Immortal Paladin

[POV: Gu Jie]

Gu Jie sat in the command seat of the flagship, her fingers interlaced beneath her chin as dozens of floating scrying mirrors shimmered before her, imbued by her Destiny-Seeking Eyes. Each one displayed a potential outcome, flickers of futures woven from cause and effect, shifting like ripples across a still pond.

Her Destiny-Seeking Eyes pulsed faintly, golden rings spinning within her pupils as she peered further ahead. Every thread of fate that extended from this moment led to a dozen victories… and only a handful of uncertain losses.

It was comforting, deeply so.

Too often, she had seen their paths lead to ruin, narrow survivals, or outright tragedies. Miracles had been her father’s habit; reckless gambles, his art form.

“Father, you always win,” she murmured under her breath, “but must you always scare me while doing it?”

She remembered vividly every time he’d thrown himself into hopeless battles. Once, he even died, only to come back through sheer stubbornness and fate’s distortion. Twice, he nearly repeated the same thing. It was both maddening and awe-inspiring, the kind of thing that made Gu Jie half-proud and half-exhausted as his daughter.

Still, this time… this war was manageable. Her father’s madness seemed to finally be tempered by strategy, unity, and preparation. For once, their forces didn’t have to rely purely on miracles.

Gu Jie exhaled softly and straightened her back.

“All right,” she said, her voice calm but resonant. “Time to act. We’re not here to watch.”

She turned to the command deck.

“Lu Gao, Yuen Fu… I want you both to reinforce the ground forces at the divide. Keep the pressure steady, and make sure the flanks hold.”

Lu Gao grinned, rolling his shoulders as he stood. “Finally, something to break.”

Yuen Fu caressed the hilt of his sword as he added. “Don’t get in my way, senior brother. I’d rather the enemy not think we’re all brute laborers.”

“Brute laborers?” Lu Gao snorted. “I’ll race you to who brings back the most heads.”

“If you can count, that is,” Yuen Fu shot back, laughing as they both leapt from the flagship in streaks of light descending toward the battlefield below. “I just have you know, I am very good at killing undead.”

Gu Jie allowed herself a small smile. “Men,” she muttered. “Typical of warriors.”

Her gaze moved next to Ren Jingyi, who had been bouncing on her heels like a coiled spring, her golden hair glinting in excitement.

“Jingyi’er,” said Gu Jie. “There’s your chance to grow. The dragons could use some support, so go make yourself useful.”

Ren Jingyi saluted with a grin. “Yes, big sis Gu Jie!”

Before Gu Jie could respond, Ren Jingyi leapt from the deck, her form expanding midair as she transformed into a gigantic carp, shimmering with prismatic light. Her body sliced through the clouds as she soared toward the sky where dragons roared and enemy ships burned.

Gu Jie chuckled quietly. “She’s getting faster.”

Finally, her eyes turned toward Hei Mao, lounging lazily against the mast, seemingly half-asleep.

“Hei Mao,” Gu Jie began, “there are two Tenth Realm experts from the Heavenly Temple hiding in the distant clouds. I want—”

Hei Mao raised a hand, interrupting her mid-sentence. “No need to say more.” His voice was calm, almost casual. “I’ll take care of them.”

The lazy demeanor vanished in an instant. Shadows coiled around him, stretching like ink spilling across glass.

“Be back soon, sis,” he said with a faint grin and then his form melted into his shadow, vanishing entirely.

Just like that, the bridge fell quiet. The only ones left aboard the flagship were Gu Jie, Nongmin, and Ru Qiu.

Ru Qiu sighed dramatically, slumping into his seat.

“All this power, all this effort,” he muttered, “and I’m still sitting here watching lights flicker. What a waste of time.”

Nongmin gave him a sidelong look but said nothing.

“It isn’t a waste of time, Ru Qiu,” said Gu Jie in an admonishing tone. “If we ensure our victory here, we’ll have a secure base of operations. When that happens, I’ll be able to help you recover your memories properly.”

Ru Qiu tilted his head toward her, amused.

“Recover my memories, huh? You make it sound like I’m some broken artifact.”

“You are broken,” she replied dryly. “But we can fix that.”

Ru Qiu chuckled, pacing slowly as he folded his hands behind his back.

“Your father’s resources are… extensive, I’ll admit that much. If I were pragmatic, I’d say staying here is convenient.” He glanced over his shoulder, eyes glinting faintly crimson. “But I don’t bow to anyone, not even your immortal paladin.”

