Immortal Paladin

The veranda where we sat was a fine example of the Shadow Clan’s reserved elegance—spacious yet simple, with wooden beams darkened by age and a tiled roof that curved slightly upward at the edges. Delicate wind chimes hung from the eaves, producing soft, intermittent notes whenever the evening breeze passed through.

Beyond the railing, a mist-shrouded garden stretched into the distance, its paths barely visible through the drifting fog. Small lanterns dotted the landscape, their gentle glow reflecting in the still waters of a koi pond. It was a setting meant for quiet contemplation, for hushed conversations over a pot of tea.

And tea, of course, was what we were drinking.

I took a slow sip and let the warmth spread through me. The flavor was rich—earthy, slightly bitter, but with a lingering sweetness that settled on my tongue.

It felt different too.

The moment the liquid passed my throat, I could sense something… more. A faint stirring within my body, like a subtle surge of energy.

“This tea is quite something,” I remarked, setting the cup down. “It tastes… different.”

Hei Yuan smirked, clearly pleased with the compliment. “Of course it does. The roots used to make this tea are nourished by the underground ley lines of the Shadow Clan’s ancestral land. They absorb qi for decades before they are ever harvested.” He swirled his own cup lightly. “To cultivators, it is more than just tea—it refines the body, sharpens the mind, and strengthens the flow of qi within.”

I hummed thoughtfully, taking another sip.

Not long ago, I would have been paranoid about drinking something like this. Qi-infused tea? No way. In the beginning, I was incredibly cautious about how to interact with qi at all.

Looking back, I found the past me hilarious.

Back then, I worried that I might have unknowingly brought diseases from my old world into this one—or worse, that I’d be fatally vulnerable to the pathogens of this world. My body had come from a completely different environment, a different system.

If foreign microbes could kill me, what about qi?

That was why I hesitated to cultivate for so long, why I treated every new possibility with such excessive caution. What if, instead of empowering me, cultivation weakened me? What if my very existence here was fundamentally incompatible with this world’s laws?

Even now, I maintained some level of that caution. Brukhelm and Lu Gao were proof that qi wasn’t always a gift.

Still, this tea?

This was fine.

A small amount of qi wouldn’t kill me.

And given how energetic I felt with every sip, I was starting to think it wasn’t so bad.

I swirled the tea in my cup, watching the ripples settle before taking another sip. The warmth spread through me once more, tinged with that subtle yet undeniable flow of qi.

Setting my cup down, I leaned back slightly and glanced at Hei Yuan. “So,” I began, “what gave you the idea to invite me to tea?”

Hei Yuan smiled faintly. “Must there be a reason? Can’t I simply extend a courtesy?”

I raised a brow. “A courtesy, huh? You and I both know your fellow clan members might misunderstand this.” I gestured vaguely toward our surroundings—the secluded veranda, the quiet ambiance, the private conversation. “Won’t this invite unnecessary speculation?”

Hei Yuan scoffed, shaking his head. “My clan isn’t so narrow-minded as to think that way. They understand that I act with purpose.” He met my gaze steadily. “Besides, I am family to them. Whether they agree with me or not, they trust my judgment.”

“Is that so?” I tapped a finger against the table, considering his words. “Then let’s turn the question around—what made you think I’d accept?”

Hei Yuan studied me for a moment, then exhaled lightly. “Would you like me to guess?”

I smiled. “Go ahead.”

He took his time, sipping his tea before answering. “You were hoping I’d talk more freely in a private setting,” he said. “Without the weight of prying eyes, you expected I might let something useful slip.”

I chuckled, raising my cup in mock salute. “Not bad.”

“But,” Hei Yuan continued, his expression turning more serious, “if you think I would betray my clan’s trust so easily, then I’m afraid you will be disappointed.”

I smirked. “What’s so important about your history that it must be kept hidden?” I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice in mock secrecy. “Black masks aren’t exactly fashionable, you know. If you’re ashamed, I’d understand.”

