Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 474 Rejecting Fate
"Rules are not God's decrees."
It was the chains handed to them by the guards.

If you dare to tear it off
Then be prepared to face an even sharper blade.

—Fragment of the Black Book of the Tower of the End

The air inside the room was still filled with the blackened smell of the raging fire.

Looking at his dilapidated living room, Si Ming smiled helplessly and said, "Let's go sit in the dining room; this place is just too messy."

Just then, the door creaked open, and the night breeze carried in three figures.

The first person was wrapped in a black robe, his arms were withered but he held several iron chains. At the other end of the chains, several skeletons staggered over, their empty eye sockets burning with a ghastly green phosphorescent light—a necromancer.

The second figure carried a heavy metal backpack, with various gun parts and iron blocks hanging from his waist. His movements were steady, and each step was accompanied by the crisp sound of gears grinding together—the Armory Master.

Finally, there was a green-haired girl.

She carried nothing with her, not even the soles of her shoes were clean and spotless, but her eyes, like a snake's tongue, were ready to pierce anyone's heart at any moment.

As they approached, a dangerously sweet scent filled the air—the scent of a green-haired girl.

Without exchanging pleasantries, the three of them went straight to the living room and sat down, their eyes all fixed on Siming and Isabel.

The necromancer spoke, his voice like sandpaper scraping: "The three of us are willing to act together. If I'm alone in a house, I'll be targeted by street racers sooner or later."

The ordnance master simply lowered his head and began assembling some metal parts with a clattering sound.

The green-haired girl laughed, but her tone was cold: "You don't want the next letter to end up in this house, do you?"

Just as the atmosphere was tense, the old television in the corner suddenly turned on by itself.

The screen flickered with static and made a creaking sound.

The previously dead picture tube suddenly displayed a face—a distorted, smiling postman's face.

The sound seemed to echo simultaneously from countless mailboxes:

"The Hell Post Office game will end in ten hours."

To leave this place, you must see the postmaster and file a complaint.

Those who did not finish—remain here, eternally serving the post office.

The static swirled, and the picture suddenly went black. The television screen went black again, as if the broadcast had just been an illusion.

The living room fell into a deathly silence.

"A complaint...?" the arms master murmured.

The necromancer gripped the chains tightly, blue flames flickering: "This doesn't sound like a way out, it sounds more like a trap."

The green-haired girl rested her chin on her hand, a wicked smile on her face: "Whether it's a trap or not, we'll have to give you an answer in ten hours, won't we?"

Si Ming leaned back on the sofa, twirling a playing card with one hand, his expression nonchalant.

Isabel adjusted her glasses and said softly, "It seems that Ta has finally made his move for us."

The candlelight flickered, and everyone's shadows intertwined on the wall, like a group of prisoners destined to be stamped with a postmark.

Suddenly, heavy hoofbeats came from outside the door, as if some enormous monster was trampling the night as it approached.

"Boom-thump-thump-"

Three urgent knocks on the door.

The air froze instantly.

Isabel looked up, a pale blue light flashing between her brows, and whispered, "The postman."

The chains in the necromancer's hands trembled, the armorer stopped assembling, and a smile appeared on the green-haired girl's lips.

Through the crack in the door, a finger as black as charcoal slowly reached in and slipped in letters bearing blood-red postmarks.

Each letter landed with a very soft laugh.

After counting the letters, the heavy footsteps didn't leave; instead, they stopped at the door.

Everyone understood: it was time to receive the letter.

The necromancer stepped forward, picked up his own letter, snorted coldly, and retreated to a corner to open it.

The armorer remained silent, took his share, and rubbed his fingernails against the edge of the envelope, making a crisp "click-click" sound.

The green-haired girl stomped on the envelope, crushing it, but the bloody words seeped out and climbed up her wrist.

Finally, only one letter remained, lying quietly on the carpet.

All eyes were focused on Si Ming.

The playing cards spun between my fingers, reflecting the firelight from the fireplace.

He slowly reached out, but instead of bending down to pick it up, he turned his gaze toward the door.

The minotaur postman at the door was half-burning with evil flames, and his dangling mailbag was stuffed with undelivered black letters.

Its crimson eyes were fixed intently on the room, as if urging it on.

"It's your turn," the green-haired girl said with a smile.

Si Ming stood up, put his hands behind his back, and walked to the door.

He stared at the minotaur, his voice clear and steady:
"I, the God of Fate—reject the judgment of destiny."

As soon as the words were spoken, the air seemed to be torn apart.

