Immortal Paladin

[POV: Ren Xun]

The Imperial Capital stirred with restless anticipation as red and blue banners draped from rooftops and golden ribbons trailed in the air. Streets were swept clean, perfumed smoke rose from braziers, and the clang of ceremonial drums reverberated across the city walls. It was not simply another wedding. It was the binding of two souls whose backgrounds could not have been further apart. Ren Xun, son of an Imperial Prince, was about to wed Lin Lim, a girl once known only as a beggar. There were no elaborate matches of horoscopes, no parading of dowries or bride prices, and no exchange of gilded treasures between families. Instead, the Empire itself shouldered the ceremony, bestowing upon them a grand estate to mark the unusual union.

Ren Xun stood before the gate of that very estate, his heart beating faster than the ceremonial drums. He had been told this moment would feel overwhelming, but nothing prepared him for the sight of Lin Lim. Even hidden beneath a crimson veil, her beauty shone through. The faint curve of her lips beneath the gauze veil seemed to warm the coldest parts of his soul. Reaching forward, he offered his hand, steadying her as she alighted, then guided her back into the sedan where, for once, they sat side by side as equals.

The common folk gathered along the procession route, craning their necks to witness the spectacle. Many whispered that it was a blessing to see nobility and commoners bound in one marriage, while others scoffed at the scandal. The steady rhythm of war drums accompanied their journey, as if to remind all present that even on days of joy, conflict loomed on the horizon. Ren Xun himself could scarcely believe he was part of such grandeur. Only a year ago, had anyone told him he would ride in a wedding carriage flanked by Imperial guards, he would have laughed them off as mad dreamers.

Inside the sedan, he turned toward Lin Lim, his voice carrying a gentle smile. “You look radiant, even without seeing your face. I can almost feel the glow beneath the veil.”

She chuckled softly, yet her tone carried a hidden weight. “I wish I felt radiant. My heart aches because my people are not here. The ones who stood with me when I had nothing… they should have seen this day.”

Ren Xun’s smile faltered, his gaze shifting away. “The arrangements were rushed. You know why we could not bring them. The distance alone would have broken their bodies, and… the politics of this marriage did not allow us much freedom.”

Her sigh trembled. “They would have walked barefoot through mountains if it meant seeing me wed. Yet here I am, surrounded by riches, and not a single face from the streets I called home.”

He reached for her hand, squeezing gently as he searched for words. “Lin Lim… forgive me. It must be difficult, but I think your heart speaks louder because of the child you carry. Emotions are heavier now, more fragile. That is natural.”

She went quiet for a moment, then whispered, “You are right. Perhaps it is the child twisting my moods. I should not burden you with this.”

Ren Xun brushed the back of her hand with his thumb, offering reassurance. “Do not apologize. When this war shadow passes, we can return to Yellow Dragon and marry again before your people. Let them celebrate with us in their own way.”

Her veil shifted as she lowered her head, her voice softening. “Thank you. That would mean more to me than all this finery.”

The sedan finally came to a halt before the Imperial Palace. The pair stepped out together, greeted by a shower of flower petals drifting from high balconies. The path leading to the ceremonial hall stretched long and radiant, lined with nobles and soldiers alike. Ren Xun and Lin Lim walked in unison, their steps measured, and the sound of petals crunching faintly beneath their feet.

At the end of the path, the Emperor awaited them, his posture regal despite the strip of black cloth bound over his eyes. Cushions were laid out, and the couple knelt with solemnity, facing the blind sovereign whose presence alone stilled the air.

The Emperor’s voice rang deep and resolute, carrying across the silent hall. “Today, before Heaven and Earth, we witness the union of Ren Xun and Lin Lim. One born into privilege, the other rising from hardship. This Empire was forged not for the few, but for all who live beneath the same sky. May this marriage remind us that the strength of the realm lies not in bloodlines, but in the bonds we choose to forge. Even as war drums echo at our borders, let this day affirm that the Empire will endure, as it has always endured, against all odds.”

