Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 551 The Non-Poisonous Realm: The Plague Doctor Beneath the Gray Star

"The purpose of medicine is to save people; however, poison can also be cured, and hatred can also be healed."

—From *The Gray Star Chronicle: The Medical Oath*

The gray fog hung low, like a long, old veil, pressing heavily on the abandoned streets.

Si Ming, Roland, and Celian advanced silently along the street.

Along the way, tattered paper money lay scattered on the damp road, its surface whitish from the moisture. Several low-level evil spirits, their remains sliced ​​into afterimages, continued to twitch intermittently on the ground, like shadows that had not quite died.

The light on the chessboard of the God of Fate appeared and disappeared intermittently, and the black and white squares seemed to move rhythmically with his breath.

Selene retracted her unfolded blood wings, and the bloodstains in her palm fell to the ground, like resentment peeled from a wound.

Roland wiped the fog off his mask with the back of his hand, revealing a pair of focused and calm eyes, his expression completely unwavering.

"The small altar over here has been cleared away." Si Ming looked up at the street corner, his voice calm. "Let's go take a look ahead."

The three passed through a row of collapsed archways. Suddenly, a beam of light shone brightly in the thick fog ahead, as if someone had lit a lamp in the mist.

“There.” Roland pointed, his voice suddenly lowering and his tone becoming serious.

The group quickly stepped forward. The mist seemed to be drawn away by the beam of light, dispersing to both sides to reveal an old, blackened plaque with blurred characters that read "Deji Pharmacy".

The door to the pharmacy was half-open, the wooden frame blackened and mottled by smoke. Pushing the door open, a pungent, acrid smell of herbs and blood hit you, making your eyes sting.

In the center of the hall, a mat was laid out, and four or five members of the Mystic Masters Guild were lying or leaning, their faces ashen, their lips purple and white, their limbs trembling, and their breathing shallow, as if they might take their last breath at any moment.

A figure struggled to sit up, barely managing to focus, and asked in a hoarse voice:
"The workers' union... are you here to help?"

"Don't speak yet." Roland had already squatted down, his gaze quickly sweeping over the pupils, skin color, and pulse of the group.

He pressed his fingertips against the young female sorcerer's cun kou (a point on the pulse), his brow furrowing slightly—her pulse was extremely chaotic, as if it were being torn apart in different directions by various strange poisons.

Si Ming stood to one side, his gaze sweeping across the hall. Half of the medicine cabinet had collapsed, drawers were scattered on the floor, porcelain bottles were broken, and medicine cakes were strewn about; the banner on the wall with the words "Non-Poison" was now outlined in eerie symbols with red lines.

The middle-aged man suddenly coughed up a mouthful of black blood, a bitter smile playing on his lips:

“We… just finished solving the puzzle at the ‘Non-Poison’ altar. The challenge was ‘Testing Poison with Medicine,’ solving the puzzle in sequence… a total of seven ingredients, starting with ‘Licorice as a Guide’ and ending with ‘Aconite as a Stopping Agent’… one wrong step… and we would die. We chose the safest order, but in the end… everyone was poisoned.”

“Drug introduction, trial administration… using poison to fight poison…” Roland repeated in a low voice, his gaze still fixed on the patient, calmly but quickly sorting through the information, “Who drank it first? How long was the interval between each dose? Was a control dilution performed?”

"Quickly... I can't hold on any longer..." another sorcerer whispered, his arm covered in purplish-black patches, the bulging lines under his veins resembling a spider web about to burst open.

Selene crouched down, patted the man's cold cheek, and coaxed him softly:
"Hold on, don't fall asleep, or you won't wake up."

She turned to look at Roland, her voice urgent: "He has already started to lose his temperature."

Roland did not respond, but took out a syringe from his pocket and inserted the needle into the vein of the female mystery master with steady and smooth movements. He gently pushed the medicine along the blood vessel, and the bluish-black poison line under the female mystery master's arm twitched violently like a snake whose seven-inch was pinched, before slowly calming down.

"Water," he commanded briefly.

Celian immediately handed over the water jug ​​that had been scattered in the apothecary. Roland took a sip, then frowned and returned the water: "No, it has an odd smell."

He took a water bottle out of his backpack, sniffed it, and pursed his lips slightly: "Use this."

Si Ming stepped aside to block the cold wind from the doorway, his gaze sweeping across the hall before finally settling on a crack in the wall behind the altar. Several paper talismans, hastily pasted, had ink seeping from their cores, looking as if they were weeping.

"They tried to seal the 'non-poison' magic array, but unfortunately, it didn't last long enough," Si Ming said.

The middle-aged man chuckled, blood stained the corner of his mouth: "We can only solve puzzles, not save lives."

Roland glanced at Si Ming and gave a rare, faint smile: "Fortunately, this time, I, who am not very useful, can finally do something worthwhile."

