Immortal Paladin

Jia Yun was winning.

It wasn’t just a little advantage—she was decimating Fan Shi.

She was faster.

Stronger.

Her three tails whipped through the air as she weaved between attacks with inhuman grace, her fans sending out slicing arcs of wind and ice with every motion.

Fan Shi dodged by a hair’s breadth each time, but I could tell—she was struggling.

And it pissed me off.

I activated Voice Chat.

”Fan Shi, sidestep to the left, then pivot. She’s aiming for your legs.”

Fan Shi obeyed without hesitation, narrowly avoiding a crescent slash of wind that would’ve tripped her up.

”Now jump—she’s setting up for a follow-up strike.”

She leaped just as an ice spear shot out from beneath her.

I exhaled.

My Perception, Wisdom, and Intelligence stats were putting in overtime for this one.

Reading into an enemy’s attack pattern like this? I wouldn’t have been able to do it in a normal PvP match back in Lost Legends Online. But here, where I could perceive Qi—really perceive it at superhuman levels—I saw more than just movements.

I saw flows.

Currents.

Subtle shifts in energy that revealed the intent behind an attack before it even happened.

Divine Sense had lots of flavor text in LLO.

One of them was being granted insight into an opponent’s techniques.

Of course, that never actually manifested as a game mechanic. It was just one of those immersion-boosting descriptions slapped onto a useless passive.

But here?

Here, as I got more used to observing and deducing Qi—its movements, its pulses, its reactions—Divine Sense had evolved into something real.

And what I was sensing from Pan Xia made me very suspicious.

I didn’t confront him.

Not yet.

Instead, I honed in on him.

There was an energy connection.

A solid, hidden thread linking him to Jia Yun.

The skill she was using—this Bloodline Art—either didn’t fully belong to her, or it required someone else for activation.

Could I be wrong? Maybe.

But I knew Pan Xia was supplying energy to her.

And it wasn’t Qi.

It wasn’t Mana, either.

It felt different.

In LLO, there were Ultimate Skills that players could never use even if they met the requirements.

Not because they lacked the proficiency.

Not because they lacked the stats.

But because sometimes—just sometimes—those skills required an energy cost that went beyond what a player could normally access unless they fulfilled the relevant quests.

Was this that kind of situation?

Before I could think about it further, I noticed Pan Xia looking at me.

An amused smile spread across his face.

“Is there a problem, Senior Da?” he asked smoothly. ”If looks could kill, I would have died ten times over.”

I rolled my shoulders. ”That’s an exaggeration.”

But my eyes stayed on him.

”That is a weird technique, though.”

His expression didn’t change, but I saw the briefest flicker in his eyes.

A flinch.

He hid it well.

Don’t worry, Pan Xia. I wasn’t going to expose your cheating.

Yet.

Or maybe never? Because I was feeling… particularly vindictive today.

He smoothly redirected the conversation, playing dumb.

”You must be referring to what’s happening below, yes?” he said, gesturing to the fight. ”Bloodline Arts are very rare, after all. The Nine-Tailed Fox Ascendance is a Secret Art—one that allows its caster to borrow power from an Immortal Beast.”

Ah.

So it was like a Paladin or a Priest summoning a deity into their body.

Interesting.

And very convenient.

Back in Lost Legends Online, I never chose a deity to serve.

No gods. No patrons. No fancy blessings or divine sponsors.

That meant no Divine Descent, the strongest ability a Paladin could have.

And because of that, my damage potential suffered—badly.

For a good one or two seasons, I was stuck at the bottom of the rankings, grinding skill points while everyone else was popping off with their Divine Descent builds. I could’ve jumped ship, reset my skills, or even rerolled a new character.

But I didn’t.

Why?

Because I was waiting.

Patiently.

I had my eyes set on an upcoming class update for Paladins—one that would let me play exactly how I wanted to play.

You see, Lost Legends Online wasn’t exactly forgiving to old players. Resetting skill points was more painful than just deleting your character and starting from scratch. Most players did just that. But me? I persevered.

And then the update finally arrived.

The Divine Path of the Paladin Legacy.

And with it came a skill no one expected to be as stupidly broken as it was.

A skill called Divine Possession.

Now, when the devs started teasing it, most players ignored it outright.

A skill that halved your stats? In exchange for possessing another character—whether they were a Player, NPC, or even a random mob?

Yeah. Hard pass.

And then they made it worse.

If you learned Divine Possession, you were locked out of Divine Descent forever. No refunds. No take-backs. You were making a deal with the worst kind of devil—bad game design.

And what did you get for this trade?

A possessed character buffed with half your stats but at the cost of shared control.

Which meant the other guy could fight back while you were trying to use them.

Most players who tried it rage-quit on the spot.

But me?

I saw potential.

I started using it in PvP.

On my opponents.

And then I’d attack myself like a lunatic.

