Immortal Paladin

The plan itself was an abomination.

It was not born from the brilliance of their master, nor from some elegant revelation granted by mystical eyes or divine foresight. No prophecy guided them, and no flawless scheme carried them forward. They were given a task, nothing more, and they chose to fulfill it together. Individual resolve accumulated piece by piece, effort layered upon effort, until those fragments converged into a single moment that approached something like an ending.

The Great Desert had never been so alive. Sparks of power flared across the horizon as waves of pressure rolled outward from the center of the battlefield, where forces beyond mortal comprehension collided. The sands themselves seemed to recoil, rising and collapsing as if the land were breathing.

Lu Gao stood at one extremity of the desert, his feet planted firmly as he reached inward, trying to commune with the fragment of the Source embedded within him. Sweat traced down his temple as he steadied his breathing.

“I’m clear,” he said in Qi Speech, his voice transmitted directly into the minds of the others. “We only have one chance.”

At another point along the massive formation, Ren Jingyi answered without hesitation. “A six-pointed formation. It’s not that hard. I’m clear.”

Hei Mao’s response came immediately after, concise and unwavering. “Same.”

Yuen Fu exhaled slowly, the tension evident even through the mental connection. “This fight is too much, even for us. I don’t think we can make any difference, but I will do what I can. I’m clear.”

Ding Cai responded next, her tone steadier than she felt. “Don’t think too much about it, senior. We wield fragments of the Source now. Anything we do, as long as we put our hearts into it, will carry weight, no matter how small.”

Ren Zhe’s voice cut in, sharp with barely contained excitement. “Clear. Also, please tell me it was a good idea not to bring our armies here.”

Ding Cai allowed herself a faint smile as she replied. “Oh, we are bringing them here. Just not to join the fight directly. The closer they are, the more faith Master can draw from them, and from us as well.”

Even as she spoke, doubt lingered in Ding Cai’s heart. Her cultivation was the weakest among them, and before this, she had never imagined standing at the center of something like this. Yet the moment she received her fragment of the Source, clarity followed. Power did not always manifest as overwhelming force. Sometimes, it manifested as purpose.

Her master may never have intended for events to unfold this way. Even so, his trust in them had opened paths he could not have walked alone. Six wills aligned, six fragments resonating together, and from that resonance, destiny itself bent just enough to arrive at this moment.

Possibly, it would lead to their master’s victory.

“I’m clear,” Ding Cai said at last.

The Six Disciples of Da Wei linked their fragments together. Threads of radiant authority intertwined, forming a massive spell that would have confounded even ascended beings who had transcended mortal limits. They could not wield the Source as the Supremes did, but they did not need to. Miracles did not require mastery, only unity.

Together, they spoke a single word.

“Egress.”

The sky darkened.

An enormous landmass emerged above the desert, its silhouette eclipsing the heavens as it descended at an alarming speed. Shadows swallowed the battlefield below, and the air screamed as reality strained beneath the weight of what was falling.

“It will work,” softly uttered Ding Cai. “We’ll make it work!”

…

..

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What was the truth behind the Promised Dunes and the Great Desert? Why was the capital of the Heavenly Temple called the Promised Land in the first place?

To someone guided by common sense alone, the answer would have been simple. Coincidence. Geography reshaped by war. Names inherited without meaning. Yet Ding Cai had never been satisfied with simple answers. She had searched where others had not bothered to look, piecing together fragments of records buried deep within the Heavenly Temple’s archives and even older remnants from eras predating it. They were incomplete, damaged by time and deliberate erasure, but together they told a story that refused to be ignored.

The Heavenly Temple had not always been what it was now. In its origin, it was an organization founded by Shouquan, created with a singular purpose: to stabilize the cultivation world and repel the Outsiders that threatened existence itself. It was meant to be a shield, not a throne. Over time, however, control slipped quietly from its creator’s hands. Yuan Shun rose from the shadows, never openly seizing power, but bending the institution to her will piece by piece until it became something else entirely.

Between the era of Shouquan’s Heavenly Temple and Yuan Shun’s complete dominion, a bizarre and catastrophic event occurred. No official record explained it. No surviving witness could offer clarity. One day, without warning, the land upon which the Temple of the Four Heroes stood was torn free from the world itself. Mountains, rivers, cities, and ley lines vanished in an instant, transferred elsewhere by forces far beyond conventional cultivation. What remained behind was a scorched wasteland, lifeless and broken, which would later become known as the Great Desert.

