Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 475 Waiting for a rabbit to run into a tree stump will only bring disaster.

"Rules are the cage, and calamity is the key."

Fools run for their lives in cages, while wise men break the sharp edge of the key.

Summon the doorman—

Because only by facing trial can the truth behind the door be revealed.

—The Tower of the End: The Black Scripture

The raging fire at the entrance had not yet died down.

Si Ming stood before the shattered doorway, his white clown mask reflecting the firelight. He lightly tapped his finger—and a cloud of gray mist rose.

Behind his shoulder, a tattered yellow figure peeked out from the shadows, like a king smirking behind a curtain, mocking the invalidity of the delivery.

“Process correction,” Si Ming said calmly, as if annotating his own play, “You weren’t seriously injured. At least not in its narrative.”

A dangerous girl emerged from behind his shadow, her smile radiant, like a flower stained with blood.

The necromancer's skeletons snapped back together, their scattered joints returning to their original positions behind him.
The ordnance master suppressed his surging anger; the mechanical arm still bore the scorch marks left by the evil fire.

Isabel clapped her hands, as if announcing the end of a class.

"--Finish."

She snapped her fingers.

The shadows in the living room rippled, and four abominations rose from their knees in the darkness, hissing, before lunging at the bull-headed postman outside the door like cannonballs.

"boom--!"

Flesh and blood exploded into a blue-purple medicinal mist, the chains of evil fire were instantly torn apart, and half of the bull-headed postman's torso crashed to the ground, turning into a charred, shattered, and torn "mailbag".

Amidst the dust, a card rolled out of the ashes and landed beside the steps.

Si Ming bent down to pick it up, ran his fingertip across it, and the stain disappeared, revealing deep red characters on the card:
The Hellish Postman Who Delivers Misfortune and Calamity

Intermediate-level Life System

“Nice souvenir,” he casually tossed into his sleeve. “I don’t expect it to deliver my message.”

The group returned to the living room. The fireplace flames danced in the cracks, and the broken television stared blankly, as if playing dead.

Si Ming sat down, twirling a deck of cards in one hand, and looked at everyone with a half-smile.

“You’ve all seen the process,” he said, slamming the cards down.
"Receive mail, complete, receive mail again. Twelve hours later, all the players on this floor will either be killed or turned into NPCs. You'll never see the postmaster again."

The ordnance master said coldly, "If you want to say 'refuse,' we've already tried that. The price was the mail truck."

“Refusing to accept it is equivalent to escalating the calamity.” Si Ming nodded. “This is clearly stated in the rules. What does escalation mean? The system itself will react. So who is at the top of the system?”

The necromancer's three voices overlapped: "Postmaster... Postmaster... Postmaster."

The dangerous girl wrapped the faded wire around her fingertip and laughed: "So, we won't run, we won't beg for mercy, and we won't rush things. We'll—wait and see."

Isabel's glasses reflected the firelight like two cold stars. She gently closed her notebook, her voice soft:
“Turn the noise up to the maximum, overturn all delivery methods, break all the tools in his hands, and force him to deal with complaints at home. This is an experiment.”

The arms dealer clenched his fist and said in a low voice, "How much 'noise' do you want?"

Si Ming tilted his head, his smile beneath the mask becoming even more pronounced: "On a grand scale, if the postmaster doesn't come, the rules will be exposed as flawed."

There was a brief silence.

The wind rushed in through the blasted-open doorway, carrying with it the low hum of distant machinery.

Isabel raised her hand, like a student attentively asking, "So, where do we begin?"

Si Ming flicked the playing cards up and then gently pressed them down: "Start by dismantling their pieces. Postmen, couriers, mail trucks, knights... destroy everything that can be destroyed, and provoke everything that can be provoked."

The dangerous girl smiled brightly: "I'll take them apart."

The necromancer muttered to himself, "I've come to collect the corpse... no, I've come to collect the package."

The ordnance master slowly stood up, and the mechanical frame on his back unfolded with a clang, the sound of gears meshing echoing in the air.

He wore an almost pious expression: "I'll take charge of starting the war."

Si Ming stood up, straightened his cuffs, and extended an invitation as if to a guest who was long overdue: "Well then—Your Excellency Postmaster, please take the stage."

Outside, the roar of the Infernal Knights was approaching once more.

The clock hands slid past a mark, and the flames in the fireplace flickered slightly, as if it were some kind of omen.

The streets trembled under the roar of the raging flames.

The black mail truck slowly drove up, its headlights like two eyeballs, coldly staring at the door.