Hei Yuan actually laughed at that, shaking his head. “You think it’s that simple? If only.”

His fingers drummed against the table as his expression darkened slightly. “I’ll give you a month,” he said, voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight. “If, by then, you and your people still refuse to cooperate and leave, I won’t hesitate to bloody my hands.”

I raised a brow but said nothing. “Even if it kills you?”

“Even if it kills me,” He continued, “For now, you’re free to explore the eastern wing. If you wish to step beyond it, however, you must be accompanied by either myself, Hei Mu, or Hei Mai.”

I scoffed. “No thanks. We’ll happily stay in the eastern wing. Better yet—” I gestured vaguely toward the tea, the quiet, the library beyond us. “—we’ll make our resting place in the Umbral Scripture Hall if you’ll allow it.”

Hei Yuan drained the last of his tea and set the cup down with a quiet clink. He stood, dusting off his sleeves before giving me a measured look.

“I will allow you to use the Umbral Scripture Hall as a resting place,” he said. His voice was steady, but there was a hint of something unreadable in his gaze—was it curiosity? Wariness? Whatever it was, he wasn’t saying.

Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left.

I let out a slow breath, watching his retreating figure. I had expected Hei Yuan to be more open, but it seemed my Speech stat wasn’t quite cutting it. Either that, or he was just as used to maneuvering through words as I was.

No use dwelling on it. I finished my tea, then made my way back to the Umbral Scripture Hall.

Inside, the others were gathered as usual, either reading, cultivating, or pretending to do one of the two. As I stepped in, they turned their attention toward me.

“I have news,” I announced. “Hei Yuan has given us permission to use the library as our resting place.”

There was a moment of silence before Gu Jie nodded in approval. “It’s better this way.”

Ren Xun leaned back against a bookshelf, folding his arms. “Agreed.”

Hei Mao shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

Dave, sitting stiffly in his corner, suddenly spoke up. “My Lord, do you not trust the Shadow Clan?”

I met his gaze. “It’s not about trust. It’s about caution.” I crossed my arms. “Better safe than sorry. We only have one life, after all.”

Dave’s head tilted slightly at that, and I could practically hear the gears turning in his Puppet Armor skull.

“Yes, I have resurrection magic,” I continued before he could speak again. “But there will always be exceptions. The fact that I couldn’t fix Lu Gao’s meridians and spirit roots is proof that even my healing has limits.”

At that, I noticed Lu Gao sitting unnaturally still in the corner. His posture was stiff, his shoulders tense. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead.

I narrowed my eyes. “Lu Gao… What’s wrong?”

Slowly, as if every movement required effort, he raised his index finger.

“I…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I succeeded.”

There was a beat of silence.

“On what?” I asked cautiously.

He gulped. “Blessed Weapon.”

On his finger?

Everyone in the room turned to him warily.

I took a careful step forward, keeping my voice even. “Lu Gao… calm down.”

His breathing was shallow. His hand was trembling.

“If I let go of it,” he rasped, “I feel like I’ll die.”

His index finger then started glowing white.

I kept my voice calm. “Lu Gao, close your eyes.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding and shutting them tight, his breathing still ragged.

I turned to Dave. “Dispel Divine Possession. Return to my body.”

Without a word, Dave obeyed. His Puppet Armor slumped where it sat, the glow in its eyes fading. A hollow clang echoed in the library as the lifeless metal shell shifted under its own weight.

The moment he returned, I activated Divine Possession—but this time, I took over Lu Gao.

A strange sensation washed over me as my consciousness shifted. My own body faded away in my perception, replaced by Lu Gao’s. The feeling of his limbs, the rhythm of his pulse, the tight grip he had on his sense of self—it all became mine. I could sense his thoughts hovering in the back of my mind, his presence small but brimming with excitement, expectation, and raw hope.

He had done it. He had finally succeeded. And now, he was trusting me not to let it kill him.

