Immortal Paladin

My final memory before death was more sensation than substance. It started with a feeling of my body unraveling into motes of golden light as I chased the Sun across the sky. It was a foolish endeavor, perhaps, but I was curious. In the Hollowed World, the celestial bodies were not suspended in the sky as one would expect but rather entwined with the terrain itself, woven into a strange cosmological puzzle that defied common logic. I wanted to see the Sun for myself, to reach it, even if it meant burning up in the process.

That curiosity killed me. Or maybe it saved me, depending on how you looked at it.

Now, I lay on my back, staring at the sky of a different world, blades of grass tickling my neck, and the smell of wet earth grounding me. I had vague, spotty impressions of my final moments… no pain, just a surreal quietude. I remembered the light, the warmth, and the disembodiment. I was fairly certain I’d traveled a great distance before I lost consciousness, perhaps even pierced the veil between worlds. This place… it felt different. The sky above wasn’t just a dome but vast and deep, hiding secrets I wasn’t yet strong enough to reach.

Maybe this was the center of the Hollowed World? Or maybe this wasn’t the Hollowed World at all. If this were the heart, then where were the Sun and Moon anchored? Did this world revolve around a different axis of power entirely? I didn’t know. But I intended to find out eventually. That was the problem, though. There was too much to do, and I didn’t have the luxury of chasing side quests like I once did.

I sighed. Ten years of progress, and I’d barely clawed my way to the Third Star of the Martial Tempering Realm. Not even enough to fly. Not enough to break mountains, shatter seas, or intimidate would-be enemies. However, I did manage to reconstruct something precious: my Divine Sense. It was a pale shadow of its former brilliance. Before, I could extend it over an entire city, peeling back secrets like a master spy with god’s eyes. Now, it barely stretched behind my neck, more instinct than skill. Still, it was enough. It let me feel the Qi in the world, or rather, the lack of it. The spiritual energy here was pitifully thin. If I hadn’t come here with memories and techniques to compensate, I doubted I’d be more than a first-tier brute.

“Brother, Dad is looking for you,” Da Ji’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I turned to see her jogging up the hill, panting only slightly, her long hair tied in a loose ponytail. We were both fourteen now. I had grown tall and wiry, and she had grown into a quiet beauty with sharp, observant eyes. The gloom that always lingered in her expression never truly vanished, but there was a liveliness in her gait that made me think she was doing fine.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, brushing bits of grass from my shirt as I rose.

“There are soldiers in the village. Armed. They’ve got swords and banners, and they’re going house to house. Dad’s talking to them now.”

That sobered me immediately. Armed men in rural villages usually meant one of three things: bandits, tax collectors, or conscription officers. Judging by Da Ji’s clean clothes and lack of tears, it wasn’t bandits. That left something worse.

We ran together, my steps cautious but swift, hers light but urgent. Our family hut, which had expanded over the past decade into something more home than shelter, stood in its usual patch of the village, but the air was different. Heavier. Tense. Men in cuirasses stood in disciplined rows, their helmets gleaming under the afternoon sun. They bore halberds and curved swords at their hips, and each bore the standard of the Empire sewn into their tabards.

At the center of it all stood a man slightly younger than Father, maybe in his mid-thirties, dressed in more ornate armor. His presence was magnetic, his posture proud and commanding. He looked as though he belonged in a palace, not this humble village.

“I am Jin Chenglei,” he declared, voice ringing with trained clarity. “Commander of the Steel Squadron, under direct mandate of the Emperor’s hand.”

He unfurled a scroll and began reading aloud, the words dripping with imperial grandeur. The decree was simple, brutal, and expected: every household must offer a man to be armed for the coming war. This wasn’t a request. It was the will of the Empire.

Da Ji whispered beside me, “He’s been knocking on every door saying the same thing. Some houses sent grandfathers, some sent teenage sons.”

The man might have been noble to deliver the edict himself, but in the end, it was still conscription.

Father opened our door and stepped out, wearing his old hunting tunic. His face was calm, but his eyes were tired. He bowed formally, fist against palm. “I, Da Jin, will serve the Empire as best I can. My life is the Emperor’s blade.”

He was going to say more… some poetic nonsense about duty and honor… but I didn’t let him.

“No!” I roared, voice imbued with inner strength. Lion’s Roar rippled through the air like a gong, startling birds into flight and making some of the soldiers jolt.

All eyes turned to me.

“I, Da Wei, will stand in my father’s stead!” I shouted, stepping forward, back straight and gaze firm. “Let me be the one to bear arms for the Empire. My father has served our village long enough. Let the next generation bleed now.”

