Immortal Paladin

[POV: Mercenary A]

It had been twenty years since Mo Bo lost spectacularly in the Yellow Dragon Tournament. The memory still lingered like a scar carved deep into his heart, a reminder that talent had abandoned him long before he realized it. He remembered the humiliation of standing on the stage, his swordsmanship proving useless, and his pride shattered as the crowd roared for someone else. That day forced him to confront the truth that no matter how desperately he trained, he was not destined for greatness.

Since then, his life had been a long journey of soul-searching. He walked through countless towns, took up dirty jobs that no sect disciple would even consider, and honed his swordsmanship one scar at a time. As a lone mercenary, he fought beasts, bandits, and even small sects, earning Spirit Stones enough to survive and refine his blade. The endless trials carved his style into something sharp and efficient, a sword meant to kill swiftly without flourish. From Martial Tempering to Mind Enlightenment, he climbed slowly, eventually reaching Will Reinforcement, the Third Realm.

Now he stood with dozens of other mercenaries at the edge of a dense forest, the weight of another job pressing on him. The sun hung overhead, hot and unrelenting, even on cultivators who could temper their bodies against heat. Sweat still beaded across necks and brows, proof of the strain of waiting. They were an unruly assortment of lone blades-for-hire gathered together, their mismatched armor and weapons painting them as the ragtag force they were. Most were weak, mere First or Second Realm fighters with barely enough qi to last a serious skirmish. A handful had climbed higher to the Third or Fourth Realm, and rarer still were those who reached the Fifth or Sixth. Numbers alone were their strength, not unity.

Behind him, conversations stirred like the buzz of restless insects. One grizzled cultivator whispered, “This job’s too big for us. Did you hear? A famous lone mercenary’s in charge of main force, an Eighth Realm cultivator. That’s someone who could topple sect elders.” Another leaned closer, excitement in his tone, “And the Wolf Brigade’s here too, every one of them killers. Their leader’s Seventh Realm and they say his blade moves faster than thunder.” A third voice added, “There’s more. An assassin group came in last night. Silent killers, faces hidden, even their names unknown.” Someone else spat on the dirt, muttering, “And don’t forget the Thunder Serpent Pirates. Bastards like them don’t move unless the pay’s drenched in gold. If they’re here, this raid must be worth dying for.”

Mo Bo listened in silence. Once, he might have felt envy or dread, but now he only measured his breath and waited. Fame and power belonged to others; his own role was clear. He was a sword in the shadows, no more, no less.

Suddenly, a chill swept across the gathering, not from the wind but from the killing intent that flared like a blade unsheathed. The murmurs died instantly as every gaze turned upward. A woman with scarlet hair stood on a cliff overlooking them, her presence sharp enough to cut. The aura of her cultivation rippled outward, smothering weaker mercenaries to silence.

Her voice rang out, strong and commanding. “I am Gong Huan, the Red Blade. Eighth Realm cultivator.” Her eyes swept across the rabble, daring anyone to challenge her. “I will be leading this unit.”

Fuuuck… so this was the main force. Mo Bo felt his stomach sink as he took in the sight of the gathered mercenaries. For all the boasting and drunken bravado he had heard earlier, the truth was becoming clearer by the moment. They were cannon fodder. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword for comfort, though the gesture did little to ease his unease.

Gong Huan’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and commanding. “As long as no one gets in my way, we should be able to do just fine.” Her words weren’t laced with arrogance, but rather the certainty of someone who believed her strength alone could drag this unruly mob toward victory. Mo Bo wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or terrified.

She began the briefing, her red hair shimmering under the noon sun as her killing intent pressed down lightly on the crowd. “The target is New Willow, a floating city that settled on the shore only a few months ago. The key is speed. If we hesitate, the city might simply fly away.”

A ripple of laughter spread among the mercenaries. Someone shouted, “A city flying off? What nonsense!” The sound was more mocking than amused.

