Immortal Paladin

The mountain shuddered, and the world tore open in a riot of light. For a moment, I had no sense of up or down. There was only the humming in my bones as the dragon veins beneath Mount Qingshi disgorged every last thread of their power to fold space. When the light finally guttered, the world had changed. The air smelled different. It was wilder and thinner. Beneath us lay the Riverfall Realm, a swath of green and river-scarred plains like a map come alive. The mountain had moved.

It had cost us dearly. The dragon vein that fed Mount Qingshi had been spent. The mountain did not land gently; it crashed, grinding into a neighboring range with an iron-lunged groan that set dust clouds rolling for miles. I scanned the land with my Divine Sense in a rush, every practiced inch of perception searching for signs of life that our descent might have crushed. There were none, thankfully. Only bare rock faces and sand-choked wastes below the impact.

“Anyone hurt?” I asked Nongmin through Qi Speech.

“None, Your Eminence,” answered Nongmin. “We’ve prepared thoroughly.”

I looked around.

We had come down on the knife-edge between continents. On one side, the Riverfall Continent spread, its broad rivers like living veins. On the other edge of the horizon lay Evernight, dark forests, great sands beyond, long shadows, and a chill that bled at the edges of my soul. The mountain had landed between both continents as Nongmin’s calculations had predicted; the risk had been high, but it worked.

Nongmin stepped up beside me with a movement technique, boots steady on a lower crag. “Our ranks are making their final preparations to embark,” he said, voice flat and sure. “Since most will march on foot, the journey will be slow. Hmmm… perfect timing.” He cast a glance toward the narrowing passes below the crash site as space distorted.

Just then, a cluster of medium-class flying vessels cut the sky. Their colors were unmistakable. It was Riverfall’s banners, a yellow flood dragon curling on a sky-blue field. They settled like great blue gulls on a windless sea. They should be here with supplies to help with the logistics and help with transportation

Zhu Shin leapt down from a huge vessel, great strides eating distance with a movement technique of his own. He hit the ground, dropped into a quick knee, and looked up at me. “Your Eminence, Your Majesty,” he said, voice booming over the wind. “Most of the forces that pledged to us have expressed their eagerness. Give the word, and their banners will be raised. They will march.”

Numbers mattered, but timing mattered more. If we struck too early without coaxing the enemy into committing their strength, we’d burn through blood for nothing. If we baited them properly, then when they threw themselves wholly into the fight, we could surround them in a trap they would not survive. 

“Spread the word,” I told Zhu Shin, my voice clipped but steady. “Patience! Steady your armies, and wait for my signal. Do not commit until I give the word. Set up communication arrays, and ensure they are informed of my intentions. When the enemy’s armies begin to march toward this ridge, that is when I will blow the horn of war. Only then will you move. When they close, you will encircle, surround, and leave nothing but smoke.”

He nodded, the proud soldier’s eye filled with resolve. “Understood. They will hold the line and await your trumpet.”

“I am called the God of War,” I said suddenly, and the name tasted like iron on my tongue. “I wear that name with shame.”

I stared at the organized soldiers, standing at measly Third Realm, Will Reinforcement.

“But with that shame comes a pledge of absolute victory. When the horn sounds, no mercy will be given to those who would drown the world in their greed. Prepare them. Keep them ready. Be patient. Wait for the moment, and then we strike.”

There were city-states and factions within the Empire that had long been simmering with discontent. For a hundred years, the Seven Imperial Houses had strangled trade, suffocated dissent with martial law, and carved the populace into convenient categories for taxation and control. Their arrogance fed rot; their neglect bred rebellion. We had simply fed the tinder. They had a century to govern otherwise, and they chose greed, cruelty, and fear. They had gotten precisely what they’d sown.

“Yes, Your Eminence… your will is to be done,” said Zhu Shin, and then the Iron Bull’s silhouette tore off across the sky, vanishing along currents of qi so quickly that even the dust where he’d knelt still trembled.

I let my gaze drag back to the impossible sight that hung over the continent: the barrier enclosing the Empire, woven of formations and law, a net of power that had held back gods and men alike. I reached the Ghost Soul and threaded my voice through it to Gu Jie. “Daughter, it’s time.”

“Yes, Father. We are cutting the seams.”

Ru Qiu had been there with her, fingers tracing patterns in the air like a scholar performing calligraphy with thunder. Between them, they unraveled layers of the barrier. The heavens answered. Thunder rolled, not with malice, but with the steady percussion of a drum announcing the end of an age. The formations in the sky, complex as spider-silk and cruel as law, flickered, as if a hand had run along their threads. Portions of the lattice collapsed into ribbons of degrading power that fell away like spent armor.

Nongmin stood beside me, staring at the sky, despite his blindfold. “This will send our enemies into panic,” he said. “They’ll think we’ve tightened our hold, that we can now afford to retreat on a whim and never be pursued.”

