(Back in the Heavenly Realm)
Not all cultivation paths wore blue robes and signed polite contracts.
Days' travel from Azure Sky's mountains, in a ravine where sun rarely reached, another sect thrived on shadows.
The Black Slope Demonic Sect did not call itself demonic, of course.
It called itself "pragmatic."
Its disciples meditated in caves lined with skulls, not jade. Its elders taught qi techniques that chewed on fear, not on sword forms.
Where Azure Sky's Scripture Hall stored oaths about trade routes and alliances, Black Slope's law hung on whispered curses and blood‑ink compacts.
It was here, in a room lit by green fire, that a robed figure knelt before a rough stone altar bearing four crudely carved letters.
Not EJEH.
But close.
Fractured.
Adapted to this sky.
[LOCAL ANCHOR: HUNGER SUB‑NODE]
Status: Dormant (Waking).
The figure murmured names in a low chant.
"Old gods of the broken scripts…lend us your teeth."
Power stirred.
On the other side of reality, the hunger chuckled.
At last, it thought. A bowl under this sky that remembers my taste.
Its presence seeped into the sub‑node.
Not fully.
Not yet.
But enough to watch.
Enough to whisper.
Ifabola's System registered a faint ping.
Distant Node Activity (Local World) Detected.
Correlation with Primary Hunger: 8%.
Action: Observe. Too far for direct interference.
She frowned, carrying a stack of scrolls.
"More bad news?" Wei asked, not looking up.
"Probably," she sighed. "Do demon cultivators here like long names?"
"Weak ones do," he snorted. "They think extra syllables impress the ghosts. Why?"
"Nothing," she said. "Just…thinking."
Back in Ayetoro, Ajani's path darkened.
At first, his Devouring Gospel had let him sip energy from petty grievances.
Too slow.
Too subtle.
Frustrated, he pushed.
He began visiting the sick under pretense of sympathy, then whispered words that sharpened their despair, nudging them to curse the living.
Each curse unfurled a thread.
He drank.
One evening, a minor chief from a neighboring hamlet came to Ayetoro to negotiate grazing rights.
He was a proud man.
Arrogant.
He laughed at Ajani's complaints.
"If your shrine is cursed, leave it," he scoffed. "Come work my fields. At least my goats listen better than your gods."
Ajani smiled tightly.
"Perhaps," he said.
At night, he wove a curse.
Not deadly.
Just…disruptive.
"May he stumble in mud," he murmured. "May his words tangle. May his followers doubt."
He poured a little of his own qi into the anchor shard.
The hunger purred.
Good, it said. Small bites build appetite.
The next day, the chief tripped leaving the council circle, landing face‑first in a puddle. His retainers snickered. His authority cracked, just a bit.
Power surged in Ajani's veins.
He laughed.
Not kindly.
[DEVOURING GOSPEL OF BROKEN NAMES – LV.1 → LV.2]
The queen‑mother watched from the palace window, jaw clenched.
"Baba," she said, "your ghost‑haunted villager is biting more than his own house now."
"I know," he said.
He felt each unraveling thread.
He also felt, faintly, his daughter's Oath‑ties in another world.
Two fronts, he thought. One stomach.
He traced a spiral on his own palm.
"Time to risk a bigger stitch," he murmured.
Back at Azure Sky, Xiao‑lan's days grew more complex.
Between sweeping, copying, and sneaking in Oath practice, she barely had time to eat.
Her System kept up a running commentary.
Name‑Weaving EXP: 61/100 (Lv.1).
Oath‑Tide Sutra: 18% Comprehension.
New Micro‑Technique Unlocked: [Silent Witness Seal] – Tag an oath you overhear without active participation. Useful for eavesdropping.
She tested it the first time almost by accident.
Two senior disciples from different peaks argued in the Archive over a borrowed manual.
"I swear I'll return it by the new moon," one said loudly, placing a hand on his chest.
