Immortal Paladin

[POV: Heavenly Flame]

In the first hundred years, the Underworld had warped into something unrecognizable. The culprits were not ancient demons, nor forgotten gods clawing their way back into relevance, but something far more perplexing. They were warriors who did not belong, figures who spoke in fractured tongues and acted without the weight of consequence. They called themselves Players, while others, observing their refusal to die, named them Eternals. Yet among soldiers and spirits alike, a far less reverent title persisted, muttered with equal parts confusion and disdain.

A bunch of wackos.

Even Heavenly Flame, a Ruler of Laws and a Shén who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires like passing seasons, found herself unsettled in their presence. They were not bound by the natural order she governed, nor did they display the reverence or terror expected of mortals standing before divinity. Instead, they laughed, argued, and behaved with a reckless absurdity that gnawed at her patience.

She stood before one of them now, her flames coiling like living serpents around a restrained man. Her golden eyes narrowed as she regarded him, voice cutting through the air with controlled intensity.

“Where is your base of operations?”

The man, whose name briefly floated above his head as Panties_69, straightened with exaggerated pride despite the restraints burning into his flesh. “I’d never betray Goddess Ru Qiu!”

A woman nearby, equally bound yet somehow still expressive, snapped her head toward him with visible irritation. “Bro, Ru Qiu’s a dude. How many times do we have to tell you that?”

Another voice chimed in, casual and entirely out of place. “Can we focus on the role-play? Maybe we’ll unlock a new cinematic if we do this right,” said LilJoe, as though this were some staged performance rather than an interrogation beneath a god’s wrath.

Heavenly Flame exhaled slowly, a quiet internal sigh slipping through her otherwise unshakable composure. Half of what they said held no meaning to her, and the other half seemed deliberately crafted to defy logic. Their names alone were an affront to sense, yet beneath the absurdity lay something undeniable.

They were loyal.

Not in the rigid, oath-bound manner of soldiers, nor in the reverent devotion of believers, but in a chaotic, incomprehensible way that bound them just as tightly. Even as a dozen of them writhed within her flames, their bodies charring and regenerating in grotesque cycles, they found the time to argue.

“Dude, you totally griefed that boss earlier.”

“It was optimal strategy!”

“You call screaming into the mic ‘optimal’?”

“Bro, it’s called psychological warfare!”

“Your mic sounds like a dying goat!”

“I am the dying goat!”

“SILENCE!”

Her voice erupted like a collapsing star, qi surging outward as the very space trembled beneath her authority. The players froze, their chaotic noise crushed under the overwhelming pressure of her presence. Flames tightened, suppressing not only their bodies but the strange, unseen forces that seemed to sustain them.

As War’s woman and his weapon, her place at his side had never been in question. Yet this… this was failure. No matter how many she captured, how many she burned, nothing of value had been extracted. The memory of General Chen Shun’s report surfaced once more, his words echoing with reluctant certainty.

‘They are immortal.’

Her gaze shifted, settling upon a familiar figure among the restrained. Recognition sparked, followed swiftly by irritation.

She pointed sharply. “YOU!”

Her voice carried a sharper edge now, flames flaring in response to her rising temper. “YOU WERE THAT IVAN, CORRECT!?”

The man in question grinned, utterly unbothered by the inferno coiling around him. He was large, broad-shouldered, with a weapon slung across his back that seemed almost mundane compared to the chaos surrounding him. Yet she remembered him well. His strange technique, if it could even be called that, had filled the battlefield with loud, meaningless noise that disrupted nothing and yet somehow unsettled everything.

“Indeed, you bask at the might of Ivan,” he declared, his accent thick and oddly theatrical.

His audacity did not end there. Despite the divine radiance of her form, despite the natural suppression that should have forced his gaze downward, he looked directly at her. Boldly. Brazenly.

Blood began to stream from his eyes.

Around him, the other players reacted with far more sense, turning their heads or squeezing their eyes shut to avoid the damage inflicted by witnessing a being beyond their realm. Yet some hesitated, watching him instead.

“Bro… he’s actually looking at her.”

“No way.”

“That’s insane.”

