Immortal Paladin

“So, what do you want?” Nongmin asked, squinting at me as he brushed soot off his arm, his tone already laced with suspicion.

“Ah, about that—”

“No.”

I paused, then exhaled slowly. “Come on, at least hear me out.”

Nongmin let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m trying to do small talk, but you just have to ask me to lead an expedition to the Greater Universe and command your players into battle. No. I’m done with that life.”

He turned slightly, his gaze drifting toward Zai Ai, who was still by the vessel.

“I appreciate you coming to me, still thinking highly of my abilities,” he continued, calmer now. “But I like my life the way it is. Mother told me to look for my happiness… and I believe I’ve found it.”

The way he looked at Zai Ai said everything.

Zai Ai, for her part, simply rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by the sentiment or perhaps by the timing of it. Without a word, she turned and walked off toward the vessel.

Sikao Biaoji blinked, then hurried after her. “Hey, wait for me! I don’t want to walk back!”

He scrambled up, nearly tripping over debris before leaping toward the departing craft. Moments later, it lifted off, leaving just the two of us in the crater’s aftermath.

I turned back to Nongmin.

“Seriously? You’re for real this time?” I asked. “What about your other wives?”

He gave me a flat look. “You really have to ask that now? That’s in poor taste.”

A brief silence followed before he added, more quietly, “They’re probably dead by now. Old age.”

Ah.

That had been careless of me. Fragments of memory surfaced, unwelcome but clear. Their clans… crippled. Broken after their rebellion. It was my decision, of course. And I’ve been called merciless for it.

“They hate me, by the way,” Nongmin added casually.

I winced.

“Don’t worry,” he continued, waving it off. “I think they lived happy lives. Just… angry ones. Angry at me.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if organizing his thoughts.

“As for my children… most of them hate me too. Though unexpectedly, every single one of them managed to walk the Transcendent Path.”

That caught my attention.

“The seven clans resorted to Legacy Bearers,” he went on. “Shortcuts, essentially. They provide the foundational framework for transcendence. Crude, but effective. If you’re only after initial strength, they’re arguably better than the Longevity Path.”

He let out a faint breath.

“I think one of my grandchildren even joined the Guardians.”

A small, almost amused smile appeared on his face.

“My grandchildren adore me. Most of them hate you, but some adore you as well. It’s complicated. There are people who share my blood and live off their hatred of me. I think that’s fine.”

I stared at him considering why the trauma dump?

That had been… unnecessary.

Did he truly not want to go that badly?

“Just to be clear,” I said, narrowing my eyes slightly. “Tell me you don’t want to go.”

“I don’t.”

My Divine Sense stirred and I knew immediately that it was a lie. Not a complete one, but enough. Nongmin felt conflicted about the matter. I watched him carefully. He avoided my gaze, his expression tightening just slightly.

Eventually, he exhaled and relented.

“I saw something,” he admitted. “Something I didn’t like.”

His voice lowered.

“I want to preserve my memories of my mother as they are. I don’t want them… changed. Or sullied.”

I said nothing for a moment.

The fragments aligned easily in my mind. The future was no longer a distant abstraction to me. Pieces revealed themselves when I looked closely enough. And whatever he had seen, it had shaken him.

“I’ll give you a day,” I said finally. “Think about it.”

I shifted the topic without waiting for his response.

“For now, tell me about the warp technology.”

Nongmin nodded, grateful for the change.

“The improvements have been promising,” he said. “At a smaller scale, we’ve managed to replicate something close to teleportation.”

That was significant.

“We’re doing it by establishing spatial landing ports across the Hollowed World,” he continued. “They’re linked through the planet’s dragon veins, which act as a natural conduit for energy and spatial alignment.”

He gestured vaguely toward the horizon.

“It works. Efficiently, even. The limitation is obvious, though. It only functions within a single world. Those ports cannot connect beyond it.”

I listened carefully.

“This,” he added, glancing at the wreckage around us, “is part of the attempt to upscale that system. The idea is to construct warp arrays in orbit. Massive disk-shaped satellites, each acting as a node. Instead of relying solely on planetary veins, we create an artificial network in space.”

Ambitious.

“And you’ll need more than one,” I said.

“Exactly,” he replied. “A single array wouldn’t be enough to stabilize interstellar travel. We’re working on multiple units, but that introduces another problem.”

He pointed upward.

“Space isn’t exactly stable. These arrays would drift. Lose alignment. Possibly disappear entirely if left unchecked.”

“So you anchor them.”

“We’re developing a spatial anchor system,” he confirmed. “Something that can lock their position relative to each other and to designated coordinates.”

He smirked faintly.

