Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 171 Odebreaker's Song

"On stage, the truth is useless. The audience just wants to see you bleed."

The stage lights came on again, and above the dome, schools of colorful lantern fish circled past.

The fish's fins sparkled with a cool and brilliant light like deep-sea pearls, illuminating the dark sky of the sleeping theater.

The curtain has not yet fallen, but the tragedy has already begun.

"Captain—"

A roar with a curse echo exploded from the edge of the stage, and three or four ghostly figures emerged from the mist.

He sang a broken pirate tune in a mournful and shrill voice, like a cry and an accusation.

"Have you abandoned us... again?"

They were wearing old, torn uniforms, their eyes were hollow, their long swords at their waists were rusted, and they walked like drunkards.
That was not an illusion, but an "old crew member" fabricated by Sabellius using Calvino's deepest regret and hatred.

"I can't stand this crap anymore!" Baroque roared, his muscles bulging, and he swung his heavy axe, slashing it hard at a ghost's chest!
"Chi la——"

The axe blade cut through the air, bringing out a crimson wave of wind—

But there is no blood, no bones.

The ghostly figure exploded like foam in the sea water, but instantly reorganized and condensed into shape again. The next moment, it quietly flashed to Baroque's side, and a cold dagger pierced into his waist and ribs!
"Well--!"

The blood mist bloomed in the water, spreading like ink.

"Baroque!" Calvino roared, and with a sword he repelled another ghost, then he jumped forward and dragged him back.

"They are not real!" he whispered angrily. "They are remnants of the script, our sins—"

Sabellius's laughter pierced his ears like a snake's tongue, gentle, melodious, and deadly:
"Of course not a physical entity."

"The death of an actor is determined by me."

"They don't really die until they reach the climax of the script."

"But you—every time you kill, you are repeating the tragedy you wrote with your own hands."

Calvino gritted his teeth, breathing heavily, and watched the shadows that continued to form—each one,
They all looked like former crew members, and he even almost forgot the names of some of them.

"He's using our fears as a backdrop," he muttered.

The stage is no longer a stage.

It became an abyss—a prison where nightmares and reality, memories and regrets were entangled and intertwined.

The air was as oppressive as water, and the light became a judging gaze.

Baroque covered his wound and roared angrily, "Then he better show up! I'll chop him into pieces with one axe!"

"Heh..." Sabellius seemed to laugh out loud, but his tone was so low as if he was reciting an oracle.

"of course not."

"You will move step by step...towards the climax of the plot."

As he uttered the last word, countless pieces of torn paper suddenly floated in the air, flying across the theater like snow.

The pages finally gathered together, spun, and rolled up a bloody tide, falling heavily in the center of the stage with a dull sound.

The heavy script suddenly fell to the ground.

The cover was damp leather, and the front was engraved with lines of sharp handwriting, like a knife scratching paper:
The Fate of the Rebel

Calvino lowered his head, turned the pages of the book, and the paper was dripping with ink-colored "blood".

A line of glaring words glowed blood-red in the light:

"Before the end, please fulfill your role as the 'betrayer'."

He raised his head, and the light was fixed on him, as if the finger of God was issuing an order of execution.

Baroque leaned behind him, breathing heavily, the axe in his hand still dripping with the echo of blood.

He looked at those familiar yet unfamiliar ghosts, emphasizing each word:
"If you wrote this fucking script..."

"Then don't expect me to act."

Calvino gripped his spear tightly, and the light in his eyes, a mixture of regret and determination, finally lit up.

He slowly stepped forward and said in a cold voice:
"—then we'll rewrite it."

The Betrayer and the Raging Wave

The title of the play was like an inscription on cold iron, its cold light piercing the heart.

Sabellius' voice echoed in the theater again, soft but carrying the weight of judgment.
Like a deed handed down by the god of death, his tone was filled with malice and joy:
"The traitor captain—"

"With the backstabbed warrior."

"Be more emotional, Calvino." His voice lingered in the air, like a spell that penetrated into the bone marrow.

"You are the protagonist of this tragedy, so don't let the audience down."

Calvino said nothing, his knuckles tightly gripping the hilt of the sword, his joints turning white, his blood already chilled by the pressure, as if he wanted to seal all his emotions into the steel.

Sabellius uttered the next sentence softly:
"Now—the rules of the game are officially in effect."

Burning scarlet letters appeared above the theater, like the theater's regulations hanging overhead. Lines of rules scrolled before their eyes in the form of commands:
【Character binding completed】

【Story projection loaded】

[Play Rating Launched: Audience Ratings Will Determine Actor's Sobriety Point Consumption]

[Sleepless Pocket Watch Synchronized with Script Logic]

[The script is in progress and cannot be exited]

The pocket watch on Calvino's wrist vibrated violently, and the pointer seemed to be pushed to five o'clock by an invisible hand.

A red light lit up, indicating that the sobriety value had been depleted by more than half and had reached the dangerous threshold.

The audience was buzzing.

Those "audiences" composed of ghostly phantoms - a blurry, festering aggregate that looked like the remnants of memories from the abyss, now stood together, clapping, cheering, and roaring!
Their voices are like waves hitting the nerves, like the sound of drums under the sea echoing on the eardrums:

“Act!”

“Betrayal—!”

"Let's see if you can still pretend to be 'righteous' this time?"

"Kill Calvino!"

Calvino closed his eyes, took a long breath, and suppressed all the roar and hatred in his chest.

He felt Baroque's fiery gaze behind him, a mixture of disappointment, confusion, anger, and an uncontrollable desire - a desire for the truth.

A chill rose from beneath his feet, like a chill creeping up his spine.

This isn't a battle, this is a stage.

They are not enemies, but actors, playing out a script already written by fate.

Baroque's rage was about to explode. He was covered in blood, his eyes were red, and he roared:

"You...you're not serious, are you?! Didn't you say you would take us back with you?!"

“You are the captain of our faith, Calvino!”

"You can't just... follow their script!!"

Calvino slowly opened his eyes.

He raised his sword, and silver light danced between his fingers, like moonlight falling to the ground.

His voice was very light, but heavier than any other order he had given:

"……sorry."

"I have no choice."

The sword was unsheathed, and the sword light cut through the water curtain, like a fragment of an oath.

Blood exploded from Baroque's right shoulder, splashing onto the stage and instantly staining the script pages at his feet red.

The theater was dead silent.

Immediately afterwards, the audience erupted in excitement!

All the shadows clapped, cheered, and laughed shrilly. The sound poured into the dome of the theater like a tsunami, turning into a frenzy of echoes.

Sabellius' voice rose amidst the madness, panting with satisfaction:
"Right... now that's more like it."

"Betrayal has to be bloody to be enjoyable."

"Go on, heroes—don't let the stage get cold."

Baroque's body shook violently. After a moment of daze, he roared and swept his axe across!
The axe blade came through the wind, carrying with it all his confusion, anger, sadness and the collapse of trust!
The lights in the theater suddenly increased, and the stage background turned over.
It transformed into the shabby deck of the Lost. The storm howled, thunder cracked, and the waves dyed the surrounding background a turbulent black and blue.

This was the last stage in his memory with the person he once trusted.

This time, they were forced to appear.

——Not to be replayed, but to be disassembled into a "plot" for human consumption.

Facing the angry rebuke, Calvino stood straight, but a crack slowly spread in his eyes.

But he didn't back down.

Because he knew that only by going into the deepest part of the plot could he find the hand behind the stage - and cut it off.

"When you raise your sword to strike your comrades, fate has already forgiven your enemies."

"You never know who is really playing who in this scene."

(End of this chapter)