Immortal Paladin

He was dreaming. That much, Nongmin could tell. A cold realization bled through the haze of sleep: David had made his choice. Whether it was courage or foolishness, the line between the two had long since blurred. Nongmin had tried… truly, he had tried… to steer him from the path ahead. He’d shown him horrors, revelations, threads of destiny fraying at the edge of reality. And still, David walked forward. The truth that loomed now was simple and cruel. If David kept going like this, death would be a mercy. That was the cost of conviction, and perhaps… just perhaps… the price of becoming a god.

It was a price Nongmin was willing to bear in David’s stead.

“Of course, he just had to play the hero… and not listen to a damn thing I say…”

The ‘price’ for godhood was too much, and if David were to shoulder it all alone, he was going to lose it. If anything, Nongmin couldn’t believe he fell for David’s Divine Word of all things. Of course, Nongmin had prepared for this unfortunate turn of events.

There were formations he’d embedded into himself long ago, failsafes nested within his very soul, meant to trigger if he ever fell under a sleep curse, a binding spell, or even a Divine Word. They were intricate, buried in layers of consciousness few could reach. As his body slumbered, these innate formations bloomed like clockwork in the dream. The world trembled.

Within this constructed world, he stood alone in an endless black void. Nothing existed but silence and shadow. Then, slowly, stars began to flicker into the sky… pinpricks of light forging constellations across the dream’s hollow dome. His fingers moved like they were plucking the strings of a phantom zither, each motion calling forth a formation glyph in space. The void warped. Space cracked under his fingers like glass under pressure. Shards of memory burst forth, and with them, the dream collapsed.

Now he stood in the remnants of a battlefield, steeped in dried blood and ash. Broken banners fluttered limply in the wind. Bodies littered the field… Imperial troops, foreign soldiers, even beasts of war. In the distance, he spotted his own corpse, crumpled and beheaded. He walked toward it without emotion. This was a memory. A possible future. One of the many ways he had died in an alternate timeline, a casualty of the very man he had just called a friend. And yet… this version of David was not his David. Something was off.

The golden-eyed version of David turned and stared at him with a smile that didn’t belong to the man he knew. Without a word, the figure lunged, sword slicing through the air with divine precision. Nongmin summoned a puppet from his pocket dimension… an automaton carved from ancient wood and breathing with spiritual qi… and intercepted the strike. The entire dream world trembled as the puppet clashed with the memory.

“You are not him,” Nongmin said, voice echoing across the shattered landscape.

The figure stilled, then tilted its head. The golden glow in its eyes pulsed. When it spoke, it was not David’s voice. A woman’s voice… smooth, elegant, mocking… answered from the lips of his friend’s stolen form.

“Oh my,” she said with amusement, “it seems the wielder of the Heavenly Eye in this iteration is quite rebellious.”

That word ‘iteration’ struck a nerve. Nongmin narrowed his eyes. Was she speaking of timelines? Reincarnations? Cyclical dooms? He couldn’t tell. The possibilities were all grim.

“State your name, woman,” he demanded. “And show me your true form.”

The imposter David chuckled, and the sound morphed… rising in pitch, laced with something divine. It was the kind of laugh that could twist a man’s spine if heard in the waking world. Then, with a blink, the illusion shifted. Her figure changed. The hair became longer. The eyes softened. The face… no. That face.

Xin Yune.

His mother.

Nongmin’s pupils shrank. Fury and grief collided inside his chest. Of all the illusions, this was the most vile. She stood there in her healer’s robe, her expression tender, warm, and maternal… the very picture of the woman who had embraced him under the Bodhi Tree before turning into motes of silver light. His hands trembled.

“You dare,” he whispered.

The pressure radiating from him increased several-fold. The dream shook again, not from any attack but from the violence of his will alone. Rage surged through him. She had always been his anchor… his conscience. To wear her face, to speak with her voice, was nothing short of desecration.

“Whatever you are, you’ve made a mistake,” he growled. “You’ve shown me her face. Now I know you’re a liar.”

“Oh, but she was divine, wasn’t she?” the false Xin Yune cooed. “I merely borrowed what already sits in your memory. And besides…” She leaned in closer, eyes glowing with godly fire, “You should be honored. Few mortals get to meet a goddess in their dreams.”