My body—the one I had left behind—was now under Dave’s control. “Take my place,” I instructed him through our mental link. “Keep up the act and ensure everyone’s safety while I’m gone.”

Dave’s response was immediate. “Understood, my Lord.”

I could no longer access my Item Box in this state, which meant I needed countermeasures in case I was suddenly exorcised. My Egress skill should be enough to bring us back to this place, but it was better to be prepared.

“Dave,” I said, my voice now coming from Lu Gao’s lips. “Hand me a Featherhome.”

A silver feather appeared in front of me, hovering. I reached out and took it, tucking it securely inside Lu Gao’s robes. Featherhome was a consumable item that allowed me to teleport to the rest of my party. If things went sideways, we’d have a way out.

I turned to Gu Jie. “Continue cultivating.”

She gave me a skeptical glance but didn’t argue.

Then, I faced Ren Xun. “Stay alert. Keep teaching Hei Mao. And make sure he learns more than just the characters for ‘black’ and ‘cat.’”

Hei Mao grumbled, still not fully understanding what was happening.

I exhaled sharply. “Listen well—all you need to know is that Lu Gao and I are at a critical point in our cultivation.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie.

For me, this was a significant phase in my experimentation—substituting qi with mana.

I took a deep breath, cast Zealot’s Stride, and rushed forward.

The next second, I was running in the air.

Zealot’s Stride had truly paid off. With each step, a faint golden glow shimmered beneath my feet, granting me traction where there should have been none. I pushed forward, putting distance between myself and the Shadow Clan’s territory. There were no roads, no paths—only vast, open sky and the rolling landscape below.

“Lu Gao, you still in there?”

A flicker of his consciousness responded. “Yes, Master. I can feel everything you do…” His voice was tight with strain.

I examined our radiant now-golden index finger, the one still crackling with energy. The glow pulsed, unstable yet held together by sheer willpower. I couldn’t afford to lose control now.

As I ran, I focused on probing the energy surging through the finger. Was it qi? No—this was mana.

A curious difference struck me. Qi had always been easy to grasp with my Divine Sense, flowing through meridians and forming the foundation of cultivation. But mana? Mana was different. Harder to perceive, harder to grasp. If qi was like a tangible particle, mana felt like a shifting wave, elusive and fluid.

I frowned. “Is this a fundamental difference between the two energies?”

Back on Earth, I wasn’t exactly a physicist. My major had been Education—I knew how to break down concepts for kids, how to teach them in digestible pieces. If you handed me a textbook, I could learn it well enough to explain it to a classroom. But coming up with original theories? Proving things mathematically? That wasn’t my strong suit.

Yet, here I was, dealing with something far beyond any earthly curriculum.

To be honest, I’d been lucky. My method of teaching Lu Gao—making him meditate, perceive mana, and even absorb skill flavor texts to deepen his understanding—had all been trial and error. No grand theory. No rigid structure. Just experimenting until something worked.

And now, finally, we had a real lead.

If mana and qi truly functioned differently, then understanding that difference might be the key to raising my abilities even further.

Gaining skill proficiency through an intimate understanding of the flavor texts had been a good start. But I needed to go further.

If I could somehow adapt this world’s skill system to mine, I might be able to create original skills, something that wasn’t bound to the rigid structure of the Paladin class.

I focused my mind and spoke inwardly to Lu Gao.

”Tell me, how exactly did you cast Blessed Weapon on your finger?”

Lu Gao hesitated, his consciousness flickering uncertainly. ”I… I was frustrated. I kept trying to cast it, but no matter what I did, it wouldn’t work. It felt like something was missing.”

I remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

”Then, while reading in the Umbral Scripture Hall, I found a book on philosophy. It mentioned how the term ‘weapon’ wasn’t limited to metal or blades. A warrior’s body itself could be a weapon.”

That… actually made sense.

If that was the case, I could probably cast Blessed Weapon on a in my teeth… but that was stretching it a bit too much. I reckoned it wasn’t a matter of interpretation, but something else.