Father’s voice came down like a hammer, soaked in steel. “Enough!” he barked. I flinched more from the weight of it than the volume. He turned to Commander Jin Chenglei and bowed stiffly, the movement rigid. “The child doesn’t know what he’s saying. Please forgive his foolishness. He’s only fourteen.”

Only fourteen. A child by all accounts. And yet here I was, standing defiant, my fists clenched and heart pounding like a drum.

But I didn’t back down. “I’m worth ten of my father!” I shouted, the words slipping before I could leash them.

The slap came in the form of a voice.

“You have no respect for your father!” It was my mother, suddenly appearing at my side like a wrathful spirit, her brows drawn and eyes fierce. She lunged for my ear, intent on discipline the old-fashioned way. I dodged easily and sidestepped her with all the grace honed from years of dodging strikes and slipping past danger. She cursed under her breath, but didn’t chase.

I didn’t enjoy doing this. I wasn’t trying to be the hero. I loved my family. It was a love I hadn’t known in my past lives, way different from Earth and more unique than the Hollowed World. This life might not have been as grand as the ones before, but it was mine. It was fragile and precious and simple.

And I absolutely knew that what I was about to do would hurt them.

But better me than Father. He had given too much to this village, to this family. If he died on some battlefield for an Emperor we’d never seen, who would take care of Mother? Of Da Ji?

I glanced at my twin sister. She had stepped back, watching quietly, her expression unreadable. I gave her a small and forced smile. Then I turned to Commander Jin Chenglei. I bowed with a fist over my heart and declared with conviction, “I, Da Wei, volunteer to serve. I will wield the sword in the name of the Da family and fight for the Empire.”

Lie.

I didn’t care for the Empire. I didn’t care who sat on the Imperial Throne or what border squabble they wanted to settle with blood. But I cared about my family. I cared about the quiet life we might never have if someone didn’t step forward. That was the truth I fought for.

Then it happened.

A sharp thwip split the air. Gasps rippled through the gathered soldiers, a shout of surprise among them. My Divine Sense flared instinctively, weak as it was, and screamed a warning at me. I twisted my body and dove to the side, rolling through the grass just as an arrow embedded itself where my leg had been.

The fletching was familiar.

“What the hell?!” I hissed, jerking up.

Father stood there, bow in hand, already lowering it.

He had shot at me.

That madman had actually tried to shoot his son in the leg!

“Excuse me, Commander,” he said with forced calm, brushing past Jin Chenglei, who stared at the arrow embedded in the ground like he’d just watched a family drama spiral into a war film. “This brat needs a beating.”

My father’s steps were steady as he approached me, and for the first time in years, maybe ever, I felt genuine intimidation crawl up my spine. This wasn’t the warm, laughing man who carried us on his shoulders or teased Mother over burned porridge. This was a different man entirely. He towered like a cliff’s edge, eyes like polished obsidian.

“So you think you can make decisions for this family now, you brat?” he asked, tone colder than steel. “Do you hear yourself, Wei?!”|

I stared at the arrow again. He hadn’t missed by much. Maybe an inch or two higher, and I’d be bleeding into the soil.

Was he serious? Was he actually going to injure me to stop me?

Okay, yeah… I was intimidated. Even in the Hollowed World, this kind of blunt-force parenting was rare. I remembered running from belts, dodging sandals, and hiding on rooftops back on Earth. But this? This was next level.

He planted himself in front of me, arms crossed. The expression on his face didn’t shift, but his eyes… There was pain there. Beneath all that bluster, he was hurting.

“I’ve always known you were a smart kid, little Wei,” he said, quietly now. “Too smart. But isn’t this too much?”

He looked so tired. So disappointed. It made something twist in my chest. I wanted to understand him. I wanted to crawl into his mind and grasp the reasons behind his anger. But I couldn’t. Divine Possession was beyond my means now. I had no way to glimpse the truth inside him.

All I could do was speak mine.

I squared my shoulders, straightened my spine, and met his gaze without flinching. “Father,” I said, voice even, “sometimes… there are things you can’t just explain. And sometimes, there are things you must do, not because you understand them, but because you believe they’re right.”

He didn’t move. I pressed on.

“You feel that way. I feel that way. But if we both believe we’re right, then one of us has to be wrong.”

The wind stirred between us. Somewhere behind, Da Ji shifted slightly. Jin Chenglei remained still, though I could tell he was trying to decide whether to intervene or let the family drama sort itself out.

In my heart, I already knew this would hurt. But I also knew… I would rather be the one to carry this burden.

“Forgive me,” I said, lowering my gaze. “But I won’t back down.”

So began the duel between father and son.

