Chapter 244: The Trial of the Savior (Part 1)

One day later, the United Nations General Assembly Hall.

Artificial sky-light from the dome poured down from above, illuminating over a thousand seats.

Fear and suspicion hung in the air; in the assembly hall, the entire room fell into collective silence.

Yang Yi stood at the exact center of the venue, on a transparent podium specially set up for her, raised half a meter above the ground.

The platform could barely accommodate one person standing, empty of anything else around it; she was completely exposed beneath the focused gaze of the crowd. Delegates from various nations, the media section, and the observers' section formed a ring around her, as if conducting a trial.

No lectern, no chairs, no water bottles—only her solitary figure.

She was isolated, displayed, and scrutinized, like a rare specimen illuminated by a spotlight in the center of a museum, or a prisoner awaiting final sentencing in a courtroom.

She wore a simple dark suit, her long hair tied back meticulously, her face devoid of any expression.

Clipped to her chest was a palm-sized device, gleaming with a dull metallic luster—this was the "Monitoring and Coordination Unit" that China's highest technical department had "recommended" she wear. The official explanation was to facilitate understanding of her physical condition under high pressure and to provide "necessary support."

She could clearly perceive every energy pulse from the intricate components inside it, like cold shackles fitted to the spot closest to her heart.

The delegates from various nations—those faces that had once, either publicly or privately, expressed support for her, or reverence, or calculation—all deliberately averted their gazes from her now. They looked down, flipping through blank documents before them, staring at electronic devices in their hands, or gazing expressionlessly at the empty space ahead.

No whispering, only a unanimous act of avoidance.

Countless cameras aimed at her from every angle; the lenses, like gun barrels with dark muzzles, magnified every slightest change in her expression and transmitted it to billions of screens worldwide.

On the presidium, UN Secretary-General Andrew Wilder cleared his throat; his voice echoed through the dead-silent hall via the amplification system, his tone formulaic, attempting to maintain neutrality yet unable to conceal his tension:

"Ms. Yang Yi, based on Security Council Resolution 1476 and the international community's consensus regarding serious concerns over your recent personal conduct and your role as supervisor of the 'Civilization Continuity Plan,' this special hearing aims to provide you with an opportunity for public statement and clarification of doubts."

"Please respond to the following core questions: First, regarding the SSS-level Otherworld invasion event last time, please provide a detailed, verifiable explanation of the specific process by which you personally penetrated and ultimately closed the spatial rift, especially concerning the energy source and mechanism of action."

Yang Yi did not answer.

Standing on the island-like platform, her gaze slowly swept across the circular sea before her, composed of the highest symbols of human power.

Faces both blurred and clear, filled with vigilance, suspicion, fear, and perhaps a hint of hidden expectation waiting to see how she would defend herself.

A vast sense of absurdity surged like a tide, drowning her.

How ironic.

The first time she sat here was still more than a year ago. Back then, she had sat in the audience, trembling and bewildered, listening to the UN President announce that a new era was about to dawn.

She had also stood here before, showing them the coldness of the universe, demanding they abandon their disputes and unite to survive.

She had endured questioning and attacks here, countering them with data and evidence.

Now, she stood here again, but because a lie woven to reassure them was about to be exposed. And the one exposing this lie was precisely the action she had been forced to take in order to save them.

She felt as if watching a grand yet absurd puppet show; she was the most conspicuous puppet in the center of the stage, pulled by countless invisible strings, performing the farcical drama of "The Trial of the Savior."

The puppeteers included the Evil God cultist Vede, politicians from various nations, fearful masses, and even... herself, who had once tried to believe in humanity but ultimately had to learn deception and concealment.

She thought of the psychiatrist whose body had been occupied by Evil God cultists—the real Vede. Did he feel the same way when he stood in the UN tribunal?

An uneasy buzzing sound arose in the assembly hall.

Delegates exchanged glances; slight commotion came from the media section.

Prolonged silence in a trial is often interpreted as guilt or lack of argument.

The cameras locked onto her even more tightly, capturing the stillness of every inch of skin on her face.

Yang Yi finally moved.

She tilted her head very slightly, as if just waking from a long, bizarre dream.

Then, the corners of her mouth very slowly curved upward.

It did not look like a smile.

That smile contained no warmth, joy, or sarcasm; it was more like... an involuntary, mechanical twitch caused by the deepest subconscious, the most instinctive yet emptiest reaction to the absurd scene before her.

This smile appearing on her usually expressionless face, appearing in the globally broadcast image, seemed particularly eerie, even chilling to the heart.

"If..." Her voice finally sounded, not loud, but very soft, carrying a detached calmness.

"If I am truly the 'Evil God' you fear..."

"... why, during these years since my 'awakening,' has human civilization—this colony so fragile it cannot withstand a single blow on a cosmic scale—continued to survive, and even... under the plans and assistance I provided, begun to take its first tentative steps toward the stars?"

Her tone was flat and matter-of-fact, as if stating an objective fact.

"If I am truly that 'Evil God' whose existence purpose is to harvest civilizations and drain life..." Her gaze fell upon the faces of several delegates in the front row who had received the most spots in the "Spark Plan":

"... why would I expend such enormous effort to promote extraterrestrial migration? To actively scatter 'food' to even farther corners, increasing the difficulty and cost of my own 'feeding'? Does this align with the most basic logic of a predator?"

Below, someone began to shift their body uneasily.

"If I am truly that 'Evil God' who views humanity as lambs..." Her voice rose slightly, her gaze turning toward the dome, as if able to pierce the building and see the vast yet indifferent starry sky outside, "... why would I care whether the entire human civilization can continue to exist? Why would I care about human history, culture, and art—these burdens utterly meaningless to a predator?"

"If I were truly that Evil God, I would only need to force humanity to breed and reproduce desperately, like livestock in a farm, to continuously provide me with life sources. Why... would I formulate those complicated plans, attempting to preserve a sliver of hope for civilization?"

Her gaze fell upon the presidium, upon the tense faces of the delegates from various nations surrounding her.

"If I am truly that 'Evil God' you imagine to be omnipotent..." She raised her hand, her fingertips lightly touching the cold suppressor on her chest; metal met nail, producing a faint crisp sound, "... why would I be wearing this ridiculous thing, standing here, like a prisoner awaiting sentencing, allowing you to judge me?"

She lowered her hand; that strange smile had long vanished, her face returning to calmness, her gaze slowly sweeping across the entire hall.

"These questions, perhaps, are more worthy of thought than pursuing the details of a video that cannot prove its own truth or falsehood."

Her words fell.

The venue plunged into dead silence.

Countless gazes remained fixed upon her, but within those gazes, besides the original fear and suspicion, began to mix in a new element—confusion, wavering, and the bewilderment of seeking answers to the questions just posed.