The darkness did not fade.
It lingered, dense and suffocating, pressing against Xuán Yèmíng's senses long after the pain had subsided. His breathing was slow now, measured, each inhale drawing in air that felt heavier than it should have been. Something fundamental had shifted within him. He could feel it—not as a surge of power, but as an absence, a hollow space where fear should have lived.
He straightened gradually, his bare feet resting against cold stone etched with ancient runes. The symbols pulsed faintly, reacting to his presence, their glow no longer hostile. They recognized him.
Or rather, they acknowledged what he had become.
The cavern was vast, its ceiling lost in darkness. Jagged pillars rose from the ground like the ribs of a colossal beast long since fossilized. Streams of blackened energy flowed through carved channels in the rock, converging toward a central dais where the presence lingered.
Xuán Yèmíng took a step forward.
The ground did not resist him.
Before the pact, every movement here would have been impossible. The pressure alone would have crushed his body, torn his mind apart. Now, the oppressive weight bent subtly around him, as if reality itself were yielding just enough to allow his passage.
"You are adapting faster than expected," the voice observed.
Xuán Yèmíng stopped several paces from the dais. The presence was clearer now—still without a fixed form, but undeniably vast. Fractured silhouettes overlapped and separated, as though multiple existences were trying and failing to occupy the same space.
"What are you?" Xuán Yèmíng asked.
"I am the consequence of broken promises," the presence replied. "I am what remains when oaths are weaponized."
Xuán Yèmíng's gaze hardened. "You have a name."
A pause followed.
Then, reluctantly, the presence answered.
"Once," it said. "I was called Zhēn Wáng."
The name reverberated through the cavern, stirring the runes beneath Xuán Yèmíng's feet. The air trembled, and for a brief moment, he glimpsed something vast and terrible—an empire collapsing inward, divine figures chained by their own vows, skies burning under the weight of shattered contracts.
Then it was gone.
"They erased you," Xuán Yèmíng said.
"Yes."
"They feared you."
"Yes."
"Why?"
Zhēn Wáng's presence shifted, shadows tightening.
"Because I taught them truth," it said. "That oaths are not sacred. They are tools. And like all tools, they may be turned against their creators."
Xuán Yèmíng absorbed the words in silence. The memory of the altar, of his family's blood soaking into carved channels, remained vivid. The ritual had not been unique. It had been refined.
"How many times?" he asked quietly.
"How many families have they sacrificed?" Zhēn Wáng replied. "Enough to stabilize a dying world. Enough to justify their lies."
Xuán Yèmíng clenched his jaw.
"They will call me a monster," he said.
"Yes."
"They will hunt me."
"Yes."
"They will claim I threaten the balance."
Zhēn Wáng's presence leaned closer, oppressive and intimate.
"You do," it said. "That is why you are necessary."
Xuán Yèmíng did not flinch.
"Explain the pact," he said. "Fully."
The darkness rippled, then settled.
"The Black Oath is not power," Zhēn Wáng began. "It is authority. Authority over vows, contracts, bindings, and promises—spoken or unspoken."
Images formed around them as Zhēn Wáng spoke.
A cultivator kneeling, swearing loyalty to a sect. The vow twisted, turning into chains that wrapped around his spine.
A dynasty sealing an alliance through marriage. The promise rotted, infecting both bloodlines.
A god binding mortals to faith. The oath snapping back like a noose.
"Every structure in this world is built upon agreements," Zhēn Wáng continued. "You will see them. You will feel them. And you will be able to exploit them."
Xuán Yèmíng felt something stir within his chest.
"And the cost?" he asked.
Zhēn Wáng did not answer immediately.
Instead, the cavern darkened further. The runes dimmed, and the air grew still.
"The world was never meant to endure infinite vows," Zhēn Wáng said at last. "Each oath you forge destabilizes the existing order. Each contract you corrupt accelerates decay."
Xuán Yèmíng met the presence head-on. "You want release."
"Yes."
"You want to return."
Zhēn Wáng's silence confirmed it.
"And I am your vessel," Xuán Yèmíng said.
"Not a vessel," Zhēn Wáng corrected. "A convergence."
Xuán Yèmíng considered that.
"If I refuse," he said.
"You will die," Zhēn Wáng replied simply. "Slowly. Forgotten. Your sister will be consumed by the sect that took her. Your family's blood will be another line in a ledger."
Xuán Yèmíng's expression did not change.
"If I accept," he said.
"You will burn the lie to its foundation."
Xuán Yèmíng looked down at his hands.
They were steady.
"I accept," he said again. "But understand this—I am not your servant."
Zhēn Wáng's presence pulsed.
"Good," it said. "Neither was I."
The runes flared.
A second wave of power surged into Xuán Yèmíng, not painful this time, but invasive. Information flooded his consciousness—structures, rules, limitations.
He saw them clearly now.
The Black Oath could not be used arbitrarily.
Every activation required a trigger: – a spoken vow
– a witnessed promise
– a contract sealed through blood, desire, loyalty, or fear
The greater the oath, the greater the backlash.
The greater the corruption, the faster the decay.
"You will learn restraint," Zhēn Wáng said. "Or the world will end before you finish your revenge."
Xuán Yèmíng exhaled slowly.
"That is acceptable."
The cavern trembled.
Zhēn Wáng withdrew, its presence receding deeper into the seals.
"Our bond is sealed," it said. "You may call upon me only when necessary. Each time will draw me closer."
Silence followed.
Xuán Yèmíng stood alone.
For the first time since the ritual, he felt something unfamiliar ripple through him.
Clarity.
He raised his gaze toward a distant wall of stone.
With a thought, he focused inward.
The world shifted.
Lines appeared where none had existed—threads of intent and obligation woven through the stone, the seals, the very structure of the cavern. Ancient oaths binding this place together glowed faintly in his vision.
Xuán Yèmíng reached out.
One thread snapped.
The cavern shuddered violently.
Cracks spread across the walls as part of the seal collapsed, releasing a controlled burst of energy that surged upward.
Xuán Yèmíng staggered back, catching himself.
"So that is how it begins," he murmured.
He did not test further.
The Black Oath was not meant to be abused. Not yet.
Hours—or perhaps days—passed as Xuán Yèmíng adjusted, studying the fragments of knowledge etched into his mind. When the time came, the cavern responded to his intent, opening a narrow passage upward.
He ascended in silence.
When he emerged, the night sky greeted him once more.
But it was not the same sky.
Above, the clouds churned unnaturally, faint fractures glowing between them before sealing shut again. No one else seemed to notice. The city slept peacefully beneath the illusion of stability.
Xuán Yèmíng stood at the edge of a cliff overlooking the outer territories of the Lónghuán Dynasty.
He felt it then.
Far away, a pulse.
Another oath had been sworn.
A sect initiation. A blood pact. A promise made in ignorance.
Xuán Yèmíng turned toward the distant glow.
A plan began to take shape.
He would not strike openly.
He would not declare himself.
He would walk among them, unseen, until the foundations were weak enough to collapse from a whisper.
The dynasties believed they controlled the world through law and lineage.
They were wrong.
They controlled it through vows.
And now, so did he.
Xuán Yèmíng stepped into the shadows, his presence fading as the Black Oath adjusted around him.
Deep beneath the earth, ancient seals trembled.
The pact that should never have been spoken had been completed.
And the world had taken its first step toward ruin.