Immortal Paladin

[POV: Ding Shan]

Two weeks had passed since they left Wen Yuhan behind. Ding Shan and the rest of the Guardians had no choice but to abandon her. They called it a strategic necessity, but deep down, it gnawed at their hearts like a splinter no one dared to remove. Wen Yuhan had chosen to confront the ’monster’ that stole Da Wei’s body. Meanwhile, the Guardians restructured and began infiltrating deep into Heavenly Alliance borders, laying the groundwork for their next operation.

One week ago, Ding Shan heard a voice from the clouds. At first, he thought it was a delusion brought about by stress or fatigue, until that voice called him by name.

“Lord Wei, is that you!?” Ding Shan shouted, standing still in the middle of a muddy trail.

Da Wei’s voice came from above, distant yet unmistakably sincere. “I am sorry, Shan… Really…”

Ding Shan clenched his fists. “How about Lady Yuhan?”

“She had perished…”

Ding Shan lowered his head. “I am sorry to hear that.”

Truthfully, none of the Guardians ever liked Wen Yuhan. To them, she was an opportunist, a woman who took advantage of Da Wei’s mysterious absence during the Yama King’s invasion. Her behavior only made it worse. She had started building a cult around Da Wei, repeating his mantras, copying his smallest gestures, until even her speech began to echo his cadence. They thought it was disturbing.

But time changed things. Wen Yuhan didn’t just act like Da Wei. She took on his burdens. She carried out his will. She protected the people he would have protected. Little by little, her sincerity chipped away at the Guardians’ skepticism. In the end, she earned her place, not because she was Da Wei, but because she believed in Da Wei the same way they all did.

That moment in the field, Ding Shan had been surrounded by a dozen soldiers. They looked at him as though he’d gone mad, speaking to the empty sky. But then the wind stirred, and from the fog appeared a translucent figure… It was Da Wei himself.

He stood above the path like a ghost woven from twilight and memory, the breeze threatening to disperse him at any moment. His form lacked weight, but his presence carried a pressure that no man present could deny.

“I have a lot of things to say,” Da Wei began, his voice soft but unwavering. “But first, I want to apologize… Back in the Yama King’s invasion, I never fled. I used an ultimate skill to steal Wen Yuhan’s body. The person who fled wasn’t me… It was Jue Bu.”

Ding Shan stared at him, piecing together truths he’d refused to acknowledge until now. “So all this time…?”

“Yes.”

The Guardians didn’t speak. Not out of disbelief, but out of hesitation. Some of them had begun their journey after Da Wei had vanished. For them, this was legend turned reality. For the veterans of the 112th, this was a long-lost commander returned.

Ding Shan scanned the faces around him. Confusion. Doubt. But more than anything, there was hope. He raised his voice, pushing past the lump in his throat. “Some of you were new to the Guardians… but let me make one thing clear. The core of this force… were soldiers of the 112th. We believed in Da Wei when the world didn’t. And we still believe in him now.”

A soldier from the back shouted, “I believe in Da Wei!”

Others joined in. What began as scattered affirmations turned into a chant.

Ding Shan looked back at the spirit. “What do you need us to do?”

Da Wei looked down, his expression unreadable. “What I can do is limited. A lot of you will die in this operation. I won’t lie to you. I cannot promise salvation… but I can tell you this: the Wheel of Reincarnation is real. I’ve seen it. I know where the soul goes. And I promise you… I will remember you. I’ll be watching. You won’t be alone.”

They didn’t cheer. They didn’t shout. But every man and woman there stood straighter.

Time passed. The Guardians moved across enemy lines, following rumors and intelligence toward a single goal: to find a grave. They broke through patrols, dismantled camps, and tore through borders under the cover of shadow. The world may have called them strange for there fanaticism, but they weren’t fighting merely for belief. They fought for something way simpler. For loyalty. For themselves.

And they succeeded, they killed their target.

Now, in the present, those same Guardians found themselves pressed hard against the cliffs of a narrow gorge. They were bloodied, tired, and outnumbered. Ding Shan led the retreat, eyes constantly scanning the battlefield, barking orders, making sure every life was spent meaningfully.