The solemn rites began with Ren Xun and Lin Lim standing shoulder to shoulder before the gathered court. At the officiant’s call, they bowed once toward the open sky, where the blazing sun hovered like a silent witness. It was a gesture to honor Heaven and their ancestors, asking for guidance and blessing. They then turned, bowing to Ren Jin and Yue Ruo, Ren Xun’s family. Finally, they faced each other, and with lowered heads, gave a bow of mutual respect, sealing their union.

As soon as their foreheads lifted, the hall erupted into jubilant cheers. Musicians struck the strings of zithers, flutes whistled, and drums thundered in a rhythm more joyous than warlike. The air felt alive, charged with celebration.

The blind Emperor stepped forward from his dais, his tone deliberate, the weight of authority sharpening every syllable. “Ren Xun… I am proud of you. Your path will be filled with thorns and pain, yet you will overcome them all. This, I believe.”

Though the words rang as a blessing, their cryptic undertone pressed unease into Ren Xun’s chest. His heart stirred, a warning whispering that something was terribly amiss.

The Emperor tilted his head upward slightly, as if looking into the distance of memory. “I recall the days of your youth… how I would ask often about your studies, eager to hear of your progress. You were diligent, more so than many born into privilege. Tell me, Ren Xun, do you still remember the three laws of fate I once taught you?”

Ren Xun straightened his back, his voice firm. “Yes, Your Majesty. They are immovable, spontaneous, and inevitable.”

A small smile tugged at the Emperor’s lips. “Good. Then you understand… this moment is not a mere ceremony. It is the working of fate itself.”

The implication settled heavily on Ren Xun’s mind. His intellect could not rival the Emperor’s, yet he was sharp enough to connect the fragments. This wedding was destined, an immovable piece in the tapestry of events. And when fate stirred, it brought only two possible outcomes: the joyous cry of life… or the bitter silence of death. Sometimes, both.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. ‘Was’ being the cruel keyword. A certain wise man had once said that life was one big son of a bitch. And if that “wise man” happened to be Da Wei, then Ren Xun knew that proverb rarely ended well.

The hall quaked as the nightmare began. Guests screamed when, without warning, heads burst like shattered gourds, blood mist spraying the silk banners. Hidden assassins surged from among the crowd, their weapons ranging from curved scimitars and steel claws to elegant yet lethal flying swords. The joyous music twisted into chaos, swallowed by the shrieks of the dying.

The Emperor raised a single hand and formed a seal. From the depths of his pocket dimension, ranks of puppet warriors materialized, gleaming metal constructs with blades for arms and glowing cores of spirit fire. They clashed with the assassins instantly, steel ringing against steel.

Ren Xun’s eyes widened in horror as he saw his parents, Ren Jin and Yue Ruo, nearly cut down by a masked assailant. In that heartbeat, Liang Na erupted from their shadows, daggers flashing as she intercepted the killing blow. Her expression was as sharp as her blades, her movements a blur, but even she began to falter beneath the sheer press of enemies.

Then the Emperor merely gestured. In an instant, Ren Jin, Yue Ruo, Liang Na, and Ren Xun found themselves enveloped by light, their surroundings twisting before their feet settled in a lone sealed chamber.

Yue Ruo gasped, clutching Ren Jin’s arm. “Are you hurt?”

Ren Jin shook his head, still catching his breath. “No… just rattled. Liang Na, you—”

“I’m fine,” Liang Na cut in, though her tone betrayed her tension. “But this is far from over.”

“Hello there,” A voice echoed from the far end of the chamber, smooth and cold. A young man stepped forward, silver hair cascading down his shoulders, robes of the same pale hue flowing like moonlight. His presence dominated the chamber with calm intensity.

Ren Jin’s face paled. “Bai Rong… Patriarch of the White Clan. One of the Seven Imperial Houses. Why are you here?”

Bai Rong gave a faint, courteous smile. “We do not have time for pleasantries. You must follow me now. I have prepared an escape vessel. If we delay, the enemy will catch up and none of us will leave alive.”