Six bull-headed postmen then marched in unison, their chains dragging across the ground, leaving trails of branding marks.

Inside the room, the ordnance master chuckled softly.

"Finally it's my turn."

He reached out and took out a card, its black iron edge shimmering with the light of the World system.

—High-level mystery: Infinite Armory Base.

The card shattered in mid-air, as if tearing a rift in the world. Then, a roar came from the end of the street.

The base vehicle slowly drove in, its armor as heavy as a mountain.

It stopped at the street corner, its robotic arm extended with a roar, and the ground shook as if an earthquake had struck.

Steel skeletons rose from the ground in the night, and factories unfolded one after another under the firelight, like the prelude to a battlefield CG.

boom--!
The first Apocalypse Tank roared out of the warehouse, its cannons burning with flames.

Then came the second and third vehicles, their tracks grinding against the paving stones like the heartbeat of a monster.

Black Hawk helicopters roared across the night sky, their tails tracing cold arcs of light.

The missile bays under the wings opened one by one, their metallic sheen like the whisper of death.

On the other side of the street, magnetic storm infantrymen floated in formation, their magnetic cores crackling behind them, blue and white arcs of electricity weaving into a net in the night.

Each person is like a miniature storm reactor, ready to unleash devastating attacks at any moment.

In just a few seconds, the entire block was transformed into a battlefield.

Outside the door, the mail truck stopped, and the six mailmen all looked up.

The lights on the opposite side lit up, the tank cannons spun in unison, fighter jets circled and stood ready, and the Magnetic Storm Infantry raised their electric guns; the battlefield was about to erupt.

The ordnance master bit into a cigar and growled in a low voice:

Objective: Annihilate them all.

Black Hawks circled, Apocalypse roared, and electric arcs leaped.

The neighborhood fell into a deathly silence—a battle was about to erupt.

The roar first tore through the night sky.

“Fire—!”

The ordnance master roared.

Three Apocalypse Tanks simultaneously spewed flames, the flames from their cannons illuminating almost half a city block.

The shell, trailing a fiery exhaust, landed on the first mail truck. The shockwave from the explosion overturned the rubble on the street, and the truck's body, a mixture of metal and flesh, was blasted in half, emitting a monstrous wail.

The mail truck is not purely mechanical; flesh and bones churn beneath its steel shell, like some kind of creature trapped in an iron can.

Hellfire erupted from the cracks, scorching the air and transforming into black waves of flame that swept towards the street. Black Hawk helicopters swooped down, missiles raining down from their wings.

A series of deafening roars echoed through the night sky as tongues of fire exploded in the mail truck procession, engulfing the bull-headed postman and the fragments of the infernal flames.

But the postmen did not give up.

They brandished iron chains, their links flashing with crimson markings, coiling like snakes around the missiles in the sky, forcibly pulling the explosions back to the ground, and blasting them into the front lines of the magnetic storm infantry.

"magnetic storm--!"

The electric arc exploded with a deafening roar.

More than a dozen Magnetic Storm Infantrymen simultaneously raised their guns, and blue and white lightning wove together a thunderous storm, completely engulfing the oncoming mailman.

The air was torn apart, electric fire and infernal flames intertwined, and the entire street collapsed completely amidst a deafening roar of energy.

The floor tiles flew up and cracks spread, as if the entire neighborhood had been torn into an otherworldly battlefield.

The postman's chain fell, the mark spreading instantly and branding itself onto the ground.

The name on the postmark burned, and then a Magnetic Storm Infantryman was twisted into a blood-stained piece of paper like a stamp, and was swept away by the wind with a scream.

"Damn it—!" the Armory Master roared, slamming his fist into the iron bars. He then commanded, "Apocalypse, suppress them! Black Hawk, bombard them until they cry for their parents!"

The streets descended into madness:

The firepower of the Apocalypse Tank clashed head-on with the infernal flames of the mail truck, like planets colliding.

Black Hawk's missile barrage and chains twisted into a sky net bursting with sparks.

The electric arcs from the Magnetic Storm Infantry danced wildly, burning the postman's remains to charcoal one by one.

This is a symphony of steel and curses, a deafening blend of the mechanical roar of modern warfare and the howling of Cthulhu's fiery flames.

Si Ming stood by the window inside the room, the flames reflecting off his white clown mask, and chuckled softly, "A theater of war, quite the schemer."

Isabel pushed up her glasses and scribbled rapidly in her notebook: "The observation data is good... The results of the battle between the Fiery Terror and the Magnetic Storm are worth recording."

