Immortal Paladin

We ran with Zealot’s Stride carved into every step, golden power blooming beneath our feet as the world blurred past us. Each stride bent distance just enough to matter, yet not enough to spare us the journey. Fast travel was currently impossible, so brute momentum and divine technique were all we had.

Hei Mao kept pace beside me, his small form moving with unnatural precision as branches shattered beneath our passage. His expression darkened, and I caught the shift even before he spoke.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

I did not slow. “Then spit it out,” I replied. “We don’t have the luxury of subtle dread.”

Hei Mao exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing as if he were staring at something only he could see. “I’m no Gu Jie,” he admitted, “but I know a bit of divination. I picked it up in the Underworld. Ox-Head, Horse-Face, Meng Po… they all taught me things you don’t learn in life.”

His gaze flicked forward, unfocused. “There’s a shadow being cast over us. Not literal. Misfortune. The kind that accumulates quietly before it falls.”

I didn’t need divination to believe him.

Even someone as dull as me could tell something was wrong. The ambushes had been relentless, striking from every direction as we crossed territories that should not have coordinated so efficiently. The Four Seasons, the Monastery, and factions that should have been rivals instead moved with shared intent. Though they were merely records of a past, their execution had been clean and merciless.

They were competent.

Blunt, predictable, and lacking refinement compared to the enemies I once fought, but still dangerous when circumstances aligned. With my current vessel capped at the Tenth Realm, every encounter placed me at a disadvantage. I was fighting on the back foot, forced to rely on restraint and positioning rather than overwhelming force.

Hei Mao’s presence was the only thing keeping the balance from collapsing entirely.

Though he wore the body of a child and his strength had not fully recovered, his core remained at the Eleventh Realm. More importantly, he was a source of faith. That faith fed me fragments of divine spark, small but precious, allowing me to supplement what this inferior vessel could no longer produce.

We landed on the branch of an enormous tree. Hei Mao halted abruptly, and I stopped beside him without question.

I extended my Divine Sense.

The forest ahead was thick, layered with concealment formations that would have fooled most cultivators. They did not fool me. Four presences pressed against my awareness, each one firmly anchored at the Eleventh Realm.

Hei Mao broke the silence. “Their shadows are big,” he said quietly. “Ours have become too small.”

I glanced at him. “Suggestions?”

He hesitated, which told me more than any immediate answer could have. “I’m not sure,” he said. “They didn’t bother hiding. That means they came prepared.”

I felt the same unease settle deeper into my chest. Retreat wasn’t an option. The way they had positioned themselves cut off every viable path back. More than that, they wanted us to know they were there. It was pressure, psychological and tactical.

I clenched my jaw.

“With this vessel,” I said, “I’m a liability.”

Hei Mao shook his head immediately. “Not entirely,” he said. “It’s still possible to win.”

He straightened, pride slipping through despite the circumstances. “The techniques of this era are inferior. What I learned in the Underworld alone gives me an edge. Add what you taught me on top of that, and there’s still room to maneuver.”

He paused before continuing. “If we fight, it has to be a contest of skill.”

Even as he spoke, I knew how thin that margin was. Skill could bridge gaps, but not erase them entirely. We were weakened, cornered, and outnumbered by equals.

A bitter thought crossed my mind, and I let it linger. The next time I decided to send fragments of my soul on an external mission, I should personally beat myself for even considering nerfing the vessels as some twisted form of training. This was not enlightenment. This was stupidity dressed as foresight.

Hei Mao turned to me, his expression grave.

“We may have to risk it,” he said. “Even at the cost of my soul.”

I felt my breath catch. “Explain.”

“You use Exalted Renewal,” he said evenly. “On me.”

I frowned, dread tightening my chest. “You realize that could kill you,” I said. “Completely.”

It was fine for me to use Exalted Renewal as one of the Six Souls of the True Self. It had been designed that way, a privilege born from fragmentation and redundancy, allowing the True Self to cycle death and rebirth through its divided existence. Even when the True Self used it recklessly, the cost could be distributed, mitigated, or repaired through the remaining souls.