Before Ren Jin could reply, a sudden shift in air warned of hostility. Liang Na’s shadow rippled, and from it a blade sprang into life with sword-telekinesis. With a burst of speed, she lunged, her daggers slashing straight for Bai Rong’s throat.

He leaned back with infuriating ease, the edge of steel grazing only the air before his neck. None of Liang Na’s moves made there mark. His expression never faltered, the faint smile still curving his lips. “What gave me away?”

Liang Na’s eyes narrowed into daggers sharper than the ones she held. “Because only I knew about this escape route.”

Steel rang as she unleashed both her daggers in a flurry, her flying sword darting toward his chest in concert. Shadows rippled around her, moving like wolves at her command. But Bai Rong raised a single hand, his spiritual aura exploding like a tidal wave. With a flick, he parried her attacks, his strikes precise and his defenses just as unbreakable.

It was then Ren Jin’s eyes widened in dawning horror. The air pressed down on them, heavy as iron. Ren Jin staggered back, his voice low with dread. “This… this pressure… It can’t be. He was supposed to be only at the Ninth Realm.”

Liang Na slid into a defensive stance, daggers poised though her arms trembled from the strain. “You’re not wrong. He was supposed to be. But the truth is uglier. He’s a full realm higher than me, Lord Governor. Bai Rong has been hiding his cultivation all this time.”

Ren Xun clenched his fists, his face paling. “A Tenth Realm… here? That means—”

Bai Rong’s smile never faltered as he advanced. Liang Na, drenched in sweat, refused to yield, her daggers flashing in desperate arcs. Yet each strike was brushed aside as if she were no more than a child.

“Pathetic,” Bai Rong ridiculed, his voice laced with contempt. “You thought a shadow rat like you could match me? Ninth Realm hiding tricks in the dark… laughable. The difference between us is as wide as Heaven and Earth.”

Liang Na spat blood but still lifted her blades. “Even if I die, I’ll make sure you bleed.”

A flicker of admiration sparked in Bai Rong’s eyes before vanishing into cold disdain. With one swift arc of his hand, a white blade of energy cut through the air. Her body stilled for half a heartbeat, then her head toppled from her shoulders, rolling across the ground.

Yue Ruo screamed, summoning what little spiritual energy she had, while Ren Jin rushed forward with a spear he had seized from the floor. Their strikes landed with all the desperation of parents defending their son, but Bai Rong’s aura smothered them instantly. With a lazy wave of his sleeve, they both crashed against the chamber walls, coughing blood.

Ren Xun roared and charged, sword trembling in his hands. But he was no match. Bai Rong summoned a spear. It was jagged and cruel like shattered glass. It tore into his shoulder and pinned him to the ground. Blood spilled freely, soaking his wedding robes. Beside him, Lin Lim lay unconscious. The shock and chaos was too much for her weakened body.

Bai Rong stepped toward Ren Jin and Yue Ruo, seizing them both by the throat. His grip tightened slowly, deliberately, and savoring their agony. Veins bulged on their faces as their nails dug into his arm in vain resistance.

“No!” Ren Xun howled, thrashing against the spear pinning him down. His throat tore raw from his cries, but Bai Rong did not even glance at him. Instead, with a cruel smile, he squeezed harder, bones cracking beneath his grip.

Ren Xun bit his lip until it bled, drawing a character on the roof of his mouth with his own blood. He spat fire with all his rage, a blazing fireball that engulfed Bai Rong. For a moment, it felt like retribution, until the flames simply dissipated into harmless sparks against Bai Rong’s skin.

Finally, Bai Rong turned his eyes toward him. “Annoying.”

Perhaps out of spite, or simply to drive the nail deeper, Bai Rong unleashed searing white-hot flames. They consumed Ren Jin and Yue Ruo’s bodies until nothing remained but ash drifting in the air. Even the possibility of resurrection was denied to them.

“NO! NO!” Ren Xun’s voice cracked into madness, his eyes burning with tears and rage.

Bai Rong looked down on him with detached cruelty. “We should clean the place thoroughly and leave no corpses behind, except yours and that girl’s. Let the Empire see the message clearly: the divide between highborn and lowborn is insurmountable.”

