Immortal Paladin

I was trapped in utter darkness.

There was no up or down, no sense of distance or direction, and no response when I tried to circulate qi or invoke even the most rudimentary spell. Every technique I had ever mastered lay silent within me, as though they had never existed in the first place. The darkness pressed in without weight, yet it felt suffocating all the same, a prison constructed not of walls but of denial.

I drifted without moving, aware only of my own thoughts echoing back at me.

Then, a star lit up.

It was faint at first, no larger than a spark against the endless void, yet it was enough to draw my attention completely. The moment I focused on it, the darkness seemed to recoil slightly, as if resentful of that intrusion. I moved toward it, not by stepping forward but by willing myself closer, chasing the fragile light with everything I had.

Every time I thought I was about to reach it, the star vanished.

I froze, heart tightening, only for it to reappear somewhere else, just far enough to remain out of reach. I followed again and again, frustration mounting as the same result repeated itself. The light was not fleeing in fear. It was leading me, testing me, perhaps even mocking me.

Things were not always as they appeared to be.

That was a lesson I had learned countless times, yet only now did I truly understand its weight. I had believed this entire journey existed for Ru Qiu’s sake, that it was another trial meant to temper him as Gu Jie had implied. I could not have been more wrong. From the moment I realized where I was, the truth became unavoidable.

This was for me.

The ultimate punishment of the Supreme Beings was not pain or imprisonment, but erasure. To be removed so thoroughly that not even memory remained was a fate worse than annihilation. Through Ru Qiu, I had learned of a method to repair the damage my main body had already suffered, a fragile hope that hinged on understanding and continuity.

None of that mattered if I remained trapped here forever.

Despair crept in slowly, insidiously, until I reached a conclusion I had never imagined entertaining. If I destroyed the Ghost Soul within me, it should regenerate from the True Self. It was a desperate measure, but a viable one. Gu Jie and Hei Mao were capable enough to endure without me, and I trusted them to see things through.

At least that way, something of me would persist.

I gathered every shred of strength I could muster and turned inward, clawing at my own soul with raw intent. Pain flared immediately, sharp and absolute, yet the moment I tried to tear myself apart, resistance surged from all directions. The dark veil tightened around me, suppressing the act itself.

I failed.

The realization hit harder than any wound. Even death had been denied to me.

I lifted my gaze toward the distant light, which hovered just beyond my reach, steady and infuriating. It felt as though it were laughing at me, a silent observer amused by my futility. The sight of it stirred a bitter irritation that cut through the despair.

Then I heard a voice.

“Come here,” it said gently. “Follow me. I am here.”

I frowned, suspicion warring with desperation, and chased after it with renewed urgency. Each time I drew close, the voice retreated along with the light, never fully disappearing, never allowing me to grasp it.

“I’m here,” I shouted back. “I’m just right here.”

The words never traveled outward. They screamed back into my own mind, reverberating painfully as if the darkness itself were mocking my effort. My lungs burned, though no air moved, and my voice broke with the strain.

“Don’t leave me,” I screamed.

The light grew distant, shrinking until it was no more than a pinprick, and then it vanished entirely.

I dropped to one knee, exhaustion and despair crashing down upon me at once. The absurdity of the situation weighed heavily on my thoughts. That Supreme Void truly knew how to break someone, not through force, but through cruel, deliberate futility.

Then the voice spoke again, closer than before.

“I’m finally here.”

I looked up sharply.

After so long, I had reached the light.

Zhou Yong stood before me, a golden flag resting against her shoulder. She looked older than I remembered, her presence steadier and more resolute, yet to me she was still little more than a child who had grown too fast. The flag radiated a quiet authority that made the darkness recoil instinctively.

She grabbed my arm without hesitation and pulled me forward, her grip firm and unyielding.

“We have to look for Ru Qiu,” I said immediately, forcing myself to my feet as she dragged me along.

Zhou Yong did not slow down.

“We don’t have time.”

I asked her what she meant, confusion cutting through the urgency as she dragged me through the formless dark. My footing was unsteady, every step feeling as though it might sink into nothing, and yet her grip never loosened.

“How did you even find me?” I demanded, forcing the words out between labored breaths.

Zhou Yong did not slow. Her voice carried a strained steadiness as she answered that Gu Jie had given her a very specific set of instructions. She said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as though being sent into a place like this was merely another errand.

My gaze drifted to the object she carried.