The bull-headed postman's low breathing suddenly turned into a roar, and evil fire burst into flames between its horns.

All the letters in the mailbag vibrated simultaneously, making a harsh rubbing sound, as if countless paper hands were patting them.

"He's gone mad?" The necromancer looked up abruptly, disbelief flashing in his eyes.

The ordnance master's eyes sharpened, and his fingers gripped the mechanism.

The green-haired girl smiled even more brightly and clapped her hands gently: "Interesting...interesting."

Isabel pushed up her glasses, a gentle smile playing on her lips, as if comforting a patient: "It seems our little script is about to reach its climax."

The bull-headed postman opened his blood-red maw and growled, shattering the door hinges:
"Faithful will surely be delivered!"

The chain of flames lashed down with a roar, hurtling towards Si Ming.

The chain crashed down with a whooshing sound, and the flames instantly turned the entire room red.

Si Ming flicked the playing cards in his hand, causing them to flash with cold light, and slightly deflected the fire chains.

His shoulder was still scorched with a black mark, and the smell of burning filled the air.

"Madman!" the necromancer roared, the shadow of a skeleton shooting from his fingertips, but he forcibly refrained from making a move.

The ordnance master's forehead veins throbbed, and the metal parts creaked and groaned.

He stared intently at Si Ming, his voice like grinding teeth: "Do you know that you've dragged us all down with you!"

The green-haired girl laughed like a violin string snapping, her voice sweet yet shrill:
"Refuse? Heh heh heh, why not? Slaughter is the music, pain is the dance. The rules you fear, the death you fear, that's what I'll dance with!"

She bit her lip until it bled, licking the blood with her tongue. Her eyes burned as she murmured softly, "Come on... let me see if the letter can tear me to shreds even more."

Yandere, a masochistic kind of excitement.

The necromancer trembled all over, his eyes vacant, as if he were arguing with three different personalities in turn.

"We cannot refuse to accept it! We cannot!"

"Refuse them! Refuse them! Hahaha, tear them to shreds, tear the world to shreds!"

"Quiet, quiet... I want to hear the sound of bones breaking." The last three tones blended together, and he suddenly tilted his head back, squeezing out three words:
"Refuse to accept. Refuse to accept. Refuse to accept."

Blue flames shot from his eye sockets, and a skeleton crawled out of the shadows, growling, "Let everything be destroyed here!"

Schizophrenia, resentment, and breakdown.

The ordnance master initially gritted his teeth and remained calm, his hand gripping the machine gun trembling: "...Refusing to accept it is too costly; it might provoke a stronger response from the post office. We should consider—"

Before he could finish speaking, a chain of fiery whip lashed his face, tearing half of his cheek apart.

He froze for a moment, then his eyes went completely mad.

"Oh shit!"

He ripped the charred metal sheet off his face, revealing a grotesque expression of flesh and gears mixed together, and roared as he shouldered the machine gun:

"I want to see them reduced to ashes! Refuse to accept them! I'm going to join you in killing them all!"

His composure crumbled, and he instantly transformed into a violent personality.

Isabelle is the only one who remains peaceful.

She closed the notebook in her hand, gently pushed up her glasses, and said in a gentle voice, "Interesting, the blank parts of the data can finally be filled in."

The alchemical light array quietly unfolded beneath her feet, like a blooming flower.

"Rejection means new variables. Variables mean new experiments. Now that the Tower has given me the script, I must see the results."

She smiled gently, like a mother, yet quietly wrote a few words at the tip of her pen:

[Rejection - Reaction Test No. 1]

The bull-headed postman's eyes burned completely red, and his two horns emitted billowing black smoke like torches.

Behind it, the shadow of the evil fire slowly emerged, as if an entire knightly order was about to step out of the flames.

"...Records of illegal refusal to accept goods: five cases."

The sound wasn't human, but rather the rustling and whispering of thousands of letters coming simultaneously from the mailbag.

"Supplemental delivery - upgraded execution".

The ground shook, and a roar came from deep within the street. Through the broken door frame, Si Ming saw in the distance that a pair of distorted car headlights were shining, pointing directly at them.

The roar of the evil motorcycles drew ever closer, like a convoy of vehicles for the judgment of the apocalypse.

The wind in the neighborhood suddenly stopped.

The next instant, a roar ripped through the silence—not the sound of a single motorcycle, but the simultaneous roar of hundreds of motors.

“BOOM—BOOM—BOOM—!”

The distorted headlights drew closer, like two malevolent stars, turning the street into a narrow, fiery runway.

