Immortal Paladin

I rubbed my temple in frustration, my fingers trembling slightly. “Da Ji,” I muttered under my breath, activating the Destiny Seeking Eyes, “you swore, didn’t you?” And yet, the vision revealed nothing. No thread of fate, and no echo of that promise. When I confronted her, she denied everything… not in defiance, but in confusion. “I never made such a promise,” she insisted, her brows furrowed as if my words were foreign.

It wasn’t a lie. She truly didn’t remember. The promise, the implications, and the reason behind it. They had all vanished from her mind as if scrubbed clean. The only conclusion I could reach was that her memory had been tampered with. Another Immortal Art, perhaps. Some bastard was playing us, and I had missed it entirely.

“Fuuuuuck…” I groaned, dragging my hands down my face. “I really screwed up.” That child… If what I foresaw before still held true, it could very well mean the end of the world… or at least this world. And if the world ended, chances were, I could still survive. It could be a method of escape, yes, but the cost? Too great. It was uncertain to an extent, but it was a fact that this was bad. I needed my body back from Jue Bu, fast. Every day without it, I risked everything spiraling out of control.

When I returned to the shrine, my mood was grim. The halls were quiet. The fragrance of incense lingered in the air, masking the scent of parchment and ink. I sat at the long wooden desk in the strategy room, writing contingency after contingency.

Da Ji could defend the Sacred Groves, and that much I trusted. She had grown immensely, no matter how strange her power was. But one person wasn’t enough. I couldn’t rely on fate alone to shield this place in my absence.

I began drafting the first wave of letters. It was practical, calculated, and dry as sand. The first was addressed to the heads of the factories. Their operations would shift immediately. Spirit tools, puppet soldiers, and magical appliances had to be prioritized. Quality would take a hit, but I couldn’t afford to demand perfection. Mass production would win this war.

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To: All Factory Managers of the Sacred Groves

From: Wen Yuhan, Voice of the Grove

Effective immediately, factory priorities are to be restructured. Focus production on automated puppet soldiers per Blueprint Model 32-A, utilizing qi-conductive alloys available in the lower warehouse tiers. Delay civilian items unless explicitly approved. The demand for magical tools and low-tier enchantment relics will rise in the next quarter, prepare now.

Allocate all surplus resources to artificial spirit stone creation using the newly imported furnace chambers. Mining teams must intensify operations on Dragon Vein Node 5—any resistance from environmental regulators is to be documented and overridden.

Failure to comply will be interpreted as a breach of wartime protocol.

Wen Yuhan.

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That done, I penned the second letter. This one needed more finesse. I couldn’t make the security department panic. The change needed to be firm, yet subtle. Let the defense swell without raising too many questions.

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To: Department of External and Internal Security

From: Wen Yuhan

Effective next week, increase active patrols in New Willow by twenty percent. Extend soldier training to cover siege scenarios and counter-puppet tactics. Defensive formations around the Sacred Groves are to be rotated every six hours instead of eight—randomize the patterns, and limit internal access to the new schematics.

Avoid alarming the civilian population. Inform no one of an impending threat. Phrase all changes as routine reinforcement. I will personally review compliance reports within a week.

Wen Yuhan.

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Then came the final two letters, and these weighed heavier than the rest. I paused between strokes, trying not to overthink the deception. Lying to Wan Peng was easy… he was loyal and adaptable. But lying to the entire General Council? That was different.

Still, it had to be done.

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To: Head Councilor Wan Peng

I entrust the Council to your care for the foreseeable future. I will be departing for matters of personal cultivation and cannot offer a definitive time of return. Should a crisis fall, trust that I will return immediately. Please maintain order and continuity in my absence.

You have my complete trust.

Wen Yuhan.

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To: General Council of the Sacred Groves

I hereby announce my formal entry into cultivation seclusion, effective tomorrow. The goal is to break through into the Soul Recognition Realm. During this time, my presence in public matters will be limited. All decisions requiring my authority are to be deferred to Councilor Wan Peng or reviewed upon my return.