He clenched his fists, formation glyphs flaring around his wrists and ankles. “You call yourself a goddess. Which one?”

She gave a cryptic smile and stepped back, arms outstretched as the dream folded into layers of starlight and ruin. “Does it matter? I am older than your civilizations, deeper than your oceans, and more cruel than your histories. Call me what you like. You’ll come to know me soon enough.”

The battlefield trembled again. This time, Nongmin did not wait. With a shout, he released the full power of his Heavenly Eye, tearing through the illusion like a blade. The stars cracked. Her face flickered. The dream began to collapse.

As the false goddess disintegrated, she whispered one final word into his mind.

“Run.”

And then he woke, heart racing, breath ragged, and lying on the floor of a sealed chamber deep in the Megatron. His body had been moved. His puppet was gone. And David… was not here.

He looked around in silence, fury buried beneath tight self-control.

“So,” he said aloud, voice hoarse, “you’ve made your choice, David.”

His fingers curled into a fist.

“Then don’t blame me for what I am about to do…”

He stood. He walked. There was no more room for hesitation.

When Nongmin stepped onto the deck of the Megatron, the world felt oddly quiet. The wind brushed against the sails with calm indifference. Clouds drifted lazily overhead. Nothing about the sky warned of what he had just seen in the dream. Nothing about the ship whispered of gods wearing his mother’s face. Yet the tension clung to him like oil in water. It was not the dream that haunted him… it was the knowledge that the dream had been real.

The others were scattered across the deck, minding their own business, unaware of the battle that had just taken place in the depths of his mind. Liang Na stood by the bow, arms folded, wind teasing strands of her dark hair. Zhu Shin waited by the cabin door, face etched with concern and discipline. By the wheel stood his grandson… Ren Xun, with Gu Jie beside him.

Nongmin felt the weight of generations pressing on his chest.

Zhu Shin was the first to notice him.

“Your Majesty,” the general said, stepping forward and bowing low. “While you were unconscious, we encountered a strange presence in your chamber... But... It touched the ship, but we held position and…”

“That is enough,” Nongmin said, raising one hand. ”You’ve done well, General...”

Nongmin moved forward, his steps deliberate, each one resonating with unspoken gravity. He walked past Liang Na, past Zhu Shin, and stopped directly in front of Gu Jie. She blinked, confused, startled by his focus.

“You,” Nongmin said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you the disciple of the man who calls himself Da Wei?”

Gu Jie stiffened. Her lips parted, but no sound came for a moment. Then she nodded quickly.

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

She moved to kneel out of instinct, lowering herself in respect, but Nongmin placed a firm hand on her shoulder before she could descend. She froze, wide-eyed.

“There is no time for ceremony,” he said, voice like thunder beneath silk. “He is in danger. Do you want to save him?”

Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. Her eyes shimmered… not with fear, but with overwhelming emotion. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Your Majesty. I… I do.”

“Then hear me,” Nongmin said, loud enough for all present to stop and listen. “From this moment forth, I declare you the Divine Oracle… she who sees through past, present, and future, through fate, fortune, and misfortune. In order to save her beloved Master, she is willing to sacrifice her life, her eyes, and her place in the world. She shall partake in this new destiny carved in my tears.”

The wind paused.

“Gu Jie,” he asked, “do you accept?”

The girl’s lips trembled. “I… I don’t understand,” she said, her breath shallow. “What is happening?”

“I shall pluck my eyes,” Nongmin said simply. “And give them to you. The procedure will be delicate. The chances of success are low. But with your cooperation, your trust, and your bond to him, I believe we can make it work.”

Gu Jie stared at him as though she were looking at madness dressed in robes. Her hands clenched at her sides.

“You… you would give me your eyes?” she whispered. “But my eyes are perfectly fine?”

Zhu Shin’s voice broke the silence like a whip. “Your Majesty, this is madness!” he bellowed, stepping forward. “You are the Emperor of Eight Realms! Your eyes cannot be given away like some… some token! Think of yourself! The balance that your presence brings! Think of the—”

Nongmin turned to him slowly, his expression cold and unsparing.

