers, and the remnants have been trapped in the outer city by the Church. Once the Blood Moon Ritual is completed, they will soon be converted."

Medici simply nodded slightly, her gaze never leaving Sophie's face.

Rex turned to leave.

"Rex."

That call was like a sharp blade slicing through silk—soft, yet cutting.

Rex stopped, his grip on the holy emblem tightening slightly.

"A pawn of the God of Fate, do you really think you can weave lies in my palace?"

Medici slowly rose to her feet, the light of the blood moon emanating from her shoulders and back, casting countless eyes on the wall as her shadow stretched out.

“I used to be afraid—afraid of conspiracies, afraid of lies, afraid of fate. Until last night, my fears were the same as yours… because I am just a human being.”

She stepped down from the throne, each step accompanied by the pulsation of the patterns on the ground.

"But when I step into God's seat, all the tricks of ants are nothing more than a superfluous line in a script. And I—am already tired of it."

Rex raised his eyes, his expression cold and stern, and slowly took off his red robe.

He drew a black spear from behind, its shaft engraved with a golden ring of destiny.

Boom! Boom! Boom! Three beams of light struck Medici's heart, and the exploding holy light instantly engulfed her figure.

He whistled.

Dozens of high-ranking priests and cardinals rushed into the temple from all four sides simultaneously:

The holy light barrier poured down like a waterfall;

A four-winged angel swooped down, its golden blade drawing a long rainbow;
Flames swept through the long corridor like a tornado;
The sacred chanting caused dust to fall from the dome.

The palace was transformed into a dazzling daylight, and the attacks converged at the throne, forming a burst of light that shattered the stone pillars on either side.

Smoke billowed and the air was scorching hot.

Then, everything faded away.

Medici remained standing in the same spot.

Countless crimson tentacles stretched out from her back, as if tearing open a fleshy canopy.

Her lower body was fused with the throne, enveloped by a massive sac of flesh and blood—like a uterus or a tumor, its surface revealing eerie contours.

Infants, animal heads, and countless eyeless faces shifted within it.

She slowly raised her hand.

A low hymn resounded in the hall; the syllables were not human language, and each word sounded like a nail hammered into the skull.

Golden wings snapped, holy light extinguished, flames turned to black smoke, and holy words fell silent. The angel plummeted from mid-air, and the mysterious magic array instantly collapsed.

“…Go!” A female priestess rushed to Rex’s side and pushed him toward the temple door.

The flesh and blood barrier bulged up, suddenly releasing waves that swept across the entire area like an invisible tsunami.

Everyone who was swept away clutched their heads and collapsed to their knees in pain.

Blood vessels bulged wildly under the skin, joints tore, eyeballs split open with vertical slits, and teeth sprouted sharp spikes.

Rex gritted his teeth, used all his strength to remove the monocle from his right eye, and threw it violently out of the hall.

"Mira! Let Siming—stop—her—!"

Before he could finish speaking, the crimson tentacles had already engulfed him completely, plunging him into the depths of that lightless, blood-red moon.

The blood moon hung above the royal palace, its magnified edges blurring into a slowly pulsating outline of flesh and blood.

Medici stood in front of the domed window, looking down at Alleston.

Her voice was very soft, yet it seemed to come from the sky, the streets, and the ground all at once:
"Order is nothing more than a cage before the body awakens... and I have torn open the door."

She reached out her hand, her fingertips connecting with the blood moon.

The light didn't just shine down, it poured down—a dark red liquid cascaded across the entire sky, like a silent flood. The city undulated in the light, like a slowly turning corpse.

Blood-red veins appeared on the streets and rooftops, pulsating along the stone slabs and roof tiles like a heartbeat.

The fountain in the center of the square burst, the water jets turning into umbilical cords, splashing out warm drops of blood as they swung, which quickly solidified into tiny eyeballs upon landing, rolling around with wet whites.

The earth cracked open, and inside the cracks were not rocks, but writhing bones and flesh.

The river flowed upstream, and the bridge piers sprouted finger-like protrusions that gripped the fleeing people, slowly dragging them into swollen blood sacs beneath the water's surface.

The bronze bell in the clock tower became a beating heart, and with each beat, the entire city trembled. The deep hymns were the very sound that pulsed the new divine kingdom.

The light of the blood moon pierced through every window and every crack in the door.

At first, it was whispered—different people heard different things:

Someone heard the mother's lullaby;

Someone heard their lover calling;
Some people heard the sounds of their hometown, which they hadn't returned to for many years.

After memory confusion comes sensory dislocation.

The lamppost on the street corner is breathing;

Blood seeped from the stone pavement;
My own hands are opening and closing silently, as if I'm imitating someone else's movements.

The veins began to bulge, and slender shadows crawled beneath the skin.

Some people have their backs split open, and wing-like spines grow out.
Some people have a round, transparent membrane bulging on their foreheads, inside which eyeballs slowly move;
Some people have an elongated lower jaw, resulting in their teeth being divided into three layers.

They laid down their weapons and turned in unison towards the blood moon.

What flowed from his mouth was no longer language, but the same meaningless chant, the tone of which was exactly the same as the hymn of the bell tower.

Arno stood amidst the flames, with looted granaries and collapsed houses behind him.