It had been roughly a month since the Guardians had left the Sacred Groves, and now they were fighting for their lives. What was meant to be a covert mission into Heavenly Alliance territory had turned into a disastrous skirmish. It had been inevitable… Dozens of blue-plumed soldiers poured in from the ridgelines, their numbers swelling with each heartbeat. The mountain winds carried the clangor of steel and the hoarse bellows of dying men. The Guardians were being cornered.

“Fall back!” Ding Shan roared, his voice carrying over the crashing waves of combat. “I will cover for you… Fu Wu, you’re in charge!”

He slammed his tower shield down onto the stone nave, the impact reverberating through the cracked mountain pass. Positioned at the bottleneck of the terrain, the shield’s crescent face braced the narrow trail, cutting off their pursuers from advancing unchallenged. Ding Shan stood behind it like a bulwark, the weight of command heavy on his shoulders.

Su Ai knelt beside a jagged outcrop, already loosing another flurry of arrows. The shots flew fast and true, thudding into necks and chests with sickening precision. Her gaze remained cold and focused. “I will stay with you, Commander Ding! As one of the Three Constellations, I, Hunter Su Ai, will help you cover the rear!”

From the side, Li Feng cracked his knuckles and stomped forward with fire in his eyes. “I, Li Feng, the Fighter Constellation, wish to fight alongside you, Commander, until my last breath!”

Ding Shan almost wanted to laugh at the theatrical declarations if it weren’t for how grave the situation had become. They were being hunted. Worse, they were surrounded, and their only option was to hold a line that couldn’t be held.

Then the last of the trio spoke. Fu Wu, despite the panic around him, stroked his stubble with a calm air. “I am willing to die by your side. I, Fu Wu, the Thinker Constellation, swear to fight until I can no longer.”

Su Ai loosed another arrow, and another soldier toppled over the edge of the cliff with a strangled cry. Ding Shan’s grip tightened on his mace.

“We need to buy time for the wounded. That means holding this line, but smartly,” he barked. “Su Ai, Li Feng, you’re with me. We anchor this position. No one gets past us.”

A blade flashed toward him from the side. Ding Shan pivoted, smashing his mace upward into a masked expert’s face. Bone cracked. The attacker dropped like dead meat.

He turned his attention back to Fu Wu, his tone heavy with decision. “Fu Wu, you’re a realist. You understand why I’m doing this. Someone needs to lead the main force to safety.”

Fu Wu’s smile faltered. “You’re not sending me because I have a wife and children, are you?”

Before Ding Shan could answer, Li Feng bellowed, striking a broad-sword-wielding Mind Enlightenment cultivator head-on. A thunderous blow knocked the man flat, but more were climbing over the rocks behind him.

“They’re bringing in the heavy hitters now,” Li Feng growled, panting. “We need a plan, fast.”

Su Ai responded by loosing more arrows. Ding Shan moved quickly, turning back to Fu Wu. “Go.”

Fu Wu clenched his jaw. “I can at least give you a plan. I’ll lay down formation traps as we fall back, and I’ll mark—”

“No.” Ding Shan cut him off. “If we can read those markings, our enemies might as well. Retreat. That’s an order. Your traps will slow them down better than any of us holding this ground.”

Fu Wu looked torn, caught between duty and loyalty. His fingers twitched at his side, half-reaching for his formation flags. “Understood…” he muttered, voice hoarse. “Guardians, to me! Make haste, regroup with the others…”

And then, with one last glance at Ding Shan, Fu Wu turned and left with the rest of there soldiers.

“Let’s give ‘em hell,” Ding Shan growled, lifting his shield as he barreled into the fray.

Su Ai loosed another arrow, the string of her bow snapping taut in a rhythm like war drums. Her arrows arced through the smoke, striking clean through the throat of a rushing enemy. Li Feng dashed beside her with crushing fists, swinging at anyone that came close with the fury of a mountain god.

They fought by the Gorge, terrain sharp and narrow. The rocks funneled the enemy in waves, but each wave was more determined than the last. What had begun as a skirmish turned into a siege that lasted the day, and then another. The sun had set and risen again before they knew it, and blood had stained the very stones they fought upon. Every muscle in Ding Shan’s body screamed in rebellion. Still, he stood his ground.

Then, his leg gave. He fell to one knee. His tower shield dragged beside him, too heavy to lift again. His mace, chipped and bloodied, stayed locked in his hand more out of instinct than strength.

What was faith?

