Immortal Paladin

[POV: Gu Jie]

The golden barrier shimmered faintly as it resisted the crimson torrent.

Gu Jie lay within it, her body barely more than a fragile outline beneath the light. Wen Yuhan stood at her side, eyes closed, expression serene to the point of indifference. Yet the truth was written into the barrier itself, made layer upon layer of meticulous intent, each fluctuation precisely timed to deflect the blood flood’s corrosive force. She had not relaxed for even a breath.

Gu Jie slowly raised her arm.

The skin was shriveled, grayish, stretched thin over bone. She studied it without surprise. Her life force had long since abandoned her, bled away by destiny itself until she was little more than a husk sustained by stubborn will and guilt.

Her Destiny-Seeking Eyes had seen too much. In trying to change her father’s fate, she had invited calamity upon herself. The backlash alone would have killed a lesser cultivator a hundred times over. That she still lived was an indictment, not a blessing.

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Nongmin.

Only now did the enormity of his accomplishment truly sink in. With barely a fraction of her power, he had done the unthinkable of once altering her father’s fate and nudging him onto a path of restraint and responsibility. The effort had cost him dearly, but he had done it anyway.

A tear slid from the corner of Gu Jie’s eye.

She remembered other timelines. Other futures. Other Davids.

The man her father might have been. The man he was meant to become.

The man this world had nearly lost.

The golden barrier fractured.

Before Gu Jie could react, Wen Yuhan pulled her close, wrapping her frail frame in her arms as the crimson flood crashed down upon them. The larger barrier shattered entirely, but a smaller, denser field formed instantly around Gu Jie’s body.

The world dissolved into red.

Gu Jie lost consciousness.

When sensation returned, it was cold and still.

She lay sprawled upon coarse sand beneath a starless sky. The world was painted in shades of gray, endless dunes stretching into the distance like a dead ocean.

The Evernight Continent.

It was night.

Her body refused to move. Even breathing felt like an indulgence. Around her lay debris carried by the flood from broken stone, twisted metal, and shattered remnants of lives that had not endured the journey.

Wen Yuhan stood nearby, upright and silent.

Scattered farther out were the silhouettes of undead creatures, their forms half-buried in the sand. They lingered at a distance, wary. Whatever had transpired while Gu Jie was unconscious, Wen Yuhan had ensured none of them came close.

Gu Jie tried to rise.

Her limbs trembled and failed her.

A hollow laugh escaped her throat, thin and hoarse. Despair settled over her like the weight of the desert sky. She had known the future, yet even foresight could not grant certainty. Interpretations shifted. Outcomes diverged. Every choice branched endlessly.

And she had chosen.

Since the moment she pushed the first domino, uncertainty had haunted her.

What had that first domino been?

Confronting the Yellow Emperor within the spire?

Refining Wen Yuhan’s corpse… and two other lives?

Sending the young Zhou Yong to her death to force her father’s resolve?

Giving him that book, two hundred years of stolen future pressed into his hands?

No.

Her chest tightened.

It had begun earlier than all of that. It began when she chose to use Ru Qiu to save her father and force him to stop running from his past.

“Aah…” Gu Jie murmured weakly, staring at the empty sky.

Her voice was barely sound as she asked no one at all, “What… was Earth like?”

The air stirred.

A presence emerged beside her.

An emaciated horse, black as midnight, stepped silently onto the sand. Its flesh was rotted, skeletal ribs exposed beneath torn hide. Two horns curved from its skull, jagged and ancient. Atop its back sat a figure just as gaunt with gray hair hanging in uneven strands, streaked faintly with pink and red.

The figure regarded her without pity.

Gu Jie exhaled slowly.

So this was it.

The time had come for her to offer what remained of herself and walk the path she had been circling since the moment she defied fate.

The greatest sacrifice.

The destiny she could no longer avoid.

…

..

.

[POV: Alice]

Alice should have been dead.

By every law that governed flesh, soul, and power, she should have dispersed into nothingness the moment her strength failed her. And yet at the very last instant, she had deceived him. A lie wrapped in death, convincing enough to fool even that David.

She lived.

But only barely.