The Promised Dunes were not a coincidence at all. They were a scar.

What Da Wei’s Six Disciples were doing now was not an act of destruction, but of return. The land was being placed back where it had once belonged, forced into alignment with a destiny interrupted long ago. If anyone still understood the truth of that ancient displacement, it would have been Jue Bu or Yuan Shun.

At that very moment, Jue Bu was cursing with abandon as he struggled to remain aloft, sustaining himself through his Immortal Art: Reversal of Heaven and Earth. Below him, the continent that had once housed the Heavenly Temple descended toward the desert, its immense mass distorting the air and shaking the heavens. Gu Jie lay in his arms, her body lightening as ash continued to flake away despite his desperate efforts.

“W-What is happening?” he muttered hoarsely. “The entire continent was suddenly ripped away…”

As he stared, fragmented memories surged forward, snapping into focus with painful clarity. He had seen this before. Not exactly this moment, but its origin. It had happened during the height of the Outsider invasion, around the same time he himself had been sealed as an evil spirit. That era stood as the most catastrophic in the history of the Hollowed World, rivaled only by the present age.

The Heavenly Demon had just fallen, and with that death, time itself fractured. Histories overlapped and contradicted one another, plunging the world into confusion. Factions, sects, and nations turned on each other in brief but devastating wars. Wen Yuhan was hunted by her own disciples, a betrayal later understood to be the result of subtle reality warping by the Six Supremes. Not long after, the Outsiders descended in force.

The Eternal Undeath Sect mounted the fiercest resistance, holding the line far longer than anyone thought possible. In the end, they were cornered and forced into hiding, surviving only because the Supreme Void had secretly bestowed a twisted blessing upon them when time split with the Heavenly Demon’s death. That mercy came at a cost that would echo across eras.

Shouquan suffered the greatest tragedy of his life when his entire clan was annihilated. In response, he founded the Heavenly Temple, turning grief into purpose and resistance into doctrine. Yet the war reshaped more than institutions. Yuan Shen was erased entirely, and Yuan Shun was left behind, further corrupted by the Supreme Void’s influence. Soon after, the Eternal Undeath Sect vanished from the world through ascension, their remnants scattered, their history deliberately erased.

That ascension was the true cause of the Heavenly Temple’s displacement. A side-effect, if anything. Shouquan had already abandoned the organization by then, having recognized the rot within it that he lacked the power to cleanse. He never realized that the corruption stemmed from Yuan Shun herself, who would later gain enlightenment and encounter David from a parallel world through the Heavenly Eye.

The present snapped violently back into focus.

Yuan Shun twisted through the air as the continent trembled, dodging Nongmin’s puppets with razor-thin margins. She could no longer truly fly. Her wings had been shredded beyond recovery, and Nongmin’s barrier formations, anchored through his puppets, thinned the qi in the air itself while disrupting mana flow. Every breath felt heavier than the last.

She steadied herself and drew in a long, controlled breath. “Do you really think this changes anything?” she demanded, her voice sharp despite her condition.

Nongmin scoffed openly, contempt clear on his face. “If you think you still have the upper hand,” he replied, “then you must be delusional.”

“Delusional? Me? Oh, please,” scoffed Yuan Shun. “I’ve never seen things more clearly than ever!”

“The sealing of the temple was a bluff, and you fell for it.”

Nongmin’s voice carried clearly across the battlefield, cutting through the roar of collapsing earth and panicked cries. “You wasted your soldiers in desperation, throwing them at my formations just to force a path back there. But look now. The entire Promised Land is falling from the sky. I’m sure you can see it with your precious eyes. You’ve been had.”

Warriors from both sides lost their footing as gravity twisted against them, some screaming as they were flung upward, others crushed as terrain shifted violently beneath their feet. The very laws cultivators relied upon betrayed them. Equipment slipped free, formations shattered, and discipline dissolved into raw survival.

