Immortal Paladin

The Four Horsemen were calamities that the Greater Universe would have been better off erasing entirely, yet reality rarely granted such clean solutions. Even so, we had done enough to tilt the balance. War was sealed within the Dark Veil, entombed beyond interference, while Famine was in the process of being devoured and assimilated into the False Earth’s reincarnation cycle, a prison masquerading as rebirth. It was not true destruction, but for beings like them, suppression was often the closest thing to an ending.

We reached the edge of the crater where the Warden’s fist had struck, and I found myself staring into a wound carved into existence itself. The sheer scale of it was absurd, a reminder that even now, we were insects dancing beneath something far greater. There was no second strike, no follow-up annihilation descending from above, and I quietly exhaled in relief. If that thing had decided to hit us again, I doubted even my contingencies would have mattered. I cast a glance at Hei Mao, silently acknowledging how many times he had dragged me out of disaster.

“So, what’s next?” asked Hei Mao.

I rolled my shoulders, forcing tension out of my limbs as I answered, “My disciple, what’s next is we share a space inside the horse and hope for the best.”

The so-called horse, once the Slaughter Palace, now bound to my will, was pawing through the blackened ash like a beast searching for buried prey. At first, I thought it was merely instinct, some residual hunger, but then the ground shifted. A familiar black horse clawed its way upward, its form unstable, as though stitched together by defiance alone. The black horse burst forth from within it in a grotesque half-manifestation, trying to reassert its existence.

It didn’t get the chance.

The red horse lunged without hesitation, its jaws snapping shut as it tore into the black horse, dragging it back down into the ash. There was something almost savage, almost eager, in the way it fed, as if it understood exactly what it was consuming.

Yin’s voice echoed with uncertainty. “Are we not mistaken? The real Famine might be that strange horse?”

The red horse paused mid-feast just long enough to turn its head toward us and let out a sharp, almost derisive neigh.

According to my Linguist Subclass, the was mocking us.

“Prick,” I muttered under my breath.

The feast ended quickly. When it was done, the red horse stood taller, its presence heavier, and a dark, inky mane unfurled down its neck, as though it had claimed Famine’s remnants as its own. It shook itself once, power settling into its frame with unsettling ease.

I crossed my arms, nodding with satisfaction. “From now on, you, dear horsie, are named the Red Hare.”

Hei Mao blinked, unimpressed. “But it’s a horse.”

I shrugged without shame. “Just let me live my fantasy.”

Yang’s voice immediately cut in, laced with exasperation. “You are clearly styling yourself after Guan Yu, but you use a sword. This is completely inconsistent characterization.”

I reached up and grabbed his spectral head in a vice grip. “You talk too much.”

“Ah! Stop, stop! You’re going to break something!” Yang wailed, thrashing uselessly as his form distorted under my grip, making an absolute mess of himself.

Yin laughed without restraint, her amusement ringing far too brightly for the situation.

Watching them, I felt a strange sense of familiarity settle in my chest. Yang, in particular, reminded me of Gu Jie, but not quite. No, it was closer to a version of myself, the bratty, unrestrained mood I only indulged when I had the luxury to relax. The realization lingered as I released him, his form snapping back together in a huff. So this was what it meant for a Ghost Soul to truly be a fragment of me.

We didn’t linger. After some effort coaxing, the newly christened Red Hare to cooperate, Hei Mao and I initiated Divine Possession. Our existence slipped into the beast, overlapping in a shared, chaotic space that never quite felt natural.

“This is cramped,” Hei Mao complained immediately.

“You don’t even have a physical body right now.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t feel cramped.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“You’re imagining it.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Neither do you.”

Our thoughts tangled, overlapped, and contradicted each other in rapid succession, a stream of nonsense that would have driven anyone else insane. Somehow, we managed.

The Red Hare leaped skyward, its body cutting through the ashen atmosphere as I fed it quintessence, urging it faster, higher. We fled the False Earth with all the subtlety of a fleeing thief, trusting entirely in Hei Mao’s stealth arts to veil our presence. As the oppressive gaze of the Warden faded behind us, I recalled Ru Qiu’s claim of slipping beneath that entity’s notice in the past. If that was true, then Hei Mao’s abilities were walking a similar edge.

