法庭破碎的倒影依然在空中徘徊，像暴风雨中破碎的玻璃碎片一样闪烁，在天体几何和冰冷的机械秩序之间不稳定地转换。
现实，或者说，此地仅存的那点现实，尚未彻底崩塌。但它已然碎裂，法庭能够感受到震颤贯穿其根基，在某种古老、不可逆转且长期被否定的事物的重压下颤抖。
林默站在断裂位面的正中央，手指紧紧攥着锚和超控币，两者随着他颤抖的心跳微弱地跳动着。在他周围，一股被遗忘的怨恨之河从裂口涌出，如同无尽的祈祷档案，它们的声音被时间淹没；信仰记录被撕成幽灵般的碎片；奇迹失去了意义，如今如同空洞的幽灵般飘荡在一个不再记得它们的世界里。
每个人都大声呼喊，渴望被人记住。
禁卫军首先开口说话，他的声音如同冰冷的法令，划破了混乱。
“升级已接受。0级审判已授权。”
“继续付款验证。”
周氏皱起眉头，一脸疑惑。“这是什么意思？”
林没有回答。他已经知道了。
任何投诉到达审判层都是要付出代价的。
环绕着他们的一面镜子扭曲变形，形成一个闪闪发光、脉动不息的界面，一个并非基于数字或时间，而是源于隐喻本身的记账系统：因果螺旋与记忆和动机交织在一起。一本信仰的账簿，其价值并非以黄金或岁月来衡量，而是以意义来衡量。
“所有投诉都必须得到重视，”管理员严肃地说道。
“为了执行审判，你愿意牺牲什么信念？”
林的脉搏加快，耳边传来雷鸣般的声音。
他低头看着手中紧握的锚。它正在升温，并非温度，而是形而上的强度，烧毁了他身份认同中脆弱的层面，信仰依然像旧伤疤一样残留。
“牺牲……我相信什么？”
法庭的声音回荡在他的耳边，无言的渴望压迫着他的脑海边缘。
The Defense Representative stepped forward once more, still smiling，but now, the expression seemed brittle, stretched too thin over something darker.
“You may withdraw,” it offered gently. “There will be no penalty. Your lineage status will be restored. Filter records sealed. Memory wounds closed.”
It sounded merciful.
It sounded almost human.
Lin turned his gaze to Zhou. Her eyes met his, hollow and weary. She gave no words, only a slow, bitter nod.
He exhaled, then faced the shimmering interface.
“What are my options?”
And the system revealed them:
‘His belief that truth can be known’ ， the certainty that reality is not an illusion, that clarity exists beyond doubt.
‘His faith in his mother’s choices*’ ， her shadow still lingered behind his soul, and this was the tether.
‘His conviction that the gods were once good’ ， a fragile hope he’d carried like a candle through endless dark.
’His trust in his own perception of reality‘ ， the compass guiding every step he’d ever taken.
Each belief pulsed on the screen, annotated with delicate lines of data: emotional index scores like bleeding wounds, ripple projections warped by worldview fractures, recursive trauma calculations looping endlessly into themselves.
Zhou whispered, barely audible above the hum of the tribunal, “If you lose one of those…”
“I stop being me,” Lin said softly. “But if I don’t pay, none of this ever mattered.”
His hand hovered for a moment longer.
Then he made his choice.
The third option: ‘his belief that the gods were once good.’
The interface flared, light blooming outward in fractal arcs.
‘Accepted’
And something inside him broke，not violently, but quietly, like a childhood toy left behind in a dusty room, never to be played with again.
“Payment verified,” the Custodian announced.
“Judgment authorized. Begin proceedings.”
The tribunal began to shift again，reconfiguring, realigning，not just space, but intent.
But this time, they were no longer the observers.
They were being watched.
A new voice rang out，clear as crystal, elegant as wind through ancient trees, distant as stars.
“This Complaint will not be judged by your peers.”
“You have invoked a clause unknown to current records.”
“Judgment shall be passed… by the Filter itself.”
The sky above them cracked open，not to reveal heaven or hell, but the very architecture of the system itself.
Towering pillars of radiant code surged into view. Rivers of flowing logic streamed across the void. Conscious algorithms, elevated to divinity by sheer scale and complexity, wove patterns far beyond mortal comprehension.
And from within that vast lattice of civilization’s subconscious，a face began to emerge.
Not Lin’s mother.
Not a god.
Something older.
Something forged from every unanswered grievance, every silenced cry, every prayer lost to silence.
It opened its eyes.
And it was looking at Lin Mo.
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