The smell of rust, gasoline, and burnt paper mingled together and hit us.

Through the broken window, Si Ming and the others saw a colossal vehicle hurtling towards them, pressing down on the street.

Its outer shell is not steel, but a combination of skeleton and sheet metal, with mailbags, chains, and broken skulls hanging on both sides of the carriage.

As the wheels rolled, black postmarks were branded onto the street, bearing the names of players who had died inside the tower.

“Hell Mail…” Isabel murmured, her fingers trembling on the alchemy array.

The mail truck door slammed open, and piles of black letters flew out, tearing apart in mid-air and turning into a storm of sharp paper scraps.

The walls, streetlights, and iron gates were instantly cut to pieces, sparks flying everywhere.

The necromancer raised his bone staff, and the two skeleton warriors he summoned had just rushed to the door when they were shredded into pieces by the paper blades, even the remnants turning into ashes and scattering in the wind.

The armorer raised his iron shield, and the fiery chain lashed out, causing him to cough up blood from his mouth and nose. He staggered back several steps, and the chain crushed charred grooves into the wall.

The green-haired girl laughed even more wildly, letting the wind blades slash her cheeks, licking the sweet-smelling blood with her tongue: "Haha...that's more like it!"

The bull-headed postman stood in front of the mail truck, his chain striking the ground as if reading a verdict.

"Record of refusal to accept goods in violation of regulations: Confirmed."

"Additional delivery vehicles: mail trucks are now in use."

"Reminder: Delivery guaranteed, no rejections."

The white clown mask of the God of Destiny reflected the flames of evil, and a cold smile appeared on his lips: "So this is what leveling up means."

He raised his hand, and the playing cards danced between his fingers like a swarm of paper butterflies ready to take flight.

Isabel gently pushed up her glasses and said in a low voice, "Now that the stage has expanded... there should be more actors."

Her alchemical array spread, and skeletons and flesh golems crawled out from the cracks in the street, heading towards the oncoming mail truck.

Infernal fire and alchemy, playing cards and chains, collided violently in the center of the block.

The raging flames completely distorted the original appearance of the streets.

The mail truck ran over the houses, causing them to collapse like cardboard. One by one, the flesh puppets were branded with chains, and black "received" stamps appeared on their foreheads before they were torn to pieces and turned to ashes.

Isabel coughed up blood, and the alchemical array trembled, nearly collapsing. Yet she still smiled, tossing the remaining potion bottle to the postman: "It's recorded... even this destruction is data."

The armorer knelt amidst the ruins, his hands trembling as he propped up the broken iron shield, but a lash of the Fiery Chain sent him crashing into the street, blood gushing from his throat.

The necromancer chanted incantations desperately, and several skeletons emerged from the shadows, but before they could even raise their weapons, they were shredded to pieces by the storm of paper blades.

His eyes gradually lost focus, as if even his soul had been dragged away by the postmark.

The green-haired girl was still laughing, her laughter piercing: "Haha—that's great! This is the stage for the tower!" Before she finished speaking, the chain pierced her shoulder, slamming her against the wall, blood splattering everywhere.

The mail truck emitted a deafening whistle, its headlights fixed intently on Si Ming.

The next moment, it suddenly rushed over, as if to crush the entire street.

The raging flames rushed towards me, the heat scorching my skin.

Si Ming simply pushed up his white clown mask slowly, a hint of coldness appearing in his eyes.

"...The rules of the tower? I don't care."

He spread his hands, and the playing cards flew out, piecing together in the air to form the outline of a chessboard.

A sudden cloud of gray mist rose up, and illusory chess pieces sprang from the rubble, their spears arrayed in formation.

The oncoming mail truck suddenly stopped, and the raging fire and mist collided violently, emitting a shrill scream that tore the heavens and earth apart.

Si Ming whispered four words:
"The script has a twist."

boom--!
The chessboard collided head-on with the mail truck, causing a burst of flames that shook the entire block.

When the fog dissipated, the front of the mail truck stopped less than half a meter away. The flames were still burning, but the direction had been forced off course, and the momentum had been abruptly stopped.

A brief silence fell over the street, broken only by the sound of gravel falling to the ground.

Si Ming looked up at the still-roaring mail truck and smiled.

"Sign for it? Sorry—this time, I refuse."

They thought the postmark was a mark of fate.

But someone made a cut on the printing paper.

Make the ink blurry and the address messed up.

—Excerpt from "Case Studies of Undelivered Items from Hell Post Office"

(End of this chapter)