“Absolute legend.”

“Wait, I wanna try.”

One by one, a few of them forced their gazes upward, only to immediately cry out as their vision blurred with crimson.

“Worth it!”

“I’m taking damage but it’s so worth it!”

“I can’t see but I regret nothing!”

They were below Ascended Soul, so of course, they would suffer just by looking at her.

Heavenly Flame observed this with a mixture of disdain and calculation. Their suffering meant nothing to them, their pain reduced to a fleeting inconvenience. Still, she pressed forward.

“Ivan,” she began, her tone shifting into something more measured, more deliberate. “Last time, we had the most productive conversation.”

Her flames flickered as she recalled his words.

“You told me of your kind. Of your greed, that you will not leave even a crate bound to the earth untouched. Of your violence, that you throw yourselves into battle without regard for your own lives. Of your ambition, to become the strongest, the very best.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“If I did not know better, I would have thought your species akin to Asura, or those blessed by War’s grace. But you are not. You draw power from an unknown system.”

She stepped closer, the inferno bending to her will as it framed her like a crown of destruction.

“But we can make a difference.”

Her voice lowered, persuasive, edged with promise.

“Join me. Join War’s camp. We will fulfill your greatest wishes. You will unleash more violence, satiate your greed, and in time, become the strongest. Women. Weapons. Techniques. Everything.”

A pause lingered.

Ivan was not insignificant among them. If he turned, others might follow. A fracture in their strange unity could be exploited.

Then he laughed.

“Ha ha ha ha ha! No thanks!”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Why such loyalty?”

For a brief moment, his expression shifted. The madness dulled, replaced by something unexpectedly firm.

“Loyalty?” he echoed. “It’s not that simple.”

His grin returned, sharper now.

“We took a covenant. As long as we adhere to it… we can play. We can rend. We can fucking have fun!”

Then it came.

The sound.

A chaotic burst of music erupted around him, loud, distorted, utterly meaningless, and yet undeniably present. Another player, still bound, twisted her head as a scroll materialized within her mouth.

“Let’s rock and roll,” she said, tearing it free with her teeth.

Heavenly Flame’s composure finally cracked, if only slightly. They were still accessing their storage, still acting beyond the confines she had imposed.

She moved to tighten her restraints.

But she was too late.

One by one, they began to die by their own hands.

“Let’s go! PK dodge!”

“Less penalty, boys!”

“Speedrun death!”

“See you at respawn!”

Their bodies collapsed, consumed not by her flames, but by their own deliberate actions, hitting and killing each other with flashy techniques. It made no sense. None of it did.

All except one.

Ivan did not fall back.

Ivan charged.

With a roar that blended with the chaotic music still blasting around him, he surged forward, axe raised high, his burning body pushing through the inferno as though it were nothing more than an inconvenience.

Heavenly Flame did not hesitate.

She gestured once and fire answered.

Ivan was reduced to ash before he could take another step.

…

..

.

[POV: Hei Mao]

For a probationary ruler, Hei Mao conducted himself with a discipline that often surpassed those who had held authority for a very long time.

His days were divided with ruthless efficiency, split between stacks of paperwork that never seemed to diminish, audiences with important figures, and the battlefield where his presence was increasingly required. The first hundred years had been especially unforgiving, a relentless tide of responsibilities that allowed no pause.

At the center of it all was Luminary’s Rest.

What should have been an exposed anomaly had instead become the most carefully veiled stronghold in the Ninth Layer, its true nature buried beneath layers of deception so intricate that even veteran denizens of the Underworld failed to find its secrets.

The Players used it freely, their base of operations hidden in plain sight, and the only reason such an absurd arrangement held was because of one woman.

Hei Mao exhaled softly, setting aside a scroll as he turned toward Liang Na. “I really appreciate your good work, Liang Na.”

She inclined her head slightly, her composure as measured as ever. “It helps that my agents have experience in Losten. The Origin King’s army was composed of denizens of the Greater Universe. Deducing or fabricating identities as natural inhabitants of other realms is well within their capabilities.”