Her body was no longer a vessel fit for life. It was frail, emaciated, and little more than bone stretched beneath withered skin. Whatever remained of the mysterious blood within her struggled desperately to sustain her, knitting fragments of existence together through sheer refusal to end. Each breath was an act of defiance.

Beside her, her bicorn fared no better.

The creature was no longer truly alive. Dark magic animated its form, crude and fragile, sustained by Alice’s will alone. It staggered forward through the gray desert of Evernight, hooves sinking into ash-colored sand, driven by a singular purpose…

It was to bring her to that person.

Alice’s vision blurred, but even through the haze she saw them.

A figure in white robes stood ahead, motionless as a statue. It was Wen Yuhan, and… beneath her lay another body. It was Gu Jie. She looked small, aged beyond reason, and life thinned to a flickering thread.

The bicorn sensed the end before Alice did. It forced itself forward one final stretch, then its legs buckled. With a sudden, violent motion, it hurled Alice from its back, sending her tumbling across the sand.

The bicorn collapsed.

The dark magic binding it unraveled, dispersing like smoke. The creature did not cry out. It simply ceased to be.

Alice struck the ground hard. Sand filled her mouth as her body convulsed, blood spilling freely from her lips. Instinctively, desperately, she swallowed it back down, forcing it into herself, unwilling to waste even a drop. Blood was life. And she had almost none left.

She crawled.

Each movement tore agony through her ruined body, nerves screaming without sound. Her throat burned, yet she could not scream. Even that strength had been taken from her.

Not yet.

Death could wait.

There was still something she needed to do.

Wen Yuhan’s eyes remained closed, her expression distant, as though she were only half-present in this world. Yet her feet carried her forward. She knelt beside Alice, lifted her with surprising gentleness, and carried her the remaining distance.

Alice was laid beside Gu Jie.

Her trembling hand reached out and closed around Gu Jie’s.

Warm.

Still alive.

The sensation nearly broke her.

Long ago, Gu Jie had asked Alice to turn her into a vampire. Alice had refused without hesitation. Vampirism would stain the soul, and alter it in ways that could never be undone. It was not a gift. It was a burden.

Gu Jie had never asked again.

Instead, she had left Alice with a prophecy spoken lightly and almost playfully that one day, Alice would do exactly that, for the sake of the future.

Alice had never forgotten.

In this desolate place, with despair pressing down like the sky itself, Alice understood. She had searched for this child not to save herself, but to pass on the last ember of hope she carried, no matter the cost.

The marked scent she had once left on Gu Jie still remained. Alice felt it clearly now. Knowing Gu Jie, it had never been coincidence.

Alice leaned closer, her voice hoarse, and barely sound.

“Open your mouth.”

Gu Jie obeyed.

Alice hesitated, only for a moment.

“This will change you,” she whispered. “It will take away everything you understand about life. You will lose the warmth of the light. Freedom will come… but it will be cold. And the comfort you feel will often be nothing more than lies you tell yourself.”

Her hand shook as she raised her wrist.

Then she slit it open with the nail on her index finger.

Dark crimson blood flowed freely. Alice pressed her wrist to Gu Jie’s lips, feeding her the last of what remained. Hunger roared within her, instinct screaming for her to stop, to drink instead, and to survive.

Gu Jie resisted.

Alice  gave everything.

Pain wracked her body as her veins emptied. Slowly, her arm turned pale, then ashen white, flaking away as it dispersed into the Evernight wind.

Alice’s vision dimmed.

The last thing she saw was Gu Jie’s eye changing, one turning the deep, unmistakable crimson of vampirism, and the other remaining gold.

Alice smiled faintly as she faded into the ether completely.

...

..

.

[POV: Yuen Fu]

Yuen Fu had lost.

There was no dignity to it, no grand exchange of techniques or last-moment reversal. The strange existence that called himself Conquest had crushed him utterly and methodically as if dismantling something that had never truly posed a threat. Every strike had been precise. Every movement had been final.

Watching Alice fall from afar, sensing the catastrophic flood of blood tearing through the land, only worsened the ache already gnawing at his heart. It was not fear that hollowed him out, but helplessness.

He lay sprawled against the splintered remains of a massive tree, its bark shattered and soaked crimson. Pools of blood surrounded him, some his own, most carried here by the tide of destruction. His breaths came shallow and ragged.

In his final moments, his thoughts drifted home.

