Immortal Paladin

[POV: Yuan Shun]

Yuan Shun knelt at the foot of the throne.

Upon it reclined David, his armor wrapped around him like the darkest night, and plates fitted so seamlessly they looked grown rather than forged. His cape pooled like congealed crimson behind him, the color stark against the pale ruins that stretched endlessly in all directions.

This had once been the capital of the Grand Ascension Empire.

It had already been dead when they arrived.

Yuan Shun did not understand why her master favored this place. There was nothing left here but broken stone and scorched earth, yet David had claimed it without hesitation, declaring it sacred ground and erecting a throne atop its bones.

If he wished it so, then so it was.

To Yuan Shun, David was truth itself. He was the axis around which meaning revolved. The only existence she had ever acknowledged. Compared to him, the world was dull, imperfect, and unworthy.

Her devotion made her chest ache.

She adored him not with the shallow longing of mortals, but with a reverence that bordered on annihilation. To be seen by him, corrected by him, even wounded by him… any of it would be proof that she mattered. That she existed in his world.

She lingered too long.

David shifted slightly on the throne and grimaced.

“…Could you look away?” he said. “I get shivers every time you stare like that.”

Yuan Shun’s eyes widened, then softened.

“If it pleases you,” she said earnestly, “I would gladly pluck out my eyes and—”

“No,” David cut in flatly. “Absolutely not.”

She lowered her head, lips curving faintly. “As you wish.”

Rising, she delivered her report with crisp precision.

“The conquest is nearing completion,” Yuan Shun said. “Most regions have fallen. The Martial Alliance remains stubborn, but their resistance is collapsing. They scatter whenever you appear.”

David snapped his fingers, unimpressed. “Yeah. Annoying. They always run.”

Yuan Shun hesitated before continuing.

“As for your counterpart’s disciples… they escaped. Mo Yu failed to intercept them. Ru Qiu has vanished from the battlefield as well.”

For the briefest moment, something flickered across David’s face.

Disappointment.

“So,” he said lightly, “does that mean my counterpart’s disciples are better than mine?”

Yuan Shun stiffened and immediately bowed.

“No—Master, I—”

“It’s fine,” David said, waving a hand. “He has six disciples. I only have one. The odds are unfair.”

Her breath caught.

Hope flared bright and dangerous in her chest.

“I will do better,” Yuan Shun vowed. “I swear it. I will not fail you again.”

David’s gaze sharpened.

“You may take as many subordinates as you want next time,” he said calmly. “But mistakes must still be punished. Fair is fair.”

Her cheeks flushed, warmth creeping up her neck.

“…What kind of punishment?” she asked carefully, almost expectantly.

David stared at her and sighed.

“…Never mind,” he muttered. “You’re exhausting.”

Yuan Shun pouted, utterly unashamed. “I can endure a great deal, Master. You know that.”

“Tch.” He turned away. “Just do your job.”

She bowed deeply, joy threading through her veins.

“Yes,” Yuan Shun said softly. “I will succeed. And when I do—”

David glanced back, eyes cold and absolute.

“Then I’ll reward you.”

That was more than enough for her.

…

..

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[POV: Ding Cai]

The stolen Heavenly Temple vessel descended without sound, slipping beneath the forest canopy as lightly as a falling leaf. It was all thanks to a silencing spell by Hei Mao. Ding Cai watched the branches sway and settle, their presence swallowed by shadow and foliage.

It was the sixth vessel they had taken since the confrontation in the Great Desert.

One by one, they disembarked.

Gu Jie stepped onto the soil first, her posture composed, eyes already surveying the terrain. Lu Gao followed, his presence heavy even while suppressed. Hei Mao emerged silently, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. Yuen Fu climbed down next, still adjusting to a body that felt unfamiliar after resurrection. Liang Na landed with practiced ease, Ru Qiu beside her, flames subdued but restless. Jue Bu and Wu Chen followed, and finally Ding Cai herself, keenly aware that she was the weakest among them.

Gu Jie spoke once everyone had gathered.

“From here onward, we will cross the Celestial Wall,” she said. “It is filled with layered illusions and formations. If you stray even a step, you may never find your way back.”

Her gaze swept over them, sharp and decisive.

“We will split into three groups. Triangular formations. Stay close to me, no matter what you see or hear.”

She assigned them without hesitation.

Gu Jie, Lu Gao, and Hei Mao would take the lead.

Yuen Fu, Liang Na, and Ru Qiu would follow.

