Immortal Paladin

[POV: Jia Sen]

The divide between Evernight’s pale dunes and Riverfall’s emerald grasslands had turned into a wasteland of corpses. Blood soaked the once-golden sand, mixing with the damp soil of the riverlands until the color was lost to the crimson. Broken war banners flapped weakly in the wind, their sigils no longer discernible beneath the ash and gore.

The undead lay in heaps. They were charred, torn apart, and frozen mid-scream. Riverfall’s cannons had cut swathes through them, while dragons circled overhead, spewing gouts of flame that boiled the sand to glass. Yet even with their relentless assault, the horde pressed forward.

At the center of the chaos, Ren Xun, the Dragon King of Riverfall, held his ground. His draconic aura burned bright as he clashed against the Seven Imperial Households’ mightiest cultivators, his silver glaive carving arcs of thunder through undead and living alike. His dragons wheeled above him, shielding their king with their bodies as artillery from both sides screamed across the sky.

Beneath the ground, Jia Sen watched it all unfold. His Qi Sense spread through the soil like tendrils of awareness, perceiving the battle with perfect clarity.

“Pathetic,” he muttered.

With a rumble that shook both sand and soil, the earth cracked apart. Nine colossal tails, like glaciers risen from the abyss, tore through the battlefield. Frost radiated from them in waves as Jia Sen emerged from the chasm in his true form, a monstrous nine-tailed fox. His height dwarfed mountains, his fur gleaming with cold moonlight.

The Dragon Basket, the formation that had imprisoned Bai Rong, shattered under the surge of power. The leader of the Seven Imperial Households rose into the sky, free once more.

“IT’S TIME TO TURN THE TIDES! SHOW THEM YOUR MIGHT!” Jia Sen’s roar split the heavens. “TRAMPLE THEM, DESTROY THEM, AND TEACH THEM THEIR PLACE!”

He raised a claw and swept it once across the horizon. The air howled as the sands, grass, and soldiers froze in an instant. An ocean of ice unfurled, sweeping across the battlefield. Even his allies were not spared, but the Riverfall dragons suffered the worst. Frost crept across their scales, freezing them solid before shattering them into shards of glass.

Ren Xun was nowhere to be seen. The dragons that still lived began a hasty retreat, encircling their king in defensive formations. Jia Sen’s eyes narrowed.

“YOU ARE NOT GOING ANYWHERE!”

The ends of his nine tails split open, grotesquely unfurling into smaller fox maws. Each one inhaled deeply, pulling in the quintessence of heaven and earth. With a single breath, the skies turned to crystal.

Beams of frost erupted upward, arcs of pale death that chased fleeing dragons and struck down Riverfall’s airships. Explosions rippled in the distance as ships tumbled from the heavens, their hulls splintering into icy dust. Dragons dove in vain to intercept, sacrificing themselves to shield their comrades.

“ONE MORE.”

Jia Sen inhaled again, gathering energy at his throat. The surrounding air warped with frost and malice. But as his Qi Sense spread outward, a flicker caught his attention of two familiar presences struggling far off in the sky.

Deng Wuying and Wei Qigang, the Heavenly Master’s Children, were locked in combat with a strange opponent, a young man emanating the aura of a Perfect Immortal. Jia Sen recognized him instantly. The disciple of Da Wei… that damned young man.

“How amusing,” he muttered darkly. “Even the Heavenly Master’s pets struggle against a mere ghost.”

He shifted his aim toward that direction, intending to obliterate them all in one sweep. But before he could release the breath, a cold voice reached the back of his neck.

“JIA SEN OF THE HEAVENLY TEMPLE! I SHALL GIVE YOU ONE CHANCE TO SURRENDER!”

Jia Sen’s immense head turned slightly, one enormous eye focusing on a small figure that hovered just beyond the reach of his froststorm. She stood upon her flying sword, her robes fluttering crimson and black, her short hair whipping in the wind. Serpentine markings coiled along her sleeves, glinting faintly with red light.

“…You are that one,” Jia Sen rumbled, his voice shaking the air. “Gu Jie, the serpent child of Da Wei. The weakest of his disciples. It’s amusing. You dare confront me so earnestly with such measly strength? Know your place, little girl.”

“That is indeed my name,” remarked the little thing. “And no, I am not a little girl.”

Jia Sen gazed down at the tiny little thing that dared to float before him. A flicker of irritation passed through his massive body. This girl thought she could threaten him?

With an almost bored motion, the nine-tailed fox raised one colossal paw and swiped lazily at the air. The motion was small for his size, but it split the clouds apart, unleashing a wave of frost that froze the very wind in its path.

