Immortal Paladin

The golden light of the Great Barrier pulsed, its divine resonance vibrating through the air like the ringing of a celestial bell. I felt it in my bones, in the way the energy around me shifted, suddenly more stable, more controlled. Ren Jin had taken action, and for once, I didn’t mind the interference.

Brukhelm tested the barrier with a lazy swipe of his greatsword. The blade of corrupted iron met golden radiance, and the resulting shockwave sent ripples through the dome but failed to breach it. The demon snorted, his molten eyes flicking upward to the formation of cultivators above.

“Clever little trick,” he mused. “It won’t save you.”

I adjusted my grip on my sword. The weight of it was familiar, the energy coursing through it an extension of my will. “You talk too much.”

Brukhelm grinned. “And your momma didn’t love you enough.”

Huh?

The demon lunged.

I stepped forward to meet him, our swords clashing in an explosion of force that sent cracks spiderwebbing through the already-ruined arena. The power behind his swing was immense, but I wasn’t a stranger to overwhelming force. I pivoted, letting his momentum carry him past me, and struck at his exposed side. He twisted unnaturally, just barely avoiding my blade, but I caught a thin line of black blood trailing from his ribs.

Brukhelm laughed, more amused than angry. “So the Paladin draws first blood. I expected no less.”

I didn’t answer. Words wouldn’t change the fact that I had to kill him.

He came at me again, his greatsword moving faster than something that large had any right to. I met each blow with precision, redirecting instead of contesting, but every clash left my arms ringing. The air between us crackled with raw energy, the battlefield shrinking to just the two of us as we exchanged strike after strike.

Then he feinted. A downward swing that shifted into a backhanded sweep, his blade arcing toward my midsection. I twisted, narrowly avoiding the edge, but his clawed hand shot forward, catching me across the chest. My armor took most of it, but the sheer impact sent me skidding back, boots digging into shattered stone.

Pain flared. Shallow cuts burned where his claws had found purchase, but I ignored it. I had worse things to worry about.

The armor would repair itself.

And I needed to get in the zone or something.

Brukhelm rolled his shoulders, his grin widening. “You’re durable. Good. I’d hate for this to end too quickly.”

I exhaled slowly, centering myself. Around us, the city guards and sect cultivators worked to maintain order, their efforts bolstered by the Great Barrier. Ren Jin was keeping his people alive, giving me the space to do what needed to be done.

Holy Wrath.

Golden radiance erupted under me, accompanied by azure feathers floating upwards.

Radiant Dawn.

I shifted my stance, lowering my blade. My power surged, golden light gathering at the edges of my sword, condensing into a single, blinding arc.

Blessed Weapon.

Brukhelm’s grin faltered.

Zealot’s Stride.

I moved.

Flash Step.

The world blurred as I closed the distance, faster than before, faster than he could react. My blade sang through the air, cutting through darkness and malice alike. Brukhelm barely managed to bring his sword up to block, but the impact sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the ruins of the arena in a downward angle. Dust and debris exploded outward, shrouding him from view.

Silence.

Then, a deep chuckle echoed from the rubble. The dust settled, revealing the demon rising from the wreckage, his grin still in place. A deep gash marred his torso, black blood dripping onto the shattered stone.

He licked his lips. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

I tightened my grip.

Brukhelm rolled his shoulders, the unnatural motion making the deep wound in his torso seem almost insignificant. His molten eyes burned with something beyond mere hunger—exhilaration.

I didn’t let it shake me. My pulse steadied, my breathing even. The golden energy surrounding my sword pulsed in time with my heart. The next strike had to count.

Brukhelm flexed his clawed fingers. “That was good. Almost made me feel alive.” His grin widened, splitting his face into something monstrous. “Almost.”

Then he charged.

Faster this time. His footfalls cracked the ground, his greatsword sweeping in a brutal arc meant to carve me in two. I stepped into his swing—not to block, but to slip past it, angling my blade toward his exposed flank.

At the last moment, his free hand shot out, clawed fingers aiming for my throat.

I barely twisted away in time. The force of his strike still caught my shoulder, sending a shockwave through my body. I bit down on a curse and retaliated, driving my sword into his ribs.