Gong Huan’s smile widened, as though she had been waiting for it. “That’s what the small soaring boats are for. Those of you without the gift of flight, First Realm and Second Realm cultivators, will use them to keep up when the assault begins.” Her tone was steady, her eyes scanning the crowd until the laughter faded into uncomfortable silence.

Mo Bo kept his expression neutral, though his mind churned. He had heard rumors of flying cities before, but always dismissed them as tall tales meant to impress children. Yet the way Gong Huan spoke, so matter-of-fact, made it hard to deny. Perhaps the heavens truly favored some cities, gifting them wings to escape danger.

“The military force of New Willow is not to be underestimated,” Gong Huan continued. “Their  law enforcement are composed of mostly First Realm cultivators with a few Third Realm among them. Their Guardians, however, form the backbone of the army… on average, Fourth Realm.”

That announcement drew bursts of laughter again. “Fourth Realm? That’s it?” someone jeered. Another added, “We’ll carve through them like pigs!”

Even Gong Huan chuckled, but her next words carried a sharper edge. “Laugh if you want, but you’d better not hold me back.” Her gaze hardened, and in that moment, Mo Bo realized she was dead serious.

She went on, her voice lowering as though she were revealing a secret. “New Willow is armed with strange technologies you won’t recognize. Stay alert. And remember this… it is said their Guardian Commander is an Eighth Realm or even Ninth Realm cultivator. As for the Sovereign of New Willow…” She let the pause hang long enough for unease to settle. “…rumor places him at the Tenth Realm.”

The laughter died instantly. A suffocating silence fell over the assembly. Even the boastful mercenaries who had mocked the idea of a flying city clenched their jaws and avoided meeting each other’s eyes.

Gong Huan’s voice rolled across the crowd, confident and unwavering. “Do not fear the Sovereign of New Willow. A hidden expert at the Tenth Realm will deal with him. My task is to handle the Guardians, and I will have the Thunder Serpent Pirates and the Wolf Brigade at my side.” Her words were like iron, forcing the restless mob to believe, if only for a moment, that their chances were real.

Then the ground quaked, and the air shook with thunder. Explosions echoed in the distance. Gong Huan’s eyes gleamed with bloodlust. “That’s the signal! The attack begins now!”

The mercenaries surged forward in a tide of steel and desperation. Their movements were messy, but the hunger in their eyes was unmistakable. Gong Huan raised her sword and shouted again, “The first boat to land on New Willow earns Spirit Stones worth your weight! Every confirmed kill of New Willow’s defenders will earn one Spirit Stone each!”

That promise set the mob ablaze. Men and women scrambled to the soaring boats, pushing and shoving in their desperation to seize both wealth and glory. Mo Bo found himself swept into the chaos, his heart pounding. He leapt aboard a boat where several cultivators were already adjusting the controls. He quickly realized he could rely on this group… Mercenaries didn’t live long by being reckless.

Each soaring boat filled not with whoever came first but with carefully chosen groups. Survival depended on balance. The boat Mo Bo boarded was filled with Third and Fourth Realm cultivators, men and women hardened by years of wandering. They spared him a glance, then a nod. That was enough.

The boat lifted, skimming beneath the canopy of the forest before bursting into the open air. The horizon stretched wide, and there it was… New Willow.

But above the floating city loomed an even more terrifying sight. The Thunder Serpents had deployed their flagship, a monstrous vessel blotting out the sun. From its belly, round bombs inscribed with talismans fell like hail. They struck the golden dome surrounding New Willow, each explosion thunderous enough to rattle bones. Flames rolled across the barrier as the qi within the bombs detonated in waves of destruction.

Mo Bo shielded his eyes as the next volley crashed against the dome. The air shimmered, the barrier flickered, and then… snuffed out like a candle. The golden light collapsed.

The mercenaries roared in triumph. Cheers and shouts filled the sky as boats accelerated toward the now-exposed city. “They’re finished!” someone bellowed. “Charge!”