That mercy did not extend to my disciples.

As someone who had already experienced death through that Ultimate Skill, I understood its nature far too well. Exalted Renewal did not simply kill the caster. It erased the continuity of existence, severing cause and effect so cleanly that no reincarnation could trace the cut. The death it brought was final, unreasonable, and absolute.

The only reason I had survived was because I possessed the Source... and also Jue Bu’s help. Even then, survival had been a miracle I did not fully understand.

I shook my head and looked at Hei Mao. “There’s another way.”

He didn’t ask what I meant.

His eyes sharpened immediately, and he nodded as if he had already reached the same conclusion. “I’m ready,” he said without hesitation.

The truth was simple, even if the execution was not.

There were two paths left to us.

One was to gamble on Divine Transformation, to push Hei Mao beyond his limits and pray that providence intervened. The other was far more violent and far more honest. I could achieve Martial Ascension and step into the realm of a Martial Saint.

Under normal circumstances, such a feat would take decades of tempering and countless battles. The Longevity Method demanded patience, accumulation, and refinement across years. The Transcendent Method was different. It allowed one to bridge the gulf that patience demanded by standing directly in the face of annihilation.

Danger became insight. Survival became proof.

With the experiences the Human Soul had accumulated, my foundation was already laid. All that remained was the catalyst.

We moved forward calmly, passing through dense thickets as if we were merely strolling rather than walking into a battlefield. The forest thinned, giving way to open plains scarred faintly by old formations and lingering qi.

They were waiting for us.

Four cultivators stood in the open, their presence heavy enough to warp the air around them. Two faces were immediately familiar. The Dragon King of the Four Seasons stood tall, his draconic aura restrained but unmistakable. Beside him was the elderly Adjudication Monk from the Monastery, hands folded, eyes lowered, radiating stern composure.

The other two were strangers.

One was a woman cloaked in an ominous aura that clung to her like a second skin. She smiled faintly in my direction, her gaze sharp and assessing, as though she were already calculating how I would die. The last was a man wearing a bamboo hat pulled low enough to hide his face entirely, his presence indistinct yet deeply unsettling.

I inclined my head politely. “I recognize two of you,” I said. “Care to introduce the others?”

No one answered.

The Dragon King’s gaze shifted instead to Hei Mao, his lips curling with open disdain. “How low the mighty have fallen,” he said. “Reduced to hiding behind a child’s body.”

Hei Mao stepped forward before I could respond.

He lifted his chin, eyes cold despite his small stature. “Four Eleventh Realm cultivators,” he said calmly. “All waiting to ambush two weakened opponents.”

His gaze swept across them, lingering on the Dragon King and the monk. “For those who claim righteousness, you seem awfully comfortable ganging up for the sake of clout.”

Of course, Hei Mao’s words struck exactly where they hurt most.

The Dragon King’s restraint shattered instantly. World Force erupted from his body as he roared, his voice amplified by authority and rage alike. The air trembled as he pointed his hammer toward Hei Mao, scales briefly surfacing along his neck.

“You dare speak of righteousness?” the Dragon King bellowed. “You, who colluded with dark forces, who deceived the Destiny-Seeker with a false identity and wormed your way into places you did not belong!”

Hei Mao frowned, genuine confusion crossing his face. “Clarify,” he said coldly. “What false identity?”

The Adjudication Monk let out a short, humorless scoff. He lifted his staff slightly, the metal rings clinking softly as if in mockery.

“Trickster to the core,” the monk said. “Even now you pretend ignorance. You are the Cult Leader of the Eternal Undeath Cult.”

That made me blink.

It was the first time I had heard those words spoken aloud in reference to Hei Mao. For a brief moment, my thoughts drifted somewhere inconvenient. If Hei Mao was their cult leader, then perhaps the Eternal Undeath Cult was not the den of irredeemable lunatics history painted it as.

Hei Mao’s expression hardened. “And where,” he asked icily, “did you hear such words?”