Jue Bu, Wu Chen, and Ding Cai would bring up the rear.

As they began moving through the forest, Wu Chen slowed slightly to walk beside Ding Cai.

“Do you miss home?” Wu Chen asked gently.

Ding Cai hesitated, then smiled, a little ruefully.

“My feelings are… complicated,” she said. “But yes. I miss it. I want to see my aunt again.”

Wu Chen nodded, understanding more than he said.

A short distance ahead, Jue Bu turned his head.

“Thank you,” he said to Ding Cai. “For bringing me along.”

She blinked, surprised.

“It was only natural,” Ding Cai replied. “Lady Bai Zemin’s sacrifice would have meant nothing otherwise.”

She still found it strange that this man’s face mirrored her master’s so closely, yet he felt entirely different. She had known Da Wei first as a childlike figure, distant yet warm. Jue Bu carried a heavier gravity, as if history itself weighed on his shoulders.

They moved carefully, Gu Jie’s group leading them along winding paths that avoided enemy patrols and restless beasts. The forest grew denser, the air heavier, until at last the trees thinned and stone rose before them.

The Celestial Wall.

It stretched upward beyond sight, an immense structure that seemed to pierce the heavens themselves.

Gu Jie halted at its base. “We will take a shortcut,” she said calmly. “If something strange happens, do not panic. Follow my voice.”

Wu Chen frowned thoughtfully. “We should tie ourselves together.”

Gu Jie considered it for a moment, then nodded. “A good idea.”

Vines unfurled from Wu Chen’s sleeves, weaving around wrists and waists. Hei Mao reinforced them with shadow, ensuring they would not snap no matter what forces tugged at them.

They began their ascent.

Stone steps spiraled upward, each one worn smooth by time. Minutes stretched into hours. Then, without warning, the world went dark.

It was absolute darkness.

Gu Jie’s voice cut through it, steady and unwavering.

“Do not be afraid. Keep walking forward. I have imbued destiny upon you. You will not be lost.”

Ding Cai tightened her grip on the vine, heart pounding, but she obeyed. Step after step, guided only by Gu Jie’s voice and the faint presence of those bound to her.

At last, light returned.

Braziers flared to life along the walls, illuminating a vast chamber of cracked stone and ancient grandeur. Pillars lay broken, and at its center stood the remnants of a throne.

Gu Jie spoke quietly, reverently.

“This is the Throne of Ruin. A fragment torn from the Temple of the End during the final battle between the Six Supremes and the Supreme Void. This is where the Lost Gods made their last stand, before they became the Ancient Souls.”

Ding Cai felt a shiver run through her.

“This is where we will wait,” Gu Jie continued, “for Da Ji to complete the ritual and summon my father.”

As if in answer to her words, the ground trembled. A crevice split open high above, light pouring down. A silhouette appeared and then dropped.

The figure hit the stone face-first with a dull slap.

Instantly, everyone went on alert.

Yuen Fu ducked behind Liang Na. Ding Cai instinctively moved closer to Wu Chen. Lu Gao raised a hand, halting any attack.

The boy pushed himself up, rubbing his head, eyes wide with confusion.

“Where did everyone go?” he asked.

Liang Na tilted her head. “Everyone who?”

Lu Gao’s expression shifted, recognition dawning.

“…Ren Zhe,” he said.

From behind Liang Na, Yuen Fu peeked out and waved cheerfully.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Little Ren Zhe. You look… good. How’s the Holy Empire doing?”

…

..

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[POV: Ren Zhe]

Ren Zhe staggered upright, brushing dust from his clothes, only to hear a sharp voice echo inside his head.

“That was uncool,” his twin soul snapped. “Face-first? Really?”

Ren Zhe ignored her with practiced ease. He looked around, eyes lighting up as he recognized familiar faces.

“Uncle Lu!” he called. “Uncle Yuen!”

Lu Gao’s stern expression softened by a fraction. Yuen Fu laughed, relief plain on his face.

“Still alive and causing trouble, I see,” Yuen Fu said.

Ren Zhe grinned, until his gaze shifted to a familiar face.

A man stood among them, wreathed in dark, turbulent flames. The air around him warped faintly, heavy with heat and violence. Something deep inside Ren Zhe screamed.

His breath hitched.

The world narrowed.

“You—” His voice cracked, then broke entirely as the memory surged forward, raw and unbearable. “You killed my mother!”

Power erupted from him without warning.

