Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 158: Return to the Lost, the Sleeping Boat
"If you sink into the depths of a nightmare, is there anyone who will light the way home for you?"

"Death is not the end, being forgotten is."

Sima Ming slowly opened his eyes.

All around is the dead silent deep sea.

There is no sound of the tide, no flow, no ups and downs, only a thick and indissoluble black.

Cold as iron, heavy as sleep.

He seemed to be imprisoned in a huge underwater bubble, his limbs wrapped in a strange fluid and unable to move.

His thinking was slow, and his consciousness seemed to be wrapped in dust that had accumulated for thousands of years. It slowly recovered and was quickly swallowed up by darkness.

He wanted to speak, opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

He couldn't even confirm whether his own breathing existed.

It was all so quiet.

It was eerily quiet, as quiet as a death that had been quietly prolonged for a thousand years.

There was no pain, no hope, only loneliness, filling my chest little by little like a tide.

In his peripheral vision, he caught a faint glimmer of fluorescence.

One group, two groups, three groups...

Little flickering bubbles of light float and drift in the deep sea.

They are moving, but without direction.

In each light bubble, there is a blurry human figure.

Some people are curled up, some are lying quietly, and some seem to be still whispering in their dreams.

They were sealed in the nightmare sea urchins, motionless, as if they had been imprisoned in this silent sea of ​​dreams since birth.

And he—looking down at himself—the bubble he was in, was without light.

No reflection, no color, no temperature.

He seemed to be denied existence by the space itself.

Labelled as “the silent ones”, “the ones who have not returned”, and “the ones who have been forgotten”.

He began to struggle.

He first tried to move his fingers slowly, then twisted his body desperately.

He wanted to scream, to roar, to tear apart this soft membrane that imprisoned everything.

But the bubble was like a patient watchman.

It is not fierce or brutal.

It simply wrapped around him quietly, and the more he struggled, the more gently it retracted, pressing him deeper into stillness.

"anyone there……?"

His voice was stuck in his throat. The echo of his thoughts resonated within the bubble, as if swallowed by countless soft membranes, not even an audible echo.

at this time--

A light emerged from the distant depths.

It was a beam of light, faint but steady.

It penetrates the darkness and sea water, like a hand from the shore, slowly reaching into the abyss.

His eyes widened.

That was the light from the ship's lantern.

At the end of the light, a dark blue warship was breaking through the sea of ​​dreams and slowly approaching.

It's the "Lost One".

The lights are as bright as day, dispelling the silence of the sea of ​​dreams inch by inch and awakening the echoes that have sunk to the bottom of the sea.

At the front of the deck stood a slender but familiar figure.

is her.

It's Lilia.

She held the ship's lantern high in her right hand, the light illuminating her pale but stubborn face, and waved her left hand vigorously towards Siming.
Her mouth opened and closed, trying to shout something, but her voice was cut into silent bubbles by the sea.

Beside her, Baroque suddenly leaped and landed on the bow, crushing a corner of the deck.
She stretched out her fist towards him, as if she was going to pull him out along with the bubble in the next second.

Ian flipped down from the rope net, hanging on the rope and making a "wait" gesture to him, with a familiar smile on his face that could not be hidden in his panic.

Rex knelt on one knee on the observation deck, and with both hands he accurately threw a bundle of ropes into the center of the bubble. The fatigue on his face seemed to have never left.

But his eyes were full of a smile that said, "You still owe me a game of cards."

Finally, Alison stood behind the wheel, operating silently as always.

She said nothing, but steered the entire boat steadily towards him.

Her eyes were as firm as iron, as if saying: You are late for the team, Siming.

"You..." Siming looked at the ship and those familiar faces, and a glimmer of light finally appeared in his pupils.

It is the light of the living.

It is the light of faith.

At that moment, he suddenly remembered: he was not alone.

He was a member of the crew of the Lost One.

They are part of "them" - those who don't believe in fate, have gone crazy, gambled, lost control, and have escaped death.