The blade sank in deep. Black blood sprayed, sizzling where it met the divine energy still clinging to my weapon. Brukhelm snarled, but instead of recoiling, he pushed forward, trapping my sword in his body as he swung his greatsword in a wild, crushing blow.

I let go.

His weapon cleaved through empty air as I rolled backward, summoning another burst of golden energy to my palm. Searing Smite. My sword still jutted from his side, radiant energy coursing through it, searing his flesh from within.

Brukhelm let out a guttural laugh. “Paladin tricks.” He grabbed the hilt of my sword and wrenched it free, black blood gushing from the wound. “Not bad.”

Then, to my disgust, he ran his tongue along the flat of my blade before tossing it aside.

I tensed. That wound should have slowed him down more.

Instead, he took a step toward me—and his injuries started closing.

Not instantly. But fast enough that my advantage was slipping.

“You really thought this would be simple?” Brukhelm tilted his head, mock sympathy dripping from his tone. “Paladin, Zealot, Hero—whatever title they gave you, it doesn’t matter. I’ve fought your kind before.”

The ground beneath us cracked. The weight of his energy pressed down, suffocating and oppressive.

“The difference is, I survived. I always survive.”

I steadied my stance, my mind racing. If he could heal this quickly, I had no choice. I had to finish this before he gained the upper hand.

Another surge of golden light flared to life around me.

Brukhelm grinned. “Again?”

I didn’t answer.

Slowly, I loosened my limbs, feeling numb all over.

“Having a tough time?” Brukhelm cocked his head, molten eyes narrowing at the lack of a weapon in my grasp. ”No weapons at all?”

I ignored him, starting to get irritated by the golden barrier that surrounded us. It shimmered with divine resonance, its light clashing with the corrupted aura of the demon. Calm down, me. Don’t get distracted. The cultivators had done their job well—too well. I wasn’t worried about them interfering, but the presence of the barrier meant that my larger skills, the kind that could probably flatten cities, would be useless. Heavenly Punishment? The golden dome would soak it up before it even reached him… probably.

No, if I wanted to kill this thing without taking half the city with it, I needed to do it the old-fashioned way.

I was being careful with the demon using Ultimate Skills, but Brukhelm wasn’t using anything like that. Why?

I stepped forward—and vanished.

Flash Step.

Brukhelm was fast, but I was faster. I reappeared at his side, my fist already poised to strike—

His sword lashed out.

I had expected that. His Second Realm cultivation stacked on top of his demonic origins gave him absurd reaction speed. He didn’t just see my movement; he predicted it. But so what?

A massive tower shield suddenly appeared and slammed into his greatsword, stopping it dead. The sheer weight behind his swing sent tremors up my arm, but World Aegis absorbed the impact like a fortress wall. The shield was a Legendary-grade artifact, one of the strongest in Lost Legends Online. It was a relic of countless battles, crafted to withstand divine punishment. Against a demon? It would hold.

Thank you, Item Box.

Brukhelm grinned. ”Oh? You’re full of surprises.”

His sword pressed against the shield, sparks flying, but I wasn’t done.

With my free hand, I reached into my Item Box once more.

A mad cackle filled the air.

Hellcleaver.

The demonic great axe materialized, its twisted, jagged blade humming with dark energy. An eerie eye embedded in the weapon’s head snapped open, unblinking, watching Brukhelm with a gleeful malice that mirrored the demon’s own expression. The moment my fingers wrapped around the hilt, a chorus of laughter echoed through my mind—Hellcleaver’s eternal madness.

A normal player wouldn’t be able to wield both a tower shield and a two-handed weapon. But I wasn’t normal.

Monkey Grip.

With this skill, weight and size restrictions meant nothing to me. I hefted Hellcleaver in my right hand, World Aegis in my left, and squared off against Brukhelm.

For the first time, his grin faltered.

I smirked.

”Fuck. You.”

Then I attacked.

Brukhelm’s greatsword met my axe in a clash that should have sent shockwaves through the air. Instead, Hellcleaver simply bit into the corrupted steel and snapped it in half. The jagged edge of my weapon didn’t stop there—it carved straight into his shoulder, slicing through flesh like it was paper.

Black blood sprayed.

Brukhelm staggered back, eyes wide in momentary disbelief.

Hellcleaver laughed.