He raised the black flag and shouted, "Arleston belongs to the people of Arleston!"

The mob followed him into the street, their chants of resistance mingling with the loud crashing of doors.

Then he heard the whisper.

It didn't come from a particular person, but from the air behind his ear—

"You have always been my organ."

In his eyes, the firelight transformed into umbilical cords, hanging down from the burning roof beams and dripping warm liquid.

His hands became as soft as a newborn's, yet he still gripped the blood-stained knife.

He saw his brothers kneeling on the ground, their backs split open, sprouting wing-like flesh, yet their faces still wore the familiar smiles.

He tried to shout a slogan, but instead uttered the exact same chant as everyone around him.

The melody was like a hook, seizing the back of his tongue and pulling all resistance away from his throat.

His knees buckled, and he knelt down, immersing the black flag in the blood that had pooled in the street.

The crimson blood climbed up the flagpole to his hands, seeped into his skin, and turned into burning veins.

He raised the flag, no longer shouting for revolution, but instead looked up and cried out:

"Your Majesty!"

Medici closed her eyes and listened to the shouts echoing in every corner of the city.

Her divine kingdom was born.

Alan Herwin's boots clattered sharply on the gravel of the mountain path.

The spire of the Tower of Chastity was already in sight, and the flag atop it stood out starkly against the blood-red sky.

He led his Night's Watch squad at breakneck speed, his heart pounding as fast as his breath.

His Highness is still in the tower; they still have a chance.

"Hurry!" Alan urged, turning back, the old bronze badge in his hand rolling in his palm—a mark of courage given to His Highness during his night lessons.

Suddenly, a suppressed wail echoed through the city.

They instinctively stopped and looked up—Aleston seemed to be gripped by an invisible hand; on the streets, rooftops, and squares, countless people looked up at the same time, their eyes reflecting the same blood moon.

In the next instant, their limbs swelled, their joints buckled, and their skin cracked and bled. They rolled around like parasites, transforming into monsters of various shapes, wandering among the ruins and flames.

“…Oh my God,” a night watchman murmured.

The fluctuations of the blood moon spread like a tide, surging along the mountain path.

Alan felt the air become compressed, and even his heartbeat trembled with that rhythm.

Just when he thought he and his squad would also transform like the city dwellers—

A golden-blue light barrier suddenly rose from the base of the tower, and a phantom lion stood atop the barrier, its roar shattering the blood moon's fluctuations.

The tower gate opened, and Princess Liseria stepped out, wielding the Azure Lion Mystic, her silver armor gleaming in the light.

Beside her stood the vampire princess Celian, draped in a scarlet cloak, her gaze sharp as a blade.

Alan felt a surge of warmth in his chest, and his courage returned.

"Your Highness!" He rushed forward.

Liseria smiled and said softly, "Alan, you did a great job."

She looked up at the surging blood tide in the city and sighed, "This disaster... means that my sister Medici has ascended to the Blood Moon Star Calamity and become a deity among mortals."

Alan's smile froze instantly: "Then what about us?"

“Hold onto hope.” Liseria spread her arms wide, her posture like that of a saint. “Hope will lead us out of the darkness.”

Alan's Adam's apple bobbed, and he unconsciously moved closer to her.

"Don't go there!"

Serian suddenly stepped in front of him, her crimson eyes fixed on Liseria.

"Your scent can't be masked anymore."

Liseria tilted her head, her smile unchanged: "Scent?"

Selene chuckled coldly in a low voice: "On the first day Si Ming and I returned to the city, he said that this place was full of ominous signs of blood moon and sorrow."

The Blood Moon is Medici, alas... we've never been able to find her. Today, I smelled it.

"Such a strong aura of impending doom and calamity—how could I, a vampire princess, not recognize it?"

Her voice was even lower: "You are no longer the Liseria we remember."

The air froze for half a second.

Alan loosened his fist, then slowly clenched it again.

Selene was about to lead him away—

However, the blade cuts through the wind.

The dagger pierced her waist, with patterns of holy light and sorrow running across its blade.

The one holding the knife was Alan Herwin.

Selene froze, staring at the boy's face—familiar, devout, yet entirely foreign to her.

Liseria approached, took the hilt of the sword, and said softly, "Yes, I am Ai Ming."

She slowly walked up to Celian, her gaze like that of an actor in the center of a stage looking down at the audience in the last row:

"Si Ming said that the Mysterious Night Class could give me the strongest army. I agree. So today—I want all those who have been taught by me to fight for me."

The blade turned slightly, and in the reflection, images of Henrian VII falling and Orion being taken away flashed.

"This Blade of Destiny is the cursed weapon I used to end Henrian VII."

He had already stepped one foot into the Cataclysm, yet he still died there. "And you? You're still alive, Celian. You're a miracle." She stroked the blade.

Selene gritted her teeth and tried to summon Jormungandr!

The shadow of the giant serpent rose, only to be crushed into fragments by the oppressive power of the azure lion.

Blood gushed from between her fingers, and her consciousness began to slip away.

Liseria smiled in the light and shadow, as if announcing a victory—

Alan had already retreated behind her, bowing his head like a loyal servant.

"The grand feast on the crown was never prepared for you."

—From the Book of Lamentation, Posthumous Pages

(End of this chapter)