Yet the Holy Empire’s forces endured far better than their enemies. Nongmin had preserved their numbers with orders given well in advance. Soldiers were commanded to stay grounded no matter what happened, and soaring vessels had been forced to land earlier under strict instruction. Cultivators, by nature, favored the air, and that habit proved disastrous for the Heavenly Temple. When the land itself warped back into place, vast numbers of their forces were cut off, scattered, or outright annihilated mid-flight.

It was Ding Cai’s foresight that made the difference. She had warned Nongmin ahead of time, allowing him to reshape their strategy around a truth the enemy never suspected. Preparation, not brute force, had decided the opening exchange.

Nongmin continued, his tone steady but edged with iron. “I understand that you are my predecessor, but don’t think seniority makes you stronger, wiser, or better prepared than me. I’ve been doing this for a very, very long time.”

Memories stirred within him as he spoke. Lives upon lives overlapped in his mind, remnants of the Heavenly Eye that had once burdened him with unbearable clarity. At first, he had not understood them, but over time patterns emerged. There were two main timelines, at least according to the fragmented accounts Hei Mao had shared with him.

In one, Nongmin had known a Da Wei. In the other, he had known a David.

That David had tormented him endlessly, rewinding time again and again in pursuit of a vague, desperate goal of escape. Each repetition had left scars, breaking and reshaping Nongmin until he barely recognized himself. He knew, with unsettling certainty, that he could have become that David under different circumstances.

What saved him was not strength or enlightenment. It was connection.

He remembered the suffering imposed by the Heavenly Eye, the countless lives lived and lost. He remembered why he endured. There had been someone he could rely on, someone he cherished deeply enough to anchor himself and not lose his path entirely. Even now, in the midst of chaos and war, thoughts of his mother surfaced unbidden, her presence lingering long after her death.

Yuan Shun’s voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and cold. “How about some advice from your senior?”

Nongmin did not hesitate. “I’d rather not,” he replied evenly. “But I want you to know something. Your master, your David, will lose.”

Yuan Shun stiffened, and Nongmin continued without mercy. “He only has you. Someone with one-sided adoration, blind devotion, and nothing else. We are different. Da Wei has many people he can rely on. So many of us love him, and because of that, he can love us back.”

The words struck deeper than any blade.

Yuan Shun tensed as realization dawned. She was no longer standing alone. The battlefield had shifted, and so had her position within it. Wu Chen emerged nearby, her presence quiet but suffocating, plants and roots subtly asserting dominance over the terrain. Liang Na appeared as well, almost unseen, her augmented body poised for a killing strike.

For the first time since the battle began, Yuan Shun found herself truly surrounded.

…

..

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At one end of the Great Desert, atop a jagged cliff, stood a very young boy with dark hair whipped by the wind. His name was Ren Zhe. In his hands rested a trumpet forged from a dragon bone, its surface etched with ancient runes worn smooth by time. He had found it in the Hidden Land of the Dragons, a relic sleeping among legends until it answered his call.

He could feel it now. Most of their forces were fighting far above, clustered around the falling continent that loomed like a judgment from the heavens. It hung impossibly high, and Ren Zhe did not dare imagine the devastation that would follow once it finally struck the earth. There was no room for such thoughts. Not now.

He remembered his master’s words with perfect clarity. When the final battle comes, you will blow the horn of war.

The final battle was here.

Ren Zhe drew in a deep breath and raised the bugle shaped like a dragon’s horn. The artifact was said to have been left behind by the ancient Dragon God of legend, a being that existed even before the current Dragon God, Zhou Yong. When he blew into it, the sound that emerged was not merely loud. It was primordial, an echo that tore through the desert and the sky alike, vibrating through bone and blood.

The world answered.

Dragons erupted from the sands, bursting free from dunes and buried caverns. Others descended from the sky, scales gleaming beneath the fractured light. Ren Zhe recognized several of them, dragons that had perished not long ago, their forms now returned as something greater than flesh. The trumpet could only be blown by those who carried the Dragon King’s blood, but even that did not fully explain what was happening.

Ancestral heroic spirits appeared beside him, monks clad in ancient robes, warriors bearing weapons from forgotten eras. Their presence was solemn and resolute, as if answering a summons older than history itself.

Within Ren Zhe, his twin soul stirred. His sister’s voice rang with excitement and pride. “It must be mother’s influence,” she said. “She’s the reincarnation of the Repentant Listener. Brother, let’s kick ass.”

