Immortal Paladin

[POV: Ren Xun]

Ren Xun bore the weight of his new crown like a stone tied to his soul. The cheers of men and dragons still echoed faintly in the city streets, yet already he was wrestling with the truth: he wanted to foist this burden onto someone else. Onto Nongmin.

But that was a dangerous temptation. His grandfather was no fool, and his schemes often carried daggers hidden beneath the folds of silk. Ren Xun knew well enough that Nongmin’s path was one of destruction, a deliberate collapse of the old order to raise Da Wei as its sole heir, as the new Emperor of a shattered world. To thrust this dragon-crown upon him would only complicate the madness.

Still, the thought burned at Ren Xun as he walked through the stone halls to Nongmin’s quarters.

When he entered, the sight that greeted him nearly made him falter.

Da Wei’s Human Soul was lounging idly, his handsome form sprawled on a chair, eyes fixed on a hanging scroll of a mountain landscape. His lips moved faintly, whispering praises to the brushwork.

But it was Nongmin who caught Ren Xun’s attention most. He sat cross-legged on a mat, eyes half-lidded, speaking in a solemn tone to, of all things, a ginger cat perched before him.

“I know, I know,” Nongmin said gravely.

The cat’s tail flicked. “Meow…”

“Yes. I see.”

Another meow, shorter this time. “Mya~!”

“I understand.”

Ren Xun blinked, utterly speechless. He stared between the Final Emperor of the Grand Ascension Empire and the feline, his lips parting, but no words came. Was this some profound secret of rulership? Some hidden art of cultivation? Or had his grandfather finally gone mad?

The silence lingered. The cat licked its paw.

Finally, Ren Xun cleared his throat and belatedly knocked against the open doorframe, as though to reset the absurdity of the moment.

“Your Majesty,” he said at last, voice firm though laced with hesitation. “I wish to seek your counsel.”

Ren Xun stood quietly in the doorway, but he knew Nongmin should have already been aware of his presence. The old man was blindfolded, his empty gaze hidden, yet his cultivation had reached the Tenth Realm. Nothing slipped past him unless he willed it so.

The ginger cat, content and serene, rested on his lap, while Nongmin stroked the cat’s fur.

“Grandson…” Nongmin’s voice was calm, weathered by years, yet still strong.

Ren Xun frowned. “Your eyes… I thought they’d healed.”

“They did,” Nongmin admitted with a sigh. “But they quickly lost their light. The loss of the Heavenly Eye scarred me permanently. A wound to the soul itself. No matter how much cultivation I pour into it, I am reduced to this state.”

Ren Xun’s gaze fell on the cat. His eyes narrowed in recognition. “Isn’t that Liang Na’s cat?”

Memories stirred of his unshakable bodyguard. The loyal woman who had stood like a wall before him and his kin, protecting them through countless perils. He had mourned her death as he had mourned so many others.

Yes. Liang Na had always kept a cat close, a strange little creature she doted on in stolen moments of peace. It was said the animal had once belonged to the last patriarch of Riverfall before the lands were absorbed into the Empire. A relic of an older, freer time.

Under the feline’s collar was inscribed the word ‘Dog’. A cruelly ironic name for a cat.

“I’m sorry about Liang Na,” Nongmin said softly, breaking into Ren Xun’s thoughts. His fingers kept stroking the animal’s fur as if the movement helped soothe his own regrets. “Before we left the Imperial Capital, we collected every corpse we could. So that Da Wei might bring them back, rally them for the final battle. But… we didn’t find Liang Na.”

Ren Xun’s chest tightened. The possibilities flashed through his mind, each worse than the last. A jiangshi puppet. Flesh refined into pills. Bones carved for talismans. So many horrid fates awaited the dead in this age of cultivation wars.

The silence stretched until Nongmin broke it again, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost deliberate. “Sit with me, grandson. Let us have tea.”

As Ren Xun stepped closer, his eyes flicked toward Da Wei’s Human Soul. What he saw made him freeze mid-step.

The handsome man blurred as though reshaped by unseen hands. His features softened, limbs refined, his tall masculine frame melting away until what stood before them was a strikingly beautiful woman. Without a word, she set about preparing the tea with quiet grace.

It was such a startling, incongruous sight that Ren Xun almost stumbled into his chair.

With elegant poise, the Human Soul carried the tea tray, the porcelain cups set down soundlessly before Nongmin and Ren Xun. Not a drop was spilled. When it poured the steaming liquid, its hands held the kettle at a perfect angle, neither rushed nor too slow, every movement radiating refinement.

Nongmin accepted his cup with a small nod. “What do you think?”

Ren Xun stared, his brows furrowed. “Is this even Da Wei?”

The Human Soul froze in place for an instant before lifting two fingers playfully, tilting its head with a practiced charm. “Of course, I am not!”