The golden flag rested against her shoulder, its surface etched with complex formation lines. At its center was a red cross, stark and unmistakable. I recognized it immediately. It was an artifact Gu Jie had crafted through careful preparation, layering intent and contingency into every thread of its design.

A laugh escaped me before I could stop myself.

It was hollow, tinged with disbelief and something dangerously close to relief.

Then I noticed it.

From the tips of the flag, a dark taint had begun to spread, crawling inward like rot devouring gold. The sight sent a chill through me that had nothing to do with the surrounding darkness.

“What does that mean?” I asked sharply.

Zhou Yong’s grip tightened as panic bled into her voice. She said they had very limited time in this place, and once the flag was utterly tainted black, we would be trapped here forever. There would be no second attempt, no correction, and no miracle waiting beyond the edge.

I surged ahead of her without another word.

Dropping to one knee, I turned my back to her and told her to get on. She did not hesitate even for a breath, leaping onto my back as I grabbed her leg and steadied her weight against me.

“Where?” I asked, already pushing myself forward.

She raised the flag higher, pointing it ahead of us as it pulsed faintly. “Follow it,” she said. “Wherever it points.”

I ran.

Every step was an act of will, my legs burning as I forced myself forward. The flag dimmed at times, its light flickering uncertainly, only to blaze brighter moments later. I followed it without question, trusting it more than my own senses.

“The brighter it gets,” Zhou Yong said close to my ear, “the closer we are to the exit.”

I could not use any of my powers in that darkness. Qi refused to circulate, spells collapsed before forming, and even my Divine Sense lay dormant. All I had were my knees, my lungs, and an unwillingness to stop.

I ran until my joints screamed and my vision blurred.

Then the ground changed.

Without warning, my feet splashed into something thick and resisting. The darkness thinned into a heavy gloom, revealing a swamp stretching endlessly in every direction. Each step pulled at me, the mire clinging to my legs as though it wished to swallow me whole.

My breathing grew ragged, chest heaving painfully as a familiar thought crossed my mind.

I might die here.

I had suffered worse. That truth grounded me, anchoring my resolve when my body threatened to collapse. I pushed forward, teeth clenched, refusing to slow.

“Just a little more,” Zhou Yong urged, her voice trembling but insistent.

As the struggle worsened, she began to talk, perhaps to distract herself, perhaps to keep me conscious. She spoke of how she enjoyed meeting us, of how strange and exciting the world of cultivation had been to her. She told me about visiting the Four Seasons, rekindling old connections, and gathering materials to build the flag.

She mentioned Gu Jie had followed her throughout those travels.

The words struck me harder than the swamp’s resistance. I was shocked into silence at the mention of my first disciple, my daughter in all but blood. Gu Jie should have been in the Temple. I wondered what kind of person she had been with Zhou Yong, and whether she had allowed herself even a fragment of warmth.

The swamp rose higher the farther I pushed, black water creeping up my legs, dragging at my steps. Zhou Yong’s voice wavered as panic finally broke through, and she cried out to the heavens as if begging something or anything to hear her.

Then I heard her whisper.

“It hurts.”

The words were faint, fragile, and carried a pain I could not turn back to see. I forced myself onward, driven by terror and desperation in equal measure.

At the final stretch, I burst through the last layer of the dark veil and crashed face-first into solid ground. Dirt filled my mouth and nose as I laughed hoarsely, tears stinging my eyes.

“We did it,” I cried out. “Finally!”

I turned back.

Only half of Zhou Yong remained.

Her lower body was gone, swallowed entirely by darkness. Her intestines were exposed, utterly blackened, as was her blood and the flesh beneath her skin. One arm was missing, torn away somewhere along the path, and the remaining limb had turned the color of charcoal.

That arm clung desperately to the flag.

The artifact had become pitch black from top to bottom, its golden radiance completely devoured. Zhou Yong’s eyes were the same voided shade, sightless and empty.

She coughed, spitting black blood onto the ground, and somehow managed to look at me.

“Did I do good?” she asked quietly.

I could not answer.

I watched in numb silence as she dissolved, her form collapsing into a dark smear upon the already-dark ground, leaving nothing behind but the shape she once had.

Something broke in my heart.

I had never been good with death, no matter how many lifetimes I had lived. My chest felt hollow as I stared at the dark smear on the ground where Zhou Yong had been only moments ago. I raised a trembling hand and spoke the words almost out of instinct, clinging to habit as though it could still save me.