"If you don't, I'll report you to Elder Wei," the other retorted.
Invisible to them, she traced a tiny seal in the air, anchoring the words to her awareness.
If the first broke his promise, she would know…and have leverage.
Wei caught her doing it.
He didn't stop her.
He did flick a paper ball at her head.
"Do not collect so many threads you can't breathe," he warned. "Spiders die tangled in their own webs."
"I'm only collecting enough to sew a shirt," she replied.
He snorted.
"Make sure it fits," he said.
She met Zhou Yuan properly a week later.
The Law Hall clerk approached her in the Archive's side corridor, eyes sharp.
"You're the stone‑cracker," Zhou said without introduction.
"You're the one who glares from balconies," Xiao‑lan countered.
A corner of Zhou's mouth quirked.
"I observe," she said. "That is my job."
"Then you're very good at it," Ifabola said. "What does Law Hall want from an Archive broom?"
"Information," Zhou replied. "When minor oaths flicker nearby, our jade tablets twitch. Your…activities…have caused three twitches this week. That is more than the usual background noise."
"Oh," Xiao‑lan said. "Sorry?"
"Not necessarily," Zhou said. "Badly tied oaths cause trouble. Properly tied ones prevent it. Elder Shen thinks you might reduce his paperwork one day. Or increase it. Hard to tell."
Ifabola smirked.
"I'll aim for 'reduce,'" she said. "No promises."
Zhou's eyes glinted.
"Careful," she said. "You're talking to Law."
They regarded each other.
"Do you hate swords?" Zhou asked abruptly.
"What?" Xiao‑lan blinked.
"Most who drift to our halls do so because they are bad at hitting things," Zhou said. "Or tired of being hit. It's useful to know which."
"I don't hate swords," Ifabola said slowly. "I hate that everyone assumes swords are the only answer."
Zhou nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Hua‑elder will like you."
"Hua‑elder?" Xiao‑lan echoed.
"Law Hall's ice spear," Zhou said dryly. "She likes tidy lines and girls who know when to bite."
Ifabola sighed.
"I have too many elders already," she muttered.
"You're in a sect," Zhou shrugged. "Collect them like talismans. When demons come knocking, you'll want as many between you and the door as possible."
"Demons?" Ifabola repeated.
Zhou's gaze turned inward for a moment.
"Rumors," she said. "Of Black Slope raiders testing eastern wards. Of strange curses in market towns. Of…words…rotting faster than usual."
Ifabola's pulse quickened.
"The hunger's cousins," she whispered.
Zhou frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," she said quickly. "Dust in my throat."
Zhou studied her.
"If you hear anything…unusual…about oaths twisting, contracts failing, curses that taste wrong," she said quietly, "tell Law Hall. We prefer nets to swords in such matters."
"I'll…keep that promise," Ifabola said.
She meant it.
A small, voluntary knot settled in her own name.
Oaths, she thought, cut both ways.
That was the point.
That night, as she sat cross‑legged on her pallet, brush in hand, copying another page of Oath‑Tide teachings, the System chimed.
Major Quest Updated: "Counter‑Hunger / Seal Anchors."
New Sub‑Objective (Local World): Identify and Tag Demonic Anchor in Black Slope Sect.
Long‑Term. No immediate time limit.
Warning: Current strength grossly insufficient for confrontation. Focus on preparation.
She dipped her brush.
Ink pooled, then flowed.
Her strokes formed the character for "Debt."
She smiled grimly.
"Good," she murmured.
"Let him keep eating," she whispered across two skies. "Every bite is another line I'll write on his bill."
Her palm's knot pulsed.
The hunger twitched somewhere far, far away, as if sensing someone had just updated its ledger.
It did not yet know that under one sky, in a dusty library; under another, by a struggling river; in both, in the stubborn heart of a single child, its name was being tied into something it had never faced before:
Not a sword.
Not a shrine.
A System.
A story.
A web of small, sharp promises poised to cut.