Immortal Paladin

[POV: Origin King]

The Origin King had often wondered whether the truth had always been so obvious. The Shén were a godly race born from the Origin itself. If that was so, then what else could they be but its children? The logic seemed simple to him now, almost embarrassingly so.

Yet his kin had never accepted it.

If they were born from the Origin, then by every principle of existence the Origin should have been their Creator God. The same way the beings they created bowed in worship before them, offering faith and reverence in exchange for providence.

Should not the Shén have done the same?

But arrogance had poisoned them.

The gifts of the Origin had made them proud, and the endless praise of mortals had twisted that pride into something uglier. The Shén began to see themselves not as children of something greater, but as the highest truth of reality itself.

And so they stopped looking upward.

Now the consequence of that arrogance lingered like a scar across history.

The Origin had been forgotten, lost to the deepest pits of time and buried beneath ages of war, cultivation, empire, and divinity. Even the Shén themselves spoke of it only in fragmented myths, as if it had never truly existed.

But the Origin King refused to let that continue.

Standing within the silent chamber of his palace, he knelt before the towering statue at its center. The marble figure was shaped in his likeness. He was tall, crowned, and draped in robes of imperial authority. Yet the statue was not truly meant to represent him.

It represented something else.

“O Origin,” he murmured softly. “Show me the way.”

[Answer: Your current path is optimal. Find the key. Find the Heart of the World.]

The Origin King slowly opened his eyes.

Before him stood the statue.

His own face gazed down at him with unmoving serenity.

To the outside world, the statue symbolized the ruler of this realm: the Origin King, sovereign of conquered lands and master of the surviving Shén. But in truth, it symbolized the Origin. The Shén were the closest beings to it. The only race directly born from its power. If any image could represent the Origin, it could only be them.

His kin had called him mad for this belief, yet time had begun to prove him right.

[Question: Why do you pray?]

The Origin King smiled faintly.

“Because I worship you.”

[Answer: But I will gain nothing from your faith.]

The Origin King laughed quietly.

“My faith is merely the consequence of my worship to you,” he said calmly. He clasped his hands behind his back as he spoke, his tone thoughtful. “From the perspective of a cultivator or a god, faith is something to harvest. A source of power, refined to grow stronger.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“To mortals, faith is payment. They give it in exchange for protection, prosperity,  and miracles. As for me? While you gain nothing from my faith, I gain everything. I understand that such a concept might be beyond you. After all, you exist on a higher order than anything we understand. Even the word ‘existence’ likely means nothing to you.”

His voice softened.

“If anything, it is my desire for your love that drives me to pray.”

[Answer: I don’t understand.]

The Origin King waved a hand dismissively as he rose to his feet.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

He turned and walked toward the balcony of his palace. The great doors opened as he approached, revealing the vast courtyard below. Thousands of worshipers knelt across the marble grounds.

All of them were mortals, conquered ones. They had been carefully selected. Those who were enlightened, loyal, and utterly devout. Day after day they knelt beneath the palace, offering prayers without end.

A constant stream of faith flowed upward from them like an invisible river. Through that stream, the Origin King maintained his strength.

This world had been harsh to the Shén and cultivators alike. Once, he had been a Ruler of Laws, one who governed fundamental truths of reality itself. Now his power had been reduced to the realm of Ascended Soul.

Even so, that realm was still terrifyingly high by mortal standards. But his followers had suffered far worse. Without divine protection, even they could be slain by ordinary mortals if they were careless.

Footsteps echoed softly behind him.

“My lord.”

The voice belonged to a woman.

When the Origin King turned, he saw her standing at the entrance to the balcony.

She possessed striking beauty with dark hair cascading down her back, pale skin like moonlit porcelain, and lips as red as fresh blood. Her presence carried a faint chill, as though the air itself feared to linger near her.

Cherish was his second in command, one of the Six Queens. These queens were ancient gods who had existed during the long-lost Age of Divinity. In the current era, the surviving gods had fractured into many factions. Some aligned with the Origin King. Others followed the Yellow Emperor. Still others chose independence.

Yet standing even above them were the Six Supremes, miraculous powers whose influence stretched across the hidden layers of the world. Cherish followed one of them. She was a cultivator of the Ghost Path, loyal to Supreme Death.

The Origin King regarded her calmly.

“What is it?”

Cherish stepped forward and bowed her head slightly.

“I have come to report.”