Because guess what? Friendly fire was real.

And I had three resurrection ultimates.

So even if they self-destructed, I’d just come back.

And the worst part?

I’d spam their skills like a madman—burning all their mana, wasting their abilities, and making their movements look like a drunk toddler was at the keyboard.

If I could’ve burned through Ultimate Skills, it would’ve been completely busted. But even without that, it was enough.

It was warped.

It was effective.

And best of all?

No one could adapt.

Eventually, word spread.

More Paladins started copying my strategy.

Possession became the strongest crowd-control skill in the game.

Wasting skills became the ultimate troll move.

For a while, Paladins were meta.

And then—because the universe can’t let me have nice things—the devs nerfed it into the ground.

Now, whenever a Paladin used Divine Possession, their real body stayed behind.

Vulnerable.

Unmoving.

Completely free to be targeted.

And what happened after that?

Everyone who had been salty about Paladins finally got their revenge.

For weeks, Paladins were getting deleted the moment they tried to possess anyone.

Spam every ultimate on them? Yes.

Blow them up with overkill damage? Absolutely.

Make their existence a living hell? Without question.

So why am I rambling on about all this?

Well…

Because I was about to screw someone with Divine Possession.

In this situation, what was the best part about Divine Possession?

It didn’t have any animation or visual effects.

No glowing sigils. No fancy light shows. No dramatic wind effects.

Nothing.

Just a clean, silent transfer.

And right now, I was tempted.

I could use it on Jia Yun and have her suffer a humiliating defeat. The sheer schadenfreude of watching her lose in the dumbest way possible was… enticing.

Or I could use it on Fan Shi. Maximize her skill usage, abuse my stats, and show these cheating bastards who was really the boss.

But I was an adult.

And there was no need for anyone to lose face here.

Who knew? Maybe this whole thing could be solved with just… talking.

I smiled. “As expected of the Cloud Mist Sect. Truly a formidable force.”

Pan Xia huffed and turned away.

Divine Possession.

A sharp dip in my mana. A shift in my senses.

And suddenly, I was seeing myself from a third-person perspective—through Pan Xia’s eyes.

Then the shift continued, pulling me forward—deeper.

First-person view.

I blinked.

I was no longer in my body.

Pan Xia’s mind tried to fight back, but I squashed his will with the utter difference in our stats. It was something that would have been normally impossible in LLO if we were at the same level or if his stats were a bit closer to mine. I remembered one-sidedly possessing NPCs and massively lower-level players, so this one-sided possession must be the result of something similar. 

I guessed that even if my stats were halved, I was still stronger than this guy... stat-wise at least.

The next thing I did was subtly angle Pan Xia’s fan to cover my face while stealing a glance at my real body.

And I saw… me.

Standing there.

Looking back.

And smiling.

Huh?

Weird.

Wasn’t my main body supposed to be motionless?

I watched as the other me—my original body—lifted a hand.

And reached out to me through Voice Chat.

[…Greetings, My Lord.]

The voice was mechanical.

[My name is David_69, your Holy Spirit.]

…

What the fuck?!

I almost lost composure right then and there.

I had too many questions.

Too many concerns.

But I had other matters to attend to.

I pushed down the what the fucks piling up in my brain and addressed 69 through Voice Chat.

”We will talk another time. Protect us in the meantime and don’t act too suspiciously. Moreover, continue guiding Fan Shi on how to defeat her opponent via Voice Chat. If you can’t, prioritize giving her instructions in a way that she receives the least harm.”

I had no idea how he worked, but if he had my stats, then he should be able to power-compute the most optimal paths for Fan Shi, right?

There was a brief pause.

Then 69 replied, [I understand, My Lord.]

I hoped and prayed this dude wouldn’t suddenly betray me by jumping off the VIP balcony or something.

That would be… ugh.

“You look worried, Daoist Pan.”

Long Xieren’s voice broke through my thoughts.

I ignored him.

I didn’t have much in the way of acting skills, but here goes nothing.

I couldn’t exactly summon tears on command, but surely, I could at least pretend to be a brooding sage—not to be disturbed, lost in contemplation of the vast mysteries of the world.

With a slow, measured exhale, I lowered my gaze and angled my fan slightly to cast a shadow over my face. Mysterious. Enigmatic. Tragic. If anyone looked at me now, they’d think I was contemplating the weight of destiny itself.

But in reality?

I tapped into Voice Chat.

Inside Pan Xia’s head.

”What’s happening?! What did you do to me?!”

His panic hit me like a flood.

I took my time before responding, speaking with deliberate slowness. Measured. Patient. Like a celestial master gazing down upon the tribulations of a mere mortal struggling to comprehend the vastness of the heavens.

”Calm yourself, Daoist Pan,” I murmured.

”Calm myself? CALM MYSELF?! I CAN’T MOVE! I CAN’T USE MY QI! I CAN’T—”

”Shhh.”