The attack should have erased her.

But before the wave reached Gu Jie, the frost vanished and was devoured by something blacker than night. It was dark flames.

Jia Sen’s eyes widened. The cold light reflected off the fire as it bloomed before Gu Jie like a curtain of night, swallowing everything it touched. From within it stepped a figure. He was tall, lean, and cloaked entirely in robes of void-black silk. His eyes were calm, his expression utterly nonchalant, yet the air around him warped as though the world itself bowed to his presence.

Feeling a genuine threat, Jia Sen didn’t hesitate. His nine tails arched upward, and his true maw opened wide, gathering frost. Beams of blue-white destruction erupted in unison, nine from the tails, one from the mouth. The sheer pressure cracked the earth beneath him and froze the sky above.

But every strand of frost met resistance from dark flames.

The black-robed man extended his hand, and a sword of shadow coalesced, formed not of metal but of condensed darkness. When it moved, it made no sound. When it struck, the frost shattered harmlessly into mist.

Jia Sen’s enormous voice echoed across the battlefield, shaking the heavens. “I DIDN’T KNOW SUCH AN EXPERT EXISTED WITHIN DA WEI’S SOLDIERS! WHO ARE YOU, ESTEEMED IMMORTAL?”

The man regarded him coolly, brushing dust from his sleeve.

“I am not Da Wei’s soldier,” he said. “Due to certain… circumstances, and a binding contract, I am unable to tell you my venerable title. But you may call me Ru Qiu. And know this—” his eyes sharpened slightly, “—you just tried to harm a woman important to me.”

Jia Sen tilted his massive head, a mocking grin curling across his monstrous snout. “AND HERE I THOUGHT IMMORTALS HAVE SEVERED THEIR TIES WITH THE MUNDANE WORLD…”

“I think you are misunderstanding something,” Ru Qiu’s reply came swiftly and cutting. “Moreover, aren’t you an immortal yourself? Or does the difference lie in that your cultivation is borrowed… and stolen in heinous ways? Hah~! The irony… and here I thought I was supposed to be the demon.”

Jia Sen’s killing intent flared but quickly faded. He was not provoked. Not anymore. Da Wei had taught him the art of patience through humiliation, again and again. He had learned restraint through rage and composure through defeat. Yet, as he regarded the strange man before him, even he had to admit: this one was different. There was weight behind his words.

He glanced toward Gu Jie, still floating silently behind the dark figure. For a mere Sixth Realm cultivator, her presence was steady and unwavering even under his suffocating aura.

She called out to him, her voice clear and calm, though her hands trembled slightly. “This is your last warning, Jia Sen.”

Her words cut through the cold like a blade. “Your daughter still lives. There are those who care for you, who seek not your destruction. Leave now… I don’t want to look Jia Yun in the eyes and tell her of your death.”

Jia Sen froze, the name stabbing through the fog of his anger like light through frost. His tails stopped thrashing. For an instant, his monstrous eyes flickered with something human. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

“YOUR ARROGANCE IS JUST LIKE YOUR MASTER’S…” he thundered, more to drown his own unease than to scold her.

Still, his attention returned to Ru Qiu, the supposed immortal who had dared stand between him and the child. His Qi Sense brushed against the man’s, feeling the depth of his cultivation at the Ascended Soul, Level 10, though something about it felt obscured.

An Immortal Art pulsed from that sword, which made Jia Sen feel more wary than he already was. Still, a slow grin spread across Jia Sen’s monstrous face. “Interesting… It’s been too long since I devoured a soul like yours.”

Ru Qiu adjusted his grip on the shadow-sword, its edge humming softly. “Are we just going to stare at each other… or are we going to fight?”

…

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[POV: Gu Jie]Chapter 345 – The Weight of Foresight

Everything had gone according to the vision she had seen.

Gu Jie knew better than most that foresight was not a gift. Instead, it was a curse draped in golden silk. The future, once seen, always demanded a price. She had learned this through countless small tragedies: the more she revealed of what was to come, the greater the misfortune that followed… both upon her and those entangled within her visions. It was as if fate itself punished curiosity. If not for her deep understanding of misfortune, she might never have noticed this hidden restriction of the Immortal Art: Destiny Seeking Eyes.

Thus, Gu Jie learned silence. She revealed nothing more than she had to.

Above the sands and forest divide, frost crept over the battlefield, devouring the land in pale blue. Jia Sen’s breath alone froze hundreds of corpses, undead and mortal alike, turning them into glassy statues. The shockwaves of his presence reached her bones, even from afar.

