Immortal Paladin

Da Ji guided me down the worn dirt path toward a modest shelter, one of the old storage huts repurposed to house the ill. The air around the building was heavy with the scent of sickness. It was sour and metallic, like blood left to spoil in the sun. From within, I could already hear the wet coughs and stifled groans. When we stepped closer, the scene hit me like a fist in the gut. People lay sprawled across the floorboards, their bodies wracked with fever. Some were covered in blotchy discolorations, others leaking pus from ruptured boils. A few were barely conscious, murmuring incoherent words.

I clenched my fists, jaw tightening as I took it all in. It hadn’t even been that long since I left for a stroll, and yet the village had turned into a hospice. “Why didn’t you call for me immediately?” I asked, voice low but biting.

Da Ji looked away, guilt painting her face. “I don’t know… It happened so suddenly. Even I didn’t know how to handle it.”

The healers inside the shelter noticed us, immediately waving their hands and shouting through the cloth masks tied to their faces. “Back! Stay back, now!” one of them barked. “No more visitors! We’re at capacity!”

We were ushered away from the entrance and forced to wait outside, the door shut firmly behind us. I tried to calm the tightness in my chest, but it wasn’t working. Then I felt Da Ji’s hand wrap around mine. “Brother,” she asked softly, her voice trembling, “why do you look so hurt?”

I hadn’t realized it showed on my face. My thoughts must’ve been an open scroll to her, because I couldn’t hide the guilt even if I tried. Wen Yuhan, standing to the side with arms folded, filled in the answer I didn’t give. “Because he feels responsible,” she said with unblinking certainty, “and he blames himself for not being able to do anything.”

Da Ji shook her head, her expression hardening. “That’s not like you, brother… You’re not the kind of person who gets drunk on his own self-importance. Carrying everyone else’s pain… It’s not noble, it’s foolish. You’re not the chief, nor the emperor.”

Wen Yuhan tilted her head, her golden eyes glinting. “But that’s the thing. He thinks he is. In times of chaos, power draws responsibility like a blade draws blood. Whether he likes it or not, the village looks to him. If not now, then soon…”

The funny thing was… they were both right. I didn’t carry a title, but I’d started acting like I did. Giving orders, accepting refugees, naming strategists… it was easy to fall into the rhythm of leadership without realizing you’d forced it on yourself without anyone’s consent, really.

However, the truth was, I was never in this position by choice. It just happened that way.

Before I could respond, Mother appeared from the far side of the shelter. Her face was tight with fatigue and dread, the lines in her brow deeper than I remembered. “Mom,” I called out.

Her eyes snapped to me, and for a moment, she lit up. “Little Wei!” But that flicker of joy quickly turned grim. “It’s terrible!”

I gave her a soft smile. “Not so little anymore, but what’s wrong?”

Her shoulders sagged. “It’s Yuen Fu. He came in sick. I put him in isolation immediately, tried everything to stabilize him… and he was responding well at first, but then—” Her voice cracked, and she turned away.

Da Ji stepped up beside her, laying a comforting hand on her back. “It’s not your fault, Mom. We’ve been letting people in nonstop. Sooner or later, someone was bound to carry something with them.”

Mom nodded, though her eyes still brimmed with regret. “I just wish we had checked more thoroughly… We’ve been so focused on safety from raiders and demonic beasts, we forgot about illnesses.”

Wen Yuhan offered her insight. “This isn’t natural. It reeks of interference. Most likely the work of the Yama King… He’s the type to spread plague to weaken and control.”

Both Mom and Da Ji blinked at her, clearly lost. Of course, they wouldn’t know the names of ancient prisoners and grand conspirators. I was the only one she’d shared that twisted lore with. Their confusion only deepened as they studied Wen Yuhan more carefully, likely wondering who she really was and why I’d brought her here.

I coughed into my hand, drawing attention back to me. “Mom, I still need to see Yuen Fu.”

“No, you can’t,” Da Ji said quickly. “It’s dangerous. The sickness is—”

“I know what it is,” I interrupted gently. “But I must see him. It’s important.”

