Immortal Paladin

It was possible to mix everything into a single technique, but efficiency had its own quiet tyranny. Some powers simply belonged to certain skills. Aura paired naturally with the Paladin Aura Series, just as quintessence was best reserved for Ultimate Skills. That was common sense, the kind you learned only after being punished for ignoring it. Mana and qi could substitute for one another, but the results were never identical. When I used Zealot’s Stride with mana, the technique rewarded distance with recovery, feeding mana back into me as I moved. With qi, the same skill stretched its duration, letting me run longer without faltering. When I channeled World Force instead, the effect was violent and immediate, a burst of speed that eclipsed everything else, followed by a forced cooldown as my dantian protested the strain. Aura could also be applied, turning Zealot’s Stride into something closer to a martial art. It had no clear advantage or disadvantage on paper, but its flexibility depended entirely on which Paladin Aura I paired it with.

I remembered how my True Self fought with neither restraint nor elegance, just instinct. He hurled power as a single mass, chaining skills together by feel alone, flattening everything in his way. It worked because he was terrifyingly strong, but there was always a better way to fight. Training with Ru Qiu had beaten that lesson into me, literally. Consistency mattered. Control mattered. In the end, the most stable configuration I’d found was an even split: twenty-five percent mana, twenty-five percent qi, twenty-five percent aura, and twenty-five percent World Force. Balanced enough to adapt, and sharp enough to kill.

I lay half-buried in a crater Ru Qiu had punched me into, the stone crushed so deep around me that only my upper torso remained visible. The impact had rattled my bones and left my ears ringing. Above me, Ru Qiu stood with an eclipse hanging in the sky like a lid on the world, dark flames cloaking his body and feeding him quintessence without pause. Years had passed like this. Years of him dismantling me over and over, each defeat carved into my muscles and instincts.

“Have you acknowledged me as your master yet?” he asked, his voice calm, almost bored.

I rubbed my chin, smearing blood across my fingers as I pretended to think it over. “Nah.”

His answer came in the form of a stomp. His leg, blackened like burning charcoal, crashed into my abdomen. Dark flames surged as the impact tore the breath from my lungs. I felt something rip inside me and spat blood onto the shattered stone.

“Very Heavenly Demon of you,” I croaked, forcing a grin through the pain.

Ru Qiu exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe you still joke at times like this.”

“If we’re being honest,” I said, coughing once before continuing, “I don’t think we’d be a fun master–disciple pair. You should be satisfied with being my teacher.”

He looked down at me with narrowed eyes. “You’re arrogant. And prideful.”

“I know,” I replied easily. “I won’t deny it. But I’ve had too many teachers in my life already. Picking a single master would mean declaring all the others inferior. My disciples taught me. My enemies taught me. Even strangers did. I learn from everyone. So yeah, I’m arrogant enough to believe that choosing a master would insult all of them.”

He stared at me for a long moment, the dark flames around him flickering like a restrained storm. I met his gaze without flinching, even as my body screamed at me to stop.

“And besides,” I added, rolling my shoulders as best I could, “this worked out pretty well for me. I completed the Moon Phase thanks to your beatings and the pressure of fighting you nonstop. So I’d say this arrangement is productive.”

For a moment, I thought he might hit me again. Instead, he turned away, the eclipse still looming overhead as if the sky itself were undecided.

I let out a breath and raised a hand weakly. “Time out. Seriously. Let’s head back to the Temple.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Why?”

“We should check on the kids,” I said. “Before they decide to burn the place down or start a cult in our absence.”

“Are you sure it’s not because you want me continue on beating you to a pulp?”

“That, too… I deserve a break, dude…”

Ru Qiu stepped away without another word, giving me the space to recover. I lay there for a moment, staring at the fractured sky, then lifted a hand and murmured, “Divine Word: Life.” Warm radiance flooded my body, knitting torn flesh and easing the ache in my bones. I followed it with “Blessed Regeneration,” letting the gentler, lingering magic settle in. Breath returned to my lungs properly. The pain dulled into something manageable.

Behind me, I felt the pressure ease. Ru Qiu dispelled his Immortal Art, the eclipse unraveling as the dark flames peeled away from his body like ash in the wind. The mountain felt lighter without his presence weighing on it. I stood, stretched my shoulders, and rolled my neck until something popped.

“Do you still want to take the Source from me?” I asked casually.

Ru Qiu didn’t hesitate. “I’ll challenge your main body for it once we return to the real world.”