Lu Gao continued, his tone more confident now. ”I also recalled an assassination technique taught in my clan—one that used the index finger like a spear. The movements mimicked a piercing thrust, precise and lethal. When I thought about my finger in that way, as an extension of my intent, I suddenly felt something click.”

I frowned. ”So you were able to cast Blessed Weapon because you redefined what counted as a ‘weapon’?”

”Exactly. I thought about my index finger as a spear and remembered how I used to wield qi in my clan’s techniques. And then… it just worked.”

I processed his words carefully.

Lu Gao had reinterpreted the concept of the skill itself, allowing him to activate it in a way that wasn’t normally possible. Even though he still struggled to perceive mana, he had found a way to bypass that limitation—not by brute force, but by reshaping his understanding of the skill’s nature.

This… this was valuable.

Perhaps skill activation wasn’t solely about adhering to a system’s rules but about how one conceptualized the ability itself. My method of training my skills by referencing the flavor texts followed the same line of thought, just with extra steps.

I spotted a rocky outcrop in the distance and guided my descent toward the hill. My landing sent a few loose pebbles skittering down the slope, the impact of my weight pressing firm into the uneven terrain. There was enough space here, more than enough, and scattered chunks of rock that would serve as decent targets.

Lifting my hand, I examined my index finger, still glowing faintly from the lingering effect of Blessed Weapon. It was a strange sensation—knowing it was possible to redefine what constituted a weapon, bending the rules through sheer will.

”Lu Gao,” I said, shifting my focus inward. ”Show me how you did it.”

I felt his presence stir within me. His voice came, not as a spoken word, but as a thought woven with memory.

”You already know how I did it. You were in my body when I cast it.”

”Knowing and understanding aren’t the same thing,” I countered. ”I need to see how you first learned. How you first trained.”

Silence stretched between us, but then, like a floodgate breaking open, I was pulled into his memories.

The training hall of the Lu branch clan was filled with murmurs. Elders and instructors lined the perimeter, watching with measured anticipation.

A child stood at the center—no older than eight or nine, dressed in crisp martial robes embroidered with the sigil of the branch clan. His hair was neatly tied, his stance proud, and his eyes… they shone with boundless confidence.

”Lu Gao will be the one to elevate us.”

”His talent surpasses all before him. He will be our answer to the Lu Imperial House.”

The voices surrounded him, feeding into his growing arrogance. The young Lu Gao smirked as he performed one technique after another, flawlessly executing the basic forms of the clan’s internal arts. His strikes were sharp, his footwork pristine. Every movement radiated untapped potential.

A mentor stepped forward, eyes filled with quiet approval.

”Good. Very good. With this talent, you may even stand among the main clan’s elites one day.”

Lu Gao puffed up with pride.

”Of course I will! Why wouldn’t I?”

But arrogance was a fragile thing.

One day, his training took a different turn.

”You lack the right constitution for the main clan’s vaunted techniques,” an elder informed him. ”You will never master them.”

The words felt like a slap to the face. Lu Gao straightened his back, confusion flashing across his youthful features.

”That’s not true! I can learn anything!”

The elder’s gaze was like cold steel. ”No, you cannot. Your talent lies elsewhere. If you wish to be of use, then refine your skills as an assassin.”

Anger burned in his young chest. Assassin techniques? That was for those who hid in the shadows, those who were too weak to stand openly as warriors.

”I refuse!” he declared. ”I will prove I belong among the main clan’s finest!”

The clan had no room for rebellion.

They arranged a match. A duel against a main clan child of his age. It was meant to put him in his place.

The day of the match, the air was thick with expectation.

Lu Gao entered the arena with his pride intact. The main clan child stood across from him, a boy dressed in far more elaborate robes, his presence calm and unwavering.

The duel began.

The first exchange was enough to shatter his delusions.