"How did you find me..."

The bubble didn't respond, but the ship was approaching.

They sailed against the dream stream of fate into his deepest fall.

for him.

Sima Ming finally smiled, his smile was like a gambler who finally saw his cards.

——He hasn’t lost yet.

Not completely forgotten yet.

A rope fell from the side of the Lost, hanging straight down in the dark blue dream sea, like an umbilical cord of life connecting reality and the abyss.

Siming seemed to hear the sound of it falling into the water - the dull "dong" sound pierced through the last chaos in his consciousness.

He gritted his teeth and stretched out his hand with almost the last bit of his willpower.

As soon as the fingertips touched, the bubbles burst at that moment, the sea water was like a bursting film, and the weightless world suddenly collapsed.

He felt as if his soul was being pulled back from some dead and cold world, and the pain was like a layer of skin being torn off.

Then, there's the pull.

A firm and silent force pulled him out from the bottom of the sea, inch by inch, as if pulling him back from the deepest crevice of fate.

“Hold on tight!!”

It was Rex's roar, with a slight urgency and unconcealable joy.

The next second, he fell heavily onto the deck of the Lost.

Boom-!
His body splashed into a pool of water, seawater gushed out of his lungs, and he coughed one after another.
It's like a breath of reality pulled back from another world.

Each one is accompanied by a tremor deep in the soul.

An urgent and familiar voice sounded above my head.

It was Lilia, her face full of surprise and tears: "You finally woke up!"

She squatted down and held his shoulders tightly, as if she was afraid that he would sink into the sea of ​​dreams again in the next second.

Ian sat under the mast, holding a piece of seaweed in his mouth, grinning and teasing, "Tsk, I almost thought you were really going to sleep until we return to the port this time."

Rex rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide the smile on his face: "At least you know to grab the rope, much better than someone last time." "Shut up, Rex." Alison stood not far away, her hand on the hilt of the sword, her tone as calm as ever, "Don't fall behind again, Siming."

Baroque slapped him on the back so hard that he almost fell back onto the deck. "Where's the man who gambled his life?! You almost lost this one!"

Siming coughed and gasped for a while, finally managing to prop up his upper body.

He sat up, his eyes moving between the familiar faces, his chest heaving violently.

At that moment, he was a little confused.

"What... have we been through?"

Calvino's voice came from behind the steering wheel, low, slow, and full of fatigue from the weariness of time.

He walked down the ladder step by step, his windbreaker covered with sea mist, his expression full of apology, but also concealed an unspeakable heaviness.

"You experienced...a nightmare."

He stood in front of Siming and stopped, "Every one of us has experienced it."

"Including you." He paused, his eyes serious, "And you, more than anyone else... it's harder to come back."

He lowered his head slightly, and spoke in a low voice, as if he was keeping vigil for him, or as if he was welcoming his return:

"Si Ming... Great, you're still alive."

At that moment, Sima Ming looked into his eyes.

He saw those eyes, hiding fatigue, guilt, and something that could not be expressed - gratitude.

He didn't say anything, just closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the air that smelled of salt and fireworks.

It's the smell of being alive. The smell of a boat. The smell of home.

And he finally came back.

But before he could respond, another voice interrupted.

——Low, hoarse, like a rusty knife cutting through the tide.

"A nightmare...it's a trial," the voice said.

"It's also a punishment."

Everyone turned their heads, their eyes fixed on the figure leaning against the stern railing.

Holt.

He looked like a ruin salvaged from the deep sea, soaked to the skin, with long silver hair sticking to his cheeks.
His armor was broken, his left arm was bleeding, and his body was shaky, as if it would be blown away by the wind at any time.

He just sat there, his back against the broken railing, his eyes dark and empty, as if he could see through the entire sea of ​​dreams.

"Holt?!"

Baroque took a step forward immediately, guarding the front of the crew cautiously, with alert eyes and tense muscles.