The Northern Stronghold. The biting cold winds. The many wives who had shared his life, each strong in her own way. The children, and the children of children, carrying fragments of his bloodline forward into a future he would never see.

Yuen Fu coughed, blood bubbling at his lips.

“Kill me,” he rasped.

Conquest stood over him, an indistinct silhouette wrapped in rot and pressure. He tilted his head slightly and shook it.

“I can’t,” Conquest replied calmly.

Yuen Fu did not ask why. He did not care what Conquest wanted from him. What mattered was that he was still alive.

And as long as there was life, there was hope.

Deep within him, the Heaven Path: God of Creation continued its work. Quintessence surged relentlessly through his broken body, attempting to knit flesh and bone back together. It was an instinctual process, one that would not stop unless he forced it to.

So he did.

Yuen Fu gathered every drop of that restorative power and redirected it away from his shattered core and his ruined organs. Instead, he poured it all into his legs.

The Heaven Soul within him stirred violently.

“Stop,” it warned him. “If you do this, there will be no return. No resurrection. No second chance.”

“I don’t care,” Yuen Fu answered softly.

Conquest laughed, misunderstanding entirely Yuen Fu’s words as addressed to him.

“What are you planning?” Conquest mocked. “To kill yourself?”

Slimy tentacles of rot erupted from the ground, wrapping around Yuen Fu’s torso and arms, pinning him in place.

Yuen Fu’s gaze sharpened.

“Tell me,” he said, voice calm despite the pain, “what do you think the ultimate manifestation of speed is?”

Conquest did not answer.

Yuen Fu continued, almost conversationally. “Most immortals can move faster than sound. Some chase thunder. Others bend space itself.”

He closed his eyes.

“But I always believed speed wasn’t about the body.”

His perception shifted.

The world slowed.

Blood droplets hung in the air like suspended rubies. The rot-creatures froze mid-coil. Even Conquest’s mocking expression stalled, caught between moments.

Yuen Fu opened his eyes again.

“The ultimate manifestation of speed,” he said, “is thought.”

In that stillness, a memory surfaced.

Before Gu Jie had left the Holy Empire and embarked on her doomed effort to help Ru Qiu reclaim his past, she had spoken with a few people. Quiet conversations. Private promises.

Yuen Fu had been one of them.

“If you ever feel death approaching, come find me. And when you do… let me be the one to kill you.”

It had been a terrifying promise. He had accepted it without hesitation. Faith had always guided his blade. There was no reason it should not guide his end as well.

At the instant the thought completed, Yuen Fu vanished.

He reappeared before Gu Jie, space itself yielding to the completion of his intent.

But his body could not follow unscathed.

His legs were gone.

The accumulated quintessence burned out in a single impossible moment, tearing his lower body apart as payment for that final movement. Yuen Fu tumbled forward, blood spraying across the gray sand as gravity reclaimed him.

Yet he smiled faintly.

He had kept his promise.

…

..

.

[POV: Lu Gao]

Lu Gao had believed he was thorough.

He had scoured the northern front, purging corruption, sealing plague nests, and burning away every trace of sickness he could find. When the last shrine fell silent and the land finally stopped screaming beneath his senses, he allowed himself a single breath of relief.

Then the sky darkened.

The eclipse came without warning, and with it a chill that crawled up Lu Gao’s spine and settled behind his eyes. It was not fear. It was recognition. Something had gone catastrophically wrong.

He turned back toward Riverfall at once.

By the time he arrived, the city was already broken.

The land itself bore scars of violence too extreme to comprehend. Entire districts were erased. The air reeked of scorched qi, blood, and despair. And at the center of it all lingered the aftermath of Ru Qiu’s rampage.

Lu Gao snapped.

He charged without hesitation, Hellfire erupting around his armor as he hunted for the source of that devastation. Rage drowned out reason. All he could think of was that he had arrived too late.

“Hey there.”

The voice stopped him cold.

A man stood ahead of him, hovering casually above the shattered ground. He wore armor Lu Gao recognized instantly, the Wandering Adjudicator, though it was tainted black, veined with crimson. A red cape flowed behind him like a living thing.

The man had Da Wei’s face.

Lu Gao’s grip tightened.

Within him, the Hell Soul stirred sharply.

