Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 441 The Tragedy of the Black Swan

"Family members are the knives, and the audience is the witness."
Silence is the only courtesy that tragedy can offer.

—From *The Black Swan*, a dark fairy tale by Grimm.

The smoke from the gunfire had barely cleared when Medici was already smiling.

She raised her scepter, her voice cold and steady:

"You really think you have the upper hand? Ridiculous. You don't understand—a celestial calamity is beyond your reach with your meager calculations."

She turned her head to the side and shouted at the sky, "Liseria, is this all you have?"

“No.” Liseria’s smile was faint. “The audience is already in place.”

As soon as he finished speaking, Siming felt as if he had been lightly touched on the chest by an ice needle.

Looking down—a thin white thread pierced through her heart, icy cold, but painless. Celian pressed her hand to her chest, frowning.
Rex touched his chest, his fingertips feeling cold; Edel gripped the railing tightly, his knuckles turning white; Allison looked up, a fleeting glint of darkness in her eyes.

Even Medici herself, her family in the square, and the gunners on the two ships were all pierced through the heart by the white silk at the same moment.

Liseria looked at the crowd and bowed as if at the entrance of a stage: "Don't be afraid. Ais won't hurt your hearts. It's just marking the audience."

She raised her hands, clasped them together in front of her chest, and gently closed them.

Darkness descended from the sky, and the wind suddenly turned chilly. A faint, ghostly stage appeared above the royal palace: cold light, rigging, and tattered curtains.

Everyone opened their mouths to speak, but it felt as if a thin veil was pressing down on their throats—they couldn't make a sound.

"Please be quiet. Tragedy begins in silence."

Liseria took a step and slowly walked towards the center of the stage.

She didn't rush to sing a long aria; she only hummed the intro for two seconds as she passed the first cold light. In those brief two seconds, my heart felt as if it were being swayed by her breath.

Si Ming turned his head to look at her. Beneath the clown mask, his eyes were calm, and he uttered only one word:

"coming."

Liseria walked to the edge of the stage and hummed softly for two seconds.

My heart immediately started pounding in time with her rhythm—it wasn't an illusion.

Everyone's steps faltered, as if they were stepping on the edge of a staircase, always just a little short.

"A heart out of sync with mine shares my sorrow," she smiled.

Edel took a deep breath and ordered, "The entire ship—"

There was only a warm breath in my throat, but no sound.

He paused for a moment, his face darkening further. He raised his hand and used hand gestures to give the signal: "Cannon positions one and two, proceed according to plan!"

Liseria glanced at him, as if reminding him of the rules: "On my stage, the audience should be silent except for me. You just need to be quiet—and watch me sing."

The gunner on deck opened his mouth to reply, but still couldn't make a sound. He could only use rapid hand gestures to keep up the flow.

Without waiting, Selene flapped her blood wings and pounced. Her speed remained the same, but the moment her claws landed, she was a beat slower, as if she had been lightly tripped.

The blood claws grazed past, leaving a gash on Liseria's shoulder.

At the same time, all three people felt a sharp pain in their chests.
The God of Fate had a drop of blood on his robe;

Rex pressed his hand to his chest, blood seeping through his fingers;

Allison gripped the railing tightly, a thin crack appearing on the back of her hand.

The pain wasn't fatal, but it was definitely there. Liseria's shoulder was bleeding too—she was experiencing it herself.

Rex cursed under his breath and shifted his position to raise his gun.

“Three points to the left, two points to the top.” Mira’s voice was close to his ear.

He pulled the trigger—the bullet grazed Liseria's temple, an inch too slow, shattering a cold light behind her.

Si Ming glanced at the deck and saw a gunner cut his finger while changing a chain. At the other end of the square, a Blood Moon Clan member also subconsciously touched his fingertip.

"The pain is shared." Si Ming silently made a mental note of it.

Edel's signal light flashed again: Continue suppression. The gun barrels vibrated, and the deck hummed.

With each shot, my heart skipped a beat, only to be pulled back by her rhythm.

Liseria looked across the room, her voice gentle yet authoritative: "Please remain quiet. Tragedy requires courtesy."

She finished her sentence with a short, drawn-out tone, her eyelashes drooping: "Act One ends here."