Not metaphorically. The damned weapon laughed, a chilling, distorted sound that echoed inside my skull. The eye embedded in its head twisted, dilating like a predator drinking in the scent of blood. I felt it take hold—Frenzy.

This was Hellcleaver’s special ability. It wasn’t just a berserk state. It came with empowered lifesteal and attributesteal. Every successful hit didn’t just restore my health—it stole his strength, his speed, his endurance. I was literally cutting him down, piece by piece, with every swing. ADmittedly, the weapon had low accuracy.

Brukhelm noticed.

His molten gaze flickered with something close to wariness, his usual arrogance slipping for just a moment. But I didn’t let up. I pressed forward, shield raised, axe poised to cleave through him again.

And yet, even as my instincts screamed for me to kill, my mind worked through the problem.

I wasn’t big on lore, even with my Linguist subclass. I didn’t go around reading the finer details of ancient texts or dissecting every scrap of in-game mythology. But that didn’t mean I was helpless when it came to lore. Because while other players spent their time arguing over the meaning of divine texts, I was out there fighting the things those texts warned about.

PvE knowledge came naturally to veteran players like me. And I knew what I was dealing with.

Demons in Lost Legends Online weren’t just monsters. They were categorized into different origins. Some were born from corrupted ideas, others from eldritch influences outside the cycle of life. But the most dangerous?

Fallen Angels.

Once divine beings, they had fallen from grace due to sin, betrayal, or defiance against their creators. They weren’t just powerful—they were designed to be warriors of heaven before they turned. That meant they had insane base stats across the board—they were monsters from the moment they fell.

But they had weaknesses.

They relied too much on stats and paid little investment in skills.

Brukhelm growled, the wound on his shoulder already starting to close. Not fast enough. I saw the way his expression shifted—he knew he was at a disadvantage, even if his arrogance wouldn’t let him admit it.

I smirked.

“Something wrong, Bu Lu Keng?” I asked, deliberately twisting his name just to piss him off.

His eyes flared, and I raised Hellcleaver once more.

“Let’s keep going.”

Brukhelm braced himself for my attack. His stance shifted, preparing to parry another devastating blow from Hellcleaver. I saw it in his molten eyes—the expectation, the calculation. He thought he understood my rhythm. He thought I’d become just another berserker because of Frenzy, trapped in the momentum of my own swings.

So I feigned an attack, letting my muscles tense as if I was committing to a wide cleave. I let him see the movement, let him anticipate it—

Then, at the last moment, I rolled over, dodging to the side.

Mid-roll, I dismissed World Aegis back into the Item Box and swapped my free hand for Silver Steel, which had been idly left on the rubble. The weight of the shield vanished, replaced by the familiar grip of the longsword in my left hand while Hellcleaver remained firmly in my right. A rush of clarity followed as Silver Soul activated, purging the lingering bloodlust from Frenzy without dulling my focus.

The rage from Frenzy left me immediately, like stepping out of a storm into calm air.

That was Silver Soul, Silver Steel’s unique ability.

Yet most importantly, the buffs remained active.

Unlike Hellcleaver, which fed on the thrill of battle and pushed its wielder into a bloodthirsty state, Silver Steel granted immunity to mental effects—including those I inflicted on myself. It also raised my resistance to external influences. It was my answer to fighting mind-warping enemies or keeping my head in a battle that could turn chaotic at any moment.

Brukhelm realized it too late.

His greatsword, or rather what was left of it, swung at nothing but empty air. His momentum carried him forward for a brief instant, leaving his stance open. His expression flickered from anticipation to realization, and then to anger.

He snarled. ”Clever.”

I thrust forward, aiming straight for the wound I’d left on his shoulder. He barely twisted in time, avoiding a direct strike, but my sword still nicked his side. More black blood splattered across the cracked stone beneath us.

Brukhelm hated that.

I saw his fingers twitch in irritation. Then, instead of striking back, he did something else.

He brought his hands together and clapped.

A deep, echoing sound reverberated through the air. It wasn’t just sound—it was power, rippling outward in waves. The ground beneath us shuddered, and the heat in the air grew suffocating.

Then, the stone cracked.

Dark fire erupted from the fissures like geysers, the heat intense enough to distort the air. From within the flames, figures emerged—snarling, drooling, hungry.

Hellhounds.