This cultivation is necessary for the long-term defense of the Sacred Groves. I thank the Council in advance for their understanding and support.

Wen Yuhan.

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I leaned back, closing my eyes. My soul ached, not from injury, but from the burden. I was lying to everyone, even myself, in small measured doses. But wasn’t that always part of cultivation? Growth through deception, through masks and hidden truths.

The problem was that some masks were starting to feel more like skin.

“Now, to more work…”

I had already sent the letter addressed to the Department of External and Internal Security several days prior. It was short, functional, and cloaked in bureaucratic jargon. It was just enough to avoid raising suspicion, yet sharp enough to activate contingency protocols should anything go awry while I was away. The rest of the letters I would release only the day of my departure. Timing mattered. Too soon, and someone would start asking questions.

The following week was the busiest I had been in months. Meetings bled into lectures. I reviewed proposals, drafted countermeasures, and delivered guidance to our council members. My feet barely touched the ground. I traveled between city-states under our jurisdiction, solidifying alliances and inspecting infrastructure. I taught entrant cultivators, quelled internal squabbles, and fought off rogue Masters who thought to test our borders. I interrogated spies, some I spared, and some I didn’t. The Guardians’ mobilization had to remain secret, so every move I made had to serve as a distraction.

Equipping them with new gear had been straightforward. Updating their training regimen had not. I pushed them harder than ever before, embedding discipline not only into their muscles but into their hearts. Each member of the old 112th Bronze Unit, now called Guardians, had earned their place through grit, but managing their logistics in silence while pretending everything was normal stretched me thin. Procuring supplies from food, medicine, charms, to forged tokens had been the hardest. But somehow, I did it.

And now, I was ready.

I stared at the lone Storage Ring we had, resting on a slab of spiritwood within the shrine. Its silver glint caught the moonlight through the open window. Inside were all the supplies the Guardians would need for a long campaign, from provisions, rations, enchanted tents, coded scrolls, and even a handful of rare pills I’d hoarded for years. I closed my fist over the ring, then turned toward the desk.

There was one last letter to write.

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To Da Ji,

From your ever-frustrated ’sister’

Congratulations on your pregnancy. I hope you’re prepared for the never-ending cycle of nausea, food cravings, and unsolicited advice from married women in the market square. Still, I’m happy for you. Really. You deserve joy. You deserve the life you fought for.

But that life now rests on your shoulders more than ever.

In my absence, I want you to defend the Sacred Grove. I won’t sugarcoat it—this may be the longest I’ve ever left, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. The threats are growing. Our enemies are sharpening their blades. And I fear we’ve grown too comfortable in our own strength.

You’re strong enough, Da Ji. Smarter than you think, braver than you admit. I’ve seen you grow, and I trust you with everything that matters. Be kind. Be fair. Be terrifying when necessary. The people look to Wen Yuhan and her teachings. Let them see her unshaken.

I’ll return when I can.

Until then,

—Yuhan

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I sealed the letter, then waited.

Sure enough, Yuen Fu arrived. The moment I saw him at the doorway… eyes flicking toward the Guardians hidden outside the city… I knew what he was going to ask.

I handed him the bundle of letters.

“Distribute these before dawn,” I said.

His gaze hovered over the stack. “You’re mobilizing them,” he said. “The Guardians. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Of course, he would be frustrated; he was a Guardian too.

I leaned back against the desk. “Because someone has to stay. Someone I trust. Someone who understands both command and culture. That someone is you.”

He frowned, visibly troubled. “Because of my noble blood?”

“Exactly because of that,” I said. “The Guardians come from conscript backgrounds. And yeah, their number had inflated from the volunteers, but they still won’t compare to you. They respect me because I am Wen Yuhan. But you? They look at you and see someone who could’ve stayed comfortable, but chose to fight. That gives your presence a weight I don’t have when I’m gone.”

Yuen Fu’s lips pressed into a tight line. “I don’t want special treatment.”

“It’s not a privilege,” I said. “It’s an order.”