I nodded, as if I’d expected that answer. Truthfully, I had. I’d thought about this for a long time, and longer than I cared to admit. “That might be difficult,” I said. “My main body was kidnapped.”

He turned sharply. “What?”

I scratched the back of my head. “During the Human Soul’s little… excursion. You know, visiting the Martial Alliance’s heart, pissing in their backyard, intimidating them, subjugating them a bit for good measure.”

“That doesn’t explain anything,” he snapped.

“The main body fought several Martial Saints,” I continued. “Beat them. Naturally. Then a Martial Ancestor from some distant age showed up and took him.”

Ru Qiu grabbed my shoulder, fingers digging in hard. “What the fuck are you saying?”

I avoided his gaze. “Forget it. Just forget everything I said.”

We started down the mountain together. For a while, neither of us spoke. The wind brushed past us, carrying the faint scent of stone and snow. Eventually, Ru Qiu broke the silence.

“Why tell me that at all?” he asked. “What was your intention?”

I didn’t slow my steps. “In case I perish,” I said evenly, “I want to leave my disciples to you.”

He stopped walking. “Have you lost your mind?”

I knew that look. I’d seen it more than once. Envy, tangled with something softer and far more dangerous. It was regret. In his prime, Ru Qiu had cultivated disciples too. He’d loved them. That love had been real, no matter what he’d become afterward. That was why I trusted him with something like this. People changed, yes, sometimes beyond recognition, but there were parts of us that remained untouched no matter how much time passed or how much power warped the world around us.

“What if I use them as pawns?” he asked. “Advance my own designs through them?”

I snorted. “If that’s how fate wants to screw me, then what could I do about it?” I glanced at him sidelong. “Besides, my disciples aren’t idiots. They won’t follow you just because I tell them to.”

He frowned. “Then why leave them to me at all?”

I smiled faintly. “Because I want you to protect them. And what better way to ensure that than letting you have the Source?”

That stopped him cold.

We reached the foot of the mountain not long after. The Temple stood ahead, quiet and familiar. At its entrance, a lone skeleton swept the ground with methodical patience, each motion precise and unhurried.

“Morning, Ezekiel,” I said.

The skeleton didn’t even look up. It kept sweeping, utterly ignoring me.

I wasn’t so foolish as to leave the Temple undefended while I trained deep in the mountains with Ru Qiu. The moment we crossed the threshold, the difference was obvious. Ezekiel wasn’t alone anymore.

Skeletons wandered the halls with unsettling domestic normalcy with some sweeping, some polishing pillars, and one, inexplicably, painting a mural that looked like it had started as scripture and devolved into abstract nonsense. I paused, watching it tilt its skull, consider the brushstroke, then add another flourish.

“…Are they bored?” I muttered.

Ru Qiu glanced around, unimpressed. “You allow this?”

“I don’t allow anything,” I said. “They just… happen.”

While I could summon Ezekiel, his connection to my main body and to the other souls remained just as severed as mine. Independent. Self-sustaining. A little concerning, honestly.

Ru Qiu folded his arms. “If you perish, the Yellow Emperor will retrieve the Source. He’ll leave nothing for me.”

“That’s assuming it’s that simple,” I replied. “Gu Jie’s Immortal Art complicates things. Under the right conditions, she could fish it out of my corpse before anyone else reacts.”

He frowned but didn’t argue. That alone told me he believed it.

We moved into the left wing of the Temple, where the sound of clashing qi echoed against stone. Quan Shou and Yuan Shen were sparring, their movements sharp and earnest. Both had reached the Fourth Realm, Spirit Mystery. Progress faster than most, slower than monsters. Right where they should be.

They noticed me immediately.

“Senior!” Quan Shou said, eyes lighting up. “Are you well?”

Yuan Shen clasped his fists. “Please observe our progress.”

I nodded. “Where’s Yuan Shun?”

“She’s meditating in her quarters,” Yuan Shen replied. “She said not to disturb her unless the world ends.”

“Fair,” I said. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

We stepped into the training space, and I suppressed myself down to their realm, sealing everything except qi. No tricks. No advantages they couldn’t theoretically reach.

Quan Shou moved first. His eyes glimmered faintly as his Spirit Mystery activated, some ocular technique that locked onto my movements with unnerving precision. Every strike came at the perfect timing, as if he could see half a second ahead.

Yuan Shen followed, saber humming softly. His Spirit Mystery was subtler. Each time I shifted, his qi adapted, flowing into angles that anticipated my techniques. Not prediction exactly, more like reactive evolution.

