Immortal Paladin

The Grand Ascension Empire spanned a total of eight continents, each a world unto itself. To the far West lay Skyhold, a continent of towering spires and floating fortresses, where the wind never ceased and scholars worshiped the sky itself. In the North, frost and mountains met in Ashpeak, its people hardened by cold and iron discipline. To the East, beyond endless thunderous seas, stretched Stormcall, where tempests birthed warriors who treated lightning as kin.

To the South, dark and brooding, was Evernight, realm of secrets and bloodlines, home to the prestigious White Clan. In the Northwest burned Sunspire, bathed eternally in gold light, cradle of faith and arrogant saints. Between these regions lay the Central Mainlands, the empire’s heart, crushed and bound by every surrounding power.

Further along the Southwest, where shadowed coasts met the depths, sprawled Deepmoor, a place of marshes, spirits, and forgotten ruins whose borders curved toward Evernight in a wide, crescent arc. Beyond it to the Northeast rose Ironveil, an underworld of tunnels and mines, its people burrowing into the earth, their forges connected to Deepmoor by veins of molten ore.

And to the Southeast, basking in humid mists and ancient myths, lay Riverfall, once spoken of as the “Land of Dragons.” A rumor that Ren Xun had proven true.

Eight continents under one Emperor’s banner, one empire, united by conquest and fear. And now, all of it lay before me. I planned to take them all.

“Your Eminence, it’s almost time,” came a familiar voice.

I turned to see Nongmin, once the Emperor of this boundless empire, now standing beside me as my most trusted friend and advisor. He wore his old regalia stripped of its imperial sigil, replaced by the insignia I had granted him, the silver cross of my reborn dominion.

“Our scouts have detected movement,” Nongmin continued, his tone respectful and measured. “A vast army, bearing the banners of the Clans that still dare to defy your will. Your provocation worked perfectly. They are gathering at the foothills, just as planned.”

Under Mount Qingshi, the air thrummed with power. The landscape had transformed over months of relentless labor. Rows of soldiers had trained until their bodies bled essence, and now each bore a rifle inscribed with quintessence runes, weapons that fused cultivation and craft. Nongmin’s mastery had made it possible; his hands guided arrays and engravings with precision few in history could rival. Only Gu Jie and Zai Ai, perhaps, could claim equal brilliance.

All around the mountain, channels of spirit energy flowed like rivers of light, fed by mountains of Spirit Stones drawn from the Imperial Capital’s vaults, Nongmin’s final gift from the throne he once commanded. I sat upon a dragonbone throne, the relic of a slain wyrm, and poured my qi into its marrow, fueling the network that would soon unleash our storm.

“Any sign of Jia Sen?” I asked, opening my eyes briefly from my meditation.

Nongmin’s brows furrowed, his blindfold creasing, as he held a divination talisman, its runes flickering weakly. “My sight isn’t what it used to be,” he admitted, “but I am confident he has not reappeared. The heavens are silent on his fate… either he hides beyond their gaze or… he has more heinous plans waiting for us.”

Jia Sen’s absence had been a bit worrying. The Heavenly Temple, which might once have propped up the Seven Imperial Households as a counterweight to any one man, had clearly decided the coup was no longer worth their… efforts, if Jia Sen just went up and vanished on them just like that.

If the Temple had truly abandoned the clans, it was a mercy of convenience for them and a betrayal for those who had trusted in their power. Still, I did not believe the Temple had given up entirely on exploiting the Civil War for their ends, since institutions like that never let opportunity die quietly.

To be honest, I would have preferred Jia Sen to show. I wanted him there so I could test the sum of my fury against his skill and to hurl at him every one of the 462 Manasouls I had hoarded for a century. I imagined unloading my Ultimate Skills until the heavens themselves judged whether a [Level 20] Ascended Soul with an Immortal Art could survive four hundred and sixty-two rounds of Heavenly Punishment. The math terrified and thrilled me. The higher the level, the stronger the Immortal Art; I’d seen it with Lei Jia and learned to respect escalation. If every one of my souls had stood with me, perhaps I might have met Jia Sen on even terms, without need for trickery. As it was, the thought of facing him made my pulse quicken with equal parts hunger and regret.

I turned intention into form. With quintessence gathered like stormwater, I transformed my emerald robes into the Wandering Adjudicator Armor, green and blue plates rimmed in rustic gold. The armor fit like a second skin and thrummed with a life of its own.

Within me, the Asura Soul I’d reclaimed flared awake, a grinding, impatient thing. I let mana and qi meet and spar inside my chest until they braided into more quintessence; where cultivators hoarded one or the other, we had both in abundance. Two Immortals stood with us, Alice and I, whose mana could clash with qi and birth quintessence by the wagonload. That wealth had turned the mountain into an armory. We could craft quintessence rifles and blades until dawn.

