Immortal Paladin

[POV: Lu Gao]

The stone bridge that had sheltered them for several nights no longer felt safe. Lu Gao had sensed the Northshire soldiers drawing closer, qi signatures brushing against the edges of his perception like knives grazing skin. When the first torchlight appeared across the river, he gave no orders, only moved. Yuen Fu followed, Jue Bu at their rear, and together they slipped into the forests.

The air grew thick beneath the canopy. Roots clawed out of the earth, forcing them to pick each step with care. For hours, no one spoke. Only when the light of the hunters had faded did Yuen Fu finally break the silence.

“Another hideout gone. How many more before we run out of ground?” His voice carried both exhaustion and frustration.

“We endure,” Lu Gao said, his tone clipped. “Until Da Wei finds us, we have no choice.”

Jue Bu chuckled from behind, his voice carrying that familiar arrogance despite wearing Da Wei’s face. “I’d say we’re doing well, considering half the world wants my head. You two should be grateful I haven’t abandoned you yet.”

Ugh… This old monster really wouldn’t learn.

The forest swallowed their words after that, silence stretching between them. Above, crows stirred, wings beating in slow, ominous rhythm.

Lu Gao forced himself to focus, his mind calculating routes. He straightened and said firmly, “We can’t keep hiding under bridges and in caves. It seems, we can only escalate the situation.”

Both men looked at him, Yuen Fu with reluctant agreement, Jue Bu with an amused grin. Whatever their feelings, none of them had a better plan.

To be frank, Lu Gao did not like his plan at all. Every fiber of his being rebelled against it. Involving civilians, stirring them into rebellion, and forcing their hands against an entrenched system felt wrong. It was not the path of his master, and certainly not the ideals Da Wei had stood for. Yet they were cornered, hunted, and stripped of options. Lu Gao’s pragmatism, once a strength, now felt more like a betrayal of the teachings he had once clung to.

For several days, the three of them stayed hidden in the forests that pressed against Northshire’s veins. The canopy muffled sound, offering a shield while they regained strength. They cultivated in silence, meditated to stabilize their qi, and sharpened their blades against stone. Time became a cycle of waiting and preparing, all the while the soldiers of Northshire prowled unseen.

When Jue Bu finally healed from his wounds, the air shifted. His arrogance returned in full measure, and so did his strange ideas. He insisted on making preparations in a graveyard near the capital, an unnamed ground, more a dumping pit than a resting place, where the bodies of men and women slain by the system were discarded without name or prayer.

As they arrived, Jue Bu cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. “Now then, where’s the damn chicken?”

Yuen Fu looked irritated but produced the bird from a sack. Its feathers were ruffled, its eyes darting in panic. “Here. Stole it from a village while you were still groaning like an old ox.”

Lu Gao frowned. “Is the chicken really necessary?”

“Yes,” Jue Bu replied without hesitation, his tone dripping with disdain. “Or would you prefer I use a human sacrifice instead? Don’t look so righteous when you have no alternative. Chickens are cheaper, and unlike human sacrifice, I don’t need to worry about Da Wei suddenly becoming angry at me.” He grinned and then added. “If only you knew how much effort it takes to refine an undead properly, you’d thank me for this. What can I say? It is easier to ask for forgiveness than sto eek permission. In our case, I mean that literally.”

Lu Gao closed his eyes briefly, tamping down the anger rising in his chest. His master would never have condoned such methods, but there was no Da Wei here. “…Fine. Go ahead.”

Jue Bu took the chicken into his hands. The bird flapped once, twice, then stilled as his grip tightened. He whispered guttural words that made the air heavy, the syllables not of the Hollowed World but of something older and fouler. Then, with a quick twist, he broke the creature’s neck.

The chicken cried one last pitiful note before its body dissolved into a black tar-like substance, dripping between Jue Bu’s fingers. The foul ooze bled into the soil, vanishing as though consumed by the earth itself.

