Chapter Forty-Five: The Oath

Under the faint glow that illuminated the sky, Chen Ming walked quietly along the city streets, observing his surroundings. All around him, dilapidated and disorderly structures stood scattered, with filth collecting in the corners. A foul stench lingered in the air, causing him to frown involuntarily.

He looked ahead. The sparse passersby, their faces sallow and anxious, moved about with gloomy expressions, hurriedly going about their business. When they caught sight of Chen Ming in his intact ceremonial robes, surprise flashed across their faces, and a subtle fear glimmered in their eyes.

“So, this is the slum district of the city?” Chen Ming took in the scene, his heart utterly unmoved, pondering silently.

After a while, he looked forward, where several figures stood. Among them was a young nobleman clad in an exquisitely tailored suit, surrounded by several silent guards who drove away the nearby residents.

The nobleman bared his teeth in a cruel grin as he faced a man before him. In his hand, he held a whip, which he lashed mercilessly against the man, leaving bloody welts on his body. The man knelt, teeth clenched, kowtowing again and again, pleading with tearful eyes. Despite his tattered flesh, he did not dare resist.

“My lord, please spare me a little food. My family… there are two children at home…” he begged, his eyes full of sorrow.

The nobleman burst out laughing. “How amusing. It seems last time wasn’t lesson enough for you wretches.”

He paused, then eyed the man with a mocking smile. “Do you remember your wife and daughter, the ones who disappeared three years ago?”

At these words, the man abruptly looked up, rage and anguish twisting his features. “It was you!”

The surrounding guards laughed maliciously at his reaction, their gazes gleaming with cruel delight.

“That’s right—it was me.” The nobleman met the man’s furious gaze with a languid, taunting look. He then gave a regretful sigh. “But your wife and daughter… they weren’t much fun. They lost their minds in the end. I had no choice but to use them as offerings.”

A look of intoxicated reminiscence crossed his face, as if recalling an exquisite pleasure. He smiled slyly at the man. “Well? Will you beg me now? Don’t forget, you still have two children at home waiting for you to bring back bread. Beg, and I’ll give it to you. What do you say?”

Pain contorted the man’s face. He looked at the nobleman’s smiling visage, a trace of savage despair flickering within him. He longed to lunge at his tormentor, but his body remained rooted, as if held down by an invisible force.

From a distance, Chen Ming observed, shaking his head slightly. Deep within, his divine core began to stir, granting him fleeting visions.

Countless possibilities spun through his mind, one after another dissolving as the divine core resonated softly. At last, a few recurring scenarios emerged.

In one, the man, fueled by fury, threw back his head and wailed to the heavens. In a flash, he drew a dagger he had long concealed and charged forward.

In yet another vision, the nobleman responded with a contemptuous smile, drew his sword, and with a surge of battle energy, ran the man through in a single stroke.

Feeling the weight of these visions, Chen Ming watched in silence.

On the other side, sorrow and anger flickered across the man’s face, tears of pain welling in his eyes. His hand twitched, but in the end, he did not draw the dagger he had prepared. Lowering his head, he remained kneeling, his voice trembling. “Please, my lord…”

He uttered the plea he had spoken countless times before, the humiliation seething within him, draining all color from his face.

But the nobleman only laughed aloud. With a swift motion, he raised his sword and brought it down with brutal force.

Drip. Drip.

Blood splattered to the ground, followed by the man’s head, which rolled free and stunned the onlookers.

A scream rose—a child’s shriek—but it was hastily muffled by a parent’s hand, stifling any further sound.

The nobleman, flushed with perverse ecstasy, strode away laughing, evidently in high spirits.

Around them, eyes followed, burning with anger and hatred.

“They deserve to be punished.” After the nobles left, someone muttered resentfully, watching their retreating figures.

His family pulled at his sleeve, glancing nervously around, fearful of being overheard.

On the square, Chen Ming could clearly see the suppressed fury on countless faces.

Unseen, wisps of black resentment drifted upward, only to be tamped down by a powerful force of fate, unable to erupt.

“No matter how deep their rage, without strength, they are left at the mercy of others.” Watching, Chen Ming’s heart remained unmoved.

Unlike his past life, the existence of battle energy in this world set the nobility above all others, giving them true power. Thus, the situation was utterly different.

No matter how enraged or unwilling, the commoners stood no chance before such overwhelming might. Even if their wives and daughters were violated, their families slaughtered, all they could do was kneel and beg. Sometimes, they themselves were selected as offerings for the nobles’ bloody rituals, their lives and deaths at the mercy of their oppressors.

Taking in all this, Chen Ming remained silent, the divine core within him quietly resonating as he reached out with his senses.

Throughout the city, dense waves of black resentment boiled and surged, mingling with threads of white fate to blend into a pale red. Above it all, a solidified force of destiny coalesced—scarlet tinged with gold, and at its heart, a deep blue threaded with black.

“The disparity in power is simply too great,” he thought.

In this world of supernatural might, even if the numerically superior commoners united, they could not match the power of the nobility, let alone the Ancestor God.

The Ancestor God, though demanding annual sacrifices, was the greatest pillar of the nobles’ rule. A single Ancestor God—being of the fourth order—could not be opposed, even if every commoner in the city were to rise up. What’s more, the annual blood sacrifices drew from the ranks of the common folk, further skewing the balance of power.

He gazed ahead—there still stood the corpse, its head severed from its body.

Some among the crowd hesitated, wanting to collect the remains, but fear held them back, lest they be implicated.

Seeing this, Chen Ming sighed softly, then strode forward.

He silently placed the grisly head back upon the body, and under the shocked gazes of the crowd, performed the rites.

As he moved, a pale, gentle light spread around him, illuminating the square. Faintly, a soul seemed to appear, offering silent thanks.

“It’s the priest of the God of Nature!”

A cry of wonder broke out among the crowd. Feeling the warmth of the light, tears welled in their eyes; many fell to their knees in prayer.

“Great God of Nature, if you can see all this, please let your glory descend and cleanse this land!” an old man cried, his eyes red with grief.

Their prayers and laments soared upward, and in the unseen, a divine core shone brilliantly.

In the midst of the suffocating darkness, a beam of light began to shine. Around Chen Ming, the power of the world surged, answering the call of a fragment of starlight above, urging him on.

“Is this the world’s yearning for redemption?” he murmured, sensing the feverish energy around him.

He gazed at the weeping supplicants, feeling the resentment that had festered in this city-state for centuries, always suppressed, never released.

Taking in the scene, Chen Ming turned away, sensing the call deep within him, and made a silent vow:

“I, the God of Nature, swear to cleanse this land of all evil, to restore peace to the world.”

At once, a fragment of starlight blazed brightly. The power of the world roared within it, as if responding to his oath.