I let the thought sit for a breath, tasting the iron of consequence. “We will not retreat, Nongmin,” I replied. The words carried a weight, a settling of purpose that had hardened in me across long nights of planning and the smell of blood and ink.

“Yes, Your Eminence,” he said without flourish.

If anything, the one who would be doing the retreating would be them, and I was magnanimous enough to allow them such an opportunity… However, it would cost them dearly if they didn’t think this through.

“I will go ahead,” I told Nongmin, and the air shimmered with the aftertaste of quintessence as I gathered my power.

With a thought, Zealot’s Stride activated, Divine Speed coiling over it like a second layer of power. The world folded. In the next heartbeat, I was streaking through the sky like a comet of gold and white, the lands below melting into flowing rivers of color.

When I finally slowed, the horizon broke open to reveal Yellow Dragon City, Riverfall’s capital, once a governor’s stronghold, now a resplendent bastion crowned with towers of jade and gold. Dragons soared above the cloud sea, their eyes bright as suns. Their qi blanketed the capital in draconic might, a living fortress of vigilance and flame.

One of the dragons broke formation. Midway through its descent, its form rippled with scales retreating, bones shifting, and beauty emerging. A dragon maiden landed before me, her golden hair glowing faintly under the midday light.

“Greetings, Your Eminence,” she said, bowing low. “His Majesty eagerly awaits your arrival.”

“Lead the way, dragon,” I replied, my tone even. She smiled faintly and turned, her steps gliding soundlessly as she guided me deeper into the heart of the city.

The governor’s estate I remembered was gone. It had been reborn, rebuilt, and rebaptized as the Dragon Palace. The qi flowing through its walls resonated with draconic essence, ancient and new all at once. Statues of coiled wyrms lined the path to the throne hall, where a long table had been spread with fruits, meats, and fine wines.

At the end of that hall sat Ren Xun, now a far cry from the boy who feared carrying burdens. His eyes were deeper, and his presence was heavier. His aura spoke of one who had crossed into the Seventh Realm: Bloodline Refinement.

“You’ve grown, Your Majesty…” I said, allowing the faintest trace of pride to color my voice.

Ren Xun smiled wryly as he stood from the throne, the dragon patterns on his robes rippling with restrained power. “Please, no need for pleasantries,” he said. “Or do you wish for me to call you, Your Eminence… or Senior?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Your grandfather would disapprove, but I appreciate the sentiment. Times are changing faster than even I can keep up with… and I’ve had my hand in every turn of that wheel. Sometimes I wonder if the universe just hates me… or maybe it’s fate that refuses to let me rest.”

Before he could reply, I stepped forward, crossing the space between us in a flash of light. “Now, give me a hug!”

“S–Senior, this is embarrassing!” he protested, his face reddening as I wrapped him in a firm embrace.

I lifted him slightly off the floor, because, well, some habits die hard, then set him down gently. “There,” I said, grinning. “I’m a hugger. You’ll live.”

A deliberate cough echoed through the grand hall. From behind the throne, Zhou Yong, the Dragon God herself, emerged with her usual serene poise. Her golden eyes glimmered faintly with amusement as she spoke.

“I believe,” she said dryly, “there is a time and a place for everything, Your Eminence.”

I only smiled at her, unbothered. “Then it’s fortunate we’re right on time. How are the preparations going?”

“You’ll be pleased,” Zhou Yong answered. “We’ve set up underground evacuation centers should the fighting break the city. Food reserves are ready. The men and women wait with anticipation… and, of course, a small feast to welcome your arrival and your holy coronation.”

I snorted. “You needn’t fuss with cakes and wine. We’re at war.”

She smiled, looking amused. “Levity steadies the throat, Your Eminence. We will be visited by enemies soon. Better to laugh while we can.”

The great doors opened then, and two familiar silhouettes stepped through the light: Gu Jie, wrapped in her dark robes patterned with coiling red snakes, and Ru Qiu, his own darkness folded around him like a second skin.

“Father,” Gu Jie said as she approached. “I am glad to see you well.”

I couldn’t help but grin. “Of course I am. Hiding under a mountain, scheming and hoarding power for a century? It was dull. Good to be doing something again. You know, walking,” I pulled her in and hugged her like an idiot.

“F-Father, this is… inappropriate,” she stammered, but she didn’t pull away. I patted her head once and let go.

Ru Qiu watched me with measuring eyes. He still suffered from amnesia, a blankness around certain memories, but his cultivation trembled with force. He’d been a reckoning once in the False Earth, and I didn’t think I’d be able to become comfortable around him anytime soon.

“So, you are the fearsome Great Guard,” he said with a loose, sardonic bow. “You don’t look that much.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Nice to meet you, too, Heavenly Demon.”