Among the Six Queens, Cherish was the one he trusted the most. The reason for that trust was rather simple. The Supreme Death, whom she served, was not known for intricate schemes or political maneuvering. Of all the Six Supremes, Death cared the least about alliances, intrigue, or the balance of influence between the others.

That made Cherish predictable.

The queens themselves had been presented to him as gifts by the Supremes, yet the meaning behind the gesture had never been difficult to decipher. They were watchers as much as consorts, extensions of their patrons’ will meant to observe the Origin King and report what they saw. The arrangement had always been political rather than personal. There was no love between him and any of them, nor had he ever sought it. Every piece of devotion he possessed was reserved for the Origin alone.

Cherish lowered her head slightly and began her report with calm professionalism. “My lord, two of the queens have conceived. Queen Heart and Queen Jade both confirmed their pregnancies earlier today. Because of this, the attendants have asked me to inform you that your nightly duties are no longer required for the time being. Additionally, envoys from the Heavenly Temple have requested another audience with you.”

The Origin King clicked his tongue in annoyance, the sharp sound echoing faintly against the marble of the balcony.

The refugees from the Heavenly Temple had become an increasing nuisance over the past months. They constantly demanded that he mobilize his forces and launch an immediate invasion into the Hollowed World, as though wars were started by impatience alone. His spies sent into that realm continued to die with disturbing regularity, leaving him with fragmented intelligence at best. Because of that, he preferred a slower and more cautious approach rather than blindly marching his armies into an unknown battlefield.

He turned slightly toward Cherish and regarded her with a faint smile. “That is good news, more children means more strength for my rule,” he said calmly before tilting his head in mild curiosity. “And what about you?”

Cherish did not hesitate in answering. “Unfortunately, I am sterile, my lord. However, if you wish for me to serve you regardless, then I shall gladly do so.”

He shook his head almost immediately. “No, it is fine.”

Her sterility had an interesting political consequence within his court. Unlike the other queens, Cherish possessed no children who could be elevated into positions of authority. The others were already building networks of influence through their offspring, quietly placing them within the palace administration, the priesthood, and the command structure of his armies. Cherish, by contrast, had no such faction.

That lack of a political base made her uniquely useful.

It had allowed the Origin King to elevate her to the position of second in command without worrying about the formation of a rival power bloc.

Cherish continued her report without any change in tone. “There is additional news regarding the Hollowed World. Invasion efforts from their side appear to have begun. Our scouts report the appearance of warriors who cannot be permanently slain. Several dungeon overseers claim to have encountered the same individuals repeatedly even after killing them. There are also rumors spreading that these invaders can perceive the hidden pathways that lead toward our world.”

The Origin King narrowed his eyes slightly.

Those refugees from the Heavenly Temple had insisted that the Hollowed World should not possess many Ascended Soul-level beings. Yet now there were reports of immortal warriors repeatedly appearing after death. The ability to resurrect through layered forms of immortality was a signature characteristic of those who had reached the Ascended Soul realm. Of course, there was also the possibility that the Hollowed World possessed the art of resurrection, but he wouldn’t count on it.

If those reports were accurate, then the situation was more complicated than the refugees had claimed.

He folded his arms behind his back and asked another question. “What about our numbers? Have there been any new descending realms recently?”

Cherish shook her head. “It has been quiet, my lord.”

The Origin King considered that information carefully.

The collapse of the Heavenly Temple had reduced the number of cleansing operations that once stabilized the flow of worlds toward the Hollowed World. Still, he had assumed the situation would remain manageable. As long as new descending realms continued to appear, there would always be fresh souls arriving in the Hollowed World that could eventually be gathered to his side.

His army was composed largely of Outsiders, souls that had perished when their original realms were pulled into the Hollowed World. Most of them came from refugee worlds scattered across the Greater Universe. Others were followers of the Six Supremes who had been sent to him to inflate his numbers and strengthen his military presence.

For the Origin King himself, such souls were merely raw materials.

As a Shén who worshiped the Origin, his authority over creation surpassed that of the gods from both the Age of Divinity and the later Age of Supremacy. Reshaping souls and molding them into new bodies required little effort from him. To the Origin King, that process was no more difficult than a craftsman shaping clay.

A more daring thought crossed his mind as he gazed across the courtyard of kneeling worshipers below.

Perhaps he should attempt something more ambitious.

Stealing souls that were already bound to the Hollowed World.