A man twice my size, weathered by years of wrestling boars, dragging firewood, and braving mountain storms… against a barely teenage boy who still had the smell of grass and sweat clinging to him. Under normal circumstances, the fight should have ended in less than a minute. It should’ve been a short, lopsided affair, an embarrassing lesson for a child too eager to grow up. But nothing about our family had ever been normal.

We circled each other in the packed dirt outside our home, surrounded by soldiers and silence. There were no blades, no Qi techniques, and no blinding flashes of power. Just fists, feet, and stubborn hearts. The first five minutes were a blur of movement and pain from dodged swings, blocked hooks, and staggered breathing. I hated it. I hated that it had come to this.

I should’ve been able to do better.

My right hand throbbed with pain, every knuckle scraped, and skin stretched thin over swelling. My fingers trembled as they gripped the collar of my father’s tunic. He was slumped between my legs, blood crusting along the cut above his brow, his cheek blooming with purple bruises. His breath rasped in and out, labored but still steady. Yet even now… gods, even now… his arm twitched upward, trying to throw another jab,

“Just stay down,” I whispered, voice shaking.

I planted my foot on his arm and leaned forward. My fist cracked against his jaw again, sharp and final. His body slackened at last. The stubborn flame behind his eyes flickered, then went out as consciousness left him.

It took everything in me not to cry.

My father had never been a martial artist. He was strong, yes, hardened by a life of physical labor, his body chiseled by honest work. But he had no cultivation method and no formal training. If he was at the Third Star of Martial Tempering, it was only because the world had no choice but to strengthen him in kind. He fought with nothing more than instincts honed by chasing wild pigs and dragging wounded prey through dense underbrush. I had skills, techniques from lifetimes past. He had heart.

And it nearly beat me.

I collapsed onto my back, staring up at the clouds, gasping through the ache in my chest. My fingers twitched, still feeling the weight of his collar. Nearby, I heard soft crying. I turned my head and saw Mother on her knees, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Da Ji held her tightly, wide eyes filled with something I didn’t want to name… fear, maybe. Disappointment. Sorrow.

I must’ve looked like a monster to them.

So this was it. Goodbye, ordinary life.

I had always known the illusion couldn’t last. The quiet days, the family meals, the playful scoldings… they were borrowed time. I could rationalize what I did. Say it would help me grow stronger, sharpen my cultivation, or expose me to the secrets of this world. And those things were true. But they weren’t the real reason I fought.

The truth was far simpler.

I just wanted to protect them. In the only way I knew how.

Jin Chenglei’s voice rose above the quiet. “This duel has ended. Da Wei of the Da family, come with me.”

I sat up slowly, every muscle complaining. Internally, I cursed the commander for not interfering, for letting the drama play out like some stage play. But even I understood… this was something no one else could settle.

I turned my back on the man I had just defeated, on the woman weeping beside him, and the sister whose silence hurt more than any blow. I didn’t know what to do, how to move forward. I had stepped beyond the threshold. I was no longer just a son. I was now a weapon of the state.

Then I felt it, frail arms wrapping around my waist. Da Ji.

“Make sure to come home, big bro,” she murmured into my chest.

Her voice, so small, so heavy, almost shattered me.

Then came another embrace, firmer and warmer. A weight settled atop my head. Mother’s chin. Her arms pulled me into her, holding on like she was trying to stop the world from taking me away.

“You hear me, son?” she said, voice cracked with grief. “You took your father’s place. That doesn’t mean you have to die in it. Come home. Alive.”

I broke down. Silent sobs wracked my frame, each breath catching on the weight in my throat. I buried my face in her shoulder and whispered, “Yes, Mom.”

I hated this body. I hated these tear glands. I was an old soul… I had faced death, and worse. But now? I was just a boy. A stupid boy who wanted to do the right thing.

Suddenly, we were lifted from the ground.

Strong arms encircled us all. Father’s voice, hoarse but clear, rang out. “You heard your mom, son. Come back home.”

He was awake.

We fell back as he let go, a heap of limbs and tangled hair and gasps of disbelief. There we lay, all four of us, staring at the gray sky. The soldiers around us looked on, their expressions uncertain, confused even. This wasn’t how farewells were supposed to go.

Father’s eyes fluttered shut again, this time in rest. He began snoring, soft, even, like he hadn’t just been beaten senseless by his own son. Mother cradled his head with one hand, her other gently rubbing his neck. Da Ji sat beside him, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

Jin Chenglei walked over, silent for a moment. Then he extended a gloved hand to me.

“Let’s go,” he said. “There’s a war that needs fighting.”

I looked at the hand for a second longer, then grasped it with my bruised fingers.

And so, my story continued.