Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 19 Bloody Contract and Faceless Reflection
In the Moon Hunter Tavern late at night, the hustle and bustle has faded, leaving only the night wind blowing through the old wooden beams, bringing up a low echo, as if the whispers of the bloody night are echoing faintly in the distance.

The flickering candlelight cast its shadows on the table, stretching the shadows of several people into long and narrow shapes, as if reality itself was blurred and deformed between light and shadow.

A few silver coins were scattered on the wooden table, reflecting a dull metallic luster, as if tainted by the coolness of the night.

Siming casually fiddled with a silver coin, his fingertips spinning lightly, making a crisp friction sound.

The silver coin circulated between his palms, like the wheel of fortune turning silently, and no one knew where it would end up.

Loren sat upright at the table, his golden pupils flickering slightly, as calm as a lake in the middle of the night, without any ripples, yet with hidden undercurrents.

His fingers tapped the table, as if he was thinking about something, but he didn't speak easily.

Avel stood by the window, his shadow disappearing into the night and blending into the darkness outside, making his presence almost imperceptible.

His fingertips fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves, as if trying to confirm some hidden barrier or invisible restraint.

Celia was half leaning against the counter, holding a glass of crimson wine, gently shaking the liquid in the glass, her eyes fixed on the edge of the burning candle, a hint of a smile on her lips.

"Are you guys really planning to attend the Blood Feast?" she asked casually, her tone teasing but also hinting at some subtle worry.

Loren looked up at her for a moment, his expression unchanged, and said in a deep voice, "Do we have a better choice?"

Celian didn't answer immediately. Instead, she gently put down her wine glass, tapped the table with her fingertips, and slowly shifted her gaze to Siming.

"I just want to remind you that the vampire contract is never that simple."

The candlelight flickered slightly, and shadows swayed on the wall, as if some force in the air was stirring.

Siming raised his eyebrows, twirled the silver coin between his fingers with a half-smile, and looked at her thoughtfully.

"contract?"

Celian smiled slightly and whispered, "Do you think the vampire's 'invitation' is just a simple invitation to a banquet?"

Her voice was like venom flowing slowly in the night, carrying a hint of chill.

"The Blood Clan has a special contract mark. Any outsider who accepts the invitation to the Blood Feast will be marked with the 'Blood Mark' the moment they enter the Blood Castle."

As soon as the words fell, the atmosphere in the room suddenly froze for a moment.

Roca frowned and said in a low voice, "What does this mean?"

Celian shrugged, fiddling with her wine glass, and said slowly, "It means that your blood no longer completely belongs to you."

She paused, glanced at everyone, and continued meaningfully:

"The vampires are born rulers. They control everything through their blood. Once you step into the Blood Castle and sign the contract, your life is bound to them to some extent."

Her tone remained relaxed, but there was an indescribable danger in her words.

The candlelight flickered slightly, reflecting in Siming's pupils. His fingers slowly stroked the edge of the silver coin, and the smile in his eyes faded a little, as if he was carefully pondering the deep meaning of this sentence.

"That is to say..." he asked casually, his tone slow, "once we enter the Blood Castle, it will be almost impossible to disobey the vampires?"

Celian tapped the table lightly, curled the corners of her lips, and a hint of coldness appeared in her eyes.

"If you really think you can get away with it unscathed, you're naive."

The room fell into a brief silence.

The flickering candlelight illuminated the expressions of the people, some of whom were in deep thought and some who were alert.

There was an indescribable sense of oppression in the air, like a storm that had not yet arrived, but was approaching silently.

The invitation to the blood feast has arrived, and they are already in the game.

Silence spread in the room, like an invisible chain, tightening everyone's breathing little by little.

Avel finally spoke, his voice low and with a barely perceptible chill.

"What's worse is that we have no way of contacting the outside world."

The silver coin spinning on Siming's fingertips paused for a moment, Loren frowned slightly, and everyone's eyes turned to Avel.

"What do you mean?" Loren's voice was even colder than usual.

Avel slowly walked out of the shadows, stretched out his palms, and a few wisps of dark mist emerged from his palms, like a torn shadow, twisted and broken, difficult to maintain.

"Before we entered this world, I left behind several 'Shadow Messengers' to ensure we could communicate with the outside world at any time."

He paused, his voice slightly lowered, his eyes as deep as the night.