Thankfully, most of the Riverfall soldiers in this section had already been evacuated. She had foreseen the frost and moved her troops accordingly, though she could not predict the sheer magnitude of Jia Sen’s attack.

Ru Qiu’s voice entered her mind through Qi Speech, deep and steady:

“Get out of here.”

She hesitated only for a moment, watching the black flames swirl around him as he confronted the monstrous fox. His sword of shadow cut through frost as though darkness itself had grown teeth.

It had taken no small amount of manipulation to make him stand here.

Ru Qiu had no desire to interfere in mortal wars; his only concern was her safety. So Gu Jie had told him, half-truthfully, that she would march into battle herself if he refused to fight.

That, of course, had worked.

Now, when he told her to leave, she obeyed.

“Egress,” she whispered.

The spell consumed a torrent of qi, far more than she could comfortably afford. Her hands trembled as golden light enveloped her and tore her from the battlefield. In an instant, the world folded.

When she opened her eyes again, the cold sands were gone. The air was still, filled with the scent of incense and old stone. She stood within the underground cathedral of the Great Guard beneath Yellow Dragon City, a sanctum she had converted in advance into a command center.

Candles burned in neat rows along the pews. Maps and scrolls cluttered the altar.

Nongmin sat on one of the benches, one leg crossed over the other, his eyes distant. He didn’t seem surprised by her sudden arrival.

“Hopefully,” he said without looking up, “this doesn’t come back to bite New Willow. If you so readily show yourself on the battlefield… that’s a risk.”

Gu Jie adjusted her robe, still feeling the residual chill of teleportation. “How is it going?”

“The ships have been rearranged in response to the Seeker Clan’s offensive. The undead lack a proper command structure, so they’re just mindlessly advancing.” Nongmin’s voice was calm, but there was a shadow in his tone. “Ren Xun has evacuated his position. We’ve inflicted heavy damage. Unfortunate that Bai Rong escaped. If only Ren Xun hadn’t let emotion cloud his judgment and finished him when he had the chance.”

Gu Jie shook her head softly. “No. He made the right call.”

Nongmin’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t press the matter. That alone earned her gratitude.

If she had told him the truth that Bai Rong’s death at this point in time would have triggered a catastrophic backlash, he might have looked at her differently. In one of her earlier visions, she had seen Bai Rong’s corpse erupt with immortal corruption, destroying everything around him when killed prematurely. Fate, it seemed, had bound that outcome to his existence.

But the moment she considered speaking of it aloud, she felt the familiar weight of misfortune pressing down on her chest, a suffocating certainty that revealing too much would twist destiny further against them.

She sighed quietly. “The Heavenly Dao’s justice is strange indeed,” she murmured to herself. “Every secret it punishes, yet every silence it demands.”

The candles flickered as if in agreement.

“I’ll stay here,” she said finally. “I’ll coordinate our movements from this place. It’s your turn, Emperor. The border needs you. Go and show them why you reign supreme.”

Nongmin rose slowly, the crimson light of the candles painting his profile in shadow. “Then I’ll leave the rest to you, Lady Gu Jie.”

…

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[POV: Zhu Shin]

For the past hundred years, Zhu Shin had known only one purpose: service.

The man who once fought in the Emperor’s shadow now stood as one of the pillars of Riverfall’s defense. Through tireless effort, relentless cultivation, and countless elixirs granted by the late Emperor, he had clawed his way to the Tenth Realm, the Endless Path. Few achieved such heights, and fewer still retained their sanity upon reaching it.

By mortal reckoning, Zhu Shin was ancient, three centuries and more, but for a cultivator, he was still young, in both vigor and ambition. Time had long since lost meaning to him. The world changed, rulers rose and fell, wars began and ended, yet his duty remained constant.

Now, he served not as a blade on the frontlines, but as a general guarding the eastern border, where rivers met mountains and peace was a fragile illusion.

At this moment, the borderlands were quiet. The wind rustled through the reeds, carrying the scent of wet stone and distant rain. The sky was pale blue, untroubled by clouds.

Zhu Shin stood atop the high ramparts, his armor glinting under the light, hands clasped behind his back. His keen eyes swept across the horizon where the Riverfall Wall stretched for miles, a marvel of both mortal engineering and spiritual formation. Yet even this mighty defense had gaps, stretches of mountains and ravines where the wall could not be built, the terrain too treacherous, or the qi too unstable.

Those were the places he watched most carefully.