“This is not the time,” the Hell Soul warned. “Nor the place.”

Lu Gao ignored it. His fighting spirit surged, hellflames roaring brighter as he prepared to strike.

Before he could move, the Hell Soul acted on its own.

“Summon: Holy Spirit.”

Hellfire tore the air apart. A second Da Wei stepped forward, fully corporeal, eyes burning with cold authority. The two identical figures faced one another in silence, mirrors warped by fate.

The false Da Wei laughed softly. “This is getting interesting.”

The Hell Soul Da Wei did not look at him. Instead, his voice rang directly inside Lu Gao’s mind through Qi Speech.

“You are needed elsewhere. Now.”

Lu Gao opened his mouth to protest.

A distant voice echoed across existence itself.

“Castling.”

The world inverted.

Lu Gao blinked, and Riverfall was gone.

He stood in a gray desert beneath a dead sky. It was the Evernight Continent. Memory rushed back. Heaven Soul. Castling. A forced exchange. The realization made him gnash his teeth. Before he could orient himself, a sound reached him. It was low growling, followed by wet and broken sobbing.

Lu Gao turned.

Wen Yuhan stood not far away, eyes closed and motionless. At her feet lay a scene that froze Lu Gao’s blood. Yuen Fu’s body was broken. His legs were gone, torn away cleanly. His eyes were glassy, unseeing.

And bent over him was Gu Jie.

Her dark hair clung to her face, soaked with blood. Her fangs were buried deep in Yuen Fu’s neck. She drank desperately, trembling, choking on sobs even as she fed.

“Gu Jie,” Lu Gao called, his voice unsteady.

She flinched.

Slowly, she lifted her head.

Her eyes met his, one gold, one deep crimson, painfully lucid. Blood stained her lips and hands. She stared at them as if seeing them for the first time.

“I did it,” she whispered.

Her hands began to shake.

“I finally did it. I really did it.”

She said it again and again.

Each repetition broke her voice further.

Lu Gao crossed the distance in two strides and pulled her into his arms. She resisted for half a heartbeat before collapsing against his chest, her body wracked with sobs.

“It’s okay,” he said, holding her tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

He did not understand the weight she carried. He did not know what choices had led her here. But he knew this was not the moment to let her fall apart.

When her sobs finally weakened, Lu Gao pulled back slightly and looked her in the eyes.

“Be strong,” he said quietly. “We’re not done yet.”

Something steadied inside her.

The despair did not vanish, but resolve cut through it. Gu Jie wiped her face with the back of her hand and straightened.

“We need to go,” she said.

Lu Gao nodded. “Where?”

“To Da Ji,” Gu Jie answered. “To the Heavenly Temple Academy.”

The name alone carried danger. Distance. Enemies beyond counting. But Gu Jie would not say it without reason. Before Lu Gao could respond, movement stirred the horizon. Cultivators descended from the sky in disciplined ranks, banners unfurling as they approached. The colors and sigils were unmistakable.

It was the Heavenly Temple.

Gu Jie’s gaze hardened.

“Not through them,” she said. “We need another way. Someone who can help us make the journey.”

Lu Gao turned toward the approaching forces. 

Hellfire ignited fully across his armor. Six dark wings unfurled from his back, each feather edged with burning shadow.

He looked down at Gu Jie and spoke without hesitation.

“Tell me where to go,” he said. “I’ll make it happen.”

…

..

.

[POV: Jiang Zhen]

The Sunspire Continent lay in ruins.

What had once been the Imperial Capital was now nothing more than collapsed palaces, fractured avenues, and mountains of broken stone. Smoke still clung to the air, and the eclipse overhead cast the devastation in a dim, funereal light.

Jiang Zhen dug through the rubble with steady, practiced motions, his shovel striking stone and ash with dull thuds. He paid the sky no mind. Whether the heavens darkened or burned, the dead beneath his feet did not care.

Not far behind him, Fan Shi hovered cross-legged on her flying sword, arms crossed, expression sour.

“I almost died,” she said flatly. “We almost drowned in a sea of blood, Master. And now you have me digging through ruins like a common laborer.”

Jiang Zhen did not look up. “If you have breath left to complain, you have strength left to work.”