With a wave of his hand, the first black feather began to fall from the sky.

The first black feather fell from the sky, very slowly, as if someone were letting go of it little by little.

The feather tip touched the deck, melted into the wood grain, and after a moment, floated out from each person's shoulder—becoming a black spot that adhered to the skin.

"You all think I'm dirty, right? Then let's all get dirty together."

Liseria's singing wasn't loud, but it sounded like she was speaking from behind everyone's ears at the same time.

Edel raised his hand, and the signal lights flashed: Continue pressing, change the chain, and lower the angle.

The lights were still flashing, but the gunners began to slow down.

Some people, halfway through changing ammunition, suddenly grabbed the gun barrel, their breathing becoming labored; others lifted the ammunition belt, blood trickling from the corner of their eyes, yet they didn't know why. Still others touched the black spots on their shoulders, their fingers trembling.

“Stand still… Continue—” Edel stopped halfway through his gesture.

An officer on the deck suddenly knelt down, his hands on the ground, his shoulders trembling, not from fear, but from sadness.

He managed to utter the word "Mom" through his throat, but no sound came out. The communications soldier beside him, holding the flag, suddenly pressed it to his face and burst into tears.

The dark spots were creeping upwards, and I felt a tightness behind my ear.

It felt as if a thin thread was gently wrapped around everyone's heart, and then something cold flowed in along that thread—not poison, but sadness, a sadness so intense that you wanted to slack off your shoulders.

Someone saw the little girl's scarf, still tied to a nail next to the gun emplacement;

Some people remembered the kitchen in winter, where their mothers would bring the bowls to the stove so they wouldn't get cold; others remembered the night they returned to camp, when the doorway was empty and the chairs were empty too.

These scenes that shouldn't have appeared on the battlefield were all brought out by the song.

"Don't stop." Edel pressed the traffic light button until his hands turned white.

He stared at the dark spot, trying to pry it off his shoulder. He couldn't pry it off; the more he tried, the more it hurt.

He knew it was hypnosis, he knew that as long as he could get through this, he could continue firing—but his chest ached and his feet felt like they were stuffed with cotton.

He hated the feeling of being unable to speak, and he hated even more that he was also feeling sad.

"Thank goodness..." he thought to himself, "at least I can still stand."

Two more men knelt on the deck. One was a seventeen-year-old loader, crying while clutching the ammunition belt, his tears and nosebleed dripping onto the deck. The other was the old gunner, who stood ramrod straight but pressed his hand to his chest as if pressing down on shattered glass.

At the edge of the square, some of the Blood Moon's followers knelt down, burying their heads in their hands, sobbing softly, repeating only one phrase over and over: "I don't want this."

Even Medici slowed her pace. She glanced at Liseria, frowning as if impatient with this "politeness."

Liseria didn't look at anyone, only at her toes, and walked step by step towards the center of the stage.

Black feathers fell one by one, pressing deeper and deeper into the black spots on the ground, gradually forming a lake of black swans. Her voice remained as gentle as ever:
"Don't speak. Tragedy requires politeness."

The sadder I am, the quieter I become.

Si Ming glanced at the deck and said softly, "Hmph, she's heartbroken, yet she wants others to cry with her."

Rex gritted his teeth, raised his gun and changed the angle again. There was a ring of water in the lens—he wiped it with his thumb and took another breath.

“Keep pressing.” Edel gestured, as if nailing himself to the deck as well.

The signal lights came on, the breechblock was pushed, and a flash of fire was emitted—the rhythm was still there, but it was noticeably less frequent.

Liseria concluded with a long, drawn-out note: "Act Two, this concludes."

She raised her hand and pressed down—water began to flow from the stage floor, the thin, dark water spreading inch by inch, submerging everyone's toes.

The surface of Swan Lake was even colder, as black as ink. Taking a step forward, the water gently pushed you back two steps.

The singing pressed down on my heart, pulling it down again and again.

On the deck, a young gunner stared at the distant firelight and suddenly put his musket to his mouth.

His companion rushed over, grabbed him, and slammed the butt of his rifle onto the deck with a dull thud.

The two hugged each other and cried, neither able to speak—their throats were choked by the song.

“We can’t let her sing anymore.” Si Ming looked at Celian.