As he spoke, he raised his hand and pressed it against the ground.

The air seemed to be gently squeezed by him, and the temperature suddenly dropped. A pale gray current of air escaped from his fingertips, spreading along the cracks in the floor tiles and penetrating every shadow in the hall.

Ding.

The filament on the lampshade trembled slightly, the light suddenly turned cold, and the shadows on the wall stretched and overlapped, as if some being was quietly watching from another world.

Selene's ears twitched slightly, and her brows furrowed: "...There's a breeze."

“No.” Si Ming’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s not wind, it’s ‘domain’.”

Roland's voice was very soft, almost inaudible: "Don't be afraid."

He stood up, placed his right palm on an invisible boundary in the air, and with a "click" in the void, a small metal hook fell from the sky, hanging down an old surgical lamp, its eerie green light slowly spilling down.

"The dead are all silent, and the clinic is in disarray."

With each word he uttered, the pharmacy changed slightly.

Behind the medicine cabinet, a narrow, dark corridor opened up, leading to a hazy operating room. A faint smell of disinfectant filled the air, as if some order from another time had been re-established.

At the end of the corridor, a ghostly nurse quietly got up.

She wore an old-fashioned nurse's uniform; one half of her face was gentle and beautiful, while the other half was nothing but a stark white skull. In the eye socket on the side of the skull, a soft light flickered quietly.

She bowed her head and bent over, her movements elegant, as if she had traveled from an era that did not belong to reality.

Selene gasped softly, her fingers unconsciously clenching into a fist: "She..."

Roland turned to look at her, his voice gentle yet firm: "Amanta, help me."

The ghost nurse nodded and silently walked to the side of the most critically ill mystery master.

She lifted her sleeve, and her bony knuckles gently touched the patient's skin. The moment they touched, the dense dark purple lines melted away like spring snow.

She pulled a bottle of medicine from the shadows of the medicine cabinet, a serene smile appearing on her face.

Roland turned around, picked up the water glass and two glass ampoules, and said in a calm tone:

"Siming, help me hold him down, yes, three fingers behind the elbow. Celian, support the one who is most severely poisoned, be careful, go slowly."

"I'll listen to you." Si Ming put two fingers together and firmly sealed the patient's turbulent blood vessels.

Selene frowned as she decisively carried out the order. The Red Wings were retrieved; her movements were swift, clean, and almost silent.

Roland lowered his head, his fingertips tracing the pulse, pupils, and skin texture of each patient, his judgment as precise as lightning, yet his voice as steady as a bell:
"The symptoms of drug poisoning are very good."

He raised his hand, and the operating light turned, its light falling on the fourth person, whose breathing became steady.

"Doctor..." The middle-aged man opened his eyes, looked at the eerie green light above him, and said in a trembling voice, "Can...are we still alive?"

Roland did not answer.

He simply pulled out a piece of gauze, gently wiped away the black blood from the corner of his lips, and whispered:

"Close your eyes, breathe. Leave everything to me."

The light cut into his profile, making his features as sharp as a knife's edge.

Those hands, accustomed to life and death, seemed to be mending a piece of old cloth on the verge of shattering, the stitches distinct and methodical, as composed as an isolated island on a battlefield.

Si Ming gazed at the green surgical light hanging in mid-air, a slight, enigmatic smile playing on his lips.

"The World System's domain has turned the apothecary in the dungeon into your territory."

“You can think of it as—this is a clinic where only I speak,” Roland replied calmly, his eyes sharp as knives. “The dead are silent, the living are obedient.”

“The name is quite intimidating.” Celian pursed her lips, but her gaze remained fixed on Amanta, and she couldn’t help but sigh, “But she… is quite beautiful.”

Roland's hand paused, as if briefly lost in thought, then he chuckled softly:
"She's my wife."

Amanta looked up, a gentle smile appearing on her face as she turned towards him.

That smile seemed to transcend time, coming from the past.

The skull's half-profile cast a cold light under the lamp, as if fate had torn her apart, yet also pieced her firmly into Roland's world, irreplaceable.

Outside the pharmacy, the wind seeped in through the cracks in the broken window, bringing with it a dull, distant echo.

Roland didn't turn around, but slowly pushed in the last injection, his voice calm, yet carrying a solemn tenderness:
"Let's begin, everyone—let's save people first."

As the green light stabilized, the clinic's shadow became clearer and more realistic in the space.

The air was so quiet that only the sound of people breathing could be heard.

The pharmacy was still shrouded in the domain of the "clinic," its lights flickering slightly, like an old dream yet to end.

Under the joint treatment of Roland and Amanta, the five poisoned sorcerers gradually regained their breathing stability and their complexions returned to normal.

Selene leaned against the door and sighed softly, "It's strange... He's a dead person, but he seems gentler than a living one."

Roland did not answer.