In the blink of an eye, it was Da Wei again, handsome, plain, and confident.

“At the same time, I am!”

The form blurred, reshaping into an elder with sagacious eyes. He sat before them, robe sleeves trailing as he poured his own tea and drank with deliberate slowness.

“But we all know the truth,” the elder intoned, voice deep and resonant. “I am as real as the air you breathe, as fleeting as the sand on the shore, and as eternal as thought that transpired and never transpired.”

Then the elder melted away, and in his place stood a regal, queenly figure, showing far too much queen, her presence commanding and distracting all at once.

“Who knows?” she mused, raising her chin. “Perhaps, I am not even real.”

She dissolved into mist, leaving behind a small child sitting cross-legged on the chair, feet dangling above the floor. The child giggled, then blinked at them both with wide, innocent eyes.

“In that case… who am I?”

Nongmin exhaled slowly, stroking the cat on his lap. “She’s still learning a great deal,” he said, almost tenderly. “Unlike her siblings, she lags behind in growth. I’ve met Da Wei’s Asura Soul, and from that, I have formed a few conjectures as to what kind of existence Da Wei truly is. Unfortunately, he himself seems afraid of the answers.”

Ren Xun frowned. “You think this is a… she?”

“A she, a he, a they,” Nongmin answered smoothly, “but never an it. I perceived her as such because that was who she was to me. In my time of capture, I was tortured within my own mind. Their attempts to break me always failed. Why? Because I had her. She assumed the image of my mother, shielded me from their cruelty, and allowed me to endure… until Da Wei came to save me.”

Nongmin turned his blindfolded face toward Ren Xun. His voice softened, but its weight sank deep into the young man’s chest. “Now, child of dragons and my blood, why have you come to me? What counsel do you seek?”

Ren Xun clenched his hands into fists on his lap, the tea before him untouched. His gaze fell low, then rose again, determination flashing in his eyes.

“I seek power,” he said at last. “How can I raise my cultivation in a short period of time?”

Nongmin sipped his tea slowly. His voice, though even, was heavy with meaning.

“Hmmm… A challenging undertaking… According to Gu Jie, the final battle will happen in ideally a hundred years’ time. Of course, Da Wei wants it sooner, but war never bends to will alone, especially not between cultivators. He knows it, even if he pretends not to. That is why he now shores his strength, seeking resources, pushing himself endlessly… only to discover the futility of it. So he turned his energy elsewhere.”

Ren Xun’s jaw tightened, but he listened.

“For cultivators, a hundred years is a mere breath,” Nongmin continued. “A day for mortals, perhaps even less. I would like to say that cultivating diligently is your best solution… and it may still bear fruit. With Da Wei’s blessings, you may even gain the strength of a Paladin. But…” He paused. “That is not your path. There is a better way for you, and you know it.”

Ren Xun’s hands clenched into fists. “It’s easy to say, but my wit can only bring me so far.”

“Why seek more power,” Nongmin said softly, “when you already have it, oh Dragon King? The dragons are at your call—”

“I know, Your Majesty.” Ren Xun’s voice broke sharply and angrily, cutting through the calm.

Nongmin tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”

Ren Xun’s throat burned as words tumbled from him. “I still have so much to learn. It was already too late when I realized it, but you—” He pointed an accusing finger, though his hand trembled. “You arranged a marriage with the dragons for me, didn’t you? That’s how this was all possible. My wedding with Lin Lim, the failure, this ceremony, and what else? What else have you planned? Is there more?”

The silence that followed was louder than any admission. Nongmin said nothing, only stroked the ginger cat on his lap.

Ren Xun laughed bitterly. “The three laws of fate. Immovable. Spontaneous. Inevitable. You taught me this. Now let me offer a hypothesis.” His voice dropped to a near whisper as he expressed his anger. “My union with Lin Lim is the work of fate, as much as my crowning as Dragon King of Riverfall. Somehow, you moved fate and made its spontaneity obsolete, yet ensured its inevitability.”

Finally, Nongmin spoke, his tone like iron wrapped in velvet. “I never moved fate. I merely… tempted it.”

Ren Xun leaned forward, eyes burning. “I want to cultivate so that I can escape fate. Isn’t that the very nature of cultivation? To escape the binds of heaven and the chains of destiny, to transcend and be more? I don’t want to be subject to your schemes any longer, nor to the musings of fate itself.”

Nongmin sighed, long and weary. “There is no escaping fate,” he said. “I am sorry, my grandson, but I suggest you stay on your path the way you are now.”

“Lies! You are able to do it for Da Wei! Why not me!? You may outwit me time and time again, but I am not daft!”

Nongmin, seated with the ginger cat purring on his lap, tilted his head. His blindfold covered his ruined eyes, but his expression betrayed neither agitation nor surprise.

