Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 114: The Burial Ground of Ten Thousand Bones, the Sorrow of the Nobles

When "nobility" falls into the dust, blood is the only decency.

In the Whale Grave Arena before the fourth whale cry, the stirring smell of blood and sand surged into the sky.

Above the stands, gunshots pierced the roars, and the last dignity of the imperial authority was torn to pieces by a single bullet.

When Alfred pointed his gun at Lennox without hesitation, the entire arena seemed to freeze.

The sounds of killing were deafening and the battle flags were fluttering below, but at that moment, countless pairs of eyes were fixed on the platform.

He stared at the Imperial Vice Admiral, once known as the "Trian Sheath of Justice," as if waiting for his expression to collapse.

Lennox's face was pale, just like his almost suffocating anger at the moment.

He couldn't believe that the soldier who had once sworn allegiance dared to rebel against him in public.

He couldn't believe that the elite navy, whom he regarded as "tools of war", would dare to disregard the orders of the imperial nobles.

He tried to maintain his "noble" demeanor, straightening his back and holding his chin high, as if he were still standing in the interrogation room of the Trian Palace:
"You are soldiers of the Terrian Navy! You are subjects of the Empire! Your blood, your flesh, your dignity—all belong to Terrian!"

His hoarse and cold voice resonated in the air, like a bishop offering final salvation to a mad believer.

His response was a burst of laughter.

Ridicule, disdain, and sarcasm swept in from all sides of the arena like a tide.

Those pirates of common origin, those oppressed traitors, and those who were once driven like livestock finally saw the panic and incompetence of the nobles under the stands.

They laughed so hard that they fell backwards, laughing madly, as if they were releasing all the blood and hatred, injustice and suffering accumulated over the years at this moment.

Alison's gaze was as sharp as a knife as she walked step by step to the guardrail, with the muzzle of her gun pointed steadily at the aristocratic face that was still dreaming.

"Empire? Dignity?" She sneered, the muzzle of her gun slightly raised. "Do you think you're still standing on your throne of power built with blood?"

Her voice was low, but it was like thunder pressing down on everyone's heads: "This is the Whale Grave, Lord Lennox. Here, whoever fires the gun is king."

She tilted her head slightly, her tone cold, "And you are still alive, only because we want you to see how fragile your 'nobility' is."

Lennox was still trying to refute, but Edmund beside him could no longer suppress the dual burning of anger and humiliation.
Screaming and waving his fists: "You lowly bastards! Do you think you can change your fate? Rebels will be hanged! You will be hung on the mast, your bodies will be dried and pecked by seagulls--"

boom! ! !
The bullet roared out from Alison's gun again, tearing through the air and going straight through Edmund's mouth.

Blood, broken teeth, and torn tongues gushed out. The mouth that had spat out the "glory" and "orders" of thousands of empires had now become the most filthy bloody hole.

"Shut up, Major General," Alison said contemptuously. "Your mouth is more disgusting than a dead body turned out of a whale's belly."

Edmund fell to the ground, wailing and struggling in a pool of blood, blood gushing out from between his fingers.

Earth-shaking shouts erupted from the audience, and anger and joy intertwined into a carnival hymn.

They were used to seeing violence, but for the first time, they saw real “retribution.”

The group of imperial nobles still sitting in the VIP seats finally understood at this moment that the platform was no longer their refuge, but a guillotine that was about to collapse.

The nobles stood up in panic and tried to escape, trampling on each other and screaming.

But Baroque's laughter came from below, and he swung his flying axe, smashing it hard against the metal guardrail of the stands—

boom! ! !
The guardrails exploded, gold chips flew, and the fragments were like sharp blades, leaving burning marks on the nobles' heads.

They fell, rolled, screamed, and begged for mercy. Their once elegant and composed expressions were now filled with fear.

These well-dressed "civilized masters" are now nothing more than skinned pieces of meat, prey waiting to be slaughtered.

Alfred looked calm and coldly watched all this with his gun raised.

Alison turned around, looked at the pirates holding their weapons high, and spoke softly:
"Everyone, it's our turn to drag them into a real death arena."

Alfred sneered and gave Alison a standard, almost ironic military salute. His tone was light but revealed a murderous intent.