He didn’t move for a long while, then finally stepped forward, jaw clenched. “Then let me challenge that order.”

I met his eyes. “Yuen Fu—”

“If I win, I march with them,” he said. “If I lose, I’ll stay and keep my mouth shut. But if you won’t even give me that chance…” He took a breath. “Then I’ll kill myself.”

I shut my eyes for a moment, muttering a curse under my breath. I’d anticipated this. That was why I had already laid two wooden swords beneath the shrine’s incense table. I pulled them out and tossed one to him. He caught it with both hands, face like steel.

“No cultivation,” he said.

“No cultivation,” I echoed, gripping my sword. 

We stepped into the moonlit courtyard. The air was still. The trees didn’t rustle. It was the quiet of a night that knew it was about to be broken.

“Before we start,” Yuen Fu said, wooden sword resting lightly on his shoulder, “I want to ask something.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What is it?”

He didn’t raise his voice, but there was weight behind his words. “Did you do… something strange the day you convinced the 112th Bronze Squadron to follow you? Were we manipulated into siding with you?”

I paused. I could have lied. It would have been easy to wrap the truth in half-answers and call it inspiration or instinct. But Yuen Fu, of all people, deserved better. He had followed me not because of a technique, not because of promises, but because he believed in the symbol I embodied. That faith still echoed in my soul, a literal resonance I couldn’t ignore.

“Yes,” I said at last, keeping my gaze on him. “I manipulated you.”

His fingers tightened around the hilt.

“I used the Destiny Seeking Eyes,” I continued. “Not to control your minds, not to alter your wills. But I saw the thread of decisions you were all most likely to make… and I pulled gently. I used beautiful words, designed a stage, and lit the right torches. I crafted a destiny that was appealing to your hearts… and let you walk into it.”

He stared at me in silence for a long moment. Then, in a quieter voice, he asked, “Did you control our minds?”

I grimaced. “No. That’s… horrifying. Nothing that invasive. But if I’m being honest… if you really look at it… I’ve been manipulating perceptions for years now. Stirring myths. Reinventing stories. Sculpting faith into something useful. I’ve done everything short of mind control. The result’s not too different.”

He let out a breath that felt like it had been held for years. “Why be so honest now?”

“Because the Guardians,” I said, “and you especially, represent more than just loyalty. You’re the iron spine of the Sacred Groves’ defense. We have soldiers, yes… armies even, spread across city-states… but numbers don’t mean anything without quality. You are that quality, Yuen Fu. And I need you to stay and lead while I’m gone.”

He gave a sad laugh. “You always know how to make a man feel important.”

“I’m not done,” I added. “When are you going to announce it?”

His brows arched. “So I didn’t surprise you.”

“You never do.”

He stepped forward. And then… something changed.

I’ve always known Yuen Fu was special.

The pressure around him thickened. But it wasn’t the overwhelming force of cultivation… It was heavier in a different way, like standing beside a mountain. Yuen Fu’s presence grew vast and commanding.

“I’ve reached Supreme Master in Martial Arts,” he said simply. “No one can match me in the sword now. Not even you.”

I didn’t doubt it. Martial cultivation had diverged from spiritual cultivation long ago. To reach Supreme Master in the physical arts alone… without the scaffolding of qi… was rarer than seeing a dragon swim upstream.

Okay, to be fair, I’ve never seen a dragon swim upstream live, in front of me. For some reason, the Hollowed World have a great lack of them.

Yuen Fu raised his wooden blade. “Let’s begin.”

“No cultivation,” I reminded.

“No external qi,” he echoed. “Just fists, footwork, and martial arts.”

We moved.

I poured internal qi into Divine Speed and pivoted forward. Our swords clashed once… just once. That was all it took. My weapon snapped with a sharp crack, the wood splintering in my grip.

It was expected. My martial foundation was solid, but not Supreme. I operated on borrowed talent, refined skill, and too many divine shortcuts. In contrast, Yuen Fu had been forged through years of repetition, challenge, and unbroken will.