Nongmin asked, “How do you plan to start?”

I smiled, letting my voice carry out across the mountain. “Remove the glamour formations hiding the mountain. Make it a spectacle. Start with my symbol… something flashy enough to peel the eyelids of everyone watching.”

Nongmin inclined his head and traced the arrays. His fingers moved with the ease of a man who had once bent an empire’s fate on less. The glamour fell away like a curtain. I felt the air change, and then I moved.

I burst with Zealot’s Stride, my body shoving through bedrock and stone as if they were paper. I rose, hovering into the thinning sky, and behind me, a gigantic silver sword in the shape of a cross rooted itself on the mountain… It was an enormous sigil of judgment, a silhouette cast over the assembled armies of five clans out of seven.

This silver cross had been my symbol, one that symbolized my great burden.

Beneath my ribs, the Asura Soul churned; it was a raw, violent demand for war, blood, and slaughter. It tasted battle like wine and would not be silenced now that the drums had sounded.

I cast Lion’s Courage over myself to steady the thunder in my chest. Then I braided my voice with quintessence and shaped my Qi Speech into a blade of sound that would cut through the noise of soldiery. My voice rolled out, deeper and purer than any shout should be.

“Traitors whose lust for power knows no end,” I called. “This is your last warning. Flee this war, and I shall guarantee your survival. Stand and fight, and you will know only despair.”

The words hit the field like a stormwave, and for a heartbeat, I expected the banners to falter, the wavering of men at the sight of the cross. They did not.

Their army unfurled like a terrible continent on the horizon. 

The White Clan led the vanguard made of a choking tide of undead that should not have been, few bodies humming with Legend-Rank Transcendence presence, some crackling with Third–Fourth Realm Longevity auras. Above them floated several flying ships, decks crowded with cultivators between the Ninth and Eighth Realms; their silhouettes were death and authority in the sky. The vanguard alone was enough to make any general swallow hard.

Behind that wall of ruin rode the Wind Clan, swarms of Sixth-Realm riders astride wind-touched lizards, interspersed with a handful of Ninth- and even Tenth-Realm pillars bearing quintessence-powered war-treasures. Mixed among them were infected, snarling beasts with warped Fourth-Realm presences; their frenzy painted the formation with something cruel and unpredictable.

To either flank moved the Seeker and Fighting Clans. The Seeker Clan’s chariots blazed like meteor trains, Seventh-Realm cultivators striding beside Legend-Rank golems; I guessed there were Eighths, perhaps even Ninth-Realm masters, tucked among them. The Fighting Clan was smaller but dense with Eighth-Realm veterans marching on foot, every shield and spear soaked in quintessence so they glittered like a storm of blades.

At the rear, the Road Clan massed their strength: vast, organized, the human wave to end all human waves. Flying boats, ranks upon ranks of soldiers spanning every cultivation realm, a quantity where the others had quality.

Their entire numbers from every Clan were obscene; I could not help but study them and wonder how many Final Adjudications it would take to empty that plain.

Curiously, the Clan Heads’ presences were absent from my senses as no familiar auras cut the air. That lack worried me more than any banner. Jia Sen and the Heavenly Temple, not these overconfident lords, were still the true threats. I counted my priorities: conserve Manasouls for them; burn the army if necessary.

Nongmin’s voice threaded into my mind through Qi Speech, steady as a metronome. “Orders?”

I let the Asura in my chest grin and answered aloud, “Give them the cannon special. And when they get in range, use the bullet special.”

The first volley thundered out, and a hundred cannons bellowed across the mountainside, shaking the bones of the earth. Each shell screamed through the air wreathed in quintessence fire, striking into the clustered ranks of the enemy with a cascade of molten light. The explosions ripped through barriers and formations like paper, sending fragments of undead and metal skyward. For a heartbeat, I thought the line would break.

It didn’t.

The cannons’ area of effect only stretched so far, and their formations closed ranks faster than we could reload. New sigils flared, new barriers locked into place, and the monstrous mass of cultivators and undead pressed forward again, burning, limping, but unstoppable.

Then came the rifle fire… the steady rhythm of trained soldiers releasing quintessence bullets in measured volleys. Each shot whistled like a banshee, piercing through armor and bone, ripping holes clean through Eighth-Realm elites. But still, there were too many. The gaps we carved closed in moments, threads of eerie white light weaving through their wounded ranks.

“Healing,” I muttered under my breath. My eyes caught pale banners bearing the White Clan’s crest. Healers standing in front of the formation, channeling recovery arts over both living and undead alike.