Ren Zhe vanished in a blur, the stone beneath his feet cracking as he crossed the distance in an instant. His small fist, carrying a force far beyond his size, lashed out with blind fury.

The man caught it easily.

His grip was firm but not cruel.

“I have a name,” the man said, voice rough, layered with regret. “Ru Qiu. And… I’m sorry. What happened then… I was under the influence of a spell.”

“I don’t care!” Ren Zhe screamed, tears streaming down his face as power continued to surge violently from his body.

He twisted, trying to strike again… and was yanked backward. Lu Gao’s hand gripped the back of his clothes like iron. “Enough,” Lu Gao said sharply. “This is not the time and place…”

Ren Zhe thrashed and kicked, fury boiling over. “Let go! Let me kill him!”

Lu Gao didn’t budge. His voice lowered, steady and grave. “Not all hope is lost. Your parents can still be saved.”

Ren Zhe froze.

Slowly, he turned his head, glaring past Lu Gao’s arm at Ru Qiu. Hatred burned there, but beneath it, something else flickered. It was confusion and desperation.

Inside his mind, his twin soul sighed.

“You’re usually the calm one,” she said. “Looks like I’ll have to step in.”

Ren Zhe’s body stilled and then it changed.

His dark hair bled into silver, his posture straightening as his presence shifted completely into something colder, sharper, and terrifyingly composed. When he spoke again, his voice was smoother, feminine, and edged with restrained violence.

“I’m calm now,” she said.

Those around them felt it immediately from the stark difference to the clarity of intent. Even seasoned cultivators frowned in surprise. Before anyone could speak further, a woman stepped forward, mismatched eyes of gold and red cutting through the tension.

“This is not the time to indulge your curiosity,” she said coldly to everyone. “Prepare yourselves.”

She turned to Ren Zhe, studying the silver-haired child for a brief moment before nodding.

“My name is Gu Jie,” she said. “We are allies. And we are here for a reason.”

Memory surged back into Ren Zhe’s mind. The cage. The escape. The tunnel of light that had torn open above her. She remembered shouting for help, remembered soldiers swarming after her, remembered realizing too late that her flight had drawn danger to Da Ji, Chen Wei, and Peng Ru. They had spoken only briefly, but it had been enough for Ren Zhe to know they weren’t enemies.

A ripple passed through the air.

Three figures descended from above.

A silver-haired fox woman bearing a strange arm that radiated unfathomable power.

A silver-haired young man with long ears and eyes like the void.

And a cultivator with dark hair, clutching a jade tablet.

Da Ji. Chen Wei. Peng Ru.

“Ding Cai!” Peng Ru cried out suddenly.

The blue-haired girl broke from formation at once. “Aunt!”

They collided in a tight embrace, both laughing and trembling with relief.

Da Ji turned to Gu Jie, lifting the strange arm slightly. “I brought what you asked for,” she said. “And I memorized the transference arts of the Heavenly Temple.”

The air split with noise.

Golden and silver wings flared overhead as Heavenly Temple soldiers poured down from above, their battle cries echoing through the ruined hall.

“Slaughter them!”

“Leave no one alive!”

Gu Jie’s voice thundered over the chaos. “Defensive positions! Ru Qiu, Jue Bu, Hei Mao—vanguard! Da Ji, Ding Cai, with me. We begin the summoning ritual!”

Ding Cai blinked. “M-me? Really?”

Peng Ru placed a steady hand on her shoulder. “Trust yourself. You can do this.”

Ren Zhe stepped forward, silver hair gleaming in the firelight.

Inside, her twin soul chuckled softly. “Need a hand?”

Ren Zhe smiled, baring something sharp and feral. “No need,” she murmured. “Watch closely.”

…

..

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[POV: Da Ji]

It escalated with frightening speed the moment Ren Zhe appeared before them.

Da Ji felt immediately the shift in the air, the tightening of formations, and the way killing intent spread through the Heavenly Temple Academy like a ripple through water. The escape of their ‘test subject’ had struck a nerve. It rattled them deeply enough that armed response propagated through the academy in moments, alarms echoing across layered formations as soldiers poured from hidden passages and descending arrays.

Amid the chaos, Da Ji moved and retrieved the arm from the academy’s secret vault.

The arm was severed at the shoulder, pale and strangely pristine, as though time itself refused to rot it. The moment her fingers brushed against it, Da Ji’s breath caught.

“You are unworthy.”

“You are weak.”

“You have always failed.”