He didn’t smile. “I will settle our scores another time. I’ve done what I could. Now, I’m owed compensation.”

I felt the cave tighten around the words. “Compensation?” I asked.

Ru Qiu’s voice went low. “Your daughter.”

I did not bother with court niceties. I said precisely what I thought: “You know what, fuck you.”

The air mattered then; my hand reached for a blade. I called Holy Sword, its light wrapping my fingers like obedient steel, and the Asura Soul coiling into its edge. Ru Qiu answered the call with his own darkness as he conjured black flame, shaping it into a wicked blade that drank the light around its curve.

Gu Jie stepped between us, her face pressed pale with the weight of what she’d done. “Apologies, Father,” she said quietly. “I made a deal with him without speaking to you first.”

My blade hummed. I let the light dim and the dark sword gutter. “You are lucky, Heavenly Demon,” I told Ru Qiu through narrowed eyes. “If I did not have a soft spot for my daughter, I would sunder you right where you stand. She claimed your redemption, and she now shields you from my temper. Tell me about this deal.”

Ru Qiu scoffed and opened his mouth to argue, but Gu Jie cut him off. She looked exhausted from dealing with Ru Qiu’s shit.

“The agreement,” she said, addressing me, “was that I would help him recover his memories. It’s important. His past holds keys to your ‘arrival’ into this world. I believe his lost recall might answer questions about your origin.”

My throat tightened at the confession. I had been careless in the past, letting slips of truth fall like leaves in the wind. Gu Jie knew things. People who probably knew more than her were Joan and Alice. Still, she knew more than most, and if she believed Ru Qiu’s restoration might unlock truths about me, then she believed more than I wanted her to.

“It’s not necessary, I knew how I came to this world.”

Ru Qiu muttered, “Not necessary? You have no idea—”

“Stop,” Gu Jie snapped. She looked to me, earnest and unapologetic. “Father, he helped us reach a line: something in the False Earth, the same hand that twisted so many things there. If he remembers, it might explain the ‘why’ of your arrival.”

I stepped forward so close that the scent of iron and old rain brushed my face. My voice was a promise and a threat rolled into one. “If harm ever befalls her because of your past or your bargains, I will see to your utter annihilation.”

Ru Qiu crossed his arms, his voice steeped in disdain. “Let’s get this over with and be done with this farce already.”

Gu Jie sighed, though her lips carried a faint smile. “Patience. I am yet to see my fellow disciples.”

Before I could add anything, Zhou Yong folded her arms and muttered, “I hope we aren’t being treated here like air—”

“Silence, Zhou,” Ren Xun interrupted sharply. “Leave them be.”

Gu Jie cleared her throat delicately, the air shifting with her composure. “Ahem. I’ve come to return what is rightfully yours, Father.”

Ghostly qi shimmered beside her, and from that ethereal ripple, a smaller version of myself materialized. It was the Ghost Soul, shaped like my younger self, more child than phantom. His eyes were sharp, mouth curled in a familiar scowl.

The Ghost Soul spoke first, predictably lacking any restraint. “I fucking hate you.”

I winced. “What’s your problem this time?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely at the gathered company, “all of this… the war, the endless scheming, the lack of play-time… You’ve gotten old, Da Wei.” His tone dripped with irritation, but his eyes betrayed something closer to melancholy. “But I won’t argue with you on how you spend your time. In the end, I am you. Have it your way, my progenitor…”

And with that, the Ghost Soul dissolved in a streak of light and rejoined my being, a spark of cold memory sliding back into the furnace of my soul. I exhaled slowly. That fragment of me had always been too honest for his own good.

Before I could brood too much, two presences flickered into existence at the edge of the hall: Hei Mao, draped in black with his ever-present red scarf, and Ren Jingyi, bright and small in her golden robes.

The moment she saw Gu Jie, Ren Jingyi sprinted across the hall, skirts fluttering. “Big sis! I’ve missed you so much!”

Gu Jie knelt, opening her arms just in time to catch her. “Me too,” she said softly, her stoic facade melting for a brief, human moment.

I turned to Hei Mao and grinned. “Hei Mao!” Before he could react, I wrapped my arms around him in a bear hug that nearly lifted him off the ground.

“M-Master! What is this about?!” he sputtered, stiff as a board, face reddening under the scarf.

“Love,” I answered simply.

Then, before either of them could escape, I extended my arms and caught Gu Jie and Ren Jingyi as well, dragging all three into one massive embrace. Gu Jie groaned. Hei Mao flailed. Ren Jingyi giggled helplessly in the middle of it all.

“Master—! This is undignified!” Hei Mao protested.

“Father, let us go!” Gu Jie added, though her voice betrayed amusement.

Ren Jingyi’s laughter chimed like bells. “I don’t mind!”

I only tightened my hold and laughed, feeling, for a brief, impossible instant, that the war and the world could wait just a little longer.