The idea carried considerable risk because those souls ultimately belonged to the Supreme Void, whose authority governed that realm. Interfering with them directly could provoke a reaction that even he might not be prepared to face. However, rumors had begun to circulate that the Supreme Void had fallen into a long slumber.

If that rumor proved true, the opportunity might be worth the danger.

The Origin King returned his attention to Cherish. “What else?”

Cherish inclined her head once more before continuing. “There is also an update regarding Aureon. Our agents have finally located the Lost God. Unfortunately, three champions of this world intervened before we could secure him. Our forces were forced to retreat, and the opportunity to recover him was lost.”

The Origin King’s calm expression fractured the moment Cherish finished her report.

“What!?” His voice rang across the balcony like a thunderclap. “How?”

He had sent his strongest warriors for that mission. Veterans who had survived the Age of Divinity’s collapse, cultivators who had clawed their way through endless slaughter to reach terrifying heights of power. The target had not even been in full strength. Aureon, the Lost God, had been injured and wandering for ages.

How difficult could it have been to kill an injured Lost God?

Even if Aureon died during the confrontation, that outcome would have been acceptable. Resurrection was hardly an obstacle for someone like him. The Origin King could simply rebuild the god’s body and drag the soul back into existence.

The true objective had always been interrogation.

Aureon might have been the only lead he possessed toward finding the Key. And if the Key was found, then the Heart of the World might not remain hidden forever. That single thread represented the closest path toward fulfilling the deepest wish he carried in his soul.

Cherish spoke carefully, clearly aware of his rising agitation. “My lord, there was an unusual detail reported by the survivors. One of the three champions bears an uncanny resemblance to the Holy Emperor.”

The Origin King frowned slightly.

Cherish continued. “Is it possible that the Holy Emperor of the Hollowed World has infiltrated this world?”

He scoffed at the suggestion.

“If that is truly the case, then he would be far too daring,” he replied, waving the idea aside. “However, I find it unlikely. Crossing the boundary between our worlds is not so simple. Even a planar spell would not be sufficient unless it was cast from outside the Hollowed World itself, and the caster would need tremendous strength to accomplish such a feat.”

He rested his hands on the balcony railing while staring into the distance.

“The dungeon incursions are strange, but that alone proves nothing. A Supreme Being would not be able to fit inside something so small. The dimensional structures would collapse long before that happened.”

His voice grew colder.

“The barrier spell surrounding this realm was crafted by my hand. Not even the Six Supremes could break it directly.”

He turned back toward Cherish with narrowed eyes.

“Nevertheless, I want answers. Capture any of those invaders who are entering the dungeons and finding their way here. Bring them to me alive. I want to study them personally.”

Before Cherish could respond, a streak of brilliant light descended from the sky.

The light halted in the air before the balcony and condensed into a humanoid form.

A young man with a single radiant wing emerged from the fading glow. His armor shimmered with faint traces of divine energy, though exhaustion was visible in the way his shoulders sagged. He descended quickly and dropped to one knee.

“Your Majesty,” he said, lowering his head. “I have a report to make.”

It was Herald, one of the Origin King’s youngest sons.

Cherish’s expression darkened immediately.

“Herald,” she said sharply, her tone cutting like a blade. “If you wish to make a report to His Majesty, it must first pass through your mother and then through me. That is the procedure required by the court. You are well aware of this.”

Her eyes flashed with irritation.

“You will not abandon protocol simply because you believe your message to be urgent.”

Herald bowed his head even lower, breathing harshly as if he had flown for a great distance.

“This is important,” he said, struggling to steady his voice. “I apologize for the lack of decorum I have shown.”

The Origin King raised a hand slightly.

“I permit it.”

The tension in the air shifted.

Herald nodded gratefully and began his report.

“I was tasked with tracking a small rebellion forming northwest of the capital. At first it seemed insignificant, just scattered forces gathering together in secret. However, as I followed their movements, I discovered something unexpected.”

He swallowed before continuing.

“They are rebuilding a city.”

The Origin King’s eyes narrowed.

“A city?” he repeated.

“Yes, Your Majesty. A budding settlement attempting to rise without your permission. When I approached to investigate, I was attacked by several powerful cultivators guarding the area.”

“Cultivators? Not champions of this world, but cultivators?” asked Cherish, looking incredulous.

Herald clenched his fists in visible frustration as he continued.