The whispers slithered directly into her mind, venomous and intimate, dredging up every doubt she had buried beneath resolve. Her vision swam for a fraction of a second as her will was tested by temptation.

Da Ji clenched her jaw, waking up to the present.

She did not answer the voice.

She carried the arm into the Throne of Ruin and placed it carefully upon the ancient stone seat. The moment it made contact, the throne shuddered, ancient runes flaring faintly before sinking back into dormancy.

Ding Cai swallowed hard. “Are… are we summoning my master?”

“Yes,” Da Ji said. “That is the intent.”

“That’s not quite right,” Gu Jie said calmly.

Da Ji shot her a glance, curiosity stirring despite the urgency, but there was no time to press further. Above them, the clash intensified. The terrain restricted Ru Qiu’s movements; his dark flames forced inward rather than allowed to erupt freely. Jue Bu stepped forward to compensate, ivory sigils and cursed chains tearing into enemy formations, warping space, and rotting spells before they could fully manifest.

Da Ji centered herself and began the ritual.

She drew inscriptions in precise, practiced motions, her fingers glowing faintly as they traced symbols into the stone floor around the throne.

“Consume,” she intoned. “Feed.”

“Devour.”

“Belong.”

“Become.”

“Unity.”

“Perfection.”

Da Ji walked the circle once, and then again, and then a third time. Three rings formed, interlocking, each layered with meaning pulled from the forbidden records she had memorized. The inscriptions pulsed softly.

Her heart sank because nothing happened.

Gu Jie stepped forward. “The Seers use a spark of divinity to ignite it,” she said. “So that’s what we’ll use.”

She cut her finger without hesitation.

A single drop of blood fell onto the inscription.

It flared crimson.

A voice echoed from the throne, amused and wet with hunger.

“Mm… that tastes better than usual.”

Dark smoke erupted from the arm, coiling upward until it condensed into a single, enormous floating eye. Its gaze alone crushed the air, an irresistible pressure slamming outward that forced Da Ji to her knees.

“I ask,” the eye intoned, voice layered with endless depth, “who summons the master of the void, the darkness within all things?”

Cold terror seeped into Da Ji’s bones.

She turned to Gu Jie, voice tight. “This isn’t Da Wei.”

She knew her twin. She knew his presence. This… this was something else entirely.

“This is part of the process,” Gu Jie said evenly. She raised her head and met the eye’s gaze without flinching. “We demand your assistance. Bring Da Wei here.”

The eye narrowed.

“Why,” it hissed, “would I aid my enemy?”

Gu Jie’s lips curved faintly. “Does the Supreme Void fear my father?”

Understanding struck Da Ji like lightning.

Of course. The arm. The whispers. The hunger. It was his.

The Supreme Void roared, fury distorting the pressure around them. “Payment,” it demanded. “Blood. I crave the darkness within you, child of destiny.”

“If you don’t bring him,” Ding Cai said suddenly, voice clear despite the crushing aura, “you won’t receive any payment at all.”

The eye turned toward her, surprised.

“I might as well—”

“You won’t,” Ding Cai cut in, stepping forward. Her hands trembled, but her eyes did not. “The inscriptions bind the sacrifice to the arm. If you refuse, we cancel the summoning, reclaim the arm, and you will never recover this fragment of your power.”

Da Ji stared at the throne and the arm… Everything aligned. It wasn’t merely an ingredient. It was proof. The Supreme Void’s arm had been studied and exploited to manufacture the Children of the Heavenly Temple. Such a mysterious power being traced to the Supreme Void made sense, considering what kind of person the Heavenly Master was, or so she’d heard.

“My eyes aren’t so easily fooled,” Ding Cai added quietly.

“Impudent girl,” the Supreme Void snarled.

Its gaze sharpened, malice condensing into a killing intent that lunged toward Ding Cai.

However, it didn’t reach Ding Cai.

A mirage burst forth behind Da Ji. It was an enormous silver fox, nine tails unfurled like banners of moonlight. Its eyes blazed as it regarded the floating eye with cold warning.

The pressure shifted.

Da Ji drew in a steady breath. “If you refuse, I will seal this arm in frost, hide it at the edge of the world, and guard it with my entire immortal lifespan. You will never reclaim it ever again. Even if you have an eternity to wait, I will make sure this thing will never return to you!”

The Supreme Void stared at her for a long moment, and then it laughed. “How amusing,” it said softly. “To see the new generation bloom so boldly. None of your previous iterations were ever this brave, little fox. You want Da Wei!? Fine! I will send him to you!”