Still, he could not shake a growing sense of unease. He regretted not being on the frontlines with Ren Xun or the others, carving through legions of undead and servants of the traitorous houses. Yet he understood that his place was here. Someone had to guard what remained.

That was when a flyer descended from the clouds in a rush of wind, his boots clattering against the rampart stone. The young soldier saluted hastily, his breathing uneven, his face pale with hesitation.

“Report,” said Zhu Shin, his voice calm but commanding.

The flyer swallowed, his eyes darting to the horizon. “Enemy movement, sir. They’re approaching from the riverside, near the great mountains, by flight. They’re moving fast, faster than any of our vessels.”

Zhu Shin narrowed his eyes. “Flying ships?”

The soldier shook his head. “No, sir. Not ships. Cultivators. They… they have wings.”

Zhu Shin exhaled slowly. “So winged cultivators… Is it an angel?”

Before he could say more, another flyer swooped down, his armor dusted in sand. He knelt before Zhu Shin. “General! Reports from the great plains! Barbarian tribes from the Great Desert have been sighted, and they’re marching this way!”

The air trembled as the words sank in, and strange phenomena occurred. Even from this distance, he could see the sandstorm churning across the horizon. Within it, shapes loomed: behemoths the size of palaces, carrying rows upon rows of warriors draped in bone and fur.

“The Great Desert Tribes…” Zhu Shin muttered. “So they finally cross the sands.”

He remembered Da Wei’s intelligence briefings how there spies had warned of the tribes’ collusion with the Heavenly Temple. At the time, he had dismissed it as a rumor. Now, seeing the storm rise, he realized the reports had been far too modest.

Two enemy forces. Two fronts.

He could not be in both places.

Zhu Shin closed his eyes briefly, calculating, recalling every formation and every strategic contingency. He had prepared for this. The Riverfall forces had flying vessels stationed nearby, equipped with warp formation, technology unique to their empire, capable of instant displacement across vast distances.

That would have to be enough.

He opened his eyes, his decision made. “Send orders to the sky fleets,” he commanded. “They are to intercept the winged cultivators at once. No hesitation. Engage them above the riverside.”

The messenger saluted sharply. “And what of the desert tribes, sir?”

“We hold the line here,” Zhu Shin said. “The plains are ours. If they want to breach the wall, they’ll have to climb over our corpses.”

The soldiers dispersed, moving with renewed urgency.

Zhu Shin turned once more toward the horizon. His qi flared subtly, rippling through the formations embedded in the earth. Across the wall, runes awakened, glowing faintly blue. The air grew tense, humming with spiritual resonance.

Just as he prepared to descend the ramparts, another flyer landed before him, panting, eyes wide.

“General Zhu!” he cried. “Urgent message… from the capital!”

Zhu Shin frowned. “Speak.”

“The late Emperor…” the flyer said, trembling. “He’s… he’s moving to the battlefield. He’s going to intercept the winged cultivators himself.”

Zhu Shin laughed. It was a thunderous sound that rolled across the ramparts like distant thunder.

The weight of centuries seemed to fall away. He remembered the past, the towering figure of His Majesty, the man to whom he had sworn eternal loyalty. The same man who had once commanded the heavens to kneel, whose will had forged an empire from dust. If Zhu Shin still had a choice now, even after lifetimes of war and loss, he would still serve him eagerly.

“As the Iron Bull of the Grand Ascension Empire,” Zhu Shin declared, his voice echoing through the plains, “I refuse to fail at this momentous occasion!”

His qi surged, bursting forth like molten metal. The air trembled, the ramparts groaned beneath the pressure of his spiritual might.

A blinding flare of golden light erupted from his palm as he reached into the pocket dimension bound to his soul. Space itself shuddered, and from it, he drew his weapon: a massive spear, its shaft engraved with ancient sun-forged runes, its tip glowing with the heat of a dying star.

The Iron Bull’s Spear, the weapon that had once cleaved mountains and broken armies.

Zhu Shin raised it to the sky, the heavens answering with a rumble of thunder. His aura flooded the battlefield, a brilliant conflagration of gold and crimson, as banners whipped wildly in the wind.

“Riverfall!” he roared, his voice carrying across the ranks of men and machines. “The enemy marches upon our home! Let them come, and let them remember the wrath of the Empire’s Iron Bull!”

The soldiers cheered, voices joining into a single roar that shook the earth.

…

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[POV: Nongmin]

The cold wind howled above the jagged cliffs as Nongmin stood upon a lonely ridge overlooking the border. The once-Emperor of the Grand Ascension Empire touched the black strip of cloth over his eyes, a gift from Gu Jie. The fabric was smooth, faintly warm, and etched with golden runes that pulsed like living veins.