But the celebration ended as quickly as it began.

From the heart of New Willow, a massive black figure erupted into the sky. It moved with blinding speed, a blur that ripped through the Thunder Serpent’s ship like parchment. One heartbeat, the ship reigned supreme; the next, it was torn open, shattering into burning fragments that fell like meteors.

The figure halted, hovering above the wreckage. It was enormous, easily as tall as the Thunder Serpent vessel itself, clad in black armor that gleamed under the sun. Its frame was bulky, its silhouette like that of a war god.

The golden dome flared back into existence, brighter than before, wrapping New Willow in a shield of divine brilliance.

A chill ran down Mo Bo’s spine. His instincts screamed danger.

The black armor raised its hand, a silver halo forming in its palm. Light condensed into a massive orb that hummed with divine power. Then, with terrifying grace, it unleashed it.

Bolts of silver lanced outward, striking the plains in streaks of blinding brilliance. Dozens of soaring boats were shredded, torn apart in midair as explosions rocked the battlefield. Mercenaries screamed as fire and qi swallowed them whole.

Mo Bo’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of his boat. His heart thumped like a war drum. This wasn’t a fight; it was slaughter.

The black armor’s voice thundered across the sky, resonant and merciless. “The name is Phantom, and you are in my turf.”

It gestured. Behind it, several more silver halos bloomed like stars, spinning in unison. From them erupted countless silver arrows, cascading down in a rain of destruction that blotted out the heavens.

The explosion tore through Mo Bo’s boat, and the mercenaries around him scattered like startled birds. Some were swallowed by silver fire before they could even scream, their bodies disintegrating midair. Others plummeted toward the plains, smoke trailing their falling figures. Mo Bo felt the shockwave rip across his skin. Reflex took over as he drew his sword, poured qi into it, and mounted its blade, forcing himself upward. His heart hammered as he soared away from the blast, his robes singed but his body intact. He had barely escaped unscathed.

Above, the remnants of the Thunder Serpent’s flagship broke apart, burning wreckage tumbling down. The debris struck the golden dome around New Willow, only to bounce off harmlessly as if it had struck a mountain. Sparks scattered, but the barrier stood untouched, its light unwavering.

More pirate ships rushed in to avenge their fallen vessel. Their decks glowed as cultivators fired talismanic bombs and qi cannons, the air trembling with violent energy. Yet when the blasts reached the Phantom, they dissipated against a shimmering silver barrier that coiled around the black giant like a protective veil. Not even the combined assault of several warships left a mark.

Then the Phantom reached behind its back. Metal scraped as it drew forth a colossal lump of steel. At first Mo Bo thought it was merely a block, but as the light caught it, the truth sank in… It was a sword, impossibly massive yet wielded with terrifying ease. His stomach dropped.

The black armor raised the weapon, its form backlit by the sun, and then swung. The motion looked almost slow, deliberate, yet the result was instant. A golden arc of qi surged forth, splitting the sky itself. It tore through one of the pirate ships, shearing it clean in half. Both halves erupted into fire before crashing into the plains below, leaving a smoking scar carved deep into the earth. The shockwave rippled outward, and more soaring boats exploded as the arc’s aftershocks shredded their fragile hulls. Screams rang out before silence claimed them.

Mo Bo hovered on his sword, his mouth dry, unable to breathe.

All around him, the survivors trembled. A man beside him whispered hoarsely, “What in the world… what is that creature?”

Another mercenary’s resolve snapped. His qi flared as he turned tail, shrieking, “I can’t do this! I’m out of here!” His soaring blade cut through the air as he fled, leaving the others in panicked silence.

The Phantom tilted its head, then a sound rumbled from within the black armor, a laugh, low and mocking, reverberating across the skies.

“Is that all you can do?” it taunted, its voice dripping with scorn. “Pathetic!”