The main clan child moved with effortless grace, his strikes carrying a force that outmatched Lu Gao’s best efforts. Every attack Lu Gao unleashed was met with superior technique, his footwork countered with flawless positioning. He was being overwhelmed.

And then—desperation.

Instincts buried deep within his training surfaced. He abandoned his standard forms, shifting into an entry-level assassination technique. His body flickered. A shadowy blur. His fingers formed into a spear-like thrust, aimed at a vital point.

The main clan child barely dodged in time, the attack grazing his shoulder.

The duel was over. Lu Gao had won.

But when he looked around, there was no applause.

The elders were silent. His opponent wasn’t humiliated—only disappointed.

Lu Gao had been forced to fight like an assassin to secure his victory.

His pride had crumbled.

And from that day forward, his path was decided for him.

Or so that would have been the normal course of events.

But reality could be cruel. The memories sharpened. Details I hadn’t noticed before came into focus—every bead of sweat that clung to young Lu Gao’s brow, the disappointed stares of the elders, the barely veiled sneers of the main clan cultivators.

Lu Gao let go, surrendering his past to me.

The story continued.

His victory had not been celebrated. It had been punished.

The main clan could not tolerate disgrace, not when the boy hailed as their future had been humiliated by a mere branch clan child—and with a dirty assassination technique, no less. The insult had been unbearable.

A week later, they came for Lu Gao.

They called it a lesson. They called it justice.

But it was vengeance.

He had been dragged to the training courtyard, the same place where he had once been admired, and stripped of everything. His dantian had been shattered—not completely, but just enough to cripple his cultivation indefinitely.

”Consider this mercy,” one of the elders had said. ”You may still live. But you will never surpass your station.”

He had been discarded.

Left to wallow in his failure.

No longer a prodigy. No longer a symbol of hope.

Just a broken child trying to claw his way back to the heights that had once been promised to him.

I gasped as I tore free from the memory. The weight of it sat heavy on my chest, the injustice of it all like a fire threatening to burn through my ribs.

A name echoed in my mind.

“Hollow Point.”

I breathed it aloud, my voice steady.

At that moment, something inside me shifted. Lu Gao’s pain, his anger, his relentless struggle—it all poured into the technique, mingling with my own sheer stats and the burning light of Blessed Weapon.

And something new was born.

A white-hot surge of power flared along my right arm. Purple and white flames burst from my skin, devouring my sleeve in an instant. The heat didn’t burn me, but the sheer force of it sent my pulse racing.

Lu Gao stirred within me, stunned.

”What is this…?”

I turned my burning hand, watching the way the flames curled around my index finger. The technique had evolved—no longer just a simple stab meant to pierce flesh.

This was something far greater.

I glanced at the ruined sleeve, then back at the wild energy crackling along my limb. ”I don’t know what to call it. You’re the one who made it possible. Give it a name, Lu Gao, my disciple.”

Lu Gao was quiet for a moment. Then, something unexpected happened.

A laugh.

Not bitter, not hollow, but something giddy, almost childlike.

”It is an honor, Master,” he said, his voice lighter than it had ever been. ”Then… Hollow Point: Incursion!”

I smirked. ”Good name.”

The air crackled around me as I took a single step forward.

And then—I lurched.

It felt like my weight had vanished, as if the world itself had momentarily lost its hold on me. A sensation reminiscent of instantaneous movement techniques, but not quite the same.

I reappeared in front of a massive rock.

My glowing index finger stabbed forward.

The moment my finger touched the stone, white cracks spread like lightning over its surface. Purple flames surged through the fractures, devouring the core.

For a single breath, the rock held together—as if defying the inevitable.

And then—

It ceased to exist.

Not shattered.

Not broken.

Just… dust.

I exhaled, shaking off the lingering energy. The remnants of the flames danced in the air before fading into nothingness.

Lu Gao, still within me, let out a slow, awed breath.

”That was… absurd.”

I grinned, flexing my fingers. ”Feels like just the beginning of something even greater.”