"Commander, do you have any new orders?"

"How do we deal with this garbage?"

Alison raised her head and glanced coldly at the group of nobles in the stands. The corners of her mouth rose slightly, revealing a meaningful smile.

"Since they like watching deathmatches so much..."

"Then let them go down and feel it themselves."

As soon as these words were spoken, the laughter of the surrounding pirates erupted like thunder. They shouted excitedly and clapped their weapons, as if their blood had just been ignited by fire.

Alison and Alfred grabbed the terrified Lennox and the still groaning Edmund without saying a word.

Without hesitation, he threw them into the center of the arena like trash!
The rest of the noble officers were dragged and kicked off the platform by Baroque, Ian and others. Some of them even broke their ribs when they fell, and let out shrill screams.

"Ah ah ah ah ah--!"

Their screams were as shrill as those of skinned beasts. A group of imperial nobles who were once well-dressed and cheerfully talked and laughed.

But at this moment, he fell like a pig or a dog on the sand covered with blood and broken limbs, shivering, whimpering, and crawling.

They tried to stand up, but couldn't even keep their feet steady. They tripped over their own gold-rimmed combat boots and squirmed like worms in a pool of blood.

There was silence for a moment.

Then, the entire arena was in an uproar!
"Hahahaha! The nobles are also entering a deathmatch!"

"Don't they love to watch bloody performances? Come on! Perform it for them to see!"

"Come and see, 'superiors,' do you bleed more gracefully than we do?!"

At that moment, all the repression, humiliation, and pain were transformed into the most primitive carnival.

That laughter was filled with the excitement of revenge and naked hatred, a bloody debt collection by one class against another.

Alison stood at the edge of the stands, looking down at the "noble men" struggling on the battlefield, her eyes calm and almost cruel.

Noble dignity? Even the way they stood up was unbearable.

Her eyes swept over the group of extremely embarrassed figures. Some people had sprained their feet and were crying on the ground.
Some people held their companions' bodies and screamed for medical officers, while others even begged the pirates for a quick death.

And in their once high-ranking VIP seats, all that remains is a piece of broken metal and splashed wine stains, and all the glory has been crushed by gunpowder and mud.

At this time, Alfred walked up to Alison, with a long-lost calmness and coldness on his face.

"Commander, my men and I cannot accompany you in the next battle."

Alison frowned slightly, her eyes sharp: "Where are you going?"

He did not answer immediately, but took off the navy cloak from his shoulders.
Throwing the cloak that symbolized the glory of the empire directly into the bloody sand was like severing the last connection with the past.

"Trian's fleet is still in port, and the Crown is not completely bound by the chains of the Whale Grave."

"We have a chance to control them, and we have soldiers willing to trust us."

His eyes were blazing. "As long as we can regain command, we can use artillery fire to help you blast a path to the port."

Alison stared at him for a long moment, then slowly extended her hand.

Alfred was stunned for a moment, then a smile appeared on his lips and he held her hand.

"This time," he said, his voice low but firm, "I won't be late again."

Alison nodded slightly, retracted her hand, and said in a steady but unquestionable voice, "Then don't let me down again."

Alfred nodded heavily, turned around, and shouted an order: "Everyone, evacuate the arena! The goal is to recapture the flagship!"

Twelve elite naval soldiers formed a line and turned around, setting out on the road to the open sea.

Their backs were firm, their guns flashed coldly in the moonlight, and they soon blended into the shadows of the bloody battlefield.

Alison watched their receding backs, took a deep breath, and turned her gaze again to the highest point of the arena.

The Boneless General, Gregor Belog, stood there.

The pale and tall figure was like the incarnation of the god of death, holding a battle axe as heavy as a mountain in both hands. There was no anger in his eyes, only a kind of cold judgment.

"Your farce is finally over." His voice echoed like a deep ocean. "Now, it's my turn to preside over this deathmatch."

Alison slowly raised her two guns, her eyes sharp as blades, her voice low but clear as a horn: "Very good."

"Then let's come and end this."

The next second, the fourth whale cry from the Whale Tomb erupted, and the flames of war and murderous intent once again flooded the sea of ​​blood.

(End of this chapter)