The ground rumbled as if something long buried stirred in protest. From beneath the thin layer of soil, hands jutted out, skeletal and broken, some still with patches of rotting flesh. The unnamed dead answered Jue Bu’s summons. Dozens at first, then scores, dragging themselves upright, their eyes glowing faintly with a pale green fire. Some still bore the rusted shackles of execution, others the tatters of peasant garb. Men, women, even the small frames of children… all reduced to fuel for the spell.

Jue Bu stood at the center of it, his arms spread wide, drinking in the dark energy like it was wine. The black tar that had seeped into the ground spread in veins beneath their feet, connecting each corpse to him like strings on a puppet master’s hand. He laughed low in his throat. “Ah… there we go. A fine little army of the forgotten. Tell me, Lu Gao, is this not more efficient than stirring up flesh and blood to rebel?”

Lu Gao’s expression hardened. “Don’t delude yourself. The purpose of this is not conquest. These… things are distractions, nothing more. They will march on the offices of the important officials, draw the eyes of soldiers, and buy us room to move. That is all.”

The corpses stood in ranks now, swaying with an eerie synchronization, their mouths slack as faint moans escaped.

“Send them,” Lu Gao ordered quietly. “Let them walk into the city and hammer against its pillars. While the rulers panic over their precious offices, we will move toward our objectives.”

The undead moaned louder as the command took hold, the graveyard trembling with their first synchronized step.

“I like the way you think,” Jue Bu said, his grin crooked as the undead army lurched forward.

Lu Gao kept his arms crossed, his gaze narrowing as the corpses stumbled into ranks. Resorting to terrorism, inciting rebellion, forcing chaos to cover their movements… this was not what Master Wei would approve of. It gnawed at him, but survival had already pushed them too far down this path.

Apparently, they had overshot themselves this time.

No sooner had the undead reached the outskirts of the city than they stopped, their heads jerking unnaturally. With a unified groan, they turned, not toward the capital but back toward their summoners. Their auras swelled and fluctuated erratically, like waves crashing without rhythm.

Yuen Fu cursed, blade flashing as he cleaved through one, then another. “This isn’t right!”

Lu Gao swung his sword, purple flames erupting and incinerating half a dozen in a single arc. The corpses shrieked, burning to ash, yet more pressed forward.

“What the hell?” Jue Bu barked. His hands were empty, no strings tugging the horde. “I ain’t doing this!”

A strange laughter rolled through the air. “Gya-ha… gya-ha-ha-ha!”

The trees trembled as a figure descended. Suspended in the air was a giant of a man, towering over four meters. His skin was dark as coal, his corpulent body wrapped in loose garments that did little to hide his bulk. Thick braids swung over his shoulders, and his eyes glowed pure white.

“The tyrant…” Lu Gao muttered. “Lei Jia of Northshire.”

Jue Bu’s expression darkened. He snapped his fingers, conjuring a dome of shimmering force. The undead shrieked as they crossed its boundary, bursting into ash, the air thick with the stench of burnt flesh.

“Stay in the dome,” Jue Bu commanded curtly. “It’s an exorcism field. They won’t last against it.”

Then he turned his gaze upward. “How did you find us? I’ve been suppressing our spiritual pressure with my Immortal Art.”

Lei Jia’s voice boomed like thunder. “Simple. I own everything within my domain. The chicken you stole and killed—my chicken!—was bound to me. It’s death sang your location.”

Yuen Fu faltered mid-swing, his brow furrowed. “…So we summoned him… because we killed a chicken?”

“Do you think you can take him out?” Lu Gao asked Jue Bu, his voice edged with tension. “This isn’t like last time. We’re not inside his palace where he was surrounded by living sacrifices. His guards, his slaves, they are fuel for him to punch above his realm. But not here.”