Mom’s face twisted in indecision. If I were just a child, she might’ve dismissed the thought outright. But in this world, and at my age, I was considered an adult, one with power and responsibility. She sighed, the weight of both a mother and a village healer resting on her shoulders.

Finally, she nodded. “Alright. Da Ji, go inform your father and the village chief. Tell them we’ve got thirty-two patients, three in critical condition, and the rest not faring well. Outlook’s poor.”

Da Ji took off without another word. Mom turned to me and placed a hand on the shelter door. Before she opened it, she spoke in a low, stern tone. “Only you, Little Wei. She stays outside.”

Wen Yuhan shrugged, unbothered. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here.”

The door groaned on its hinges, and as soon as I stepped inside, the stench hit me, a pungent blend of sweat, rotting flesh, and something sour that clung to the back of the throat. My eyes stung from the sheer weight of it in the air. Still, I kept walking, one slow step at a time, matching the steady pace of my mother beside me.

We moved down the dim corridor of the makeshift shelter, only dimly lit by paper lanterns and shafts of late afternoon light sneaking through gaps in the wood. Bodies lined both walls, dozens of men, women, and even a few children. Most lay curled up, moaning under soaked sheets. Their skin bore terrible signs: blotches of sickly gray and green, lesions that had cracked and leaked, and eyes that fluttered with feverish delirium. One man near the wall whispered nonsense, clawing gently at the air as if trying to grasp something that wasn’t there. A child whimpered softly, her mother cradling her while quietly weeping, the skin of both marked by the same affliction.

My boots creaked against the floorboards, but none of the sick stirred to acknowledge us. They were too far gone for that. The weight of it pressed down like a mountain on my back.

Beside me, Mom sighed deeply, her voice taut with emotion. “Son, I know you’re considered an adult already… You’ve served in the military for over a year and have seen things no child should see. But to me, you’ll always be my little boy.”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone. “Where is this coming from?”

She hesitated, then muttered under her breath, “I won’t question your taste in women… but really? Did it have to be someone that much older than you? You’re just sixteen!”

I coughed into my hand, nearly choking on the irony. “You mean Wen Yuhan? Don’t worry, Mom, we’re not like that. It would just be weird and gross.”

To be fair, in some twisted cosmic sense, we might have made a good match… if power and age and soul experience were the only criteria. But after everything I’d been through, the last thing I wanted was to get entangled again. Jue Bu’s words echoed in my mind, the ones he told me about the dangers of love and attachments. He warned me to be careful with matters of the heart, especially after what happened in the Hollowed World.

I still remembered the mess in the Summit Hall, the moment when that Supreme Being toyed with me. The way time bent and snapped, trapping me in a looping nightmare. Or maybe it hadn’t been the Supreme Being at all, but Aixin, using someone else’s power to drag me into her twisted idea of prison and torture to steal my body. The truth remained unclear. Supreme Beings were enigmas, after all.

What I did know was this: if Aixin hadn’t been so greedy, so desperate to make me hers and whisk me away to the Greater Universe, I would’ve lost. Badly. Back then, I barely crawled out alive. No. In fact, I actually died for real with no hopes for a comeback…

We stopped before a curtain hung from a rod of bent bamboo. It separated the worst of the sick from the others. Mom gave me a glance, the same worried one she always wore when I came back injured from playing too much or returned from hunting.

Then Mom stepped aside.

I pulled the curtain aside and stepped through.

What lay beyond almost made me falter.

Yuen Fu, my old comrade, barely resembled the man I remembered. Once robust and full of youthful confidence, he now looked like something hollowed out and left to spoil. Half his face had turned an ashen hue, the skin peeling and necrotic. His lips were cracked, and he breathed in shallow, labored bursts. Yet despite the ruin of his flesh, his eyes still shone with recognition.