“I am thinking of the balance,” he said. “The world does not need me anymore. It needs a bridge for the transition that is about to come. It needs someone who can see what I no longer wish to see. Someone who believes there is more to taking your chances and someone untainted by the grief I have suffered.”

Zhu Shin faltered, breath caught in his throat. The argument died before it could form.

Nongmin turned back to Gu Jie, his expression now softer and resigned, but resolute.

“I ask you again,” he said, “do you accept?”

Gu Jie’s mouth opened. For a heartbeat, the deck held its breath.

And then…

“Yes… I accept, Your Majesty.”

Gu Jie’s voice was quiet, but steady. There was no hesitation. No tremor. Her body may have been fragile, but her conviction, at that moment, was stronger than steel. Nongmin said nothing in return. He only nodded.

“Stay still,” he instructed.

Then, without ceremony, he reached toward his own face.

There were no runes. No chants. No drawn-out rituals. Only the wet sound of flesh surrendering to force as Nongmin plucked both of his eyes from their sockets in a single, decisive motion. Yet not a single drop of blood fell. No fountain, no mess. His cultivation threads… those honed through millennia of refinement… pulled taut beneath the surface, sealing blood vessels before they could burst. To any onlooker, the sight would have been surreal, more like a divine illusion than a gruesome act.

He closed his eyelids, but it made no difference. Even blind, Nongmin could see more clearly than most. His Qi Sense enveloped the world like a second skin. Through that refined sense, he traced Gu Jie’s stunned expression… eyes wide, breath shallow, and posture frozen mid-kneel. He saw the shape of her disbelief and the depth of her awe.

“I shall now perform Eye Transmutation,” he declared, holding the two orbs gently in his palms like sacred treasures. “And you shall absorb my Heavenly Eye… an innate constitution suffused to my existence. Understand this: the process will be painful.”

Gu Jie took a breath and lowered herself to the ground, kneeling fully. Her voice was clear when she spoke.

“General Zhu Shin, Enforcer Liang Na… please hold me so that I won’t struggle.”

Zhu Shin looked at her in horror. Liang Na blinked once, then exhaled slowly. Nongmin didn’t wait for protests.

“Do it,” he said firmly. ”It takes time for the Eye to settle on the new host, and she may suffer a fate worse than death if this isn’t done right!”

The two Ninth Realm cultivators moved with practiced discipline. Zhu Shin held Gu Jie by the shoulders, locking her upper body in place. Liang Na knelt behind her, palms on the girl’s back and neck, anchoring her spine with force that could crumble mountains. Neither of them dared speak.

“Steady,” Nongmin murmured. ”I will now proceed with the operation.”

With the gentleness of a sculptor and the precision of a physician, he pressed the glowing orbs of his own Heavenly Eye toward Gu Jie’s dark eyes. She flinched at first, but did not cry out. He pushed slowly, gradually, forcing his cultivation to will the eyes into her sockets… not as simple replacements, but as vessels of fate. Threads of his Qi unraveled and reknit themselves into her spiritual core, suturing the alien presence to her essence.

The world around them seemed to still. Even the clouds halted.

There was no scream… only a strangled, guttural sound as Gu Jie’s head jolted back, her body trembling from the inside out. Bright gold light erupted from her eyes, pouring like molten rivers down her cheeks. Zhu Shin gritted his teeth, tightening his grip. Liang Na whispered something, perhaps a prayer, or perhaps a curse.

Why Gu Jie?

The answer lay buried within her blood. Nongmin had discovered it long ago, during a quiet moment of contemplation. Gu Jie possessed an unusual innate constitution… one that allowed her to sense misfortune and, unwittingly, gather it around her like a lightning rod. Most would have seen this as a curse. Nongmin did not. He knew the other half of the secret.

What Gu Jie didn’t realize was that for every shadow of misfortune she gathered, she had also accumulated an equal, if not greater, measure of fortune. Luck wrapped around her like a mirrored veil… unseen, untouched, yet ever-present. She was a balance point, a fulcrum. And for the future Nongmin had in mind, she was the only one who could bear it.

It had to be her.

The world demanded it.