Gu Jie sighed softly . “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Ru Qiu continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “once I’ve restored what’s mine, I’ll rebuild it all. The Heavenly Demonic Sect… the true one. Not the twisted mockery that’s been paraded through history. I’ll bring back its purpose, its glory, and its dominion.”

He began pacing again, his tone growing more fervent, hands gesturing in broad, dramatic motions.

“We’ll have disciples who cultivate through the truest balance of heaven and abyss. We’ll transcend hypocrisy. We’ll—”

Gu Jie interrupted, rubbing her temples. “You sound like a child describing an imaginary empire.”

Ru Qiu paused mid-sentence, blinked, then shrugged. “Maybe I am. But at least my imagination’s better than most sects’ ideals.”

Before she could retort, Nongmin’s calm voice entered the conversation. “Is there anything I can do to assist, Lady Gu Jie?”

She smiled faintly, relieved for the interruption.

“Counsel,” she said simply. “And wisdom. Your experience with the Heavenly Temple’s methods could give us a clearer path forward.”

Nongmin’s faint grin was almost wistful. “Then my counsel is this… we’ll likely get the victory we want. The Heavenly Temple is still licking its wounds. They couldn’t have brought the bulk of their forces here, not after their loss at the Sacred Mountain of Ward.”

Gu Jie’s eyes flicked toward him with quiet understanding.

“Father told me about that battle,” she said softly. “He helped Tao Long, didn’t he? And destroyed the Heavenly Temple’s army in the process.”

Nongmin nodded. “Blew up the mountain and their Arch Gate. Typical of him.”

Gu Jie couldn’t help but smile faintly at that. “That sounds like him.”

Nongmin’s tone grew thoughtful.

“And now, with the issue of the Nameless City coming to light, the Martial Alliance and the Union is forming a united front… The Heavenly Temple can’t possibly stretch its influence as thin as it wants to. They’ll move in the shadows, yes, but not with the same strength as before.”

Gu Jie leaned forward, resting her chin on her knuckles. “Even so… the Heavenly Legion they sent here worries me.”

Nongmin’s expression shifted slightly. “You think they’ll commit it fully?”

“They might have to,” she murmured. “And if they do… even General Zhu Shin may find it troublesome to hold the borders.”

The dozen mirrors before Gu Jie shimmered faintly, each one floating in perfect formation like a circle of moons around her. These artifacts were her most recent work, forged from the crystallized tears of her Destiny-Seeking Eyes, refined with the divine metals of a lost world, and tempered by her father’s legacy of ingenuity.

Her visions had never been clearer. The web of futures stretched endlessly before her, like a storm of glass threads illuminated by lightning. And among all those threads, one path shone brightest… the path she would walk, regardless of consequence.

“Should we pull out the ships?” asked Nongmin. “Send them to reinforce Zhu Shin at the border.”

Gu Jie’s gaze did not move from the mirrors.

“There should be no need,” she replied evenly. “However, if the tide turns, you’ll have to be prepared to move yourself, Senior Nongmin.”

He inclined his head slightly. “Even blind, I still know how to fight.”

That earned him the ghost of a smile from Gu Jie. The thundering outside from the endless boom of cannon fire and spiritual artillery, slowly faded into stillness. The Riverfall fleet’s engines hummed with exhaustion, their barrels glowing faintly from overuse. The air smelled faintly of heated qi and burnt ozone.

Gu Jie stepped closer to her desk, pulling a small strip of folded cloth from her storage ring. The cloth radiated a faint blue luminescence, its threads stitched with micro formations so intricate they seemed alive.

“I have a gift for you, Senior Nongmin,” she said softly.

Nongmin turned his head toward her voice. “A gift?”

She nodded and offered the blindfold with both hands.

“This was something I’ve been working on for a while. It should help you see again… not as you once did, perhaps, but close enough. It has formations for clairvoyance and spirit detection. Think of it as an imitation of your Heavenly Eye, using artifice rather than divinity.”

Nongmin slowly reached for it, running his fingers over the smooth surface. The fabric was cool to the touch, humming faintly with her qi.

Without hesitation, he removed the plain strip of cloth that had been covering his eyes and replaced it with hers. The new blindfold shimmered once, then dimmed, adapting to him. A moment passed, and then Nongmin exhaled slowly, his lips curling faintly into something that might have been a smile.