Selene nodded: "Understood."

Her blood wings spread to their maximum extent, and the aura of the True Ancestor was like a layer of red pressure, pushing away the surrounding cold water.

She slowly slashed her blood claws in front of her, and a straight red line ignited on the claw's edge, as if she were cutting away all the noise from that line.

"A strike to shatter the demon," she whispered. "Star Calamity, use the power of the Star Calamity to pierce through."

She lunged forward.

This time there was no hesitation, no unseen stumbling blocks.
The blood claw pierced through Liseria's chest without any resistance, and a fiery red light exploded into a flower behind her.

Liseria lowered her head and looked at the hand on her chest, without even a hint of surprise in her eyes. She raised her face and continued singing, as if nothing had happened.

Selene's smile was still on her lips when, in the next instant, it froze.

It felt as if a hook had pulled her chest forward—the same spot, the same wound, piercing right through her.

Blood rushed up, burning hot.

She was puzzled for a moment, then looked over Liseria's shoulder and saw that Si Ming also bent over, his clothes under his mask instantly turning red.

Liseria's singing voice was still low, like someone soothing someone to sleep at the bedside: "Don't struggle. We are destined to share this pain together."

Si Ming pressed his chest and groaned, "Damn it... complete damage transfer, plus life sharing?"

He looked up, his gaze turning cold. "I should have guessed."

The water rose a little higher, and the black feather landed on the surface, not sinking, but just floating.

On the deck, more people knelt down, buried their heads in their hands, and wept silently.

Selene gritted her teeth and pulled her hand out of Liseria's chest. Blood bloomed on the water's surface like a black and red flower, which was quickly pushed back to the center of the stage by the water.

"It's not over yet," she whispered to Si Ming.

Liseria moved further to the center, and Black Feather formed a mournful swan behind her.

Without even looking around, she spoke to the vast starry sky:
"Act Three is not over yet. Please be quiet."

Liseria stopped in the center of the stage.

The black feathers piled up behind her in the shape of a swan, its neck bent, as if bidding a silent farewell.

She wiped the blood from her chest with her fingertips, but didn't look at the wound; instead, she looked up at the entire battlefield.
“In the fifth act of the opera,” she said softly, “our Black Swan is not accepted by the world. She ends her life in a rain of blood, taking her final bow.”

She smiled, as if reciting an old line: "And I will do the same. Curtain call."

She turned her head, as if reminding everyone of the rules: "Those who are bound by my sorrowful threads will go with me—wherever the pain is, that's where you will die. This is a double suicide. What a beautiful tragedy."

Medici coldly replied, pressing down with her scepter: "Then the Blood Moon resurrected me. And it resurrected her too."

She looked out at the deck and the plaza. “You are not under the protection of the Blood Moon. Her final act will be your moment of death.”

The singing stopped for a moment.

In that instant, it felt as if a thread had been loosened in everyone's throat.

Liseria turned her head, her gaze falling on Siming, Edel, Rex, Selian, and the faces marked by Ais on the deck:

"This is your last choice."

She held up a strand of white silk, its end shimmering like a dewdrop:
"Cast upon me. Be my lamentation, let my threads entwine your hearts. When the final act is over, you will awaken under the protection of lamentation and the blood moon."

"I won't vote—" she laughed, "Then I'll die in my song."

On the deck, someone looked up, tears streaming down their face, leaving two clean streaks.

At the edge of the square, some members of the Blood Moon Clan nodded, some shook their heads, and some simply trembled.

Edel gripped the railing, his knuckles snapping; Rex raised his gun, but didn't fire.
Selene licked the blood off her canine tooth, her gaze turning colder by only an inch; Si Ming lifted his mask slightly, as if looking at a line of illegible writing.

"Please be quiet."

Liseria clasped her hands back to her chest, her black feathers trembled slightly, and the swan's shadow slowly bowed behind her.

"Tragedy requires courtesy."

She pulled a slender silver hairpin from her hair bun, and with a flash of silver light, placed it an inch in front of her heart.

She closed her eyes, as if bidding farewell to the entire city.

She takes her bow first; you follow.

There's no need to argue; the song is already written.

—"A Lament for a Deceased Life, The Song Ends and the Person Dies"

(End of this chapter)