Far away, Yi Qiu heard the signal clearly. He stood at the head of a disparate force, the sound of the horn igniting something fierce within his chest. Beside him stood Tan Jin, already fully healed, a Martial Saint from a different era whose presence carried quiet authority.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

Yi Qiu had only recently ascended to Martial Saint, and the hunger to test his strength burned within him. Ahead of them, plague creatures created by Conquest writhed and gathered, reacting instinctively to the growing pressure. Their numbers swelled as they converged, growling and rushing forward without discipline or formation. They were little more than beasts wearing the remnants of once-living forms.

The ground forces assembled behind Yi Qiu were no grand army. They were warriors from countless walks of life, bound together by circumstance rather than allegiance. Shouquan appeared among them, his expression sharp, while Tao Long descended in the form of an enormous azure dragon, his presence alone bending the air.

Shouquan glanced toward Yi Qiu, a bloodthirsty grin spreading across his aged face. “So, commander. Orders?”

Peng Ru, having just completed her astral divination, lowered her hands and spoke calmly. “Fortune favors us today. I suggest bold action.”

Their numbers were far smaller than the main army led by Nongmin, but what they lacked in scale they made up for in spirit. This was a ragtag host drawn from the Martial Alliance, the Union, the Heavenly Temple, the Federation, the Ward, and countless individuals who did not fit neatly into any banner.

Yi Qiu’s voice carrying across the battlefield. “Charge. Destroy our enemies.”

For most of them, this was no longer a fight against a rival faction. They were facing mad creatures twisted by an Outsider, and there was no hesitation left in their hearts.

…

..

.

Speaking of the Outsider, he was watching the massive continent fall from the sky with unmistakable awe. Conquest remained perched along the mountainside, dark robes draped loosely over his sickly pallor, his bow resting in his grasp with careless confidence. From this vantage point, the Great Desert stretched endlessly beneath him, and above it loomed an impossible sight.

“Truly impressive, without a doubt,” he murmured.

For an Ascended Soul, destroying planets was possible. However, safely ripping an entire continent free, preserving its dragon veins, and transferring it intact to another land was a completely different matter. That was no longer brute force or excess power. That was precision bordering on the miraculous.

“Unfortunately,” Conquest continued calmly, “I do not like this development. So it has to go.”

He drew more power from his true body, the connection strengthening as he stood so close to the Great Desert where he had first arrived. The land itself seemed to recognize him, responding unwillingly to his presence. He could feel his plague creatures dwindling behind the mountains, their numbers being erased faster than he had anticipated. That realization forced his hand.

“I can no longer afford variables,” he said quietly. “I must acquire the Source.”

Conquest raised his bow and drew the string back, channeling far more power into the arrow than before. He was one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, most commonly associated with pestilence, but his dominion was not limited to disease alone. His arrows were legends unto themselves, harbingers of ruin that few survived witnessing.

He released the string.

The arrow screamed through the air, carrying calamity in its wake. Skulls manifested along its path, phantasmal and howling, multiplying as the projectile gained speed and mass. Its presence warped the space around it, subtle enough and fast enough that even Da Wei, fighting at a great distance, would not have been able to react in time.

That was how it should have ended.

Instead, the arrow vanished.

Dark fire swallowed it whole, consuming the calamity without so much as a ripple.

Conquest’s eyes widened, his composure shattering in an instant. “How is that possible?”

Before he could retreat, a massive hand engulfed his face, its surface wreathed in seething black flames. The grip was absolute, carrying a weight that crushed both body and will.

Ru Qiu, the Heavenly Demon, stood before him.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Ru Qiu said casually, his voice carrying an edge of amusement. “No need to cause trouble here.”

With a single motion, Ru Qiu hurled Conquest into the mountainside. The impact split the mountain apart, stone and earth exploding outward as dark flames erupted across the landscape. In the distance, the sky dimmed unnaturally as an eclipse began to manifest, its shadow stretching toward the battlefield below.

The true calamity had arrived.

…

..

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It was dim, the light smothered by the vast continent descending at an ever-accelerating pace. Supreme Heart observed in silence as fractures spread across the landmass, erosion setting in as though the world itself could no longer bear its own weight. Mountains crumbled, rivers tore free from their courses, and the sky groaned under the strain.