Massive, coal-black beasts wreathed in flames. Their eyes glowed like molten embers, and their maws dripped with burning saliva that hissed against the ruined ground. They were fast, vicious, and worst of all—self-destructive. If they latched on, they’d explode upon death, taking their victims with them.

Brukhelm smirked. ”You think too much, little Paladin. Let’s see how well you think while burning.”

The hellhounds lunged.

”Time’s up.”

I released my grip on Hellcleaver and Silver Steel, sending them back into the Item Box. My hands felt light—too light—after wielding such destructive forces. But I didn’t need them anymore. Not for this.

::FINAL ADJUDICATOR::

The hellhounds charging at me didn’t get the chance to pounce. Mid-leap, their snarling faces twisted in agony, their bodies flickering, then disintegrating into fine black ash. What was once a pack of demonic beasts became nothing more than scattered embers in the wind.

Brukhelm’s molten eyes narrowed. ”What did you—”

As Final Adjudicator activated, the sky darkened—not with night, but with an ethereal weight. Golden cracks split the air like fractures in reality, bleeding radiant judgment. A colossal, unseen presence loomed, pressing down on the arena with an overwhelming sense of righteousness.

Fucking divine hymns resounded.

I exhaled slowly, watching as his confusion turned into something deeper. A growing horror.

Rings of celestial scripture spiraled around me, inscribed with ever-shifting verdicts, glowing with pure authority. The air thrummed with power as chains of golden light lashed out toward the guilty, binding them in place as their sins were laid bare. For those steeped in negative karma—demons, fiends, and the wicked—the very space around them burned, igniting with divine flame that grew in intensity the greater their sins.

”Just so you know,” I softly spoke in between breaths. ”I never held back.”

Brukhelm looked down at his own hands. The red, iron-like flesh that made up his clawed fingers cracked, splitting open to reveal nothing beneath. No bone. No muscle. Just emptiness. The cracks spread, peeling away in flakes of gray and black.

”Ash to ash,” I murmured.

Brukhelm let out a snarl and tried to lunge at me, but his legs buckled. His body was already betraying him.

”Dust to dust.”

Brukhelm’s snarl cut off. He lifted his hands, watching as they crumbled at the fingertips, the decay creeping up his arms. He bared his teeth. ”What… is this?”

”It is your Final Adjudication,” I answered simply.

The skill’s brutal requirement left me locked in place for two agonizing minutes, unable to use any ultimates. But once the judgment finished, the world itself passed the sentence. A massive Scales of Judgment materialized, weighing my foe’s karma. Those burdened with great sin would crumble instantly—bodies turning to dust in the wind, erased by divine retribution.

The righteous remained untouched.

The wicked simply ceased to exist.

Any being that had directed hostility toward me during the channeling process was marked, their karma weighed.

If their karma value was negative… well, the results spoke for themselves. The heavier the burden of their misdeeds, the stronger the execution—lesser sinners were disintegrated into ash, while true abominations were engulfed in celestial conflagration, their forms disintegrating into dust. 

Brukhelm staggered. His whole left arm had turned to dust now, carried away by the wind like dry leaves in autumn. He gritted his teeth and tried to resist, to force his body to regenerate. But Final Adjudication wasn’t something he could out-heal.

I had hoped to interrogate him. To figure out why a great demon had been hiding among us. But in the end, I had no choice.

I clicked my tongue. ”Tch. Two major rank-ups in cultivation really made a character below level 200 feel like a genuine threat, huh?”

Brukhelm shot me a hate-filled glare, even as his form continued to unravel. ”You…” He tried to take a step forward, but his leg crumbled beneath him, his knee snapping into nothingness as golden flames burned him from the inside. ”RHAAAAAG~! HELL WILL HURT YOU! THE DEMONS WILL CLAIM THIS WORLD! DO YOU THINK THIS IS OVER?!” 

I watched him struggle and crawl like an insect. This guy either didn’t have an ultimate skill, or he was too arrogant to use one. Either way, it didn’t matter.

His molten eyes dimmed. His voice was quieter now, but still dripping with venom. ”You think this… is over?”

I tilted my head. ”No. But you are.”

With a final gust of wind, Brukhelm dissolved into... dust.

And then, silence.

A resounding chime marked the end of everything, leaving behind silence… and the lingering echo of divine retribution.