Fan Shi clicked her tongue. “That crimson flood was clearly some lunatic’s Immortal Art. Any sane person would be running for their life right now.”

“We survived,” Jiang Zhen replied. “That is already more than most can say.”

Fan Shi stared at his back. Her irritation deepened, tinged with something more dangerous than annoyance. It was frustration, further empowered by helplessness.

“Everyone’s fighting,” she muttered. “Even cultivators weaker than me are on the frontlines. And you forbid me from going.”

Jiang Zhen finally paused. He rested both hands on the handle of his shovel.

“In times of peace,” he said calmly, “your Sixth Realm cultivation would be remarkable for your age. In times like this, it is barely enough to keep you alive.”

Fan Shi opened her mouth to retort.

“And before you say it,” Jiang Zhen continued, “yes, I am also Sixth Realm. That shame is mine to bear, not yours.”

He turned, meeting her eyes.

“But I am still your master. And if I must cling to that title to keep you breathing, then so be it.”

Fan Shi looked away, jaw tight.

Jiang Zhen resumed digging. “This is not useless work. We are searching for the dead. Our sect exists to mourn them, to remember them. As Sect Master, I order you to stop complaining and continue.”

Fan Shi sighed deeply but lowered herself to the ground. In her hand, a compass spun erratically, its needle twitching as it struggled to lock onto dense yin qi.

“The Holy Emperor’s exorcism rites are interfering with it,” she said. “Everything’s been purified. There’s barely any lingering death left to track.”

She glanced around at the ruins. “Honestly, Master, there’s no way we’ll find anyone here. It’s obvious he resurrected everyone he could.”

Jiang Zhen hesitated.

Then he spoke more quietly. “Gu Jie asked me to search this area.”

Fan Shi stiffened. “Senior Gu Jie?”

“She asked for two names,” Jiang Zhen continued. “Sikao Biaoji. And Liang Na.”

Fan Shi frowned. “Liang Na? The strongest cultivator in Riverfall before the Civil War? The former governor’s bodyguard?”

“And an assassin,” Jiang Zhen added.

Fan Shi’s expression sharpened. “We… we’ve met her before.”

“Enough to call her a friend,” Jiang Zhen said.

Fan Shi exhaled slowly, then tightened her grip on the compass. “Then say so next time. Don’t just have me digging blind.”

She stepped forward, scanning the area with renewed focus.

A moment later, Jiang Zhen’s shovel struck something solid.

It was not stone.

Instead, it was metal.

Before he could react, a formation carved into a half-buried slab flared to life. Light surged outward, and with a thunderous roar, a massive section of debris was violently repelled, stones and dust exploding away as if hurled by an unseen hand.

Clearly, Jiang Zhen’s shovel had hit something vital to whatever formation was in place.

Fan Shi leapt back, sword flashing beneath her feet as she hovered in the air.

When the dust settled, a structure stood revealed. It was a small building, battered but intact. Its arches were cracked, its walls scorched and fractured, yet the foundations held. Moreover, ancient formations glimmered faintly along its frame.

They stepped inside.

Beyond the broken entrance lay a courtyard, surprisingly preserved. And from somewhere deeper within came a steady sound.

Clang! Clang!

It was metal striking metal.

They followed the noise through a wide archway and entered a foundry.

Tall pillars rose toward a high ceiling blackened by smoke. An anvil stood at the center, glowing faintly with residual heat. Before it stood an old man, shirtless, his body wiry but powerful, skin weathered and slick with sweat.

He turned sharply.

In his hand was a hammer etched with dense formations.

“Stay where you are,” the old man barked. “Another step and I’ll trigger every array in this building.”

Jiang Zhen froze as his eyes widened.

He clasped his hands and bowed deeply.

“Senior Sikao,” he said with unmistakable respect. “It is an honor.”

The old man narrowed his eyes.

“…You know my name?”

Jiang Zhen straightened, voice steady.

“Sikao Biaoji,” he said. “Wise Scholar of the Grand Ascension Empire. The sharpest mind of his era, second only to His late Majesty, Emperor Nongmin. Yes, I know who you are…”

The hammer in the old man’s grip lowered, just slightly.

…

..

.

[POV: Sikao Biaoji]

Sikao Biaoji had long since lost his sense of time.