”DON’T ‘SHHH’ ME—”

”Shhhhhh.”

That shut him up.

”Good,” I said, voice as tranquil as a still lake. ”Now, listen well. What you are experiencing… is but a mere glimpse of the immensity of heaven and earth.”

”What does that even mean?! Who are you?!”

”Who am I? Ah… That is a question many have asked. Few have received an answer.”

”ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!”

I let out a soft chuckle. Sage-like. Knowing. Infinitely patient.

”Daoist Pan, do you truly believe that the heavens revolve around you? That your struggles are unique? That you are beyond the reach of fate?”

”What are you—”

”Consider the sky above. It does not mourn when a storm is born, nor does it celebrate when the sun shines once more. It simply is—immovable, untouchable, unshaken by mortal concerns. The same is true of the great Dao.”

A pause. A long, stunned pause.

It was eight-grader syndrome bullshit. Or maybe some dialogue script I overheard somewhere…

But meh…

I could practically hear the gears in his head grinding together, trying to decipher my words.

”What… what do you want from me?”

”Want? Ah, Daoist Pan… You assume much.”

Silence again.

Then, cautiously, he asked, ”Then why are you… in my mind?”

”Ah.” I sighed wistfully. ”Why does the wind blow? Why do the stars shine? Why does the river flow ceaselessly toward the sea?”

”THAT DOESN’T ANSWER ANYTHING!”

”Doesn’t it?”

Another silence.

I could feel the frustration. The despair. The helplessness.

Pan Xia was grasping at understanding—trying to ground himself in reality, only to find the ground had been pulled out from under him.

Good.

Let him stew. Let him question. Let him doubt.

I smiled faintly, outwardly maintaining my brooding sage act as I continued my silent monologue inside Pan Xia’s mind.

This was getting fun.

Too fun.

Fan Shi was barely hanging on by the skin of her teeth.

Jia Yun’s rampage had reached its peak—her movements were swift, her attacks relentless, her power overwhelming. Every time Fan Shi dodged, it was by the slimmest of margins. Every counterattack was met with force several times greater.

Yet, despite all that, Fan Shi endured.

Because 69 was far more capable than I had given him credit for.

I had fought opponents twenty levels above me before and barely managed to eke out a victory—but that was with items. That was with buffs, with potions, with some ridiculous game-breaking exploits that let me cheat the numbers.

This?

This was just raw skill.

And it was awesome.

I let out a quiet breath, keeping my posture still and composed—or rather, keeping Pan Xia’s posture still and composed. My mind, however, was racing. This was the first time I had seen Divine Possession work like this in real life.

If I had known it would be this effective, I would have used it sooner. I wanted to use it on Jiang Zhen as part of an experiment, but he suddenly forfeited.

I turned Pan Xia’s head, making sure his gaze locked onto my own body sitting across the way.

Pan Xia—or rather, the part of him still aware that something was wrong—was losing his mind.

“RELEASE ME! I AM A GRAND ELDER OF THE CLOUD MIST-”

”Shh.” I silenced him through Voice Chat, my voice calm.

”Pan Xia,” I continued, ”I don’t like cheaters. I don’t like bullies. And I especially don’t like people who think they are above being fair.”

His panic sharpened into pure terror.

”I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he tried to lie.

”You’re not stupid. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

He couldn’t respond.

”This will be my only warning to you. While your reputation remains intact, I suggest you no longer stray from the righteous path.”

And with a thought—snap.

I severed the energy connection he had tied to Jia Yun.

Immediately, the transformation below unraveled.

Jia Yun’s body convulsed mid-attack. Her nine-tailed fox form flickered, the blue flames and icy mist dissipating in an instant. Her expression twisted in confusion, then horror.

Then, her body gave out.

With a dull thud, Jia Yun collapsed onto the arena floor, unconscious.

Fan Shi stood over her, victorious—but barely. Her body swayed slightly, her breathing ragged, but she remained on her feet.

And then—I left Pan Xia’s body.

I blinked, suddenly back in my own first-person perspective, my own hands resting where I had left them.

Across from me, Pan Xia sat frozen. His face had gone pale. His lips were slightly parted as if he wanted to say something—but no words came out.

Instead, he turned his head ever so slightly, glancing around, as if searching for something.

Good.

I had gone to great lengths to save him face.

Hopefully, he heard my warning loud and clear.

But knowing the xianxia genre…

I really couldn’t let my guard down.

Chances were, he didn’t even know it was me.

If he suspected, he’d never dare try to confirm it or confront me. If he did, it would probably be with the backing of his Sect—which I doubted he would have. After all, I basically had the backing of the Isolation Path Sect, though in name only.

That said, Pan Xia would also need solid evidence of what I just did.

There was no premise for him making trouble. No excuse.

Because everything that happened…

Happened in his mind.