It was a treasure born from the girl’s brilliance, crafted with her own life essence and knowledge of fortune. The arrays woven into it imitated the properties of the Heavenly Eye, a powerful ability Nongmin once possessed before he transplanted it on Gu Jie. Only someone who had truly grasped the Heavenly Eye’s mysteries could wield it properly.

“Gu Jie… you outdo yourself every time,” Nongmin murmured with a faint smile. “If the Heavens won’t lend me sight, I’ll borrow it through immortal craft.”

He stood motionless, but the qi around him stirred, resonating like an ocean’s tide. A faint humming filled the air as orb-like puppets emerged from his pocket dimension. They were spherical and metallic, their surfaces carved with complex runic arrays. They floated outward, glowing faintly, scattering across the landscape like motes of light.

“Deploy.”

Each orb shot into a different direction, sinking into mountains, soil, and rivers alike. Within minutes, the entire region was saturated with formation nodes, interlinked through threads of spirit energy, until the mountains themselves hummed with his intent.

As the sky began to ripple with divine light, Nongmin raised a hand. His qi flared in violent majesty.

“Grand Formation Spell Array—Heavenly Eye!”

The heavens themselves trembled.

Lines of light spread in concentric rings from his body, expanding across miles of mountain and river. Thousands of golden glyphs appeared in the air, rotating and overlapping until they formed the iris of an enormous eye that stared down from the clouds.

Spirit stones shattered in his hand, reduced to dust to fuel the spell’s appetite. Nongmin grimaced. “Still too much energy… but I need to see.”

Then his world opened.

In an instant, he was within all possible timelines, his consciousness diffused through the formations like a thousand eyes. He saw the battle before it began, saw himself raising armies of puppets, saw the rivers churning with qi as weapons of light clashed against metal and flame. Each vision was split into another, layering countless probabilities.

Through those endless reflections, he learned.

The invaders were not like the malformed angels he witnessed during the Sundering of the Summit. No… the beings approaching from the skies were eerily human, pale-skinned with radiant sigils inscribed across their bodies. But within each of them burned an unmistakable angelic essence.

He watched, in visions, as they raised luminous weapons born of divine conjuration, spears and swords that materialized from pure light. Each of them seemed weak at first glance, most no stronger than the Fourth Realm. But when a cultivator engaged them, their strength rose to match their opponent’s cultivation.

Nongmin’s lips curved in a grim smile. “So that’s how it is. Mimicry of power… dangerous.”

He adjusted his strategy. He could not fight them directly; that would only strengthen them. That was why Gu Jie had sent him here. With his army of puppets, he should be more than strong enough to contend with all of them, alone.

His vision expanded further. He tested another path and sent puppets charging into the angelic ranks. They were torn apart, but not before he discovered more: each angel possessed feathers imbued with resurrection essence. The more feathers they had, the more times they could return from death.

“Hundreds of lives per warrior,” he murmured. “This is going to be annoying.”

A thousand other possibilities bloomed in his mind of experiments in his visions, trial and error conducted in the span of a single breath. He learned that while the angels could resurrect, they could not absorb qi or reproduce through devouring, unlike their twisted predecessors.

“That’s something, at least,” he sighed.

He lowered his hand. His true sight faded, the Heavenly Eye formation dimming until only its residual patterns glimmered faintly on the clouds.

“It’s time to begin.”

With a sweep of his arm, his pocket dimension summoned hundreds of his modified Dragoon-class puppets. Each stood over twenty feet tall, clad in dragon-like armor of shimmering alloy, their shields engraved with wards that burned with protective light.

“Activate Dragoon protocol,” he commanded.

The ground shook as the puppets roared in unison, wings of qi flaring behind them.

“Deploy Artillery Array.”

From his pocket dimension, enormous cannons rose, gleaming black barrels inscribed with lightning arrays. They rotated as if alive, adjusting their aim toward the heavens where the angelic light was gathering.

However, Nongmin was not done yet as he secretly unleashed dozens of smaller figures, slipping out from the shadows. Assassin-class puppets, sleek and bladed, their limbs honed to sword-like edges. They vanished from sight within moments, their stealth fields activating.

Nongmin inhaled deeply, the scent of iron and ozone filling his senses. Despite the black cloth over his eyes, his smile was fierce and proud.

“Let’s see,” he whispered, “how divine these angels remain when they face the machines of men.”

With a single gesture, the blind Emperor’s army surged to life, unleashing a mechanical storm that shook the heavens.