Within this building, sealed by layered formations of oblivion, consciousness suppression, and ephemeral concealment, days and years blurred into a single stagnant stretch of existence. His beard had grown white. His hands had grown rougher. His breath had grown heavier. By all measures that mattered, he was old.

Too old to still be alive, perhaps thanks to stress and spending his life force too generously on his projects. By all means, he should be glad seeing new faces, however, the arrival of outsiders only filled him with unease.

He tightened his grip on the hammer, eyes sharp despite the years. The threat he had spoken earlier rang hollow even to his own ears. The truth was that the self-destructing formations he mentioned were incomplete. Dangerous, yes. Absolute, no.

In other words, it was a bluff.

The man before him bowed with proper decorum and introduced himself.

“My name is Jiang Zhen,” the man said. “This is my disciple, Fan Shi. We are from the Isolation Path Sect.”

Sikao Biaoji frowned.

“Isolation Path Sect?” he repeated. “I have never heard of such a sect.”

“That is understandable,” Jiang Zhen replied evenly.

Sikao Biaoji’s gaze hardened. “Then tell me this. Whose banner do you stand under?”

“The Holy Empire,” Jiang Zhen answered.

Sikao Biaoji stiffened.

“The what?”

His heart lurched. He hurried behind the anvil and dragged out a heavy artifact crossbow, its limbs etched with volatile runes. Lightning crackled faintly along its string, the yang qi so dense it made the air hiss.

Fan Shi stepped forward immediately, both hands raised.

“Senior, please calm down,” she said. “There is a misunderstanding.”

“I have never heard of a Holy Empire,” Sikao Biaoji snapped. “If such a thing exists, then the Grand Ascension Empire has already fallen. Which imperial household seized the throne?”

Jiang Zhen shook his head. “None.”

Sikao Biaoji scoffed. “Then do not insult my intelligence.”

Fan Shi blurted out, “The late Emperor Nongmin abdicated!”

The words struck like thunder.

“And he gave the throne to Da Wei,” she added hastily.

Sikao Biaoji stared at them.

For a long moment, the only sound in the foundry was the faint crackle of formations and the old man’s unsteady breathing.

“Da Wei,” Sikao Biaoji murmured.

He remembered that name. Of course he did. The foreign cultivator who appeared from nowhere. The one His Majesty treated with inexplicable trust. The one whose counsel Nongmin accepted even when the court balked and complained behind his back.

Absurd as it sounded, it was not illogical.

Still, reason demanded proof.

“Words alone are insufficient,” Sikao Biaoji said slowly. “Prove that what you say is true.”

“There is no time,” Jiang Zhen replied. “The Empire is in peril.”

Sikao Biaoji’s fingers trembled around the crossbow.

“Explain,” he said.

Jiang Zhen did not hesitate. “The Union has allied itself with the Heavenly Temple. The Martial Alliance is constrained by internal fractures. The Heavenly Temple has begun its invasion. This is no border skirmish. It is a war for the fate of the world.”

Each sentence struck deeper than the last.

Sikao Biaoji felt his resolve waver.

If this was true, then every moment he delayed was another death added to the tally.

Yet fear rooted him in place.

He bit down on his lip, the taste of iron grounding him.

How long had he hidden here?

Too long.

He remembered the day he sealed himself inside. The chaos. The collapse. The desperate screams of colleagues calling his name through shattered transmission arrays. He had watched them through a glamour spell, unmoving, calculating survival probabilities while others bled and died.

He told himself his mind was too valuable to lose. That preserving knowledge justified cowardice.

Trash.

That was what he had been.

That was what he still was, if he continued like this.

Sikao Biaoji lowered the crossbow and the hammer.

“…Follow me,” he said quietly.

Jiang Zhen and Fan Shi exchanged a glance and complied.

They descended into the basement, past layers of dormant formations and sealed chambers, until they reached a reinforced vault. At its center stood a massive glass pod shaped to hold a human body.

Golden liquid filled it.

Suspended within, unmoving yet intact, was a woman.

Sikao Biaoji rested his palm against the glass, his reflection warped by the fluid.

“This,” he said, voice heavy, “is what I have been protecting.”

He turned to them.

“And perhaps,” he added, “what may yet justify my existence.”

…

..

.

[POV: Liang Na]

Liang Na dreamed of dying.