Holt just chuckled, his hoarse laughter drifting at the stern like a remnant of wind blowing through wreckage.

"Don't be nervous," he said in a tired but calm voice, "I have nothing left to threaten you with."

He slowly sat up straight, his gaze passing over the sails and the mist, looking towards the distant dream sea where the dawn had not yet broken, his voice like the low murmur of the tide:
"When I came here again... I regained the memories I had lost."

"You were a coward at that time, Calvino." He turned to look at the captain, his tone calm, but every word was like a hammer.
"But now I understand—you're not the only one who's a coward."

"It's the nightmare that makes each of us...cowardly."

Calvino walked forward slowly, his expression silent, as if the apology that had been weighing on his heart for many years had finally turned into the steps under his feet.

Lilia followed closely behind her brother, lowering her head and saying nothing.

Holt looked at them and tried to put on a smile, with a hint of mockery and a hint of relief:

"I don't blame you. Really."

"I'm just... so tired."

He looked down at his hands, the hands that had once held up a knife and cut through the waves at the gate of his dream.

At this moment, it is gradually turning into transparent seaweed and spots of light, as if the dream sea is taking back part of it.

"I... am leaving too."

"But before I go, I want to say one more thing."

He looked up, a familiar light burning in his eyes, the same light he had used when he shouted to the crowd from the top of the mast facing the storm—

“Calvino, we are pirates.”

“Born by the storm, die by the tide.”

"Return to the Nightmare of Sleep."

"The Lost is a good place to go."

"But, Captain—"

“If you can’t take it and truly stand on the top of the sea of ​​dreams.”

"I think that neither I nor those brothers and sisters who are still sleeping in the deep sleep will forgive you."

As soon as he finished speaking, his body completely shattered and turned into thousands of dark blue bubbles, rising into the mist.

And in his dissipating mist of light—

Figures emerged one after another.

The eight crew members who had long been swallowed by the nightmare returned to their positions one by one.

Vlad Thor (Chief Artilleryman): Tall, taciturn, and cold as steel, he was the first attacker to rush into the enemy camp.

Mia Raylin (communications flag officer): A blonde female soldier who was once Lilia's strictest instructor during flag signal training.

Porto Three Fingers (old sailor and cook): He has a long beard and a temper as hot as sulfur, but he always serves the first bowl of hot soup after the battle.

Shaman Tarot (Navigation Officer): Blind, but able to "hear the direction of the wind", she leads the lost out of the fog when they lose their star maps again and again.

Ike Blutarch (former sailsman): After being swallowed by the Dream Wave, the remaining sail ropes are still in use today.

"Barking Dog" Harlan (Melee Sailor): His voice is as loud as a war drum, and his roar can make half the deck of enemies turn back. He has stood in front of Allison three times.

Xika Dickson (female sniper): calm, accurate, never misses, the eye on the dream gate passage.

Ian Dowa (Ritual Guide): A taciturn old man covered in cursed patterns, he engraved the coordinates of the Dream Gate with his soul and mapped the coordinates leading to the Deep Dream for the entire ship.

They walked slowly one by one, their figures were ethereal but their smiles were warm.

That is not resurrection.

But return to the team.

There was no complaint or sorrow in their eyes, only the stubbornness that belonged to pirates - they never waited for miracles, they just waited for the captain to say "go".

Calvino looked at them, his eyes trembling slightly, and tears finally fell silently.

"you……"

"You all...are back..."

He spoke softly, his voice so raspy it seemed like it came from another era.

Lilia leaned on her brother's shoulder and murmured with a smile:
"Welcome home, Captain."

At that moment, an imperceptible wave arose in the distant sea of ​​dreams.

The waves were no longer the whispers of nightmares.

It is a breath of hope.

The Lost, in the azure aura, refitted itself, its sails clacking and the decks humming.

It is finally no longer alone.

"They came back, not because we won."

"It's because this time, they believe we really want to win."

(End of this chapter)