He pressed forward, his sword already reversing in a second arc. I didn’t block it. Instead, I caught the back of the blade with both hands and twisted, shattering the weapon into splinters. Breath caught between us. The courtyard was still.

“I guess that’s a tie,” I said, hand still bleeding from the catch.

Yuen Fu didn’t smile. “We can still continue.”

He drew another blade… this time, not wood. Steel gleamed under the moonlight, honest and lethal.

I sighed. “If you really want to go there…”

I opened my Storage Ring and pulled out my sword… a simple longblade, unadorned, forged with mundane steel and sharpened just enough to cut through anything without breaking. It wasn’t made for dazzle. It was made for war.

“Before we continue,” I said, lowering my stance slightly, “there’s a bulge on your pants.”

“What?” Yuen Fu blinked, startled, glancing instinctively below his waist.

That was all I needed.

I moved like lightning, closing the gap and bringing the back of my sword crashing down toward his leg. At the very last second, he twisted his body and brought his blade up, deflecting the blow, but not cleanly. I felt the impact run through the wood, then the sickening give of bone. He stumbled back, hissing through clenched teeth.

“Everything is fair in love and war,” I remarked casually, blade still pointed forward. “Yuen Fu.”

He glared at me. “That was a cheap shot.”

I offered a half-shrug. “So, do you give up now?”

“Fuck you~!”

So that was a no.

I rolled my eyes and lifted my sword again, pointing behind him this time. “There’s a plane.”

Yuen Fu didn’t even blink. “What even is a plane?”

I lunged anyway, hoping instinct or curiosity would do the job for me. But he brought his sword up effortlessly, parrying with enough force to nearly disarm me. I staggered back and muttered, “Tch. I thought I had you.”

Trying the same trick twice was a mistake, clearly. Yuen Fu wasn’t dumb. He’d grown up beside warriors, in the shadow of generals, and trained under my own system long enough to know better. And though he was young, he wasn’t just talented… he was meticulous. And loyal, which made this harder than it needed to be.

“Still, that trick with the bulge… really?” he asked, circling now, his injured leg shaking ever so slightly with each step.

“It worked,” I said.

“Barely.”

We exchanged a few more blows, testing and cautious. The wooden splinters from earlier littered the shrine grounds, glowing faintly under moonlight. I didn’t push too hard, not with that limp of his becoming more obvious with each clash. But the kid wouldn’t quit. There was fire in him. And pain.

He winced again, shifting his weight.

“Yuen Fu,” I said between strikes, “you’ve already proven your point.”

“You think this is about proving something?” he grunted, narrowly avoiding a diagonal cut and returning with a feint to my shoulder. “This isn’t for you… This is for me.”

I sighed and met his next attack squarely. The impact rang down my arms. My wrists ached. His strikes had weight, not just from physical strength but from conviction. That kind of force didn’t come from training. It came from belief. In himself. In the cause. In me. No, in Da Wei.

Which made this harder.

But I couldn’t indulge him forever.

I disarmed him cleanly with the next strike, twisting my wrist and knocking his blade to the ground. Then I tapped the tip of my sword lightly against his neck.

“It’s over.”

He breathed heavily, chest rising and falling. Sweat clung to his brow. But he didn’t say anything. Not at first.

Then, finally: “You win.”

I lowered the sword.

He didn’t fall to one knee. He didn’t bow. He simply picked up the blade and gave me a look, something between gratitude and frustration. I met his gaze, and for once, I didn’t have anything clever to say.

“Thank you,” I said instead.

He blinked. “For what?”

“For being exactly who you are. For being the kind of man who doesn’t stop until the end.”

He chuckled weakly. “Then you better not screw this up.”

“I don’t plan to.”

He nodded and turned away, limping back toward the shrine’s main path. I watched him go for a moment, then turned my gaze toward the darkness beyond the trees. The Guardians were already waiting. The road ahead would be long. The mission, uncertain. But everything was in place.

All that was left now… was to leave.