Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 552 The Moment of the Final Diagnosis
When patients become the world, doctors will also operate on the world.

—From *The Diagnosis Book of Mad Doctors*, Volume VI, Final Diagnosis Record

The crumbling walls of the pharmacy trembled in the wind, like a corpse whose heart had not yet stopped beating.

The wind whipped up dust and blood mist, the lamplight flickered, and the smell of medicine and burnt food mingled into a sweet, cold fragrance.

The air was still, and even the firelight seemed dull.

Si Ming had just taken a step when a hand gently stopped him.

The hand was cold and steady, its fingertips shimmering with the faint light of gray stars.

The light was not dazzling, but it had a tranquility that preceded death.

Roland raised his head.

His gaze was unfocused, like the light reflecting off the bottom of a deep well.

It was a tranquility devoid of sorrow or joy—

It is no longer the doctor's compassion, but a judgment before the operating table.

“Roland…” Celian whispered.

He raised his hand to signal her to be quiet, his tone gentle and restrained.
"They are my patients."

The sound was steady and cold, like the sound of a knife slicing through skin.

Si Ming stamped his foot, sensing a sense of "endgame" in the calm.

Roland lowered his head and spoke in a murmur.

"My name is Roland, Franklin Roland."

He smiled slightly, and the light of the gray star reflected as a sharp blade in his eyes.

"The demon of all plagues."

"I once healed the whole world with plague."

"Now—it's their turn."

He raised his hand, and gray mist overflowed from his palm.

Cold, precise, and imbued with the ritualistic feel of a physician.

At that moment, it felt as if a heartbeat was echoing in the air.

"patient."

"It's time to make the surgery."

The gray star shone faintly, like some kind of sun that had lost its heat.

Roland walked slowly forward, his footsteps echoing in the pharmacy.

Those were the steps of a doctor entering the operating room—neither fast nor slow, leaving no room for refusal.

The wind seemed to have changed its tone, and it was as if the world itself was holding its breath.

In the distance, four mutated beast kings wriggled in the gray mist.

Vines, tendrils, petals, growths... their forms were blurred and twisted.

With each breath, new roots sprout from the ground, like infected blood vessels.
Inch by inch, they crawled toward Roland.

He ignored them.

His eyes were blank.

But within that emptiness lies a certain order that makes one afraid to look directly at it.

He slowly opened his hand, and the gray starlight in his palm condensed into a sharp edge.

The light pierced the fog, illuminating half of his face that was swallowed by shadow.

"Diagnosis and treatment—begin."

The wind suddenly stopped.

Gray mist swirled around his feet, like ripples on water sculpted by a blade.

Roland took out the cracked black beak mask and put it on.

The fragrance and bitterness of the herbs emanated from the bird's beak.
He appears gentle, but is actually chillingly cold.

The scalpel is drawn.

The silver blade reflected his gaze.
In that instant, the line between the doctor and death completely overlapped.

The roof of the pharmacy finally collapsed, and moonlight pierced through the mist.

The gray light blended into the dust.

Roland raised the scalpel and whispered:

Please do not interfere with my work.

"I will personally perform this surgery."

The wind stopped.

The gray star twinkled.

At that moment, the world fell into a deep sleep, like a patient being anesthetized.

Roland stepped into the gray fog.

The footsteps were so light they were almost inaudible, yet each echo felt like a blow to the heart.

The glass lenses of the black-beaked mask reflected a faint light, and his breathing was steady and calm.

Gray mist swirled around him, like the breath held by a patient awaiting surgery.

He whispered.

"Mysterious and enigmatic, shrouded in the mists of fate."

A gray fog spread, and the air was reformulated.

The outline of the pharmacy became distorted, and the colors of the world began to fade.

The sweet, rotten smell climbed to the ceiling, transforming into a disorienting fragrance.

The four mutated beast kings roared simultaneously.

The banshee's pupils split open, and her petals curled backward;

The branches of the human-faced tree wriggled, and the texture of the face twisted into a frantic prayer.

The pitcher plant and the vine king move forward together, their venom and roots intertwined.

"very good."

Roland's voice was deep and gentle.
"The illness has been diagnosed."

He stretched out his hand.

The second Mysterious Card appears.

The card features a pattern of pale wings intertwined with surgical needles.

"Life's mystery, Midnight Angel Amanta".

A pale blue light emanated from behind him.

A figure slowly appeared.

A girl who is half human and half skeleton, wearing a nurse's dress, is holding a giant surgical syringe.

Her eyes were gentle, but devoid of emotion.

Roland smiled.

"Amanta, stitch up the space."

She nodded.

Silver thread flew from her fingertips, slicing through the air like a nerve.

Heaven and earth were stitched together, like skin being reattached.

Space collapsed and reformed, and the ground beneath the beast kings' feet cracked into countless pieces.
Each piece was pulled into a different "ward".

The world has changed.

Walls, operating lights, medical records.

The air was filled with the smell of disinfectant and a cold, metallic scent.

This is Roland's domain.
A chaotic clinic where the dead are all silent.

The green surgical lights on the ceiling flashed, illuminating the four "patients" on the operating table.

Medical records filled with diagnostic reports hung on the wall.

The paper swayed slightly in the wind, like a list of countless dead people.

The pitcher plant was pulled to the center of the operating table.

The Vine Beast King was entangled in silver threads against the wall.
The branches of the human-faced tree were forcibly broken.
The flower crown freak's petals were fixed to steel nails.

Roland's gloved fingertips rubbed against the scalpel handle.

The sound was as steady as the anesthesia monitoring sound in an operating room.

"Medical record entry complete."

"Prepare for surgery."

He swung the scalpel.

The gray light exploded.

The fog filled the entire consultation room.

The temperature in the air dropped by ten degrees.

