Immortal Paladin

We were walking down a hallway that refused to end.

Not just long… it was unnatural. The air thrummed with quiet tension, like the corridor itself was alive and watching. I couldn’t help but glance around, eyes tracing the seamless stone, the faintly glowing inlays etched into the walls like veins pulsing with mysterious energy. Wards. Spell formations. Something else too, something ancient, that didn’t belong to either. It all whispered of power layered over power, buried under the weight of secrecy and age.

“The Empire’s technology is truly a sight to behold.”

It reminded me of the path Xin Yune once led me through when she brought me to that underground facility. Left, then right, then a descending spiral staircase. And then doors that didn’t open until you bled.

Yeah. It felt like that again.

”These halls are older than the Empire,” Emperor Nongmin said, hands clasped behind his back as if he were just strolling through a garden. ”Some say they were carved by the founding dragons. Others think they were stolen from another realm altogether.”

”Right,” I muttered. ”Definitely gives the vibe of someone stealing from someone way more dangerous than them.”

He didn’t rise to the bait.

”There is something you must learn,” he said after a moment, his voice even, though his eyes flicked to me like they were measuring my weight on some unseen scale. ”Knowledge that may influence your path… significantly.”

I didn’t stop walking, but I raised an eyebrow. ”And this is the part where you pretend you’re not manipulating me?”

”No.” He looked at me, actually looked, and said, ”I won’t pretend. But I will tell you the truth, because it is not mine to twist.”

Well, that was ominous.

Still, I kept pace. I wasn’t stupid. Wary? Absolutely. But curious, too. He had already given me more than most would, information, access, a chance to slap his imperial rear end twice without consequences. He didn’t have to walk me down here himself, but he did.

Maybe because this knowledge, whatever it was, carried weight he couldn’t entrust to anyone else.

Eventually, we reached a door: smooth, pale metal with no handle, no hinges, and no visible way to open it.

Nongmin placed his hand against it. ”Before we step through… indulge me.”

I crossed my arms. ”That’s never a comforting phrase from someone with a title.”

He smirked faintly, but his tone was serious. ”What do you think… of working with the Empire? Side by side.”

I blinked.

That wasn’t how he phrased it before.

”You mean the ’sponsorship’ offer?” I asked. ”Because that sounded more like you funding me while I do my own thing. Not… whatever this is.”

”It’s not an order,” he said. ”But things are shifting. I can feel it. Soon, choices will matter more than power. Alignment more than strength. And I find myself wondering where you truly wish to stand.”

There it was again. That heavy, prophetic Emperor tone.

I sighed, looked him dead in the eye, and gave it to him straight.

”I have no intention of working for the Empire,” I said. ”Let’s make that clear. I’m not one of your soldiers. I didn’t grow up here, I don’t owe you anything, and I don’t trust your Houses as far as I can throw them.”

He didn’t flinch.

”But…” I continued, ”…I’m not blind. We’ve helped each other in ways that mattered. You’ve given me information. And then, sometimes soon, resources. The fact that your mother was the one thing that ties us is something to consider too.”

I hesitated. That part still stuck with me, more than I let on.

”So if our goals line up,” I said slowly, ”then yeah. We can mutually help each other. Not as allies, not as enemies. Something in between. A partnership, maybe. But on my terms. I don’t trust you, Nongmin. I just can’t, so we have to settle for this.”

A long silence stretched between us.

Then, unexpectedly, Nongmin chuckled. It was soft, almost tired. ”You are unlike anyone I’ve ever ruled beside, Da Wei.”

”I’m not beside you,” I said flatly. ”I’m just not trying to burn your palace down today.”

The metal door groaned, splitting open with a sound like stone grinding against bone.

”Then step through,” he said. ”And see the kind of truth even an Emperor fears.”

I took a breath and walked into the light.

“Hmmm… So, what is this place? Huh? Is this… a library?”

I stepped into a place that didn’t make sense.

The moment I crossed the threshold, the world turned sideways, or maybe upside down. Bookshelves lined the walls, the ceiling, even the floor beneath my boots was covered with open tomes, not a single one shifting as I walked. Titles in languages I didn’t recognize whispered their names as I passed. Some books blinked. One hissed. I wasn’t sure if I imagined that last one.

“Welcome,” Nongmin said beside me, spreading his arms like a proud curator. “To the Grand Ascension Library.”

Grand was one word for it. Disorienting as hell was another.

I followed him as best I could through the uneven terrain of stacked knowledge and floating pages. That’s when I noticed his gait. A little stiff, a little awkward. Like someone who recently got swatted somewhere private and was trying very hard to walk it off.

A grin pulled at my lips.

“You sure you’re okay there?” I asked. “Because you’re walking like someone who lost a duel with a particularly vengeful paddle.”

He didn’t answer immediately. Just gave me a flat look over his shoulder. “Your hand,” he said dryly, “should be registered as a diplomatic weapon.”

“Well, you were the one who bent over,” I shrugged, brushing a drifting scroll out of my face. “Anyway, let’s cut through the riddles. Just tell me straight… Shenyuan. Is he still alive?”

That made him stop.

Nongmin turned slowly, his expression serious now. The weight of it hit like a sudden cold draft in the room.

“I am certain,” he said, “that his main body perished.”

I felt something hollow in my chest. Not relief. Not satisfaction. Just… disappointment.

“I mean… I wanted him dead,” I admitted, rubbing the back of my neck. “But after everything, after what happened to my disciples, I hoped he’d lived. So I could find him. Make him talk. Rip every damn secret out of him with my own hands.”

Shenyuan did say he could resurrect my disciples.

Nongmin gave a slow nod. “You’re not the only one who wanted answers.”

I exhaled. “Main body,” I repeated. “That implies there were others. Clones, right?”