The woman with the vanishing presence laughed softly, her voice slipping in and out of perception just like her aura. “At least he didn’t deny it,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes.

The man in the bamboo hat finally moved. He slowly sheathed his sword, the sound crisp and deliberate, before speaking in an even tone. “Enough talk,” he said. “We should finish this.”

I studied them properly then, letting my attention sharpen.

The Dragon King stood fully armored now, draconic battle plate layered with runes, a massive hammer resting on his shoulder. I had always thought he favored fist arts exclusively, but clearly that assumption had been naïve.

The Adjudication Monk held a staff engraved with suppressive scripture, his stance grounded and ruthless despite his title.

The other two were worse.

The swordsman’s aura was refined to an unsettling degree, honed not through spells or divine arts but through sheer martial will. I could feel his desire to cut me down without relying on anything supernatural. He was dangerous in the most honest way possible.

The woman was harder to read. Her presence flickered, existing and not existing at once, as though she were standing half a step outside the world.

I exhaled slowly, irritation rising.

“Am I air to all of you?” I asked, raising my voice.

That got their attention.

Golden light surged into my palm as I cast Holy Sword, the Ultimate Skill manifesting as a radiant blade forged from authority and belief. Its weight settled into my hand with familiar comfort, humming softly as if eager.

I glanced at Hei Mao. “Who are the other two?”

He answered without hesitation. “The woman is likely the Queen of the Night,” he said. “An assassin of fearsome renown. Monarchs, masters, entire lineages have fallen to her blade. The swordsman should be the Sword Emperor, the greatest warrior of the Martial World.”

I snorted. “One sounds like a prostitute’s stage name, and the other like the result of a child’s lack of imagination.”

The Sword Emperor’s aura twitched, but I continued anyway.

“At least the Dragon King’s title makes sense,” I added, gesturing lazily with my sword. “He rules over dragons. But you,” I said, turning my gaze to the monk, “the Adjudication Monk. That’s the most contradictory title I’ve heard in a long time.”

The monk’s eyes narrowed.

“What kind of monk chooses adjudication as his calling?” I went on. “All you adjudicate with is violence. You’re not even a Paladin.”

I changed my mind.

Using Divine Possession on Hei Mao to force a Divine Transformation would have been efficient, even elegant, but it was not the right moment. That opportunity was something I intended to reserve for Yuan Shun. Divine Transformation was not a trick to be spent lightly. It was a phenomenon where I shared my divine spark through one of the Six Paths, allowing another existence to momentarily stand closer to divinity.

There were only two ways to invoke it.

The first was master–disciple bestowal, a permanent binding that could only be performed six times, representing each of the Six Paths. It fused one of the Six Path souls directly to a disciple, reshaping their destiny. The second was temporary bestowal, a far safer and far weaker method that merely allowed another to tap into the divine spark without permanence.

Among all my disciples, only Lu Gao, Yuen Fu, and Ren Jingyi had ever experienced Divine Transformation. Of them, only Lu Gao had achieved true master–disciple bestowal by becoming my Hell Paladin. Even then, the minimum requirement for complete Divine Transformation was overwhelming stimulus.

These four were dangerous, yes.

However, they were not enough.

I turned slightly and spoke without looking at Hei Mao.

“Stay where you are,” I said. “I’ll handle this.”

Hei Mao’s voice came immediately, sharp with disbelief. “Now is the best opportunity. I can attempt Divine Transformation here.”

“No,” I said flatly. “Listen to your master.”

He bristled. “This is foolish.”

I cut him off before he could finish. “There is foolishness, and then there is optimism. Learn the difference.”

I finally looked at him, my expression unyielding. “This is not your fight. Your power is meant for something else.”

Hei Mao frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Faith,” I answered. “And more than that, the choices my soul can perceive.”

The crossroads were clear to me then. A heavy burden had begun to press itself into existence, asserting inevitability. This moment was both an obstacle and an opportunity, and only one of us needed to stand here to claim it.

The world answered my certainty with violence.

My head left my shoulders.