“Divine Word: Rest.”

The power descended, gentle and absolute, meant to soothe souls and return the departed to peace. I poured more into it, twisting the intent, trying to reverse it, trying to force it to become resurrection.

Nothing happened.

The smear did not move. No soul answered. No breath returned.

“Why?” I whispered hoarsely, my voice cracking in the empty space. “She was a person too… wasn’t she?”

My gaze lifted toward the oppressive darkness of the veil, hatred simmering beneath the grief. Was it this place that denied her return? Was it this cursed world, this false past, that had decided she no longer deserved even the dignity of rest?

My legs gave out, and I fell to my knees before the shadowed stain.

Then someone stood beside me.

Bone-white fingers rested lightly at my side, and I did not need to look to know who it was. Ezekiel’s skeletal form was as calm as ever, empty eye sockets reflecting nothing yet seeing everything. Understanding suggested itself slowly, painfully, as pieces I had refused to assemble finally aligned.

I let out a broken laugh. “You knew,” I said quietly. “You knew this would happen.”

Ezekiel did not answer. He never needed to.

His form dissolved into pale motes of light, and in the space he left behind, Gu Jie stood silently. This was the first time I truly understood that she knew how to cast Summon: Holy Spirit, and that she had been calling Ezekiel through it all this time.

I stared at her, stunned.

How many things had she kept hidden from me, just like this suggestion, just like the countless plans she had set into motion behind my back? The realization hurt more than it angered me.

“Why?” I asked softly. “Why did you have to keep secrets from me?”

My voice trembled despite my efforts to steady it. “From your master… from your father.”

Gu Jie bit her lip, her eyes flickering as fear and conflict warred openly across her face. She looked smaller then, less like the composed cultivator I knew and more like the girl she once was.

Through Divine Sense, I scanned her presence without meaning to, and the truth unraveled itself. By summoning Ezekiel, she had used Divine Possession with a fragment of destiny itself, allowing her to exist in multiple places at once. It was cleaner and more efficient than my own methods, surpassing Manasoul division and even the Six Path avatars when combined with possession.

I could see the strain, though. One instance was her current limit, stretched to the brink.

I wanted to snap at her, to scold her recklessness, to shout at her for daring to walk such a dangerous path without telling me. The words gathered at the back of my throat, sharp and bitter.

But I could not bring myself to release them.

Through the Immortal Art Divine Appointment of the Faithful, I felt her pain as clearly as my own. It was raw and heavy, weighed down by guilt and fear of failure.

She looked up at me then, voice barely steady. “Father,” she said, calling me by the name she rarely used. “Please… don’t lose heart. Be brave. Be strong. Be true. And always hold your head high.”

The words struck deeper than any blade.

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that this world was fake, that Zhou Yong here was only a recorded past, a shadow of what once was. I wanted to tell her that it wasn’t truly her fault, that none of this had been real.

I swallowed the words.

Gu Jie would have known long before I did, and such truths offered no comfort anyway. Those excuses were not for her. They were for me. I wanted to rationalize this pain, to tell myself that it was fine.

It wasn’t.

The Zhou Yong I knew was real. I remembered our first meeting vividly, how the little dragon had erupted from nowhere and attacked Ru Qiu without warning. I remembered laughing as I bullied her shamelessly into a contract, threatening and cajoling her like some low thug just to keep Ru Qiu’s identity secret.

I remembered the brief, quiet time we spent in the Temple, before she went on her separate journey to visit the Four Seasons. What I hadn’t known then was that she had already been walking a hidden path, carrying out a request Gu Jie had entrusted to her.

No tears came.

Perhaps they had dried up long ago, burned away by a long time of loss. Even so, the pain was real, heavy enough to press the air from my lungs.

“I promise,” I said quietly, my voice steadying as resolve took shape. “Once I leave this place, I’ll learn more about Zhou Yong. I’ll know who she was, what she loved, and what she dreamed of.”

Only then, I thought, would I be able to mourn her properly.

I drew a deep breath and turned fully to Gu Jie. “One day,” I continued, “I will lose heart. I’ll be scared. I’ll become weak. I’ll lie to myself, or lower my head when I shouldn’t.”

I met her gaze, earnest and unguarded. “When that time comes, I want you to help me up. Remind me why I started. Remind me not to lose sight of it.”

Gu Jie hesitated, then asked softly, “What is the goal?”

I answered without hesitation.

“Happiness.”