I sighed. “Didn’t anyone teach them not to put their healers in the front? Idiots.” Then I paused, smirking. “Or maybe politics. Wouldn’t be the first time a ‘trusted ally’ made you cannon fodder.”

Well, they wanted a show, so I might as well give them one.

I centered my breathing, feeling the pulse of my Six Souls flare far away from me like stars. Each had its nature, its truth:

—Hell Soul, the punisher of evil, devouring sin and converting it into strength.

—Human Soul, master of wisdom and mimicry.

—Animal Soul, wild heart of beasts, strength of instinct, and claw.

—Heaven Soul and Ghost Soul, mysteries yet beyond my grasp.

And finally…

—Asura Soul, the embodiment of wrath, amplifying any aspect of myself… for a price.

I let the Asura Soul consume me.

My veins burned gold. The air thickened around me, distorted by the pressure of expanding qi. I felt my body grow, bones groaning, muscles swelling, and the world shrinking beneath my shadow. Clouds coiled around my shoulders as I looked down on the approaching legions, their banners now barely the size of my fingertips.

I spoke, and my voice cracked across the plains like divine thunder.

“YOU HAVE CHALLENGED MY AUTHORITY… AND NOW, YOU SHALL BE PUNISHED FOR YOUR FOLLY!”

I drew another Manasoul into the core of my being, feeling it pulse like a second heart. The vast formation of light stabbed into the mountain began to burn with impossible radiance. The air trembled beneath it as I called out.

“Ultimate Skill: Holy Sword.”

A blade of pure quintessence coalesced in my grip, heavier than guilt, brighter than judgment. I drew them from the mountain, allowing it to manifest fully. I raised it slowly, letting the army see it, letting them feel the despair crawl up their spines. For effect, I drew it from the glowing sigil as if pulling divinity from the sun itself.

Then I swung.

The world bent. The winds screamed into a tempest as the Radiant Arc carved its path across the battlefield, an unending crescent of annihilation that scoured heaven and earth alike. Undead were reduced to ash before they could scream, cultivators shattered mid-flight, and floating ships tumbled like falling stars. The first impact alone should have ended it, but the Radiant Arc skill was never so merciful.

The delayed damage came next, a silent heartbeat… then cataclysm.

Entire swathes of army and flying ships exploded in unison, their remains scattering as a storm of molten dust and fractured light. Even from miles above, I could feel the shockwave break across my armor, the air roaring in my ears like the wrath of gods.

And then the strength left me. The Asura Soul’s hunger subsided, and I let the giant’s form collapse. My body compressed back into mortal scale, lungs burning, and limbs trembling. Two Manasouls spent in succession. It had felt reckless, now. My mind buzzed at the edge of exhaustion, yet the sight before me fed a grim satisfaction.

Their formations were broken. Their order collapsed. The Clan Heads had no choice but to reveal themselves, their auras flaring to rein in the chaos that I had birthed with a single swing.

I smirked, wiped a streak of blood from my lip, and raised my voice one last time so that even the heavens might hear it.

“Remember this,” I said, my tone calm, almost gentle, as though I truly pitied them. The winds still howled from the aftermath, and yet my voice cut through it like sunrise through fog. “I do not hate you… How could I? One does not resent the dust for failing to touch the sun.”

Their cries no longer stirred me. The sight of broken armies and burning skies carried no thrill, and no sense of triumph, only a cold, hollow disinterest. It was time to conclude this battle.

I raised my voice, letting it swell with quiet amusement. “NOW, FOR THE GRAND FINALE!”

At once, Mount Qingshi blazed alive, its intricate formations flaring with sacred and profane light alike as it ascended with its floating foundations. The thunder of cannons ceased. Rifle fire dwindled into silence. Every ounce of gathered energy turned inward, converging at the mountain’s heart.

I stepped lightly onto the highest peak as the glow intensified beneath my feet. The Holy Sword in my hand dissolved into motes of light, scattering like fireflies caught in a divine breeze.

I spoke again, steady, unhurried, each word echoing with inevitability. “This battle was never meant to end here. This is but the prelude. I call upon the Sky Clan, the Black Clan, Jia Sen, and even the vaunted Heavenly Temple… come to Riverfall. There, we shall conclude this farce. Bear witness to my coronation as ruler of heaven and earth, with the Hollow Star upon my brow.”

The ground trembled beneath me. Mount Qingshi roared, shrouded in radiance as the warp formations ignited. In a surge of blinding light, the mountain vanished from the battlefield,

leaving behind only silence, scattered dust, and an army still standing, but utterly broken in spirit.

“Now, it’s time for the final act… My coronation…”