He was carefully wiping Amanta's hands with a clean gauze, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a fragile piece of porcelain.

As their fingertips caressed each other, he gently grasped the hand with its half-boned bone. A flash of light appeared in his palm, as if a memory from the past was being quietly awakened.

He was stunned.

At that moment, his gaze suddenly went unfocused, as if he had traveled through time and space and sunk into a bright morning.

The green lights faded away, replaced by soft sunlight.

Sunlight streamed quietly into the clinic through the glass windows, and dust particles floated in the air like golden rain.

The sign outside the old clinic reads: "Franklin Clinic".

It was just an ordinary morning.

Roland stood beside the operating table, his white coat rumpled, a half-finished cup of coffee in one hand, and wiping the table with the other. His movements were natural, yet he seemed slightly flustered.

The door was pushed open with a "ding-a-ling," and the wind chimes swayed crisply.

A familiar and clear voice, tinged with laughter, drifted in.

"Dr. Roland, you forgot to eat breakfast again."

It's Amanta.

She was wearing a light blue nurse's uniform, carrying a paper bag, and had a clean and bright smile.

She walked in and unceremoniously shoved the bag into his arms: "Egg sandwich, no ketchup."

“…You’re being too nosy again.” Roland couldn’t help but smile.

"Because you're my personal patient," she replied matter-of-factly, tilting her head.

"I?"

“Your stomach ailment isn’t better yet,” she said, winking playfully. “A doctor who doesn’t listen to the nurses is the worst.”

He looked at her, his smile growing wider.

The sunlight shone between the two of them, so bright it seemed to illuminate the entire world.

Outside the clinic, the cries of a newspaper boy drifted from the other end of the street. At the same moment, the distant church bells rang out, their echoes reverberating through the morning.

That was the brightest day in Roland's memory.

He remembered that they went to the market together that day.

Amanta squatted in front of the herb stall, picking and choosing herbs, her brows slightly furrowed, her expression as serious as a primary school student doing arithmetic problems.

He stood to the side, pretending to be nonchalant as he helped her carry the basket, but his heart was pounding wildly.

“Amanta, do you really want to be a nurse for the rest of your life?” he suddenly asked.

“Of course.” She looked up, smiling brightly, “Because that way I can always be with you.”

He froze, almost blurting out the words.

Sunlight fell on her eyelashes, making her eyes shine like stars. Her smile was pure and sweet, like the wind melting in honey.

“I’m so lucky,” he said.

Amanta paused slightly, her cheeks flushing slightly: "Hmm?"

"Meeting you".

She blushed and muttered softly, "Doctor, you're being so indecent..."

The wind blew through the alleyway, carrying the sound of their laughter.

At that time, Roland only knew that the happiness he felt at that moment was warm and secure, as if it would never end.

He never thought about it.

Happiness can also be toxic.

The warm image in my mind shattered abruptly.

boom! ! !
As if myth and reality were torn apart in an instant, the entire pharmacy suddenly trembled violently.

It felt as if something enormous was crushing it from the outside; the ground trembled like waves, and the beams and pillars creaked and groaned.

The medicine cabinet tipped over, bottles and jars fell one after another, porcelain shards shattered, breaking into pieces like wailing bones.

The aroma of medicine and the stench of blood mingled instantly, so intense that it was almost suffocating.

"Roland!" Si Ming shouted, and the chessboard instantly unfolded, its intersecting light patterns forming a shield that blocked the collapsing beams and pillars.

Selene spun in mid-air, unfurling her blood wings, and swept across the air, sheltering several cryptids who had just regained consciousness under her wings.

"There's movement outside!" She protected everyone while drawing her blood-stained blade, her eyes as wary as an eagle's.

Roland's expression changed, and he suddenly snapped out of his reverie.

The green glow of the chaotic clinic flickered violently, and the walls began to crack and peel off like paper.

Green vines quietly emerged from the cracks, wriggling like snakes, coiling around the bricks and stones, and growing wildly along the crevices.

Their ends are not leaves, but open "mouths"—mouths covered with fine serrations, opening and closing wetly, dripping an unknown liquid, and emitting a nauseatingly sweet and pungent smell.

“Aberrant…” Roland gritted his teeth, his voice cold and hard, “People from the Umbrella Corporation.”

Before the words were even finished, the shadow at the doorway suddenly expanded!

The first thing to break through the fog was a pitcher plant shaped like a human.

It dragged a heavy sack, and the huge opening on its chest resembled the mouth of an alien, covered with barbed teeth.

Its arms were transformed by vines, twisted into whip-like branches, each swing of which flung out a viscous liquid that corroded the floor tiles with a sizzling sound.

Its roar was like an iron nail scraping against rusty copper, making one's teeth ache.

Immediately following, a deformed tree with a human face bent down and crawled into the house.