“Clones. Shadows. Echoes.” He glanced upward as a spectral ladder formed beside a shelf that hadn’t been there a second ago. “Like most old monsters, he prepared contingencies. Shenyuan wasn’t someone who accepted mortality easily.”

“How many?”

“No idea,” Nongmin said. “But there are still a few running around. I can feel their echoes from time to time. Not strong enough to challenge empires, but strong enough to escape detection if they wished.”

“And what are the chances,” I asked slowly, “that those copies know how to bring back my disciples?”

He gave me a long look. “Slim. Very slim. And even if they did… they wouldn’t talk.”

Of course not. That would be too easy.

“I encountered him once before,” Nongmin said, his tone shifting. “Back when I was just beginning my conquest. Before the Empire. When everything was still blood and dust.”

That surprised me. “You fought him?”

“No,” he said. “I survived him. Some of my people didn’t.”

His gaze dropped, fingers brushing a floating scroll before dismissing it.

“We had the Divine Physician, even then… Xin Yune. Her skills were beyond compare, but there were no traces left behind. Not even enough essence to work with. Whatever technique Shenyuan used… it erased the soul’s path completely.”

I frowned. “So he killed them in a way that not even a resurrection attempt could work?”

“Yes,” he said. “And I swore I would understand how.”

He motioned, and the room shifted. The bookshelves rotated inward, revealing a hidden pathway beneath the floor. We walked along its path, turning onto several pathways here and there.

“I managed to capture one of his shadows,” he said. “Not a clone. A living fragment. Some piece of him split from the whole.”

“What did you do with it?”

He met my gaze, and in his eyes, I saw a flicker of something close to shame.

“I subjected it to ten thousand realities. Simulated worlds, recursive tortures. I tried breaking it with pain, with kindness, with truth. I even gave it a chance to redeem itself. Nothing worked. It always chose silence. Always chose death.”

I swallowed hard.

“Not even guilt?”

“It didn’t feel guilt,” he said. “It didn’t feel anything. While some masters would argue his clones were inferior and faulty, it was superior in other ways, like its stubbornness.”

“So if any of his fragments know what he did to my people…” I said.

“They will not give it up willingly,” Nongmin finished. “If they know at all.”

I didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “Good.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Good?”

“Because if they won’t tell me,” I said, my voice low, “then I’ll carve the knowledge out of their bones.”

One thing about having Divine Sense was that it wasn’t just for feeling spiritual energy or sniffing out danger like a sixth sense on steroids. No. With enough focus, it could peel through the edges of someone’s words and find what lingered beneath. Lies were like smudges on a glass pane, and even if I couldn’t see the full picture behind them, I could tell something was there.

That was the trick. As long as they talked, I could work with it. As long as they talked.

But first, I had to catch one of those Shenyuan remnants.

Nongmin brought me to a stop in front of a narrow, weathered door. Compared to the towering grandeur of the rest of the Grand Ascension Library, this thing looked like a joke. The wood was cracked, the frame leaned slightly to the left, and the bronze handle squeaked when he turned it.

“This way,” he said.

Inside was… surprisingly human.

A small study. A few bookshelves here and there, none particularly tall. A window, false maybe, cast golden light onto a modest desk cluttered with scrolls, inkstones, and a half-drunk cup of tea that might’ve been centuries old. There was even a worn armchair tucked into the corner with an open book left face-down on the seat.

I closed the door behind us.

Nongmin stepped forward and motioned at the room with a soft wave. “This place houses Class One knowledge. The kind that stirs even Immortals to madness.”

I didn’t sit.

He didn’t either.

Instead, he turned slightly, facing a wall lined with diagrams etched in fine golden ink. Maps of star systems? Realms? Spirals within spirals. And then he asked, “Tell me, what do you think the shape of the world is?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Is this a riddle?”

“A relevant one,” he said. “You may not realize it now, but this question will matter to you. Especially if… one day, you wish to leave.”

Leave?

I frowned but said nothing. He went on.

“I know little of you,” Nongmin admitted. “Every time I’ve tried to peer into your nature, your origin, you deflect. I see it in the Heavenly Eye. You speak in riddles, or you change the subject. Or you joke.”

I crossed my arms. “Maybe I don’t like being examined like a lab rat.”

“And I don’t enjoy gambling my Empire’s future on a man I don’t understand.” His voice was calm, but there was weight behind it. “What I know about you, I learned from the day you appeared in Yellow Dragon City. From that point on, you’ve burned through schemes, toppled powers, and rewritten expectations.”

He paused.

“And in the same breath,” he added, “as much as you can’t fully trust me, I can’t fully trust you.”

I stared at him for a while. “So why are we here?”

“Because,” Nongmin said, eyes turning distant, “the one thing I do know, the thing I see again and again, is that you will save this Empire. Once. Twice. Thrice. Again. And again.”

I blinked. “That’s… weirdly poetic. Did you rehearse that?”

“I don’t need to manipulate you into helping the people,” he said, ignoring me. “You’re going to do it anyway.”

I stared.

“…What is wrong with you?” I asked flatly.

He finally cracked a faint smile. “Everything. And yet, here I am, trying to be honest.”

He walked toward the desk, picked up a scroll, then set it down again. “I don’t know why you were cast into this world. I don’t know who you were before. But I have a feeling you might never be able to go home.”

My throat tightened. I kept my face still.

No witty retort came.

Nongmin turned toward me fully. “That’s why this knowledge matters. Because one day, you may want to go beyond this world. And you may find that this,” he gestured to the maps on the wall, to the spirals, the folds, the impossible geometry, “is the only truth that matters.”

I looked at the wall. I looked at him.

And for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I was in a study or standing at the edge of something vast and yawning.

“…What is the shape of the world, then?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

He just stepped aside and let the maps speak for themselves.