He had asked himself that countless times. Was it blind trust? Was it foolishness, or courage? Was it so wrong to believe in something, someone, with all of your being, without expecting reward?

When Da Wei disappeared after the Yama King’s invasion, he hadn’t wavered. Not once. The common folk had, of course. They hadn’t seen the 112th die, nor seen them resurrected through Da Wei’s will. Of course, they’d seen the miracles Da Wei could do, but the human mind could be very fickle. The masses only saw him flee, and that shattered their belief. Wen Yuhan picked up the broken pieces with ease. She preached Da Wei’s teachings, performed miracles, and rekindled the light in people’s eyes. But they no longer worshiped the man; they believed in the message.

Da Wei had been many things: a warrior, a scholar, a tactician. Yet, what he claimed for himself, above all else, was the role of a teacher.

And Ding Shan? Ding Shan had been his student. So had the others of the 112th.

That was why his faith didn’t falter. It grew.

They’d retreated deeper into the gorge now. Enemy bodies littered the mountain path, twisted in unnatural ways by Fu Wu’s formation traps. Smoke hung low, its stench clinging to every breath. The lingering poison made the air viscous and hard to breathe.

Li Feng clutched his shoulder and muttered through clenched teeth, “A bit of help... think I dislocated it.”

Su Ai wiped her bloody mouth and stepped over. With a wince, she yanked his shoulder back into place. The pop was sickening, but Li Feng barely grunted. She sat down, wrapping her fingers with blood-soaked cloth, the tendons in her right hand raw from overuse.

Ding Shan, still kneeling, pressed his palm to the scorched ground and whispered a prayer.

“Great Guard, protect me. Sacred Voice, soothe me. Oh, thy Nameless Faith, reveal me your name. This warrior offers you his everything. I seek only that my love touch those I hold dear and that in my death, they shall not suffer, but prosper.”

He stood, slowly. He wrapped a torn cloth around the haft of his mace, stained red with old victories and fresh defeats. He hefted the tower shield again, shaky but upright.

“Lord Wei,” he said quietly, “I know you are watching me…”

“Not yet,” came Da Wei’s voice in his head, warm and distant, as if from another plane. “There are still things you have to see through…”

Ding Shan closed his eyes. Rain began to fall, soft at first, then steadier. It tapped against his armor like the beat of a fading heart. The clouds above churned, black with thunder.

And then, he saw her.

A silhouette.

Perched at the edge of the jagged rocks, half-shrouded in the mist. A woman with golden eyes that cut through the gloom like blades.

She was watching.

…

..

.

[POV: Gu Jie]

Gu Jie stood on the edge of a jagged cliff, her silhouette a sliver of stillness against the turbulence of storm-blackened clouds. The mountain wind whipped at her robes, soaking them in the cold rain, but her thoughts remained centered. Da Wei’s soul pressed gently against hers, not an invasion, but a communion. His quintessence coursed through her spiritual veins, suffusing her cultivation with purpose far beyond her own. Her bones hummed with borrowed clarity. This power, his soul, did not burn. Instead, it harmonized.

Above, the clouds churned unnaturally. They weren’t part of the coming monsoon; no, this was magic. Mistress Alice had conjured a veiling tempest, a shroud that warped divine sight and muddled the heavens. Even the Ancient Souls playing the game would hesitate to pierce this storm. Now was the moment.

Gu Jie extended her hand skyward, drawing a complex circle in the air with her fingers. The runes spun, locked into place, and ignited. Holy Smite wasn’t made for this scale, but with quintessence… it bent. A massive halo unfolded in the sky, the width of entire counties, golden and burning. What was once a single-target invocation now became a judgment of the battlefield. From that brilliant ring descended arrows, each of light, flame, and divine will. And because she laced them with the thread of destiny itself, not one would miss.

Gu Jie took a breath and stepped off the cliff.

A spiritual boat shimmered into existence beneath her feet, catching her weight in silence. It hovered with stable grace, sailing over the gorge like a drifting petal. Below her, the trio of Guardians clustered around a battered outcropping. They were burned, bloodied, and exhausted. Their leader, an older man with scars carved into his cheek and shield arm trembling, looked up. He stared at her with a mix of awe and uncertainty.

“Who are you?” Ding Shan asked. His voice held command, but she heard the cracked edge of fatigue.