Her gaze sharpened, voice lowering just enough to carry weight. “However, this is not a fireproof solution. The players could talk, and you know how unpredictable they get.”

Hei Mao’s lips curled into a strained smile, one that carried more hope than certainty. “We’ll be fine, I think. Master should be keeping watch over them. Maybe he’ll use the ban hammer at the worst case scenario.”

Liang Na’s expression flickered, faint confusion crossing her otherwise steady features. “I do not know what a ban hammer is, but that concludes my report. We should be able to begin sending agents to the Eighth Layer soon.”

She paused, then added with quiet emphasis, “At the pace we are going, it will not be long before your workload becomes significantly heavier.”

She was not wrong.

The next hundred years unfolded like a storm that refused to settle. The Players, once a contained irregularity, became an undeniable force within the Ninth Layer. Their presence spread not with order, but with chaos, surfacing in guerrilla skirmishes, erratic raids, and actions so bizarre that even seasoned veterans of the Underworld struggled to interpret them.

War’s forces hunted them relentlessly.

It did not matter.

The Players thrived.

Strongholds established by War’s camp began to collapse one after another. Some fell to Ru Qiu’s calculated assaults, others to the Players’ incomprehensible schemes, and more still to quiet sabotage orchestrated by Liang Na’s network. No single force could claim full credit, yet together they formed a pattern of steady dismantling that could not be ignored.

Chaos followed the Players wherever they went.

Their infamy did not remain confined to the Ninth Layer. Stories spread upward, carried by whispers and survivors, each account more incredulous than the last. They were described as unkillable, irrational, invasive, and worst of all, disruptive to the very systems that sustained the Underworld.

The Ninth Layer had always been more than a prison.

It was an economy.

A constant influx of newly departed souls gathered there, forming a resource pool that countless factions relied upon. Cultivators harvested them, ghosts consumed or recruited them, and powerful entities selected promising individuals to bolster their ranks. Among these souls were warriors freshly fallen from battle, their potential still intact, their strength waiting to be claimed.

The Players interfered with all of it.

The weakest ghosts, once nothing more than sustenance for the strong, were being protected. Guided. Removed entirely from the cycle that had defined the Underworld for ages. Entire streams of resources began to dry up as Players escorted souls away, dismantling one of the most valuable systems in existence.

And then there was their justification.

Righteousness.

The word circulated among the denizens with confusion and faint ridicule. It held no tangible value, offered no measurable benefit, and could not be consumed, traded, or cultivated. Its meaning was questioned, dismissed, and yet…

The consequences of it were undeniable.

Promising warriors, individuals who would have been swiftly recruited upon arrival, were being hunted down and eliminated by Players who declared them “bad people” with unwavering certainty. It would have been easy to dismiss such actions as random fanaticism, yet there was a disturbing consistency to their choices.

They were not guessing.

They knew.

They sensed karma with an accuracy that defied explanation, acting with a moral clarity foreign to the Underworld. Even among the players’ own kind, those who strayed too far were reined in, not by authority in the traditional sense, but by something else entirely.

The unseen presence of Da Wei lingered behind them, subtle but absolute.

Hei Mao rubbed his temple, the weight of it all pressing down as another report flickered across his desk. “There’s still so much work.”

Silence stretched for a brief moment before he spoke again, quieter this time. “Yang, can I talk to my master?”

The connection formed instantly.

Through the Ghost Soul he had left behind, Hei Mao initiated the technique without hesitation. In the blink of an eye, shadows folded inward, space twisted, and he swapped places with the white cat in a seamless transition.

The oppressive atmosphere of the Ninth Layer vanished.

In its place came the open air of the Mighty Duck’s deck, the faint creak of wood beneath his feet, and the distant echo of power colliding against power.

Hei Mao blinked once, adjusting, before his gaze landed on a familiar figure. His expression shifted, tension easing just slightly. “Whoa, you’ve grown up, big sis Gu Jie. You are almost my height now.”

He reached out, placing his hand atop her head, measuring the difference with casual familiarity.

She swatted his hand away without hesitation.

Hei Mao chuckled faintly, then asked, “Where’s master?”