There was no warning, no buildup, only the sudden absence of weight as my vision tilted and the world spun sideways. The Sword Emperor appeared beside my falling body, his blade humming softly as he spoke with cold disdain.

“You talk big for a nobody.”

I did not panic.

“Lend me a bit of quintessence,” I said calmlyto Hei Mao.

As my head struck the ground, I seized it with both hands and uttered the words with absolute clarity.

“Divine Word: Raise.”

Power surged. Flesh knit. Bone reconnected. I forced my head back onto my neck as causality screamed in protest, and the world corrected itself violently.

Hei Mao exhaled sharply. “I’ll hold myself back,” he said, and vanished into a haze before any of them could react.

The Sword Emperor was flung backward as an invisible force detonated outward. His feet carved trenches into the earth as he skidded away, barely keeping his balance. A thin line of blood appeared along his neck, and his sword rang sharply as it vibrated in protest.

I narrowed my eyes.

He had parried Reflect.

That surprised me.

I invoked Life Aura, emerald light flooding outward as vitality surged through my body. My muscles thickened, my skin hardened, and my Holy Sword shifted hue, its golden radiance stained green with living force.

“Divine Word: Life.”

The declaration settled into my bones, reinforcing my existence itself. Health values surged beyond natural limits, stacking and compounding until my body felt like an unbreakable engine.

I followed immediately with Sanctified Resurgence and Blessed Regeneration, layering regenerative authority upon regenerative authority.

Then I drove the Holy Sword straight into my own chest.

The blade pierced cleanly, lodging itself deep within my torso as pain blossomed outward. Continuous damage began instantly, tearing at my flesh without pause. Sanctified Resurgence converted every shred of recovered vitality into explosive buffs, while Blessed Regeneration flooded me with relentless healing.

Reflect triggered, because of the sword on my chest.

The continuous damage inverted, becoming continuous reflected damage, lashing outward into the world with every heartbeat. With Life Aura and Divine Word: Life reinforcing me, I sustained the cycle effortlessly.

Power roared.

The ground beneath my feet collapsed, massive craters forming as shockwaves rippled outward. Stone shattered, earth imploded, and the plains deformed under the sheer pressure of my presence.

“Well?” I said. “Who’s first?”

The Dragon King was the first to react.

“That’s impossible,” growled The Dragon King, voice low and thick with disbelief. “You impaled yourself. That kind of regenerative loop violates causality. Even a dragon’s body—”

His words faltered as another shockwave rippled outward from me, carving the ground deeper. The Dragon King clenched his jaw, pride and fear colliding violently as he realized brute force would only feed the cycle I had established.

The Adjudication Monk reacted differently.

“This is heresy,” he said at last, voice sharp and offended. “Self-inflicted harm converted into divine reinforcement. Continuous retaliation anchored by faith. This is not cultivation. This is blasphemy wearing doctrine. A heretic like you must die!”

The Queen of the Night laughed.

“How vulgar,” she said, tilting her head. “And how fascinating.”

Her eyes gleamed as she studied the wound in my chest, the way green-lit blood flowed without weakening me. “To turn suffering into a weapon so openly,” she continued. “You don’t fear pain at all.”

She licked her lips, amusement giving way to something sharper. “No. You welcome it.”

The Sword Emperor said nothing at first.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his hand and touched his own throat, fingers brushing the place where my Reflect had nearly taken his head. His breathing steadied. “So not a nobody, then,” he said quietly. “Just who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare.”

The Queen of the Night vanished from my sight, only to reappear at my right without warning. I felt her presence an instant too late, the air tightening as thin, glimmering strings unraveled from her fingertips. Daggers were bound to each thread, their edges humming with killing intent as they whipped around me like a storm.

The blades carved into my flesh, opening deep lacerations across my arms, shoulders, and ribs. Blood splashed onto the shattered ground, yet I reached out and seized the strings with my bare hands. Divine Flesh hardened beneath my skin, grinding metal against bone as sparks erupted from the friction.

“You’re too close,” I muttered, planting my foot hard into the earth.