Gu Jie stepped closer, her expression tightening as she studied my face. She spoke carefully, as if choosing each word carried weight far heavier than it sounded.

“Then promise me something,” she said. “That happiness you’re chasing… you’re included in it.”

I turned away from her words, not because I hadn’t heard them, but because I couldn’t afford to answer. Instead, I asked the question that had been clawing at me since she appeared.

“Why are you here, Gu Jie?”

Her gaze sharpened, and the hesitation vanished. She told me plainly that something was blocking the path to happiness. When I asked who it was, her answer came without pause.

“Yuan Shun.”

She went on before I could interrupt, revealing the truth of this world in full. This place was not merely distorted or incomplete; it was an enormous formation, one vast enough to swallow causality itself. We had been placed inside a recorded past, sealed and replayed, and at the very center of it all was Yuan Shun.

I listened in silence, my chest tightening as the implications settled.

“Why did it have to turn out this way?” I asked quietly.

Images flickered through my mind as I spoke. If her intention had always been to help me avoid the ultimate punishment, then why not turn me toward Ru Qiu from the very beginning? Why not let me learn from him directly, to understand how he endured erasure and repaired himself afterward? If we had acted together, all of us, perhaps this much suffering could have been avoided.

Gu Jie met my eyes steadily. She said I already knew the answer.

“You lived Nongmin’s life,” she reminded me. “You wielded the Heavenly Eye.”

Her words stirred an old, uncomfortable understanding. It was the butterfly effect. Changing one thing could spiral into something far worse, or amount to nothing at all. Altering a predestined outcome without precise knowledge was not strategy; it was gambling with reality. To change fate successfully was a miracle in itself.

I scratched my head, exhaling slowly as the tension bled out of me. For a moment, I felt profoundly stupid, like someone who had known the rules all along yet still demanded the game be fair.

I stared up at the sky, letting the turmoil settle. When I turned back to Gu Jie, my voice was steadier.

“What’s next?”

She didn’t hesitate. She told me to go to the Eternal Undeath Cult, recover Hei Mao’s corpse, resurrect him, and then confront Yuan Shun in the Temple.

I gestured toward the oppressive darkness surrounding us, asking if there was any way to take the veil down. Gu Jie shook her head slowly. Before I could say anything more, her body dissolved into wisps of energy and vanished, leaving the silence heavier than before.

I stood alone and took stock of what remained.

I had left a Manasoul within each of my disciples, contingencies layered upon contingencies. I could no longer feel the Ezekiels I had stationed in the Temple, their presence cut off completely. When I tried to locate the Manasoul I had placed in Gu Jie, I found nothing. Something was blocking it, severing even that connection.

I reached for Hei Mao instead.

The Manasoul within him answered faintly. I remembered the condition I had embedded within it, the Spell Resonance designed to trigger Divine Word: Raise upon his death. The Manasoul remained intact because Hei Mao himself had canceled the resonance, choosing to die on his own terms, probably in effect of Gu Jie’s instruction once more.

I did not waste time.

Using Castling, I exchanged positions with the Manasoul and emerged amid the ruins of the Eternal Undeath Cult. The devastation was profound, formations shattered, stone reduced to powder, and the lingering scent of abyssal power clinging to everything.

Even my Divine Sense struggled here.

What caught my attention was a patch of darkness buried beneath the rubble, hidden so deeply that even divine perception slid past it. The only reason I could perceive it at all was through Divine Appointment of the Faithful, which allowed me to sense Hei Mao’s faith burning stubbornly within that void.

I knelt and brushed the debris aside, pressing my palms into the cold earth. My fingers closed around a blot of darkness that resisted like living tar.

“Divine Word: Raise,” I intoned.

The shadow boiled violently between my hands. I released it, and it burst outward in a surge of distorted light. Where the darkness had been, a naked child collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath.

Hei Mao.

He looked nothing like the adult disciple I knew. His limbs were small, his features soft and unfinished, his presence unstable but unmistakable. He exhaled slowly, then glanced up at me with weary eyes.

“My scarf, my familiar, and my body are going to need time to recover,” he complained, rubbing his temples. “This was expensive.”

Despite everything, I felt a laugh threaten to escape me.

He looked at me properly then and greeted me with a rueful smile. “Master,” he said, “what’s the plan?”

I used quintessence to weave a simple robe around his small form, steadying his presence before answering.

“The plan is simple,” I said calmly. “We kick ass.”