Gu Jie tilted her head, then pointed behind him. “Father’s been busy.”

Hei Mao turned.

What he saw stilled him.

An enormous beast dominated the space beyond, its grotesque form crowned with a massive trunk, two curved tusks, and an unsettling array of eyes scattered across its body. Its presence radiated power, unmistakably that of a ghost at the peak of Ascended Soul.

And before it stood his master.

The clash between them distorted the air itself, each exchange sending ripples through the surroundings, a battle that was neither quick nor simple.

Hei Mao watched for a moment, then exhaled slowly, the earlier urgency fading into reluctant acceptance.

“This is going to take quite a lot of time, isn’t it?”

…

..

.

[POV: Da Wei]

It took me roughly ten years to finally bring that stubborn beast down to submission. Even then, victory felt partial at best. I stood amidst the fading remnants of its colossal form, feeling the slow integration of its essence into my body, only to frown at the familiar resistance.

A quarter.

That was all I managed to absorb from its immortality.

My body rejected the rest with quiet indifference, as if it had standards I had yet to fully understand. Layers of immortality did not stack easily within me, each one requiring time, refinement, and some unspoken alignment before it would settle. Reaching a hundred layers at this pace would not be a matter of effort alone, but patience measured in centuries.

The last fragments of the beast dissolved into motes of dim light, drifting toward my armor.

Starshroud responded eagerly.

Her presence stirred around me, alive in a way no mere armor should be. I felt her satisfaction as she consumed what I could not, the balance between us shifting ever so slightly.

“Thank you for the meal,” Starshroud murmured softly, her voice laced with contentment as it echoed within me. “I will rest now.”

Her presence receded, slipping into a quiet slumber.

The dark, intricate armor unraveled, folding into itself before settling back into simple robes that draped over my form. The battlefield fell silent, leaving only the vastness of space and the distant glow of scattered debris.

I exhaled and descended.

The Mighty Duck came into view, steady as ever despite the chaos that had unfolded not far from it. My feet touched the deck with a soft thud, the familiar creak of wood grounding me back into something resembling normalcy.

Gu Jie was there.

I glanced at her briefly before asking, “Where’s Hei Mao?”

She did not hesitate. “Came to complain about paperwork. Shortly left after.”

There was a pause before she added, her tone quieter but certain, “You did good, father.”

I studied her for a moment.

“So, how are you and your mother doing?”

She sighed, already anticipating the direction of the conversation. “I know, I know… I should stop moving behind your back, father…”

Her cultivation had stabilized.

That much was clear the moment I focused on her presence. It had become calmer, more refined, the turbulence from before now smoothed out by a decade of consistent effort. It was a good sign, one I did not overlook.

The Origin had changed her.

Not in ways that were immediately visible, but in subtler currents beneath the surface. I could sense it, even if she could not. That realization brought with it a quiet concern.

My disciples.

Had they been affected in the same way?

Hei Mao seemed fine from what I had seen, his behavior and presence unchanged. That left one possibility that stood out above the rest.

Gu Jie had taken the burden.

It was highly likely.

After all, she was the only one who had been fully aware of the Origin when they used that miracle all those years ago. Even I’m not sure how it worked, except it had to do something with destiny. If something had shifted, if something had been redistributed, she would have been the one to carry its burden.

Before I could dwell further, another presence returned.

Alice stepped onto the deck, her arrival smooth and unhurried, as though she had merely taken a stroll rather than traveled between worlds.

“Horse-Face had been here,” she said, brushing off invisible dust from her sleeve as she stared at the world below us. “This world has precious minerals. I negotiated a deal with them using Luminary’s Rest.”

Yang’s voice followed immediately. “I will inform Hei Mao at once.”

…

..

.

[POV: Ru Qiu]

Six hundred years had passed since the Players began their invasion.

War had yet to appear.

Ru Qiu hovered in the vacuum of space, his breathing uneven as he wiped a streak of blood from the corner of his lips. Burns marked his body, their remnants still visible despite the steady restoration provided by his quintessence. The pain lingered only briefly before being swallowed by his regeneration, leaving behind no more than a fading memory.