The ground groaned as I activated War Smite, torque surging through my frame as I tried to throw her over my shoulder. My timing was off by a breath. Thunder split the air before I could finish the motion.

The Dragon King appeared beside me in a blur of lightning and scaled momentum, his speed uncannily reminiscent of Tao Long’s ferocity. Thunder gathered around the massive war hammer in his grasp, its head engraved with ancient draconic script as World Force compressed into a single tyrannical point.

“Dragon Tyrant’s Descent!”

The hammer came down like a falling star. I crossed my arms at the last second, golden light flaring as Flash Parry activated. The impact drove me straight into the ground, the earth collapsing beneath my feet as the shockwave radiated outward. Pain detonated through my arms, bones screaming under the sheer weight behind the blow.

I grit my teeth and forced my stance to hold.

Before he could recover, I stomped forward and slammed my foot against the haft of the hammer, pinning it momentarily against the fractured ground. Stagger rippled outward, twisting his balance as his center of gravity betrayed him and his stance faltered despite his overwhelming strength.

“Stay down,” I growled.

The Queen of the Night yanked her strings free, drifting backward as mist pooled beneath her feet.

“Seven Mist Transformation.”

Her body split apart. Seven afterimages bloomed around me, each one solid, each one wielding a different weapon infused with biting frost qi. They struck simultaneously, blades piercing, hammers crashing, needles freezing flesh and marrow alike.

I endured it.

My vision dimmed as frost crept across my veins, muscles stiffening as blood loss mounted. I clenched my teeth and forced the words out.

“Cleanse.”

Heat surged through my body, burning away the frost and impurities. The relief came a heartbeat too late.

The Adjudication Monk stepped forward, staff glowing with oppressive scripture as his presence weighed down the land itself.

“Usher the Mountain.”

The blow landed like a continent falling from the sky. My arms shattered under the impact, bones snapping with wet, visceral sounds as I was hurled spinning through the air. Pain screamed through my nervous system, raw and unfiltered.

I cast Great Cure mid-flight, green light knitting bone and sinew back together as bruises faded. I slammed into the ground and skidded violently, gouging a long scar through dirt and stone before punching my fist down to halt myself.

Before I could rise, the Sword Emperor was already there.

Steel rang as his blade left its sheath, the sound sharp and absolute.

“Cloud Splitting Form.”

I felt the pressure before I saw it. Instinct took over as I shifted my aura, Life Aura collapsing inward and re-emerging as Zeal Aura. Green turned to silver, speed flooding my limbs as the sword embedded in my chest echoed with the same hue.

Flash Step carried me behind him just as his strike cleaved forward, splitting clouds, rock, and forest in a single, terrifying line. Trees fell like grass in the distance, the land howling in protest.

I surged forward with Divine Speed layered atop Zealot’s Stride, thrusting my hand out as thunder coiled around my arm.

“Thunderous Smite!”

He met it head-on, parrying cleanly and flowing into motion without pause.

“Thirty-Two Transformations of Storms.”

His sword became a tempest. I answered each swing with my own two fists, Divine Smite crashing against Thunderous Smite, Searing Smite colliding with War Smite. Sparks, blood, and fragmented willpower filled the air as neither of us gave ground.

He was close to the ideal martial realm.

Half a step from Martial Saint, yet his refinement rivaled the masters I once fought within the Martial Alliance. Every exchange carved deeper into my reserves, every clash testing the limits of my inferior vessel.

Then I felt it.

An opening, narrow as a breath, born from accumulated strain rather than technique. I stepped in and drove my fist forward, releasing everything I had been holding back.

The stored Reflect detonated.

Damage from Dragon Tyrant’s Descent, Seven Mist Transformation, Usher the Mountain, and Thirty-Two Transformations of Storms exploded outward in a single, focused burst. It was not a perfect return, but it was overwhelming, willpower forcing raw accumulation into violence.

The Sword Emperor’s blade screamed as cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. His eyes widened for the first time as he was hurled backward, body smashing through stone and crashing into the mountainside with a thunderous roar.