Gu Jie said nothing at first. Instead, she swept her hand across the air. Healing light burst from her palm and danced over their wounds. Great Cure… tripled, stacked, and accelerated through Da Wei’s soul. Burns peeled away, broken bones reknit, and blood stopped flowing. In mere seconds, the survivors looked startled to find their lungs filling more easily, their strength slowly returning.

“I am Gu Jie,” she finally said, her tone steady and clear. “Da Wei’s daughter.”

Thunder cracked above them as she spoke his name. The rain grew heavier, crashing like stones upon the stone and bodies alike. Lightning lit the gorge in erratic pulses. And yet, within her boat’s perimeter, they were dry, untouched by the storm.

“Your comrades are safe,” she said, glancing beyond the ridge. “We need to move. There’s work to do.”

Ding Shan didn’t speak again. Nor did Su Ai or Li Feng. They simply exchanged glances and nodded. Each climbed aboard her vessel one after another, quiet as ghosts. The moment they were on, Gu Jie willed the boat to rise and sail through the veiled tempest. Behind them, the gorge slowly vanished under the rising smoke of shattered formations, divine fire, and the prayers of desperate men.

Forward, they moved… to do the good work.

…

..

.

[POV: Yuen Fu]

Dawn arrived, blood-soaked and late.

The rising sun cast its rays across the battlefield, brushing light over broken trees, crushed armor, and mangled corpses sprawled like scattered brush along the plains. Smoke curled from charred trenches. Gunpowder lingered thick in the air, clinging to every breath and choking every lung. In the far-off distance, rifles crackled like angry insects. The boom of cannons came in intervals, shaking loose leaves from the branches above. Crows circled high above, ever faithful in their grim attendance.

Yuen Fu stood alone among the fallen.

He flicked his sword with indifference. Blood flew in a clean arc across the dirt. With the edge of his sleeve, he wiped the remaining viscera from the blade before sliding it home into its sheath with a smooth hiss. His breathing remained steady. Beneath his ribs, a warm pulse glowed faintly. It was Lord Wei’s soul, still tethered to his own.

‘My Lord…’

Even now, after all this death, Yuen Fu could feel the cultivation Da Wei had lent him burning in his marrow, urging his flesh forward like lightning trapped in a human frame. His reactions had grown sharper, his movements instinctive. With such power surging through his soul, his strikes no longer needed hesitation or second thoughts. It made him dangerous.

But even borrowed strength had limits.

He exhaled slowly, calming his qi. Static rippled across his skin, with tiny arcs of electricity dancing down his forearms. He winced. The sensation stung. Like reaching the tail end of an elixir, still potent, but thinning.

Then he sensed something.

A presence, barely more than a breath, stirred within the forest’s edge. Yuen Fu turned. A man stepped out from the trees, walking with the bored pace of someone who had nowhere better to be. His dark hair was unkempt and wet with blood, his robes tattered and stained with dirt. A sword hung loosely at his side, its edge flickering with strange violet flames.

The stranger raised an eyebrow. “Are you an enemy?”

Yuen Fu frowned. That voice was dispassionate, low, but not hostile. The man didn’t look like much. But appearances had long ago stopped mattering to Yuen Fu. It was the cultivation and martial prowess that counted… and this man… possessed Spirit Mystery cultivation.

Yuen Fu didn’t reply. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and flared his killing intent.

Nothing.

No shift in posture. No reflexive tensing of muscle. Not even the usual flicker of a spiritual shield. The man simply stared at him, then gave a long, tired sigh.

“Is that it?” the stranger asked, voice flatter than before. “If you’re going to do something, you have to mean it.”

Yuen Fu’s hand moved.

The hilt of his sword had barely touched his fingers when something dark blurred toward him… a rock? No, it was already in his face. His instincts screamed. He twisted left just in time for the stone to whistle past his ear and slam into the dirt behind him, shattering a corpse’s skull.

‘That wasn’t fast,’ Yuen Fu realized, ‘it was void of intent. That’s why I couldn’t sense it coming.’

He gritted his teeth. With a grunt, he vanished in a blur, his boots tearing into the earth with Flash Step. Thunder cracked as his Heavenly Thundering Slash surged forward, his signature technique, compressed into a single breath. He reappeared less than an arm’s length from the stranger, sword drawn in one fluid arc of light.