“Despite unleashing my Origin Art, I was suppressed and restrained mercilessly. I could not even break free. I am ashamed of my weakness. I believe these people possess far greater ambitions for this world than simple rebellion. One of the individuals present was unmistakable. I recognized him immediately.”

The Origin King leaned forward slightly.

“Who?”

Herald answered with grim certainty. “The Brass Bull. Ox-Head.”

Cherish stiffened.

“I have heard the stories since childhood,” Herald continued. “My mother and caretakers often spoke of him. A gatekeeper of the Underworld, a terrifying guardian who serves the Goddess of Oblivion herself.”

“Meng Po,” softly uttered the Origin King.

The name seemed to freeze the air.

Cherish’s face turned pale as realization struck her.

“That old hag…” she whispered.

A violent killing intent burst from her body like a storm.

“So she has finally abandoned her neutrality,” Cherish said coldly. “For ages she sat in the shadows pretending to care nothing for the affairs of the many worlds. If Ox-Head is here, then Meng Po must have chosen a side.”

Her aura flared with murderous hostility.

“If she thinks she can interfere in this realm—”

Herald suddenly shook his head.

“It is not that simple.”

Cherish’s voice halted instantly.

Herald’s breathing had become increasingly uneven. Sweat rolled down his face as he struggled to finish his report.

“Ox-Head did not seem to be acting independently,” he said. “He appeared to be serving someone else.”

The Origin King frowned.

“I apologize,” Herald continued weakly. “My investigation was lacking. I could not learn the man’s name. However, he delivered a message for you, Your Majesty.”

Herald lifted his head, eyes trembling.

“He challenged you.”

The Origin King’s gaze sharpened.

“What did he say?”

“He said…” Herald paused, trying to recall the exact words. “He said you should meet him south of his city. The arrogance of that man—”

Herald’s voice suddenly faltered. Something strange began to happen. His brows furrowed as if he were confused, while fear crept into his eyes. Yet at the same time, his lips slowly curled upward into a twisted smile that did not match the terror on his face. His skin began to bulge in unnatural places, shifting beneath the surface as though something inside him was struggling to emerge.

Cherish’s hand instantly moved toward her weapon within her pocket dimension.

The Origin King’s eyes narrowed sharply.

Herald’s voice continued, but it no longer sounded entirely like his own.

“The arrogance…” he said slowly.

The wicked smile widened unnaturally across his face.

“…was only natural.”

His bones cracked softly as the distortions beneath his skin became more pronounced.

“And His Holy Majesty far outstrips you.”

Herald’s trembling eyes locked onto the Origin King.

“Be glad,” the voice said through his mouth. “Be thankful.”

The smile stretched wider, grotesquely wide.

“For in his enormous magnanimity, he has permitted an insignificant creature such as you…”

The possessed body tilted its head mockingly.

“…an audience.”

The Origin King’s expression darkened as Herald’s body suddenly convulsed.

At first it was only a tremor, and then the young man began to scream. The sound was raw and desperate. Herald collapsed forward, clutching his chest as if something inside him was tearing its way out. His cries echoed across the balcony while his divine aura spiraled violently out of control.

“My—my lord—!”

His voice broke into a shriek.

The Origin King did not move. He watched as Herald’s body twisted unnaturally, bones cracking beneath flesh with wet, grinding sounds. Then the true horror began.

Herald’s bones began ripping themselves out of his body.

One after another, fragments of skeleton tore free through skin and muscle. Blood sprayed across the marble floor as the pieces lifted into the air, floating as though guided by invisible hands.

Herald collapsed onto his back the moment the last bones left his body.

What remained of him was a mangled mass of flesh struggling to regenerate. Divine energy flared weakly around the broken figure as muscle and tissue slowly began to reform, attempting to rebuild what had been stolen.

Herald’s face knitted itself together again while he sobbed through a mouth full of blood.

Above him, the stolen bones assembled themselves in the sky. Vertebrae connected. Ribs spread outward like a macabre cage. A skull rotated slowly until its hollow eye sockets faced forward. Two vast skeletal wings of divine structure unfolded behind the floating skeleton, their frame glowing faintly with pale light.

The assembled figure hovered calmly in the air above the balcony.

“I am Ezekiel,” the skeleton announced in a clear voice. “Herald of the Great Guard.”

The Origin King clicked his tongue in open annoyance.

The entire spectacle was clearly meant as provocation. A theatrical display designed to test his patience and mock the sanctity of his palace.