Around him stretched the aftermath of devastation.

Fragments of a shattered moon drifted aimlessly, accompanied by the broken remains of ships and the charred corpses of those who had not survived the clash. This had not been a skirmish or a probing attack, but a full-scale battle.

The first true collision between War’s camp and their side.

The Players he had brought with him were gone.

Every last one of them had perished.

“They sure are giving their all, huh?”

Arthur’s voice carried across the void, casual despite the destruction surrounding them. He sat atop a chunk of lunar debris, his posture relaxed, as though he had merely finished a routine exercise. His blue hair drifted slightly in the absence of gravity, and the sword resting across his lap gleamed faintly.

He had long since reached Ascended Soul.

His mastery of the blade had become something absolute, a level where most Ascended Souls fell before him with little resistance. Even those who possessed Immortal Arts often found themselves overwhelmed, unable to bridge the gap between technique and execution.

Not far from him, Fanarys knelt upon the broken remains of a Soaring Dragon ship.

Her breathing was steadier now, though the signs of battle still clung to her. She had also stepped into Ascended Soul some time ago, her growth evident in the controlled intensity of her flames.

“Incredible flames,” she said, her gaze fixed forward.

Before them stood the source of their losses.

Heavenly Flame.

A Ruler of Laws.

Her form burned with an intensity that seemed to distort the very fabric of space around her. Her hair flowed like living fire, her body radiating heat that had reduced countless fighters to ash. She was responsible for the majority of the destruction that now drifted silently through the void.

“Sneaky little rats,” she said, her voice sharp as she raised her hand.

A sun formed above her palm.

“If you think you can fight a Ruler of Laws with your measly cultivation, give up.”

The miniature star pulsed, its light casting long shadows across the debris field.

“However,” she continued, her tone shifting slightly, “if you tell me where Da Wei is, I might just spare you.”

Ru Qiu scoffed, the sound carrying a mix of irritation and amusement. “Your lot is always ‘Da Wei this’ and ‘Da Wei that.’”

He straightened, his presence sharpening.

“I am sorry, but he’s not here.”

Dark flames ignited around him.

Silver bled into their depths as his Supremacy Trait manifested, the fire taking on an otherworldly quality that seemed to challenge the very laws governing existence.

“Instead,” he said, raising his hand and pointing directly at her, “you get an upgrade.”

His will descended.

“Fall.”

The effect was immediate.

The sun above Heavenly Flame’s palm flickered and collapsed, its structure unraveling under the imposed authority. At the same time, an overwhelming force seized her, dragging her violently toward the nearest celestial body.

The moon.

Her form streaked across space before colliding with it, the impact sending fractures racing across its surface. Flames erupted, consuming it from within as the entire mass destabilized.

Moments later, it shattered.

Ru Qiu did not linger on the result.

He turned to the others, his expression steady despite the strain already beginning to show.

“I suggest the two of you go now,” he said. “I can only hold her for so long.”

The battlefield was far from over.

…

..

.

[POV: Ren Xun]

Ren Xun pushed open the door to Da Wei’s office with the expectation of routine, prepared to deal with another stack of complications that demanded careful handling.

What greeted him instead halted his steps entirely.

Jue Bu’s head sat neatly on the table.

Across the room, his headless body wandered aimlessly, bumping into furniture with a complete lack of coordination before tripping over its own feet and barely managing to stand again. The scene held a surreal quality that clashed violently with the gravity of everything they were dealing with.

Ren Xun stared for a moment longer than he intended.

“What is the meaning of this?” he finally asked, his tone flattening into something dangerously controlled.

Jue Bu’s head turned slightly on the table, his expression far too casual for the situation. “I’m going to the Underworld.”

Ren Xun closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose as if that might help him process what he was seeing. It did not.

“You have duties here,” he said, his voice firmer now.

Jue Bu did not seem concerned in the slightest. “I can still do that. Look at my head. Just present it to the World Council as it is.”

Ren Xun’s gaze sharpened, irritation surfacing without restraint. “You do realize this presents an appearance of weakness, correct?”

He stepped further into the room, the pressure of his presence rising with each word.