“Young Master Wei,” he rasped, his voice a strained wheeze, “it’s… good to see you again…”

I stepped closer, dropping to one knee, and gently clasped his trembling hand. His skin was like paper… hot, brittle, and covered in tiny sores. “Don’t worry, I’m here,” I said, forcing a smile. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“No!” he cried out suddenly, panic flaring in his gaze. “Don’t touch me! You might catch the sickness… Please, Young Master!”

I said nothing. Just took a breath and reached within myself. It cost me more than most people could know, but I gathered the lifeforce pulsing through my veins, converting it into divine power. Two spells: Blessed Regeneration and Cleanse. They shimmered briefly over my hands like threads of silver light before sinking into Yuen Fu’s body.

He tensed, convulsing once. Then the decay slowed. The blackened skin began to soften. Color returned to parts of his face. The light behind his eyes brightened.

Even though my limbs trembled from the cost, I held firm. Yuen Fu’s voice, once a strained croak clawing out from his ruined throat, now rang clear and full of life. “W-what? What happened?” He blinked rapidly, raising trembling fingers to touch the once-rotting skin on his face, now smooth, whole, and alive. His eyes widened in disbelief. “I… I feel warm again…”

The pale glow from my spell still lingered faintly on his skin like the residue of a fading dream. It had been a desperate expenditure of my lifeforce, but a necessary one. I was already preparing to cast another spell when the curtain behind me flung open.

“Little Wei!” Mom gasped, frozen mid-step as she beheld the healed Yuen Fu. Her hands trembled slightly as she clasped them to her chest. “He’s… he’s healed?”

Yuen Fu turned, his eyes shining with fresh tears. With a sudden cry, he dropped to his knees and grabbed onto my sleeve. “Thank you! Thank you, Young Master Wei… It’s terrible—the capital… the capital is no more!” His voice cracked again, but not from sickness. This time it was grief. “It was infested with rot! People turned overnight… I barely got out! I… I…”

He wanted to speak further, to pour out all the horrors he’d seen, but I gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll talk later,” I said firmly. There were others who needed my help now, and the truth, no matter how dark, could wait until they were safe.

I turned to the room. The other patients, dozens of them, stared at me. Their feverish eyes, once dim with pain and hopelessness, now shimmered with a fragile glimmer of awe. They had seen the light. They had seen a miracle.

For a moment, I stood still, and within that silence, Jue Bu’s voice whispered in my mind, faint but heavy: “Don’t do this, Da Wei.”

I clenched my jaw. I knew what he meant. Every time I used my power like this, I shaved away pieces of my lifespan. It was a cost that couldn’t be undone or bargained with. But I also knew this: if I let this disease spread unchecked, then more would suffer. More would die. Maybe the whole village.

So I chose.

I moved to the next patient.

And then the next.

And the next.

For hours, I gave myself to the work. I walked from cot to cot, floorboard to floorboard, letting my spells flow through me. Cleanse. Blessed Regeneration. Cleanse again. Heal the flesh. Mend the spirit. My head began to ache. My hands trembled. The warmth in my limbs dimmed as I poured light into their wounds.

A young mother wept as I placed my hand over her child. The blisters vanished; the girl blinked in confusion, then clutched at her mother’s chest and began to cry. The mother, sobbing, reached out and grasped my hand.

“Saint… You’re a saint, young master,” she whispered, kissing my knuckles.

An old man sat up after I healed his lungs. He coughed, blinked, and muttered, “It’s a miracle. A real one. The Spirits must favor you.”

Another woman, skin once jaundiced, bowed her head to the floor and said, “I offer my soul to your cause, Da Wei. Command me as you will.”

One by one, they called out. Some blessed me in the name of their ancestral gods. Others wept without words. A few simply stared, as if afraid I might disappear if they blinked.

I tried not to let it get to me. Tried to focus on the next spell, the next person, the next cough, the next patch of blackened skin.

But inside, a storm was beginning to churn.

Was this what it meant to be in charge? To feel pain in your chest every time you saved someone because you knew you couldn’t save everyone?

And yet, I kept moving.

Because I had to.