Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 452 The Dark Gospel in Fairy Tales
"Everyone must kneel before the princess and listen to her gospel."

Whether you are a mortal, a powerful person, or a god.

Because fairy tales never make sense.

—Charlotte's Whispers, page 7

Carlos's gunshot echoed through the hall, and Victor's body was still smoldering.

The stench of blood had not yet dissipated when a clear, melodious fairytale tune drifted from the gambling table on the other side.

Charlotte's betting game has also come to an end.

When everyone turned their gaze, they saw that the girl in pink was already sitting on the jeweled throne on the high platform.

Her skirt spread out like flowers, her crown reflected a holy radiance, and her smile was sweet and innocent.

The only thing that glared at her feet was the ground beneath her feet.

The cold, black-clad heir, Riddle Harrens, was currently being trampled on the head by her high heels.

Blood dripped from his temples onto the marble floor, reflecting the flickering lamplight.

Charlotte twirled a delicate little knife between her fingers, like a child twirling a harmless toy.

She lowered her eyelashes, but her tone was as sweet as if she were coaxing a pet:

"Riddle... are you begging me to surrender?"

She tilted her head, her smile gentle, but her eyes were cold and empty.

"Do you want me to spare your life? Give you a position? Or... give you a reason to live?"

Her voice was like a fairy tale lullaby, melodious, yet it sent a chill down the spines of everyone present.

"It's awful, Riddle. I don't like the look in your eyes."

The princess's smile became the cruelest verdict.

The hall was eerily quiet.

Riddle's shoulders heaved violently, and his breathing was heavy and labored, like a bellows.

Cold sweat dripped down his cheeks, and his fingers stiffly rose, only to tremble uncontrollably in mid-air.

Charlotte gently twirled the small knife in her hand, her voice sweet and cloying: "Why aren't you moving? Or are you reluctant to part with it? But if you want to live, you have to offer a gift."

Her tone was like she was coaxing a child, but every word she spoke sent chills down his spine.

"I...can't die..."

Riddle's throat tightened, and he murmured softly, as if trying to comfort himself.

“She… Hattiffany…I must avenge her…so…I must live…”

His hands finally rose slowly, his fingertips trembling with pain.

Under everyone's gaze, his body convulsed violently, and he whimpered softly.

Finally, he knelt down and offered his hands.

In the palm of my hand, I quietly cradled two dull, lifeless eyes.

The hall was dead silent.

Charlotte leaned down and stared into those eyes for a moment.

Her smile was still sweet, but it carried a hint of disdain.

"It's so ugly."

She lifted her high heels and gently kicked those eyes away.

"It's too dirty. I don't like it."

She smiled sweetly, as if appraising a broken toy, as if to continue telling a fairy tale:

"Riddle, your gift hasn't impressed the princess."

Riddle knelt on the ground, his breathing rapid and disordered.

He lost his eyes, yet he still clenched his teeth, as if that might elicit a sliver of pity.

Charlotte bent down, her skirt spreading out on the marble floor like a blooming pink rose.

She gently lifted his chin with her fingers, her smile still innocent and sweet.

"Riddle, do you think you can survive?"

She blinked, her tone light and cheerful, almost like singing.

"You offered your eyes, but I never liked the look in your eyes from the very beginning."

She straightened up, tiptoed, and like a child showing off her toys, whispered:
"Do you want to know the truth? Do you want to know who... turned your Hattiffany into that beautiful doll?"

Riddle's breathing suddenly stopped, and his whole body stiffened.

Charlotte smiled sweetly, her voice soft yet chilling to the bone:
"It's not Carlos."

She twirled the small knife in her hand, narrating lightly, as if telling a fairy tale to a group of children:

"I invited her to the ball, dressed her in beautiful clothes, and adorned her with the most dazzling jewels. She was very nervous and scared, but how beautiful her eyes were."

"Then, I peeled off her skin layer by layer, like unwrapping a gift."

“I sewed it into a doll and placed it by your bedside, and even left clues to make everyone think—it was Carlos’s doing.”

She tilted her head, blinked, and smiled:

"Isn't it exquisite? Isn't it perfect? ​​Even you were fooled by me."

There was silence all around.

Riddle trembled all over, his chest heaving violently, and he gritted his teeth, letting out a suppressed growl.

Charlotte, however, seemed to ignore his pain, clapping her hands lightly, as if to end a fairy tale performance:
"So, Riddle, what value do you think you have left? Revenge? Ha, that's just a dream I gave you."