He grabbed Ren Xun and Lin Lim by their throats, lifting them effortlessly. Fear clenched Ren Xun’s heart like iron shackles. This was the end.

Yet in the blink of an eye, the chamber melted away. They reappeared in the wedding hall, where carnage sprawled across the once joyous scene. Corpses lay mangled, the fragrance of flowers drowned in the stench of blood. In the center, nailed to a towering black cross, was the Emperor himself, barely alive, his chest rising with shallow breaths.

Before the cross stood an old man in plain robes, his eyes sharp with cruel amusement. Ren Xun recognized him faintly. It was the man he had glimpsed in Yellow Dragon. Jia Sen of the Cloud Mist Sect.

Jia Sen turned toward him, his gaze lingering. “Ren Xun, is it? It is a… pity. On the day of your wedding, not only do you lose your parents, but you haven’t even left a descendant behind. How cruel fate can be.”

He crouched, lifting Lin Lim’s face in his gnarled hand, studying her as if she were a rare jewel. “Interesting…”

“Get your hands off her,” Ren Xun spat, his voice breaking between rage and despair.

Jia Sen’s eyes gleamed. “Where is Da Wei?”

Ren Xun frowned, his voice trembling. “I… I don’t know. The last I heard, he committed a war crime… then disappeared. No one knows where he is.”

Jia Sen’s tone sharpened, threatening. “Don’t lie to me. If you don’t speak, I’ll tear her limbs apart and scatter them in the four directions. Perhaps then, you’ll remember.”

Ren Xun’s tears burned his cheeks. “I swear… I don’t know!”

Jia Sen’s calm façade cracked, fury spilling out. “That wretch forced me off-world, cast me into the Greater Universe like refuse! Do you know how much I struggled to crawl back? How much blood I drowned in just to return? Da Wei… Da Wei will pay!”

Ren Xun’s heart jolted with a strange flicker of hope. If Jia Sen was telling the truth that Da Wei was alive. Maybe, just maybe, he would appear at the last moment.

The Emperor groaned weakly from his crucifix, forcing words past bloodied lips. “Let them go.”

Jia Sen’s head turned slightly. “And why should I?”

Ren Xun blinked, not understanding, but the Emperor’s tone was resolute, carrying a weight only Jia Sen could grasp.

“I see,” Jia Sen murmured. He straightened, turning to Bai Rong. “Let the woman live.”

Bai Rong’s expression hardened. “That’s not the deal. The message would be incomplete otherwise—”

Jia Sen’s gaze sharpened like a blade. “Boy, you don’t get to order me around. My bargain was with the Seven Imperial Houses, not with you. If you have demands, take them to your fellow clan heads. Don’t bark at me.”

A monstrous fox’s cackle reverberated in the air, mocking and cruel. Jia Sen added with a smirk, “If it’s a message you want, look no further.” He gestured at the crucified Emperor. “Your symbol is already here.”

With that, he dragged Lin Lim into his pocket dimension, her form vanishing in a swirl of mist.

“Give her back to me!” Ren Xun screamed, his voice shredding into a howl that shook his chest raw. But Jia Sen was gone. “No, no, no… This can’t be happening…”

The atmosphere, already heavy with despair, grew denser as two more figures descended upon the blood-soaked courtyard. One was a woman clad in flowing black silk, her gown swallowing the light as if she were woven from shadow itself. The other was an old man in resplendent robes of purple and gold, his white beard swaying as he strode forward with arrogant steps.

Bai Rong straightened, his cold mask in place, the cruel joy he had shown during the slaughter gone as if wiped from his face. He bowed with deliberate formality. “Greetings, Matriarch Hei Yue of the Black Clan. Greetings, Patriarch Lu Wang of the Lu Clan.”

Lu Wang’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a derisive snort. “Hah~! Why do you greet me last? Can’t you show more respect to your elders?”

Hei Yue’s dark eyes slid to the old man. Her voice was calm but edged. “Enough, Wang. You do realize the White Patriarch is the oldest among us, don’t you?”