"But just now, I tried to activate them—"

After a brief silence, he slowly uttered two words.

“…All of them are invalid.”

The air seemed to become colder in an instant, and a subtle chill spread from the cracks in the floor, like an invisible chain, wrapping around everyone in circles.

Sima Ming sighed softly, and a smile of ambiguous meaning appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"So, you're trying to tell us that the 'door' has trapped us?"

Avel nodded slightly, his eyes flashing in the shadows like a knife.

"Some kind of 'rules of the door' are restricting us. We can't penetrate it and can't transmit any information to the outside world." Loren slowly closed his eyes, as if thinking about something. After a moment, he opened his eyes, and his golden pupils reflected the dancing candlelight, revealing a faint sharpness.

"In other words..." His voice was low, as if carrying some irresistible heaviness.

"We can't go back anymore."

No one spoke, and silence lingered in the room.

The wind blew through the slightly open window, lifting a corner of the curtain, like a peek into the depths of the night.

The atmosphere was so depressing that it almost froze. Siming suddenly stood up, casually patted the dust off his sleeves, and broke the stiff silence.

He smiled and said, "Okay, everyone, since we can't rely on the outside world, let's find some answers ourselves."

Loren's eyes moved slightly, and he asked in a deep voice: "What do you want to do?"

There was a casual curve at the corner of Siming's mouth, and his fingertips tapped lightly on the table.

"Let's go to the fortune-telling room."

The candlelight flickered gently in the dim room, darkness and light and shadow intertwined. The night outside the tavern seemed darker than usual, like an invisible abyss that watched over everything.

Lightless Mirror·Divination House

The black curtains fell, and the flickering candlelight reflected a light layer of dust on the table. The air was filled with the rich aroma of spices, mixed with the slightly burnt smell of burning candles.

The female fortune teller sat quietly at the table, her veil fluttering gently, as if whispering in the darkness.

She raised her eyes, her dark pupils were as deep as the abyss, like a black hole in the endless void that peered into fate.

"Stranger, you are finally here."

Siming chuckled, took out a bag of gold coins from his arms and threw them on the table. His voice was so casual, as if he was just buying a bottle of cheap wine.

"I want to divine the fate of 'Blood Feast'."

The female fortune teller's fingertips gently slid across the table, as if touching some invisible texture.

She slowly pulled out an ancient tarot card, whispered an obscure spell, and slowly turned the card with her fingertips -

however--

At the moment the card was turned over, a strange blood-red pattern suddenly spread out, like some kind of twisted rune.
It grew wildly on the edge of the card, squirming like a living thing, spreading to the table, and even climbing towards the female fortune teller's fingers.

The female fortune teller's expression suddenly changed and her pupils shrank sharply!

——The card... has been infiltrated by some power!

The candlelight flickered violently, the shadows in the room stretched out in an instant, and the curtains around seemed to be gently brushed by some invisible force.
There were faint whispers in the air, as if countless invisible eyes were watching everything.

"Damn it..." The female fortune teller cursed softly and quickly retracted her fingers to avoid the spreading blood-red lines. Her voice could not hide her fear.

Siming narrowed his eyes and gently pressed the edge of the card, feeling a barely perceptible pain at his fingertips.

He exhaled slowly and chuckled softly, his tone gentle but with a hint of danger.

"...It seems like we've become bargaining chips."

The candle flame jumped slightly, and the burning flame seemed to be slightly distorted in the shadow.

Something dormant is watching all this.

Siming returned to the secret room and pushed open the heavy wooden door, only to find Loren silently staring at the Golden Eye in his hand.

"Still no news from Hermann."

His tone was low, and his palm slowly covered his golden right eye, as if trying to find some residual breath.

however--

In the reflection of the Golden Eye, he saw—

It wasn't Herman's figure.

But a 'faceless man'.

Hermann's outline in the reflection was blurred, as if he had been distorted, erased, or even—

His face doesn't exist at all.

He has no facial features, no eyes, no nose, not even a mouth.

There was only a twisted void, as if completely wiped out by fate.

Loren's fingertips trembled slightly, his golden pupils shrank slightly, he narrowed his eyes, and slowly uttered a name from his lips.

"Supreme Card..."

His voice was low, as if carrying an unspeakable heaviness.

"...Faceless Lord?"

(End of this chapter)