I exhaled slowly, silver aura roaring around me as the battlefield fell into a brief, stunned silence.

Sword Emperor staggered to his feet amid broken stone, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth as his cracked blade trembled in his grip. His eyes were fixed on me, no longer cold or distant, but filled with something closer to disbelief than fear.

“How is this possible?” he demanded, his voice strained. “You are only at the Tenth Realm. You should not be able to do this.”

I exhaled slowly, feeling the pressure of my own heartbeat through the Holy Sword still lodged in my chest. I met his gaze without flinching.

“You’re just lacking,” I said plainly. “That’s all there is to it.”

My voice carried no mockery, only certainty.

“You handle aura crudely, and your control over World Force is sloppy. You rely too much on reputation and too little on understanding.”

The silver sheen of Zeal Aura around my body shifted, deepening into a violent crimson as War Aura surged outward. The pressure in the air thickened, aggressive and unyielding, as if the world itself had chosen a side. I reached up, wrapped my hand around the hilt of the Holy Sword, and tore it free from my chest in a spray of golden blood that immediately began to knit itself closed.

I vanished.

Flash Step detonated beneath my feet, space folding as I appeared directly before Sword Emperor. My arm drew back, Holy Sword blazing as Divine Smite gathered at its edge, ready to end his life in a single, decisive arc.

Before I could strike, a presence slammed into my flank.

“A heretic like you deserves no place to go,” the Adjudication Monk snarled, his eyes burning with wrath. “But hell.”

He thrust his staff forward, World Force roaring as the space before it compressed violently.

“Heavenly Mountain Push!”

I crossed my arms and invoked Flash Parry, golden light flaring as the impact landed. The technique held, but the momentum was monstrous. My body was ripped from the ground and hurled into the sky, the shockwave tearing through the earth below like an avalanche given form.

Before I could regain control, a calm, feminine voice echoed through the haze.

“Nine-Stringed Heavenly Formation.”

Silver threads emerged from nothingness, wrapping around my limbs and torso with surgical precision. They arrested my flight instantly, suspending me in midair as tension bit into my flesh. I looked up just in time to see the clouds part.

An enormous serpentine blue dragon descended from the heavens, scales crackling with violent arcs of lightning. Its maw opened wide, the sky itself trembling in anticipation.

“Dragon Tyrant’s Breath of Destruction!”

Lightning poured down like divine judgment, engulfing my suspended form in blinding radiance.

I did not stay to receive it.

I reached inward, touched the Manasoul I had left behind during my exchange with Sword Emperor, and invoked Castling. The world inverted. Space folded.

I reappeared inside a massive crater carved into the mountainside, stone still crumbling around me. I remained seated where I landed, legs relaxed, posture almost casual, as if upon a throne carved by violence itself.

From my vantage point, I looked up at the sky.

The dragon’s breath continued for several heartbeats longer, utterly annihilating the space where Sword Emperor had been. When it faded, nothing remained of him.

The Adjudication Monk stared at me, his face pale, his grip on his staff visibly shaking.

“How,” he asked hoarsely, “are you this powerful?”

I rested my forearm against my knee and looked at him without hostility.

“It’s not that I’m powerful,” I replied. “It’s that you’re weak.”

His eyes widened at the bluntness of my answer.

“You’re all imitations,” I continued. “Shadows preserved in a record of the past. This world isn’t real. It’s a formation, a replay, and you’re standing inside it without knowing.”

His expression twisted, fury overtaking disbelief.

“Lies,” he spat. “Blasphemy. Heresy.”

I shook my head slowly.

“The techniques of the future are far beyond what you wield now. In my time, even Eighth Realm cultivators are revered, not because of their realm alone, but because of their mastery, their refinement, and the impact they leave behind.”

I raised my gaze to meet his.

“Here, immortals like you have grown complacent. You mistake longevity for supremacy and authority for understanding.”

I knew exactly why I was saying all of those things to him. It was not strategy, nor necessity, nor mercy. I wanted to shatter him. I wanted to see what would remain when the foundation of his belief cracked beneath his feet.