The old man clicked his tongue, displeased, but his scowl melted into a grin as he looked around. “Now, this is a sight!”

He strolled casually toward the crucified Emperor, who still breathed shallowly against the cross, blood soaking his robes. Lu Wang’s lips curled with amusement as he admired the wreckage, the shattered pillars, the corpses, and the crimson stains on once-pristine marble.

“Behold the Final Emperor,” Lu Wang mocked, his voice loud, echoing across the silent square. “The so-called Son of Heaven reduced to nothing but a broken old fool. You clung to power so greedily that you dared to weaken us, dared to strip the clans of their dominion and hand it to the unworthy rabble. And now look at you—” He spat at the Emperor’s feet. “Hanging like a dog.”

The Emperor groaned but did not reply. His silence was answer enough.

Hei Yue’s eyes narrowed suddenly. She raised her hand in warning. “Shush, Lu Wang. Someone is watching.”

Before the old man could retort, a hand burst from the darkness beneath him, gripping his leg like a vice.

Lu Wang jerked down, eyes wide. “What is the meani—”

He never finished. In the next instant, his body was yanked into his own shadow, his scream swallowed by the abyss.

Hei Yue’s face darkened, her gown rippling unnaturally as she gestured, pulling her shadow back to herself. At the same time, Bai Rong was enveloped by crimson tendrils like blood-soaked whips erupting from his body, lashing the ground before drawing him inward, as though dragged into another realm the same way Lu Wang did.

Ren Xun had barely time to process when Hei Yue’s cold hand seized his throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. Her eyes glowed like twin voids. “Who are you? And how are you doing this? The shadow is the Black Clan’s domain! Reveal yourself!”

From the corner of his eye, Ren Xun saw it. A pair of eyes opened from within his shadow, cast over Hei Yue. The eyes were cold and piercing, reflecting nothing but hunger. Ren Xun croaked, struggling for air. “His name is… Hei Mao.”

A voice rose, deep and unyielding. “And I am your reckoning.”

A red scarf coiled itself around Hei Yue’s neck like a serpent. Her eyes widened before the scarf snapped tight. In one swift pull, her head was severed cleanly, blood spraying into the air. The scarf unraveled into a web of crimson threads, slicing her body into ribbons that fell to the ground in wet heaps.

From the darkness, Hei Mao emerged, towering, terrible, yet familiar. He caught Ren Xun by the throat, steadying him before releasing his grip.

Ren Xun staggered, clutching his neck, pain lancing through him. Despite that, he managed to rasp, “Lin Lim… my wife.”

Hei Mao’s gaze was unflinching. “We have to go. The old fox has a keen sense of—”

A voice cut in, chilling and amused. “Smell?”

Both froze. From the mist ahead, Jia Sen stepped into view, his smile sharp and cruel.

“Where’s Da Wei?” Jia Sen asked, as though demanding the weather. “Yous hould know… You were there the last time I was talking to him.”

Hei Mao moved slightly in front of Ren Xun, his aura thickening. “I will hold him off as much as I can.”

At his words, a blob-like shadow creature erupted from beneath Hei Mao’s feet, vaguely feline in shape. Its mouth gaped wide and swallowed Ren Xun whole before he could even react.

The world spun in darkness. When Ren Xun opened his eyes again, he was inside the cramped cabin of a flying boat, the wood slick beneath him as if he had been dragged through slime. His body ached all over, blood drying on his robes.

It had happened too fast.

At the helm of the boat stood a small figure. A little girl with blond hair, her hands steady on the controls, spiritual runes flaring as she manipulated the vessel. Ren Xun recognized her instantly. It was Ren Jingyi, another of Da Wei’s disciples.

She glanced back at him, her voice calm yet filled with determination. “You’ll be fine. We’ll get you out of here.”

Ren Xun, breathing raggedly, staggered to his feet and looked out through the narrow window. His heart froze.

The Imperial Capital lay far below, torn asunder. From its heart erupted a colossal fox, its nine tails sweeping through towers like blades of heaven, its roar shaking the skies themselves. Fire, mist, and rubble swallowed the city that once had been the center of the Empire.