Jue Bu’s usual arrogance slipped, replaced by grim focus. His eyes narrowed. “So that’s the truth behind the over-abundance of perfume in your palace. I thought it was decadence. But now that you’re here, I can smell it clearly. Sulfur. So thick it burns the nose. And you—” his lip curled, “—you sweat too much.”

Lei Jia laughed again, a guttural, mocking sound. “I thought you’d never recognize me, old friend.”

“I am not your friend,” Jue Bu spat.

Then his flesh peeled away in strips of blue fire, his frame elongating until he stood twice his previous height. His skull gleamed through torn muscle, wrapped in flickering azure flames. In his hand, a bony sword formed, jagged and humming with infernal resonance.

“Once upon a time,” Jue Bu intoned, his voice layered with something more ancient than himself, “there were Ten Layers of the Underworld. Now, only Nine. Once upon a time, there were Eighteen Layers of Hell. Now there are none. The old rulers are dust, replaced by the Seven Princes of Hell.” He pointed his sword directly at Lei Jia. “How are you here, Demon King of Steaming Dumplings?!”

The giant trembled, then erupted into a tantrum. The undead howled in unison with his roar.

“It’s not Steaming Dumplings!” Lei Jia bellowed, his voice shrill with fury. “It’s Demon King of Fiery Vapor!”

Sulfuric flames erupted from his pores, steam blasting outward in violent gusts. The corpulent shape warped, melting, reshaping, until what stood there was no man at all but a towering feminine figure. Loose robes clung to a body that radiated both grotesque heat and unnatural allure; her braided hair whipped wildly in the steam.

Yuen Fu blinked, sword still dripping with black ichor. “…He’s a woman all along?”

Lei Jia, Lei Jia, Lei Jia… No wonder the name sounded so feminine. Lu Gao replayed it in his head, the syllables carrying an odd softness that made sense only now as the tyrant’s true form radiated before them.

Lei Jia’s lips curled into a sneer as her voice thundered across the battlefield. “You Underworld Kings… always so arrogant. And now look where it got you! Not one of the Ten Kings survived. Not one! And you, Jue Bu, you’re stuck in this forsaken world!” She raised her arms as if presenting a stage, sulfur steam bursting from her pores in clouds. “But it is amusing, really. After all this time, we meet again, and the Heavenly Temple wants you so badly. Who would’ve thought? I never imagined you as the type to sunder a peaceful Summit.” She paused, eyes gleaming. “Ah… but it wasn’t Jue Bu anymore, was it? It was Da Wei. Strange alias, don’t you think?”

Jue Bu spat black fire from his mouth. “A stolen identity at most. Trust me… You don’t want to meet the real Da Wei.”

Lei Jia laughed, a booming, rattling sound that shook the trees. “Oh, really?”

Then Jue Bu’s voice slid into their minds, carrying the sharp cadence of Qi Speech. “When I say run, you run. This demon before us stands several levels of immortality over me. I won’t be able to protect you both. Worse still, my injuries from the Supreme Void never healed. She knows it, and she would strike at it again the moment she scented that weakness.”

Lu Gao’s grip tightened around his sword. His heart skipped, not from fear of Lei Jia, but from the revelation. This was the first time he’s admitted that the wound hadn’t closed… so all this while, he’s been fighting half-crippled? It was surreal

Jue Bu drew in breath to continue, but the demon was already there.

Lei Jia appeared before them in a blink, her speed so violent the dome warped around her entry. She sneered, her breath hot with sulfur. “If you think I’ll give you time for a strategy meeting, then you must take me for an idiot.”

In her hand formed a weapon born of nightmares, a massive club with jagged thorns, and wedged between them, the rotting teeth of men and women. The air reeked of iron and decay as she hefted it with ease, her white eyes burning with cruel joy.

“Think fast,” Lei Jia whispered, and the club came down.

There was no time to dodge. No time for thought. The blow struck like the weight of a collapsing mountain.

And Lu Gao died, crushed beneath the club of the Demon King.