Her tone remained sweet, yet every word was like a razor blade, dissecting Riddle's last shred of reason.

Riddle's body jolted violently, and he roared, "Charlotte!!!"

He staggered to his feet, his arm flashing out, the Mysterious Card in his hand gleaming with a dark light. "Then, you will be buried with her!!!"

The princess's fairy tale finally sparked a rebellion by a madman.

Riddle's roar shattered the silence of the hall.

He raised his hands high, the Mysterious Card burning in his palms, the black flames transforming into a death god with a dog's head and a human body.

The empty eye sockets glowed red, the chains clanged, and the heavy scythe was raised high by Death, aimed straight at Charlotte's head.

"Judgment of those sentenced to death—Death!"

Riddle's roar, accompanied by a mysterious rumble, seemed to tear the entire casino apart.

The spectators all stood up, and the air suddenly became tense.

However, the sickle did not fall.

"Keng——!"

Sparks flew as a long sword blocked the sickle's blade.

Charlotte's maid stood coldly behind her, her eyes indifferent, her long sword as steady as an iron wall.

"...You are not allowed to disrespect the princess."

Her voice was low, yet carried an undeniable chill.

Charlotte smiled, her skirt swaying slightly, her voice still sweet and cloying, as if she were pleading:

"Grandpa, the first rule-breaker has appeared."

Aren't you going to make a move?

On the second-floor spectator stands, old Harrens slowly raised his hand.

His face was like a withered tree, his eyes cold and indifferent, as if judging a noisy insect.

"Sink into the abyss of gambling, you madman."

As soon as he finished speaking, a crack suddenly appeared beneath Riddle's feet.

The black rift opened into a hideous maw of hell, from which blazing red light surged forth.

Riddle's roar instantly turned into terror and despair. He struggled desperately, but was pulled down by invisible chains.

"Charlotte—! I curse you—!"

His roar abruptly stopped as his body was swallowed up.

The next instant, the abyss closed, leaving only scorching smoke and a pungent smell of burning.

The hall fell silent once more.

Charlotte clapped her hands lightly, as if to end a boring ball performance.

She smiled sweetly: "The princess doesn't like knights who break the rules."

The fiery crack closed completely, burying Riddle's roar deep in hell, leaving only the acrid smell of burning flesh.

Old Harrens on the second floor slowly withdrew his hand, his voice hoarse yet resounding throughout the entire hall:

"--The knockout stage is over."

His gaze swept coldly over the remaining heirs, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair, as if as a reminder.

"Next, it will be your final battle."

Charlotte clapped her hands, as if to accompany herself, her skirt swaying, her smile under the crown still sweet.

She announced in a sweet, childlike voice, as if singing softly:

"The princess's ball is finally about to begin."

The hall was dead silent.

No one dared to look her in the eye.

Only at the edge of the spectator stands, Hack's face was as pale as paper.

He forced a smile and whispered to the shaman beside him:

"You know what? She's the real monster."

Si Ming pushed up his thick glasses, the lenses reflecting light, and listened quietly without saying a word.

Hack's voice was low, but trembling:

"At the age of five... she inherited her grandfather's direct troops. The first adjutant, because he was standing a little taller than her, she blinded him."

"At eight years old, she became a child star, playing the role of 'Princess Innocent,' and people all over the world called her an idol."

"But backstage, what was she doing? Dissecting small animals. Her favorite accessory was a necklace covered in eyeballs."

He swallowed hard, his forehead covered in cold sweat.

"At the age of twelve, she became a fully-fledged master of the twelve stars, and personally killed hundreds of people in the army. Her speech... she called it 'The Princess's Gospel'."

Huck looked up at Charlotte's still sweet smile, his voice filled with fear.

"In this battle for succession, she is the strongest and the most dangerous successor. Forget about losing to her, even being 'accepted' by her is worse than death."

He turned to stare at Si Ming, his voice hoarse.

“I would rather die than become her…possession.”

The music still echoed in the hall, a lighthearted fairytale melody, yet intertwined with blood and fear to create a dark gospel.

—The ball in this volume has only just begun.

Some people think that gambling tables only eliminate losers.

But in Harrens' fairy tales,
The princess's interests were more deadly than victory or defeat.

—From *The Abyss of Gambling: A Crimson Commentary*

(End of this chapter)