“You are not daft,” Nongmin said, calm as still water, “but you assume—”

“Enough!” Ren Xun roared, slamming the cup down hard enough for cracks to spider along its porcelain rim while the tea spilled. “I will hear no more of your excuses.”

At that moment, the air thickened. Nongmin’s aura unfurled like a storm, his Tenth Realm cultivation pressing against the chamber until even the walls groaned. The tea rippled, the cat’s fur bristled, and the sheer gravity of it threatened to bring Ren Xun to his knees.

“You forget, boy,” Nongmin’s voice boomed, layered with authority centuries deep, “you came from my loins, you are my son, I created you, and I can destroy you. Remember that my mere breath will shatter your bones, so you watch your words.”

But Ren Xun did not bow. Instead, he ground a piece of ruby between his fingers, the shards glowing as they bled into the air. Complicated formations lit up across the chamber, weaving together into a lattice of light. Scales of dragons, each a miniature echo of serpentine might, revolved around him, vibrating with a power not his own but bound to his blood.

Ren Xun lifted his chin defiantly, his voice resonant. “I now know my nature. I am a weapon you forged, woven from the seams of destiny and fate. The blood of the Dragon God flows in me as much as your blood flows in me. My upbringing was as much your design… and I am its result.”

The pressure of their auras clashed, like sea and storm meeting head-on. The room threatened to collapse under the strain, porcelain cracking, and air warping with distortion.

“Ah… Damn it…”

The Human Soul shifted. Its figure blurred, flickered, and in an instant, Da Wei himself appeared, his expression tired, and his shoulders slumped as though carrying burdens too vast to speak of.

“Can the two of you idiots just stop?” he muttered. “Please? I am already stressed, okay?”

Ren Xun trembled, his fists clenched at his sides. His voice came out in a roar that shook the chamber. “He dares to hide the secret of my bloodline. I wish to cultivate, yet he dares suggest otherwise!”

Nongmin’s blindfolded face turned toward him. “Then cultivate! There is no need to ask for my permission! If you wish for it, then just do it! If you don’t wish for counsel, then don’t take it! Is it that hard!?”

But Ren Xun would not be placated. With a feral snarl, he tore open his robes and pressed his hand against his chest. His fingers sank in, tearing flesh with ruthless resolve. Blood sprayed, his body convulsed, but he did not falter. With a guttural cry, he wrenched his heart free from his chest.

The organ beat wildly in his grasp, glowing red with streams of qi, its surface inscribed with intricate formations. They were mysterious, ancient, and terrifying in their completeness. The symbols coiled and pulsed, each line like a cage woven with the power of quintessence.

“Then what is the meaning of this!?” bellowed Ren Xun, voice cracking with pain and rage. “Even now, you hide yourself with your lies! I asked for your counsel, hoping you would reveal the truth! But you dance around the topic, always! I knew! Damn it, I’ve always known something was wrong with me, but I can’t prove it!”

His blood spattered across the floor, staining the polished wood with crimson. The dragon scales orbiting him flared brighter as if reacting to his life force leaving him.

Nongmin’s expression darkened, but his words remained measured. “I don’t know about this.”

“Lies!” Ren Xun spat, his face twisted with anguish.

“I had a hand in making you Dragon King,” Nongmin countered firmly, “and in your union with the blind beggar, yes. But this? This, I don’t know!”

“Lies!” Ren Xun screamed again, his voice raw, echoing with despair. His heart pulsed weakly in his palm, its light dimming as his body neared the brink of collapse.

Before the moment could spiral further, a sharp voice thundered across the room.

“ENOUGH!”

Da Wei’s eyes blazed as he strode forward, the sheer force of his presence drowning both Ren Xun’s rage and Nongmin’s calm. Without hesitation, he seized the bloody heart from Ren Xun’s trembling hands.

“You damned fool,” Da Wei growled as he shoved the heart back into Ren Xun’s chest with brutal precision. Power surged from his palms, knitting torn flesh, reigniting failing veins, and repairing the boy’s fractured lifeforce. Ren Xun screamed in agony before collapsing to his knees, clutching his chest as the healing completed.

Da Wei’s glare swept across both grandson and grandfather like a scythe. “We are in a state of war. The world burns. Enemies gather on every horizon, and here you two are, tearing each other apart over bloodline mysteries and half-truths!”

He pointed a finger at Ren Xun. “You want power? Then live long enough to seize it, instead of tearing yourself open like a child throwing a tantrum.”

His eyes snapped toward Nongmin. “And you! Stop speaking in riddles and schemes when the fate of everything hangs in the balance. This family drama can wait until after the war. If there even is an after.”

In a voice that was neither too deep nor too high, but chillingly clear, the cat suddenly spoke.

“I did it.”

Every gaze in the room froze upon the feline.

“Uuuh… Meow?”

Awkward silence followed.