There was no real benefit in doing so. Not tactically, not spiritually, not even emotionally in any clean way. Curiosity played a part, and so did something uglier. A small, selfish desire to feel better by watching someone else confront despair before I had to confront my own.

If one day you learned your entire life had been a lie, that everything you fought for was no more than a moving image in a preserved record, would you break or would you endure?

The Adjudication Monk trembled where he stood, his grip on his staff loose, his breathing uneven. The certainty that once wrapped him like armor had peeled away, leaving only fear and confusion. He looked broken, and that realization unsettled me more than it should have.

A part of me hoped he would remain strong. I truly hoped for it.

If a monk who had spent his entire existence pursuing enlightenment and nirvana could shatter so easily, then what did that say about me?

I exhaled slowly and steadied my heart.

“We should end this,” I said, my voice calm despite the storm beneath it.

I looked at my own hands, flexing my fingers as power continued to circulate through my body.

“I didn’t expect achieving Martial Ascension to feel this… lackluster.”

That much was true. The realm of a Martial Saint was supposed to defy common sense, allowing one to transcend reality through martial arts alone. In truth, I believed I had crossed that threshold long ago, back when I contended with the Supreme Void over Chen Wei’s body. The problem had never been insight or qualification.

It had been excess.

I wielded too many powers, carried too many systems, and divided my attention across too many paths. My martial arts had never been allowed to fully breathe. At the realm of Martial Saint, aura itself became an art, capable of manifesting abilities without the need for spells or techniques.

Yuen Fu’s aura had manifested something related to sharpness, though his circumstances were too abnormal for me to draw clean conclusions. As for mine, I felt it the instant it stabilized.

It was unmistakable.

Divine spark.

I shifted my aura deliberately, letting War Aura fade as Holy Aura surged outward. Crimson light transformed into gold, radiant and solemn, carrying a pressure that felt both gentle and absolute. Drawing on my battles, my Paladin-derived martial arts, and my closeness to the Source, I released it fully.

“Divine Zone.”

Golden light expanded outward, swallowing the battlefield in a five-hundred-meter radius. Space itself seemed to acknowledge it, bending subtly under its authority. I could feel its boundaries clearly, and I knew with certainty that it could grow larger with time and refinement.

The Adjudication Monk stared at the light in confusion, his lips trembling.

“What… is this?” he asked.

Before I could answer, a furious roar echoed from the sky.

The Dragon King descended, lightning still crackling along his scales, his voice shaking with rage and disbelief.

“You tricked me!” he bellowed. “You made me kill an ally!”

He was already inside the Divine Zone, though only partially. That was more than enough.

I did not raise my hand. I did not chant. I did not focus.

I spent a dozen Manasouls.

Twelve Heavenly Punishments descended simultaneously.

Golden swords manifested inside the Dragon King’s body without warning, erupting outward in a grotesque crown of divine judgment. Dragons possessed terrifying vitality, and under normal circumstances I would never risk holding back. I did not need to now.

The Dragon King died before he could finish screaming.

Ordinarily, Heavenly Punishment required casting time, channeling, and an unavoidable cinematic descent. Its power lay in inevitability rather than speed. Within the Divine Zone, those limitations ceased to exist.

Every skill obeyed me absolutely.

Flash Step, once limited by distance and interception, became indistinguishable from true teleportation. Casting time, travel, and reaction windows collapsed into nothing.

The Adjudication Monk did not even have time to scream.

I crossed the distance instantly and swung.

Divine Smite severed his head cleanly from his shoulders, golden light fading as his body collapsed in silence.

Within the Divine Zone, I understood the nature of my authority with unsettling clarity. Any skill I invoked manifested instantaneously, carrying a ninety-nine percent certainty of success. It was not an exaggeration to call it an all-sure-fire domain, one capable of killing almost anything unfortunate enough to be caught within its bounds. When paired with Hollow Point’s absurd critical rate, the result bordered on invincibility.

Of course, invincibility always came with conditions. Anything beyond the reach of the Divine Zone remained outside my grasp. I had never been naïve enough to ignore that weakness.