When we finally passed beyond the range of the false Sun and Moon, the divided manifestations of the Warden’s perception, I didn’t hesitate. Drawing upon my authority as the owner of the Hollowed World, I tore open a path and pulled us through.

The transition was immediate.

One moment, we were fleeing annihilation. The next, we stood beneath the vast canopy of the World Tree.

We released Divine Possession, our forms separating as the Red Hare landed with a low snort, its new power humming quietly beneath its skin.

Starshroud’s voice rang out, bright with relief. “We’re back! Finally! I was getting so tired out there… I think I’ll sleep now.”

“Go ahead,” I replied, letting her withdraw without protest.

Hei Mao landed lightly beside me, his gaze already sharpening again. “What’s the next plan?”

I glanced toward the distant branches of the World Tree, my thoughts aligning with the path ahead. “Ideally, I meet with Alice and Gu Jie. But first, I need the symbol of ownership for the Eighth Layer.”

The days that followed were not marked by battle, but by something far more exhausting, paperwork and office work.

I moved from hall to hall, meeting officials who stiffened the moment I entered, their expressions caught between reverence and dread. I issued directives without pause, restructuring evacuation protocols and demanding redundancy upon redundancy.

“If it cannot survive failure, it will fail when it matters most,” I told them, and I meant it. I ordered stress tests, not the kind that looked good on paper, but the kind that broke systems apart so we could see what remained. There was resistance at first, hesitation born from comfort and habit, but I crushed it with a few pointed demonstrations using my Ophanim and Divien Phantasm of Dreams to basically tell them what might happen if they don’t follow through my words.

Nothing motivated efficiency quite like watching your carefully built framework collapse in seconds.

Between those meetings, I sought out Jue Bu and Ren Xun. If I was the will that moved the Hollowed World, then the two of them was the one ensuring that will didn’t spiral into chaos when I wasn’t looking. We spoke at length, updating each other on the state of the World Council, the shifting balances between factions, and the lingering consequences of my clash with War. The political landscape had not stabilized, but it had settled into something manageable.

I didn’t stop there. I visited the people I had displaced, those I had uprooted in the middle of catastrophe and cast into uncertain refuge. Some needed reassurance, others needed direction, and a few simply needed to see that the one responsible had not abandoned them. I offered rewards where merit demanded it, incentives where morale faltered, and solutions where problems had begun to fester. The migration crisis was not something that could be solved with a single decree. It was a slow, grinding effort that required constant adjustment.

For days, I worked without rest, splitting my focus through the Ophanim and threading myself into countless tasks at once. Even then, it wasn’t enough. The work never ended. It simply piled higher.

So I did the only sensible thing.

I delegated.

I handed the remaining responsibilities to Jue Bu, but not without leaving behind explicit instructions. The direction of the Hollowed World, its growth, its priorities? I carved those into a framework he could follow, even in my absence.

Only then did I allow myself to leave.

When I set out for the Greater Universe once more, I did not go alone. The expedition group that gathered behind me was not a token force, but a convergence of power drawn from the major factions of the Hollowed World—the Martial Alliance, the Adventurer’s Guild, the Federation, the Dragon Court, the Four Pillars, and Radiant Losten. They would serve as reinforcements, filling the gaps left by the losses we had suffered in the Ninth and Eighth Layers, especially with the ongoing offensive pressing into the Seventh.

Hei Mao did not join me.

He parted ways without hesitation when he learned his sister was still missing. There was no need for discussion. Some pursuits took priority over everything else.

Our journey to the Eighth Layer was uneventful, at least on the surface. The moment we arrived, I extended my Ophanim outward, searching for the one I had come to meet, the Judge of Legacy.

It didn’t take long.

I found him on a small, unassuming planet, one that would have gone unnoticed if not for what lay beneath its surface. I concealed my presence, masking myself as a mortal before descending.

What I found there was… unexpected.

The world was filled with ghosts, but not the restless, tormented kind that defined most of the Underworld. These spirits lived peacefully, forming a quiet, functioning society untouched by the chaos that plagued the surrounding layers. It was almost absurd, seeing something so stable in a place defined by disorder.