“They have been hounding me for a position in an expedition to the Greater Universe. With the Players optimizing the transportation system and the warp arrays confirmed safe, the other factions are growing confident. Too confident.”

His tone hardened.

“I need you to tell them no. There are still inconsistencies we must address, variables we have yet to stabilize. If you are to convince them, you must project strength.”

Jue Bu grinned.

“I am sorry, Ren Xun. Really,” he said, his voice carrying a strange mix of sincerity and amusement. “But I might miss the opportunity.”

Before another word could be exchanged, the headless body flickered.

Then it was gone.

Not destroyed, not dismissed, but displaced, as though it had simply stepped out of existence into somewhere else entirely.

Silence lingered.

Ren Xun stood there, staring at the empty space where Jue Bu had been, the implications settling in piece by piece.

His composure broke.

“JUE BU! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING!?”

…

..

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[POV: Wang Zhou]

Once, the Underworld had ten layers.

Now, it had nine.

The first layer had been destroyed, erased so completely that its absence reshaped the entire structure of existence beneath it. The second became the first, the third became the second, and so on, until what was once the Tenth Layer became the Ninth.

That was the layer Wang Zhou ruled.

Or once ruled.

The Yama Kings had governed each layer in an era where their authority carried undeniable weight. Yet under the rise of the Supreme Death, that authority had diminished, eroded to the point where retreat became the only viable option.

So they sealed themselves away.

They hid.

Among them, Wang Zhou stood apart.

She was the only woman among the Yama Kings, a distinction that brought with it attention she neither wanted nor tolerated. Many had sought to claim her, to take her legacy, to bind her into something she refused to become.

It gave her more than enough reason to disappear.

Yet the changes in the Underworld stirred something that could not be ignored.

So she stepped out.

Her figure appeared upon a barren planet, one of many scattered across the Ninth Layer, where a group of figures had gathered. The lowly ghosts called them Eternals, whispers of their actions spreading like wildfire through every corner of the layer.

At their center stood a blond woman with a composed, serious expression.

Six hundred years had passed since their arrival.

Six hundred years, and the Underworld had begun to change in ways both subtle and profound.

Wang Zhou met the woman’s gaze and spoke clearly, “I am Wang Zhou, former ruler of the Underworld.”

The title carried weight, even now.

Silence followed, brief but attentive.

“I have attempted to contact my peers through the array,” she continued, her tone steady despite the uncertainty beneath it. “They have not responded. However, I believe this great change must be a sign.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I wish to meet your rulers.”

The blond woman studied her for a moment before responding, her voice calm and measured. “I am Saber. I will see what I can do.”

Before anything further could be said, something shifted.

Wang Zhou’s shadow distorted.

A ripple passed through it, unnatural and abrupt, as though something forced its way into existence through a path not meant to be used in such a manner. At the same time, the communication array she had relied upon flickered violently, its formation destabilizing under the strain.

Then…

A figure emerged.

It was headless and ressed in emerald robes, his presence carried something familiar yet undeniably altered, as though he had stepped beyond the boundaries she once understood.

Wang Zhou frowned, uncertainty surfacing as she took a step back. “Jue Bu? Is that you?”

Her voice faltered despite herself.

“W-wait… aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

The headless man struck a pose, his body language absurdly lively despite the absence of a head. “Tada~! Big bro is back!”

Wang Zhou stared.

The dissonance between memory and reality left her momentarily unsteady.

“Since when could ghosts have ghosts?” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “I’m seeing things, right?”

Before she could process further, the reaction around her shifted.

The Eternals moved as one.

They dropped to one knee, their actions synchronized with an almost ritualistic precision, their voices rising together in unified reverence.

“All hail the Holy Emperor Da Wei!”

“Glory to the one who stands beyond death!”

“Supreme ruler of realms, we greet you!”

The words echoed across the barren planet.

Wang Zhou’s thoughts scattered, struggling to reconcile what she was witnessing.

Her gaze returned to Jue Bu, who simply shrugged, as though none of this required explanation.

“It’s a long story,” he said lightly. “Ha ha ha ha~!”