Of Bai Rong’s crystal spear piercing through her chest. Of cold spreading faster than thought. Of the moment her strength failed her and the world faded to black.

Yet layered atop that ending were memories that did not belong.

Lives that were not hers, and yet unmistakably were. Different eras. Different names. The same profession. Again and again, she walked the shadowed path of an assassin. Blade, breath, and resolve. Kill or be killed.

Interwoven through those fractured recollections was a familiar voice.

Sikao Biaoji’s voice, speaking of trivial things. Complaining about dust. Rambling about equations. Muttering vows he did not know she could hear.

“I will bring you back,” he had said, over and over, as if repetition alone could bend reality. “Even if it takes everything I have. This will be my repentance.”

Liang Na’s eyes opened.

She was submerged in a golden liquid, her body suspended, sensation muted as if wrapped in layers of cotton. Awareness returned slowly, painfully, piece by piece. Light filtered through glass above her, distorted and warm.

Faces came into focus.

Jiang Zhen.

Fan Shi.

And Sikao Biaoji.

They looked older than she remembered. Jiang Zhen’s hair had thinned. Fan Shi carried herself with a gravity she had not possessed before. Sikao Biaoji looked the most changed of all, his back slightly stooped, the lines on his face carved deep by time and regret.

The glass casing hissed open.

Golden liquid poured out, evaporating into shimmering motes before it touched the floor. Liang Na’s knees buckled as gravity reclaimed her, but Fan Shi was there in an instant, catching her before she fell.

Sikao Biaoji stepped forward, anxiety plain on his face.

“This may be too early,” he said. “You have not fully assimilated with the formula yet. Your mind could—”

He stopped himself and swallowed.

“Do you recognize me?”

Liang Na looked at him. For a heartbeat, she considered teasing him. Pretending she did not. Letting him suffer a little longer.

But this was not the time.

“I remember,” she said softly. “All of it.”

She hesitated, then added, “Perhaps too much.”

Relief crashed over Sikao Biaoji so visibly that his knees nearly gave out.

Jiang Zhen straightened, his demeanor shifting. His voice took on a formal weight, each word measured.

“By decree of His Holy Majesty, Da Wei,” he said, “and by authority partially vested in his daughter, Gu Jie, Liang Na is ordered to head east. You are to rendezvous with Gu Jie and guard her with your life.”

Liang Na stiffened.

Holy Majesty.

Da Wei.

Before she could fully process the implications, her body moved on instinct. She slipped from Fan Shi’s grasp and dropped to one knee, head bowed.

“His will be done,” she said.

Sikao Biaoji cleared his throat.

“First,” he said briskly, “you need to be equipped.”

Only then did Liang Na notice the subtle wrongness in her body. Portions of her no longer felt entirely human. Internal feedback loops, reinforced joints, and unfamiliar reservoirs of power beneath flesh.

She sat naked on a metal bench while Sikao Biaoji worked with practiced precision, updating components that blurred the line between cultivation and artifice. Fan Shi stood behind her, gently braiding her hair, fingers steady despite the circumstances.

When it was finished, Liang Na rose and dressed.

The robes Sikao Biaoji handed her were dark, layered with materials she did not recognize, threaded with silent technology and hidden formations. It was light, flexible, and deadly. She checked her weapons one by one. Blades. Needles. Artifacts. Everything slid neatly into her pocket dimension.

She did not understand the full scope of what was happening.

But she understood this much.

She was needed.

Jiang Zhen placed a hand on her shoulder. “It will be total war,” he said. “Be careful.”

Fan Shi smiled, small and sincere. “I will pray for your fortune.”

Sikao Biaoji met her eyes, a spark of the man he once was breaking through the years.

“Give them hell,” he said.

Two new presences entered the chamber.

Liang Na turned.

Lu Gao stood clad in dark armor, six wings of hellflame folded behind him, his aura sharp and battle-hardened. Beside him was Gu Jie.

She felt… different.

Power coiled around her, heavy and oppressive, and a white-robed corpse puppet followed silently at her back. Liang Na recognized it immediately for what it was.

Gu Jie did not waste time.

“There is no more time,” she said. “We must hurry.”

Liang Na inclined her head, resolve settling into place, and then she followed.