The gray star twinkled in the zenith.

With each flash, the skin of one of the mutated beasts cracked open.

The juices and blood mixed together to form black smoke.

Amanta's silver threads intertwine into a dense net, patching up the space while also sewing up the possibility of escape.

"Amanta".

"Keep the anesthesia on," Roland said softly.

"Understood, doctor."

A ghostly blue flame leaped from the nurse's palm.

Ignite the air, illuminating the entire consultation room with a deathly blue light.

The beast kings began to struggle.

The Flower Crown Banshee shrieked, "What kind of monster are you?!"

Roland looked down at her, the blade twirling in his hand.

"doctor."

He raised his knife and gently sliced ​​through the air.

It was a precise cut with absolutely no excess.

The gray mist swirled, and the light on the operating table instantly engulfed everything around it.

The light from the gray star reflected on the scalpel, forming an arc-shaped crescent moon.

That's not a fighting stance.
That's the rhythm of surgery.

With each strike, the world is quieter.

The gray fog absorbed the cries and roars, and then returned to calm.

The consultation room returned to its initial quiet.

The wind stopped moving.

Even time seemed to be sealed inside the glass dome of the operating table.

Roland stood in the fog,

The black robe was lifted by the wind, like an unfolding curtain.

The black-beaked mask reflected a green light.

What flickered in those eyes was neither anger nor pity—

Only with focused and precise surgical techniques.

"Treatment—continued."

He turned around, and the gray fog spread again.

The illusion begins to overlap with reality.

The pharmacy, the operating room, and the gray, foggy tide overlapped one another.

Si Ming stood at a distance, watching silently.

Selene whispered, "He is... healing the world."

The God of Fate did not answer.

The light of the gray star reflected in his eyes, and he simply said:

That's not surgery.

"That was a trial."

The air is twisting.

The clinic's illusion and reality completely overlapped, the gray mist flowing like liquid.
The walls undulated like breathing, and the surgical lights on the ceiling flickered like a heart rate monitor.

Roland stood in the center.

His black robes fluttered, and the light of the gray star flowed from his chest cavity, spreading along his arm to the scalpel.

The light burned coldly, like stars being boiled into a medicinal liquid.

"Preoperative preparations are complete."

He murmured softly, raised the knife, and spun it in the back of his hand.

In despair, the four-headed mutant beast king was forced to ignite a star.

The giant green pitcher plant fell, its pouch bulging.

The roots of the vine beast king stretched out like a sea of ​​snakes;
The branches of the human-faced tree sprouted a thousand distorted faces;

The flower crown banshee's flower core spun, flashing a golden-red ring.

The four types of stellar rays intertwined to form a chaotic sun.

The energy fluctuations caused the air to tear.

Si Ming whispered, "He can't stop him."

Before the words were finished, gray flames erupted from the center of the battlefield.

Roland looked up.

The gray star within him was completely ignited.

Cold light replaced the heat of the flame.
It was a burning star, but it had no color.

Burning Star - The Demon of All Plagues.

The black beak mask regenerated in the light, and the cracks were stitched up with metal wire.

The lens transformed into two eerie green flames.
The herbs between the bird's beaks ignited and emitted purple smoke in the high temperature.

The fog condensed behind him, forming a coating-like cloak.

Gray rune lines flowed across it, like stitches sewing up a wound.

He stretched out his arms, and the metal needles on the back of his hands injected the medicine.
A silvery light flowed through the blood vessels.

He looked like both a doctor and a patient.

He raised the scalpel,

Speak the first term softly.
"anaesthetization."

The air is frozen.

The pitcher plant behemoth stopped mid-charge.

Roland raised his hand, and the blade flashed.

The ventricle collapsed, the heart bag burst open, and the acid and toxic mist turned into dust.

The second term:
"resection."

The roots of the Vine Beast King were swept by a gray light.

Like tumor tissue being removed.

The rot spread throughout its entire body, and the bursting roots fell to the ground in fragments.

The third term:
"Sew up".

Silver lines shot out from the gray fog.

Sew up every mouth of the human-faced tree.

The shriek disappeared, leaving only the spasms of breathing.

The Banshee wielded her final blade of light.

Roland walked towards them.

The scalpel sliced ​​through the air, leaving a thin line of gray light in the air.

"Final diagnosis".

The flower crown freak's heart split open.

The light and petals burned out in the mist.

The fog spread.

The demon of all plagues stands at its center.
The light of the gray star surrounded him, like a judge's bench.

He announced in a low voice:
"The patient falls asleep."

A gray mist rose up and engulfed the four Burning Star Beast Kings.

The light flickered, then was swallowed up by the fog.

Only a low murmur remained between heaven and earth, like the lingering echo of a pulse.

Roland slowly lowered the knife.

The gray star spun in his eyes, eventually fading away little by little.

He removed the black beak mask.
There was neither joy nor pain on that face.

He said only softly:

"The consultation is over."

The fog has receded.

He stood alone amidst the ruins.

The wind rustled the tattered curtains, and the green light flickered on and off.

Amanta's figure reappeared, half-human, half-skeletal.
Her eyes were gentle, as if she were calling out to someone.

Roland raised his hand and gently stroked her fingertips.

The light of the gray star flickered between the two of them.
Then dissipated.

"Let's go, Amanta."

"They have recovered."

The fog dissipated.

The clinic collapsed, and the pharmacy turned to dust.

Only that green operating light remained.
It flickers and shimmers amidst the ruins, like the last heartbeat of the world.

The sick have recovered, but the world remains rotten.

If this is the pinnacle of medical skill, may there be no medicine left in the world to save people.

—From *The Mad Doctor's Diagnosis Book*, Volume VII, Final Diagnosis Conclusion

(End of this chapter)