I walked through its settlements until I found what I was looking for, an antique store, modest in appearance, yet subtly out of place. I stepped forward and knocked.

“Hello?” I called out. “I’m friends with Wang Zhou and Wang Yang. I’m the new Yama King on the block. Please give me this layer—”

The door opened before I could finish.

A thin man stood there, his gaze sharp as it settled on me. “Come inside,” he said flatly. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

I wasn’t surprised.

I had already seen this outcome through my Ophanim.

I stepped in without hesitation, taking a seat as he closed the door behind me. The interior of the shop was cluttered with relics, each one carrying a faint, deliberate presence. The man moved with quiet familiarity, pouring tea as if this meeting had been scheduled long in advance.

He placed a cup before me and spoke first. “I have been waiting for you.”

I picked up the tea, eyeing him over the rim before taking a slow sip. “You’re a slippery man,” I replied. “Even I couldn’t find you the first time I looked. How did you manage to hide your existence?”

His expression didn’t change. “That is related to a deal I made with someone. I would prefer it remain a secret.”

I let it go.

Everyone was entitled to their secrets.

Instead, I allowed my Ophanim to observe more closely, peeling back the layers of this world. What I saw confirmed my suspicion. This planet wasn’t natural. It was a treasure, something capable of concealing itself from reality itself. That explained everything. It explained how a peaceful civilization could exist here, hidden from the chaos, untouched by forces that would have otherwise consumed it.

Impressive.

The man set his own cup down and regarded me with quiet intent. “You may call me Zhan Chen,” he said.

I inclined my head slightly, moving to return the courtesy. “Da—”

“There is no need,” he interrupted calmly. “I know who you are.”

His gaze sharpened just a fraction.

“The infamous Emperor of the Hollowed World.”

“Most handsome, you mean…”

“Tell me,” he said, his tone calm yet probing, “what is a legacy?”

I didn’t answer immediately. The question was simple on the surface, but coming from the Judge of Legacy, it carried weight. I set the teacup down and leaned back slightly, letting the thought settle before I gave it form.

“A legacy is what remains when we’re gone. Not just power or influence, but the imprint we leave behind on people, on the world, on time itself. It’s the sum of what defines us, even after we no longer have the right to define it ourselves.”

Zhan Chen nodded, as though that answer aligned with something he had long since decided. Without another word, he reached into his sleeve and produced a fountain pen, placing it gently on the table between us. The object looked ordinary at a glance, but I could feel the weight of authority behind it.

“I have heard of you,” he continued, his voice steady. “You are gathering the proofs of ownership for every layer of the Underworld. A bold ambition… and a dangerous one.” His gaze sharpened slightly. “I am willing to give you mine.”

There was no hesitation in his tone, but neither was there carelessness.

“However,” he added, “you must promise me something in return. This world, this ‘legacy’ of mine, must be left alone. And if the time comes when it is threatened… you will protect it.”

I didn’t respond right away. Instead, I let my Ophanim unfold, threads of perception weaving through the layers of this hidden world. I saw its structure more clearly now, the treasure that cloaked it, the fragile balance that sustained its peaceful existence. There were flaws, of course. Small instabilities. Future conflicts waiting to bloom. But nothing beyond control. Nothing that would spiral into catastrophe beyond what my forces could manage.

More importantly, I saw its people.

They lived quietly, unaware of the vast tides surrounding them. A legacy, indeed.

I withdrew my Ophanim and met his gaze again. “Very well,” I said. “I promise you this. Your world will be protected under the banner of the Holy Ascension Empire. As long as it stands, it will not be abandoned.”

Zhan Chen fell silent, his expression turning inward as he considered my words. The weight of the decision lingered in the air, heavy but not oppressive. Then, slowly, he rose from his seat.

He cupped his fist and bowed.

“I, Zhan Chen, acknowledge your will,” he said. “From this moment forward, I relinquish my claim.” He extended his hand, and the fountain pen drifted toward me, carried by an unseen force. “I offer you the symbol and proof of this layer… and recognize you as a Yama King.”

I accepted it without flourish, closing my fingers around the pen as its authority settled into me. Another piece had fallen into place, another layer brought under my dominion.

Honestly, I had no plans of really conquering the Underworld like this.

It all just turned out this way.