While Quan Shou pressed forward with relentless fists, Yuan Shen stayed measured, waiting for openings that never quite appeared.

As we exchanged blows, Ru Qiu’s voice slipped into my mind through Qi Speech.

“Why waste your time on this?”

“I’m not wasting it,” I replied calmly. “I’m learning them.”

I vanished with Flash Step, reappearing behind Yuan Shen. A kick to the back of his knee disrupted his stance, and before Quan Shou could capitalize, I seized his wrist and dragged him across my body, using him as a living barrier.

Yuan Shen aborted his counter instantly.

I struck Quan Shou’s back with an open palm, unleashing a War Smite.

The ripple detonated outward, launching Quan Shou straight into Yuan Shen. Both tumbled across the floor, skidding to a halt.

“That’s enough,” I said. “Sparring’s over.”

They scrambled up, breathing hard, faces flushed with excitement.

“Quan Shou,” I continued, “you’re too aggressive. You trust your eyes, but you don’t listen to them. Observe longer. Let the fight breathe.”

He nodded vigorously.

“Yuan Shen,” I said, turning to him, “you’re the opposite. Too defensive. You wait to counter when you should be forcing reactions. Initiative matters.”

Yuan Shen bowed deeply. “Understood.”

They both bowed together, voices overlapping as they thanked me. Quan Shou grinned. “We’ll continue sparring in the courtyard.”

Yuan Shen hesitated. “Senior… may we borrow one of your summons?”

I waved a hand. “Do as you please.”

They rushed off, already arguing about strategy, leaving the hall quieter than before.

Ru Qiu watched them go, his expression unreadable. Then he looked at me.

“Do you even know,” he asked slowly, “the true nature of this world?”

I nodded slowly. “Yeah. I know the true nature of this world.”

There was no point dancing around it anymore. At first, it had only been suspicion, an itch at the back of my mind that refused to go away. But after experiencing Ru Qiu’s memories, certainty settled in. Something as absurd as time travel was impossible for the likes of the Heavenly Master. Not even the Heavenly Temple, with all its grotesque tricks, could pull something like this off cleanly.

So what was this place?

“This world isn’t the past,” I said calmly. “It’s a memory.”

Ru Qiu’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“A copy,” I continued, “or more accurately, an echo left behind by the Tribulation Heavenly Eye. A record. Everything we see here from people, land, and events… they’re already over. Whatever we do won’t affect the future.”

I let that sink in before adding, “That’s probably why Gu Jie didn’t restrict us much. She knew.”

If this was a record, then recklessness carried a different weight. Not harmless, but informational. If we were going to be here, then gathering intelligence mattered more than playing savior or villain. There were two approaches: roam freely and sample everything, or stay anchored in one place and observe patterns.

Hei Mao roaming the Hollowed World handled the first. That left me with the second.

And above all else, I was curious about Yuan Shun.

The Yuan Shun of this era seemed… ordinary in character. Talented, yes, and unnervingly so, but ordinary nonetheless in character. I couldn’t reconcile her with the monster Yuan Shen of the future spoke about, the existence that would one day stand shoulder to shoulder with calamities.

Eventually, Ru Qiu decided to part ways with me.

“There’s a place I want to visit,” he said. “It shouldn’t be far.”

“Be careful,” I replied. “We don’t know what kind of dangers exist here, even if it’s a record.”

He turned to leave, and I added, “Wear the porcelain mask. Even in a memory, the Heavenly Demon’s name carries weight.”

He snorted but complied.

Once he was gone, I headed toward Yuan Shun’s quarters. The corridor was quiet, lantern light flickering softly against stone. I stopped before her door and raised my hand.

“Yuan Shun? Are you—”

The sliding door flew open.

She rushed forward and wrapped her arms around me before I could react.

I froze.

My first instinct was alarm, the second confusion. I carefully returned the gesture just enough not to seem hostile. “Is… something wrong?”

She lifted her head.

That was when I noticed her eyes.

One was blue. The other gold.

Both were far too clear.

“There’s no problem,” she said sweetly.

“…Where did that hug come from?” I asked cautiously.

“I missed you,” she replied without hesitation.

I scratched my head, genuinely baffled. Our connection wasn’t that deep. Sure, I had charisma too much of it, honestly, but I’d long since learned how to suppress passives and brute-force my willpower against that kind of thing.

“Why would you miss me?” I asked.

She smiled, bright and unsettling all at once.

“Of course,” Yuan Shun said softly, “because I’ve been looking forward to destroying the world with you.”