That was when something impossible happened.

From beneath the sands, concealed by layers of formations and concealment arrays, a tree erupted upward. Its emergence was violent yet deliberate, roots tearing through the desert like veins breaking through flesh. Supreme Heart watched in rare, unguarded awe as the colossal tree expanded, its branches spreading wide and steady, propping up the falling continent as if it were holding the sky itself.

A frown creased Supreme Heart’s expression.

That tree was not natural. Not even close.

Supreme Heart drew nearer, consciousness traversing the distance effortlessly, slipping through space without resistance. As the presence washed over the tree, realization struck.

“I am not mistaken,” Supreme Heart murmured. “I can feel the power of the Supreme Asura within it. And yet, even with something so extraordinary, this should be impossible. Ah, the Source… They were divided into six fragments… I see, they were using it to fuel the entire thing. Six presences, each with destinies tied to Da Wei scattered at the edges of the desert. Impressive, truly…”

The roots of the tree dug deep, anchoring themselves into something far older than soil, stabilizing the continent above with terrifying efficiency. Slowly, the landmass split apart, not collapsing but dividing with intent. Massive fragments broke away, becoming floating islands suspended in the sky, each one supported by a colossal branch like offerings held aloft. Despite the chaos, skirmishes continued upon those shattered surfaces, battles raging as if the world were not breaking apart around them.

Supreme Heart’s gaze lowered.

Below, on the endless sands, stood Da Wei clad in white armor, steady and grounded. Opposite him, David hovered in the air, dark armor reflecting the dying light. Even from this distance, the tension between them distorted the space around their bodies.

David’s voice carried downward. “What is the meaning of this?”

Da Wei tilted his head, sounding almost sheepish. “Hey, I did not expect it to turn out like this. I only wanted to use the Dark Veil from a more accessible location to fight you. I did not expect my disciple to perform this well. I thought whatever she discovered would help me, sure, but not like this.”

David scoffed openly. “And how exactly is a suspended continent, ripped into pieces, supposed to help you?”

Da Wei shrugged, entirely unfazed. “I am still figuring that part out.”

Supreme Heart felt something stir within his essence at the exchange. That casual nonchalance, that maddening eccentricity when facing annihilation itself, was the unmistakable hallmark of their kind. Memories surfaced unbidden, of earlier epochs when he had argued, schemed, and fought with the other Supremes, bashing heads over ideology, destiny, and control.

Then, abruptly, Supreme Heart froze.

Both Supreme Vessels turned toward him.

Their heads lifted in unison, helmed gazes piercing directly through his presence. Those eyes felt as though they were stripping him bare, peeling away layers of concealment to stare directly at his essence. Supreme Heart saw patterns within them, reflections of truths he wished he did not recognize.

The Void clung to David like a second skin, countless perished souls bound to him, empowering him in a way that made even Supreme Heart recoil. Da Wei, on the other hand, radiated accumulating faith, the presence of a sage swelling within him to a degree that felt genuinely dangerous. Supreme Heart could scarcely imagine how powerful the Supreme Vessel of this cycle would become if allowed to mature further.

“Hah,” Supreme Heart muttered, attempting levity. “The turning of epochs, is it?”

The response came instantly, spoken in eerie unison by the two figures below.

“Fuck off.”

Before Supreme Heart could react, an enormous hand erupted from beneath the sands. The Dark Veil surged upward, wrapping around his manifested consciousness with crushing force. Supreme Heart tried to retreat, but his exposure in this state left him vulnerable. At the same time, overwhelming quintessence surged forth, born of the Hollow Star, binding him completely.

The world blinked.

Supreme Heart found himself back in his private pocket dimension, standing beside the same annoying broken television that now emitted a shower of sparks. He staggered slightly, touching his face as a thin line of blood dripped from his nose.

Laughter burst from him, uncontrollable and sharp. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”

As the laughter faded, a sobering realization settled in. If this existence ever escaped the Hollowed World, one of the Six Supremes would die. There was no ambiguity about that anymore.

Supreme Heart’s smile widened, eyes gleaming with dangerous excitement.

“This is so exciting.”