“Incredible…” he murmured. “I can see… in a manner of speaking. I can feel the qi around me, and the intent in the air. The detail… the precision… It’s so much clearer now…”

Gu Jie smiled faintly. “It’s nothing compared to what you once wielded. Consider it an imperfect tribute.”

He chuckled softly. “Even an imitation of the heavens can still light the path for the unenlightened. You’ve done well, Lady Gu Jie.”

She frowned slightly at that title.

“Please, don’t call me Lady, Senior Nongmin. You’re still the Emperor… even if only in name. I should be the one addressing you properly.”

Nongmin tilted his head with amusement tugging at his lips. “I will do as I please.”

Gu Jie had always been a craftsman of moments. Her creations, whether the grand mirrors of fate or the smallest trinkets she built in idle hours, were all born from the same impulse: to leave something behind. In her storage ring, dozens more unfinished “gifts” remained. They were unrefined, yet brimming with potential. Some were weapons. Others were things of beauty. All of them, she imagined, would one day belong to the people she cherished.

When the years caught up to them, she wanted something to remember there bonds.

The future she had seen was… bleak. There was no denying that. The pattern of fate rarely smiled kindly upon mortals, even those who grasped at the divine. But that truth was hers to bear alone. The others didn’t need to know what awaited them with the heartbreak, the partings, and the countless names that would fade into memory.

No, she thought, they should keep laughing while they can.

“But I must say,” said Nongmin with that quiet, grounded tone of his, “you have to be careful. From what I understand, you’re a famous face in New Willow… your father’s territory.”

Gu Jie’s lips quirked slightly. “A famous face? Hardly.”

“Still,” Nongmin continued, “you shouldn’t show yourself too much in this battle.”

He was right, of course. Even if her notoriety was limited to the circles of scholars and artificers, there were enough who would recognize the daughter of the Great Guard. A single misstep, and her identity could ripple through both armies like wildfire.

Gu Jie inclined her head. “Understood. I’ll stay within the command ship.”

She turned back toward her mirrors. Something within them flickered. It a reflection that didn’t belong. Her heart froze. The images, usually fluid and vast, constricted violently. Then she saw it. A shadow… It was tall, twisted, and indescribably wrong… And it stared back at her from one of the mirrors.

Her pulse spiked. What… what is that?

Nongmin felt it too. His entire body stiffened, his spiritual sense bursting outward.

“Deactivate your Immortal Art, Gu Jie!” he barked.

She tried, but her qi refused to obey. Her eyes burned as the mirrors flared like a dozen suns.

“I can’t—!”

“IT’S DANGEROUS TO LOOK BEYOND YOUR MEANS. YOU SHOULD RAISE YOUR CULTIVATION FIRST… BEFORE YOU RECKLESSLY PEER INTO THE FUTURE—”

Ru Qiu moved before the voice could finish. The air warped as he activated his Immortal Art: Defying the Heaven’s Decree. Black flames surged from his palms, coiling like serpents as they lashed at the mirrors. One by one, they shattered, exploding into shards of light and dust.

Gu Jie coughed blood, collapsing to one knee. Each broken mirror stabbed through her mind, her fate-thread convulsing from the backlash. Still, her eyes glowed,  unwilling to close or yield.

Ru Qiu’s flames roared toward the final mirror, but the mirror moved.

It twisted out of the way, rippling like water.

“Annoying,” Ru Qiu muttered, snapping his whip of flames once more.

From within the mirror, a sound like laughter bubbled forth, high, broken, and childlike. Then, a hand emerged. It was dark as pitch, its skin glistening like tar, fingers too long to belong to any human. Teeth sprouted from its arm, gnashing and chattering as it pulled itself through the glass.

Then came the rest of it, a silhouette made of shadows, a form stitched together by eyes that didn’t blink and mouths that didn’t close.

“I’ve come to play,” it sang in a lilting, discordant tone. “Take your eyes, so pray~!”

Nongmin reacted instantly. He clapped his hands once. From the corners of the room, puppets erupted from invisibility, a dozen of them, bronze and obsidian, each bearing a fragment of his will. They leapt toward the entity, blades flashing with qi inscriptions.

The creature shrieked, its form splintering under the assault. The last mirror cracked under the impact and shattered completely.

Silence followed.

Only the faint sound of glass falling like rain filled the chamber.

Gu Jie wiped the blood from her lips, exhaling shakily as the remnants of her Immortal Art dissipated.

“It looks like,” she murmured, eyes dim but steady, “it wouldn’t be easy after all.”