The blade never reached its mark.

A crunch echoed. Metal fragments exploded into the air, fluttering like paper in the wake of a violent parry. His sword, an artifact-refined and Heaven-blessed sword, had been shattered.

Yuen Fu stumbled back, wide-eyed. “How…?”

The man, unbothered, stared at his own blade. In Yuen Fu’s eyes, it looked dull and crude. It wasn’t forged with sacred ore. It wasn’t humming with energy.

“I blessed my sword,” the stranger answered lazily, lifting it again. “That’s why.”

Purple flame crawled along the weapon’s edge. The man slashed once with a lazy sideways swing.

Yuen Fu vanished again in the blink of an eye, skimming along the air with another Flash Step. He turned mid-movement and watched as the swing carved a curtain of amethyst fire across the battlefield. Everything in its path was erased, grass, dirt, bone, and steel… reduced to glowing ash in a single breath.

The stranger finally sheathed his blade with a click.

“It seems,” he said, calm as ever, “we have a misunderstanding on our hands…” His gaze, half-lidded, lifted to meet Yuen Fu’s. “That move you just used… From whom did you learn it?”

Yuen Fu didn’t lower his stance.

His weapon had been destroyed, and his breath was slightly labored, but his resolve remained solid. The wind carried the stranger’s aura, pulsing with residual heat, and Yuen Fu kept his eyes fixed on him as he asked through gritted teeth, “And why do you care?”

A voice stirred from within Yuen Fu. It was calm, sheepish, and all too familiar.

“Sorry, I’m a bit occupied upstairs…” said Da Wei’s soul in Yuen Fu’s mind. “This is awkward… that guy’s my disciple…”

Yuen Fu’s brows twitched. “Disciple?”

As if perfectly timed to that thought, the stranger gave a shallow nod. “My name is Lu Gao. I’m a disciple of the one who created that move…  Flash Step. I’ve seen it used before, but yours… was a bit rough around the edges.”

The weight behind his tone suggested pride, but also acknowledgment, like a senior applauding the efforts of their junior. Somehow, that rubbed Yuen Fu the wrong way. Yuen Fu opened his mouth to speak, only for a pulse of memory to surge through him. Da Wei’s soul projected flickers of a time long past… Lu Gao stood in the sandy desert, his sword clumsily swinging around, learning techniques under Da Wei’s guidance. His movements were far slower back then, all clumsy effort and overeager spirit. But even then, Lu Gao had possessed the same clarity of posture and the same detached presence, as if violence were merely another obligation.

“So he’s the real deal,” Yuen Fu thought. “One of Da Wei’s students in the… before…”

Before he could ask more, a familiar ripple of spiritual energy pulsed nearby. A figure flickered beside Lu Gao, appearing with the faint rustle of fabric and the reek of blood.

“Senior Yuen,” came the familiar voice of Ye Yong, panting faintly. Her black clothes were torn in places, soaked in dried blood, and one of her shoulders sagged from what might’ve been a dislocated joint. “It seems the two of you have already met…”

She nodded to Lu Gao with a small bow. “Senior Lu, this is Senior Yuen, Lord Wei’s confidant.”

Yuen Fu sheathed what remained of his shattered hilt, the gesture more for closure than readiness. “What happened to you?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “Where are the rest of the Night Blades?”

“They’re here with us,” Ye Yong replied. “We had quite the journey.”

Her tone turned bitter as she continued, “Magically, all our identities were exposed. Bounties were placed on our heads… name, appearance, everything. Even our wards weren’t spared.”

That explained the sharpness in her voice and the weariness around her eyes. The Night Blades prided themselves on anonymity. Having that stripped so suddenly was bad for their organization’s purpose.

“On our way here,” Ye Yong added, “we decided to take a detour… and try our hand at the Rebel Forces’ commanding officer.”

“You succeeded?” Yuen Fu asked, eyes sharpening.

“We did.” She let the words hang for a moment, then sighed. “But they just replaced him. As if he were nothing but a tile on a board.”

Yuen Fu grunted. “That’s because he probably was.”

Branches rustled. More figures appeared through the thickets and brush. One by one, the surviving Night Blades emerged from the forest’s edge, their movements cautious and weary. Bandages wrapped hastily around limbs, blood trailing behind their boots. A few limped. None complained. They moved with the unity of wolves returning from a hunt. They were tired, but alive.