That was precisely why I had prepared in advance.

During our earlier exchange, I had embedded a Manasoul within the Queen of the Night. Even if she was only an imitation born of this recorded past, she was still the most troublesome among them. An assassin who specialized in disappearance was not someone I would allow to escape on principle alone.

I reached inward and extracted the Manasoul lodged within her existence. With Castling, space folded obediently, and the world rearranged itself around me.

I appeared beside her.

Her eyes widened in naked shock, the composure she had worn so effortlessly shattering in an instant. She had fled far from the battlefield after witnessing the Dragon King’s annihilation, relying on stealth refined over a long time of cultivation. Under normal circumstances, she would have vanished from even an immortal’s perception.

Under the Divine Zone, there was no such thing as concealment.

With Divine Sense extended through the domain, I perceived her so clearly that her stealth might as well not have existed at all. She twisted away instinctively, attempting to escape, but Flash Step carried me ahead of her movement.

I seized her with Monkey Grip, fingers locking around her shoulder and throat, and forced her to meet my gaze.

“Please,” she said, her voice strained but steady enough to betray long familiarity with desperation. “Let me live.”

I studied her face, searching for deceit, finding none.

“If I let you go,” I asked calmly, “would you change your ways, live humbly, and stop killing people?”

The question itself was absurd, and we both knew it.

She laughed, the sound dry and bitter, eyes flickering with something like pity.

“How inane,” she replied. “You really don’t understand, do you? You don’t even know why I became this way.”

“That’s true,” I admitted. “And even though I have the means to learn everything about you, I won’t.”

I could have used Divine Possession, torn through her memories, her pain, and her justifications. I knew myself well enough to recognize how much that ability had already changed me. The thought of leaning on it again unsettled me more than it should have.

“I won’t kill you,” I continued, “if you answer one question truthfully.”

She scoffed, humiliation flashing across her features.

“Just kill me,” she said. “This is degrading.”

I ignored the provocation.

“What would you do,” I asked, “if this world were fake, and your life didn’t matter anymore?”

She frowned, genuinely puzzled.

“Why would that matter?” she said slowly. “Fake or real, I’m alive right now. Nothing takes that away from me.”

“I could,” I replied evenly. “Take it away, I mean…”

She shook her head.

“No. You’d just be the catalyst,” she said. “The reason I’d die would still be my own choices. I could lie to you, beg you, offer my body, my loyalty, my soul. I could say anything you want to hear. But that wouldn’t change the truth.”

My Divine Sense confirmed it. She was not lying.

I killed her anyway.

My grip tightened, and with a sharp twist, I beheaded her cleanly. Her death was swift, unceremonious, and final. That choice had been mine alone. Whatever logic she used to justify causality, the act itself belonged to me.

To me, this world might have been a fabrication. To her, it had been life.

I extended my hand and spoke softly.

“Divine Word: Raise.”

Light surged, shadow recoiled, and her body reformed. She gasped as life returned, collapsing to her knees in confusion, hands trembling as she touched her own throat.

“You died,” I said. “That was your punishment.”

She looked up at me, eyes wide and unfocused.

“The life you have now,” I continued, “is your reward for answering honestly.”

I turned away before she could respond.

Her words lingered uncomfortably in my mind. Fake or real, she had lived. She had chosen. I might never see the life she would lead from this moment onward, but I found myself hoping it would mean something.

That this world was real.

That she was real.

That I was, too.

I had made up my mind. Once all of this was over, Gu Jie would need to face an appropriate punishment. Not for malice alone, but for how far she had gone to violate the lives of people she ought to have protected, regardless if they were fake or not..

Hei Mao appeared beside me then, his presence quiet but steady.

“You did well,” he said.

I glanced at him, uncertain.

I didn’t know what he saw in me at that moment. I couldn’t even tell what I had done right. All I knew was that I had spared an enemy, something that would never have crossed my mind in the real world.

“Yeah, sure,” I said with a half-hearted attempt to sound fine. “Stay on your toes, Hei Mao…”