However, in the center of the battlefield, the wreckage of the first destroyed mail truck suddenly began to move, and its broken wheels and frame began to reassemble.

Flesh and blood merged with the raging flames and were reborn, a deep whistle echoing through the night sky.

—The calamity has not ended.

The clash between raging fire and steel continued on the streets.

Flames erupted from the cannons of the Apocalypse Tank, its muzzle roaring like thunder, while the wreckage of the mail truck tumbled in the flames; Black Hawk helicopters swept low overhead, raining down missiles, as if the night sky were ablaze.

The ordnance master stood in the middle of the street, his silhouette stretched extremely long in the light of the explosion.

He spread his arms wide, like a conductor leading a symphony.

"Hahahaha! War—this is my paradise!"

The low growl from his mouth almost drowned out all the roar.

—At that moment, his memory overlapped with the present scene.

In his world of doors, the first lesson a child learns is not the alphabet, but how to disassemble a rifle.

When church bells ring, it means soldiers are lining up for drills; prayer is not for blessings, but for the coronation of the next war.

Steel is faith, and gunfire is truth.

Born into a militaristic world, the name Reinhardt has been inextricably linked with "war" from the very beginning.

He didn't worship war for the sake of victory, but for the frenzied roar, for the impact of flesh and blood being crushed, for the feeling of "supreme" when standing in the torrent of steel.

So he stepped into the Tower of the End.

It wasn't to prolong his life, but to return stronger and plunge his world, and indeed all the worlds he saw, into the flames of war.

"War is the only order!" he roared, swinging his arms down sharply.

The Magnetic Storm Infantrymen raised their guns in unison, and a dozen bolts of lightning intertwined, engulfing the three mailmen who rushed forward in an arc storm.

Before the bull-headed postmen could even scream, their bodies twisted and turned into charred remains, collapsing along with the electric flames.

On the other side, the Apocalypse Tank roared and crushed past, its heavy shells blasting a mail truck into the air. The vehicle exploded, and the fiery inferno rained down, scattering scorched earth across the ground.

The streets fell silent for a moment, with only embers flickering.

The armssmith laughed loudly, stretching out his arms, his voice hoarse and arrogant:
"I, Reinhardt—today I'll send you all back to hell!"

Bathed in the light of flames and electric arcs, his smile resembled that of a mad statue.

He arrogantly turned to look at Si Ming and the others, his eyes filled with burning ambition: "Haha! That's all! The rest, I can handle on my own!"

Just as he was feeling triumphant, a new roar was brewing in the distant darkness.

Reinhardt's laughter still echoed in the night sky, like a frenzied song of steel grinding together.

However, the sound of the wind suddenly froze the next second.

In the darkness in the distance, several lights first appeared, like the eyes of wild beasts.

What followed was a deafening roar as hundreds and thousands of iron hooves simultaneously crushed the earth.

Boom——Boom——Boom——

At the end of the street, dozens of mail trucks came side by side, like a moving warship of inferno, their headlights like vengeful eyes.

Groups of fiery knights swarmed across the fiery track, their chains swaying and their roars mingling with Morse code-like low hums.

In their center, that enormous black shadow appeared.

The Vengeful Necromancer.

The motorcycle it rode looked as if it were pieced together from countless charred bones, its chains burning in the night wind, each swing sending out a desperate scream through the air.

In those empty eye sockets, a raging inferno burned fiercely, yet it reflected faces both strange and familiar, like phantoms of all those who had betrayed them.

Reinhardt's smile froze instantly.

“…Damn it.” He muttered two words under his breath, his mechanical arm instinctively protecting him.

Si Ming sighed softly and pushed up his white clown mask: "I told you, you're getting ahead of yourself."

Isabel laughed out loud, her glasses reflecting the raging fire: "The data is getting more and more perfect."

The green-haired girl licked her lips, as excited as if she were watching a ball begin.

The necromancer muttered to himself, the three voices overlapping into one sentence: "It's here...it's here...it's finally here."

The chains of the vengeful necromancer fell heavily to the ground, like a postmark stamping fate. It growled softly:

"I don't remember who you are... but I remember the hatred."

The flames exploded in the night sky, plunging the neighborhood into hell.

—The battle has only just begun.

"The tower never needs a winner; the tower only needs fuel."

A celestial calamity is but a candle wick, and a malevolent fire is but a flame.

"Burn one generation, then ignite another."

—The Black Book of the End Tower: The Chapter of Evil Fire

(End of this chapter)