Among them stood someone who did not belong.

She had silver hair that shimmered faintly beneath the canopy’s broken light. Fox-like ears protruded from her head, twitching at the sounds of the forest. Her gait was quiet but unhesitating, and her vulpine eyes settled directly on Yuen Fu before sweeping over Lu Gao and Ye Yong.

“Bring me,” she said abruptly, “to the one called Da Ji.”

…

..

.

[POV: Da Ji]

The hearth glowed with a gentle fire, casting amber light across the wooden walls of the cottage. Warmth lingered in the air, not just from the flame, but from the scent of ginger broth steeping on the stove and the faint herbal tang from fresh leaves left by the window. It was the kind of home Da Ji had always dreamed of… quiet, safe, and lived-in. The shelves were cluttered with jars and scrolls, slippers left askew on the floor, and the faint hum of peace hummed in the background.

And then, the soft cries of a baby stirred from the cradle beside the fire. The sounds were sweet at first, high, gurgling whimpers that made Da Ji’s sleeping lips twitch in a smile. But soon, they grew louder, sharper, almost distressed.

Da Ji’s eyes fluttered open.

She had been dreaming of a time when her brother had smiled again. When Da Wei had looked at her like the world made sense. The ache of the dream’s departure stung more than usual. But the baby’s cries cut through the mist in her head, and with a groggy stretch, she turned on the bed and murmured, “Enlai… It’s your turn. See if the baby’s hungry or… pooped himself…”

There was no response.

Still half-asleep, Da Ji reached for her husband’s side of the bed, fingers fumbling across the linen… It was empty.

The coldness registered a moment before her eyes snapped open.

The first thing she saw… was him. Her husband. Chen Enlai. But not lying beside her, not breathing quietly like he always did.

He was hanging. Suspended from a wooden beam above the hearth. A coarse rope bit into his neck, taut and silent. His eyes were closed. His lips were blue. The light from the fire cast flickering shadows on his pale, lifeless face.

“No,” she whispered, breath vanishing. “No, no, Enlai!”

The baby’s cries grew into a wail of pain, but Da Ji didn’t look away. She thrust her hand forward, channeling frost into her palm, turning the rope brittle. It shattered with a crack, and she caught him as he fell into her arms.

His body was far too cold. Muscles slacken. Skin drained of life.

She cradled him, shaking, rocking him as if movement might pull breath back into him. “Why…? Why… What happened? What is this…?”

Her tears came in waves, soaking into his tunic. She pressed her face into his chest and screamed, muffled and broken. “Enlai, please…”

And then… crrk.

A strange croaking sound broke the silence. Something shifted in her arms. Her fingers brushed what should have been Enlai’s chest and touched something rubbery.

A lump detached from him and fell to the floor.

It was a frog.

A heartbeat later, his body collapsed, not into flesh and blood, but into a dozen squirming, croaking frogs. They wriggled free of her embrace and leapt away into the corners of the cottage, some vanishing into the cracks between the floorboards.

Da Ji sat paralyzed, arms still shaped around an absence. Her mind staggered through disbelief, unable to grasp the lie of it all. Her soul, already cracked by too many losses, felt something hollow out deeper.

Then, a soft voice.

“Mom…?”

She flinched, turning slowly toward the cradle. The baby was no longer there.

In its place sat a boy. His hair was dark and disheveled, his face slim and unmistakably Enlai’s. But his eyes… those were Da Wei’s. Sharp and sorrowful, burning with questions a child should never have to ask.

Da Ji’s voice cracked. “C-Chen Wei…? Is that you?”

The boy looked confused. “Where’s Dad? And why are there frogs jumping around?”

She lurched toward him, wrapping her arms around his tiny body, pulling him close as her tears returned with renewed force. “M-my baby boy… What happened to you…?”

She clutched him like a lifeline, as if enough warmth might undo everything, undo the death, the lies, the frogs, and the void.

And then…

She felt it.

A slick, cold pressure curled around the back of her neck. It wasn’t a hand, not exactly. It was too… wet.

Something slimy pressed against her, hugging her from behind, curling over her shoulder. A voice whispered, low and trembling with something between sympathy and seduction.

“Let me help.”

“We can fix this.”

“This can be just a dream.”

“Please… let me help.”