[Statement: Wait.]

The Origin King froze.

For a brief moment, confusion crossed his mind. The Origin itself had spoken, instructing him to remain still. That alone was enough to restrain his immediate impulse to obliterate the skeletal intruder.

So he waited.

Ezekiel spread his skeletal arms slightly as though presenting himself to an audience.

“My lord,” the skeleton said proudly, “is the eternal sovereign of the Hollowed World. The divine ruler whose radiance eclipses the arrogance of lesser gods.”

Its empty eye sockets gleamed faintly.

“The great and glorious Holy Emperor, Da Wei.”

The skeleton’s voice carried unmistakable reverence.

“My master commands armies that cannot truly die, warriors whose spirits persist through every defeat. His wisdom governs countless realms, and his authority shapes the destiny of worlds.”

Ezekiel tilted its skull slightly while continuing.

“Yet despite the vast gulf between your existence and his, His Holy Majesty has chosen mercy.”

The skeleton raised one hand slowly.

“He offers you an armistice.”

The Origin King stared up at the floating skeleton without the slightest trace of awe.

Ezekiel continued in the same lofty tone.

“The Holy Emperor proposes a meeting between sovereigns. A peaceful discussion conducted one-on-one, far from armies and interference. Such generosity should be regarded as an extraordinary honor.”

Silence lingered for a moment.

Then the Origin King scoffed.

“How about no?”

The words fell from his mouth without hesitation.

For a brief instant, Ezekiel remained motionless and then the skeleton laughed. The sound was different now. The tone had changed completely. Gone was the reverent arrogance of a loyal herald. In its place emerged a voice filled with mocking amusement.

“So stubborn.”

The voice no longer sounded like Ezekiel’s.

It carried a different presence behind it.

“Are you certain you wish to refuse?” the skeleton asked lightly. “Because I happen to know something you desire very, very badly. Imagine my surprise, when I heard from a certain someone that you are desperately looking for this thing.”

The skull tilted downward as though looking directly into the Origin King’s eyes.

“I know where the Key to the Heart of the World is.”

The Origin King’s jaw tightened immediately. His fingers curled slowly into fists. This could easily be a trap. Every instinct in his mind warned him that the Holy Emperor might simply be baiting him into a dangerous situation.

Yet the possibility alone was enough to stir the desperation he had spent ages suppressing.

Inside his mind, the distant presence of the Origin stirred again.

[Statement: Find the Key. Find the Heart of the World.]

The Origin King slowly exhaled through clenched teeth.

Above him, the skeleton’s mocking laughter continued.

“Look at you,” the voice said with open amusement. “The great Origin King, reduced to hesitation the moment a single thread appears before him.”

The skeletal wings spread wide.

“How tragic.”

The tone sharpened.

“If you refuse the invitation, then so be it.”

The skeleton raised its arms dramatically toward the heavens.

“Let this be my final gift to you.”

Its voice rang out like a proclamation.

“Heavenly Punishment.”

The moment the words were spoken, the sky split open. A vast golden sword descended from the heavens like a falling star. The weapon pierced straight through the skeleton’s body before crashing down into the palace.

The impact was catastrophic.

The balcony exploded under the force of the strike, marble shattering as divine light erupted across the structure. The blade carried the overwhelming authority of celestial judgment.

The Origin King was thrown backward as the explosion of holy energy tore through the palace. Cherish was caught directly in the blast. Her body was annihilated instantly. Herald, still lying helpless on the floor while his body struggled to regenerate, was struck by the same devastating force.

Both of them died in the same moment.

The golden sword embedded itself deep within the palace structure, radiating blinding divine power.

Smoke and shattered stone filled the air.

The Origin King slowly rose from the rubble.

His body bore numerous injuries, divine burns carved across his skin where the Heavenly Punishment had struck him. Yet the wounds began healing almost immediately, flesh regenerating under the power of his divine authority.

He wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.

His expression had grown cold.

With a simple gesture of his hand, the Origin King invoked his authority over creation. Two lights formed beside him. From those lights, bodies began reconstructing themselves. Bones formed first. Then muscle, flesh, and skin followed.

Within seconds, Cherish and Herald were standing once more, newly resurrected through the Origin King’s power.

Their eyes opened slowly as life returned to them.

The Origin King stared toward the ruined sky where the attack had originated.

His voice was calm, but the fury beneath it was unmistakable.

“I will not let this humiliation stand.”