Its trunk, like a human spine, is twisted and bent, and pain seems to be written on every piece of bark.

The tree bark was covered with human faces, each one struggling, crying, and screaming.
Bloody severed arms hung from the branches, swaying as if a horde of corpses was surging.

"Two?" Selene's pupils constricted, and she drew her twin blades with her backhand, her voice extremely low.

“Not only that.” Si Ming responded in a low voice, and new enemy figures emerged in the reflection of the chessboard.

The third one is a Vine Beast King.

It drags its root-covered lower body forward, and every drop of blood that falls to the ground immediately sprouts new shoots and spreads.

The upper body resembled a human, but was not quite human; the torso was covered in plant tissue, flesh and blood intertwined, and bones were exposed.

The entire body resembled a decaying yet ever-growing plant corpse.

The last one was a flower crown-wearing banshee that slowly crawled in from outside the house.

Her upper body still retained the outline of a human woman, but it had been completely transformed into a flower, with her skin cracked and blooming with large petals.

A giant flower bloomed behind her, and deep within its heart beat a vibrant red heart.

With each beat, the air trembled, like the echoing heartbeat of death.

Almost simultaneously, the four monsters locked onto all the living beings inside the house.

The human-faced tree roared and opened its mouth, its thick branches tearing through the air and crashing down.
The pitcher plant charged like a cannonball, its pitchers twisting and contracting, emitting a harsh sucking sound;

The tendrils of the vine beast king danced wildly, coiling around the wounded like an octopus;

The Flower Crowned Banshee tilted her head back and murmured, as a burst of pink poisonous mist shot out from between the petals, blotting out the sky.

"Crouch down!" Siming roared, the chessboard light swirling like waves, forcefully blocking the first wave of attack!

The fog swirled. The air seemed thickened, and even the light appeared distorted.

Amanta's phantom trembled amidst the poisonous fog and gusts of air, like an old painting about to be torn apart.

“Amanta!” Roland suddenly reached out, trying to pull her back into his palm, but only touched empty light.

Her figure flashed again.

With a forceful tug, the half-skeletal arm grabbed a still unconscious sorcerer and pushed him to a safe corner.

At that moment, she moved swiftly and remained calm, just as she had been in the clinic saving lives day and night—gentle yet resolute.

"Be careful!!"

A sharp whistle pierced the air.

A vine suddenly pierced through the fog, like a venomous snake emerging from its hole, and struck Amanta with a violent howl.

"Bang!!"

Her figure was pierced by vines, like light and shadow suddenly shattered after being paused.

The green operating lights suddenly went out, and the "clinic domain" in the space shattered in an instant.

The world quieted down.

Time seemed to be forcibly stretched out, frozen in that one second.

Roland stood frozen in place, staring blankly as the vine pierced through her chest.

The blood mist exploded, intertwining with her illusory light to form a shattered picture.

The clinic collapsed.

Only echoes of deathly silence remained in the air, lingering endlessly in the shattered dream.

Siming suddenly turned around and whispered, "Roland!"

But Roland did not respond.

He simply stretched out his hand, palm open, and caught the wisp of Amanta light that was drifting in the air.

A spark of inspiration trembled slightly at his fingertips, like a candle flame about to go out.

His movements were so gentle they were almost sacred, as if he were still playing the role of the doctor in the white coat.

His expression was gentle, his eyes serene, and his voice as soft as a sigh in the wind.
“Amanta…it’s not us who are sick.”

But at that very moment, those once gentle, kind, and all-encompassing eyes slowly dimmed.

The light of the gray star emerges from within, like a dying star collapsing in reverse before its death.

A coldness that didn't belong to a "doctor" appeared in his eyes.

"...It is this world that is sick."

As he said this, a gentle smile remained on his lips.

But it was more like a confession before death.
It's also like the beginning of an obsession with death.

He lowered his head and very gently placed her phantom on the ground.
Like a surgeon carefully placing the most precious organ,
There was still a devout sorrow in his voice:
"Don't be afraid, Amanta."

"I will cure them...but not with medicine."

He slowly raised his head.

At that moment, the corners of his mouth turned up again, but it wasn't a gentle smile.

Instead, it was a chilling, cold laugh—familiar yet utterly alien.

It was a kind of madness born from betrayal of faith.

It is an extreme judgment after mercy has been exhausted.

The air began to distort, and a layer of green mist slowly rose from beneath his feet.
It's like a chaotic clinic unfolding in reverse, where the line between death and treatment is no longer clear.

He murmured softly, as if pronouncing a sentence, or perhaps welcoming the patient into purgatory:

"Clinic,"

"Reopening."

His eyes flashed with a cold light, like a scalpel tearing hope apart in the light and shadow.

"We are never the ones who are sick."
Rather, the whole world.

I just happened to want to heal them.

—The Plaguebringer, Dr. Roland's Revelation

(End of this chapter)