“If we get it right, we won’t just have warp travel.”

A brief pause.

“We’ll have perfect control over it.”

Nongmin’s explanation lingered in my mind long after he finished.

It was… elegant.

A continuous warp network, one that could function even in the emptiness of outerspace, unbound by the natural limitations of a single world. If refined to its theoretical peak, it would not just be a method of travel. It would redefine distance entirely.

A Greater Universe where one step in thought could become one step in space, without pause, without delay, without that familiar suffocating cooldown that governed every long-range warp movement we had known. It was elegant in its simplicity, terrifying in its scale, and undeniably useful.

Yet even as the possibilities unfolded in my head, a different concern pulled at me, something far less theoretical and far more immediate.

“Egress.”

I looked for Ru Qiu as I hovered above the sky, tracing his presence through the Dark Veil.

It didn’t take long. The disturbance below was loud enough to pinpoint without spiritual sense, a crude eruption of noise and panic that broke the usual serenity of the region. I stopped midair, hovering as I looked down.

It was a beating. Not a simple one either, but a thorough, merciless dismantling of several players who lay scattered across the ground in various states of ruin. Ru Qiu stood at the center, calm and composed, delivering strikes with precise indifference as if he were pruning weeds rather than dismantling sentient beings.

Their voices rose in overlapping desperation.

“STOP, STOP, I’M LOGGING OUT, JUST LET ME LOG OUT WITHOUT LOSING MY EXP!”

“THIS ISN’T PART OF THE QUEST, YOU PSYCHO!”

“I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR THIS, WHAT KIND OF NPC DOES THIS?!”

“I’LL REPORT YOU, I SWEAR I’LL REPORT YOU—AAAHHH!”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, watching the scene unfold. I had heard the rumors, of course. Players complaining about Ru Qiu turning “quests” into one-sided brutality sessions, but rumors rarely held the full picture. Observing it now, however, the pattern became clearer.

This wasn’t random.

Ru Qiu grabbed one of the players by the collar, lifting him with casual strength despite the man’s battered condition. His tone remained even, almost conversational, which only made the situation feel more unsettling.

“Talk,” Ru Qiu said. “What’s going on in Earth right now?”

The player coughed, blood at the edge of his lips, eyes wide with confusion and fear.

“W-what? Why are you even asking that—”

Ru Qiu tightened his grip slightly.

“I don’t like repeating myself.”

The player flinched, panic overriding whatever resistance he had left.

“O-okay, okay! There’s… uh… there’s a new Spider-Man movie coming out next week, people are hyped about it, and— and there’s some big game release too, I don’t remember the name—please, man, that’s all I know!”

I winced midair, an involuntary reaction slipping through before I could suppress it.

What the fuck?

I dragged a hand down my face slowly, disbelief settling in like an unwelcome guest.

I’m going to miss a new Spider-Man movie?

Come on.

Son of a bitch.

For a brief moment, Nongmin’s revolutionary warp arrays felt significantly less important.

I exhaled through my nose and descended, landing lightly beside Ru Qiu just as he released the player, who collapsed into a trembling heap. The others didn’t dare move, though their eyes darted toward me with a mixture of hope and suspicion.

It seemed I had missed quite a bit.

I let out a quiet sigh, then flicked a hand casually. A faint ripple of energy spread across the group, subtle but effective. Their battered states eased, not fully healed, but enough to stand and function. Along with it came a small reward, skill proficiencies injected directly into their systems, the kind of compensation that would dull their complaints.

They didn’t hesitate.

One by one, they scrambled away, muttering hurried thanks mixed with lingering fear, until the area fell silent again.

Ru Qiu glanced at me, his expression unchanged, though there was a faint edge of curiosity beneath it.

“What do you want?”

“We’re almost ready to leave the Greater Universe, but there’s one errand we still have to do.”

Ru Qiu’s brows furrowed, irritation surfacing immediately.

“Another errand? We’ve been running around nonstop and now you—”

I cut him off.

“We should give Aixin a beating.”

The shift was immediate. The irritation didn’t disappear, but it twisted into something sharper, more focused. He exhaled slowly, tension settling into a controlled line.

“She’s a Ruler of Laws.”

I scoffed lightly, dismissing the weight behind that title with deliberate ease.

“Yeah? So what? I gave Conquest a nice beating, didn’t I?”

Ru Qiu shot me a flat look.

“You didn’t beat Conquest, you just rolled a NAT 20 in intimidation. That’s all. I don’t think the same thing will happen with this Aixin gal.”

I shrugged, unconcerned, though my mind had already run the calculations more times than I cared to admit.

“I just used my Ophanim to gather as much information on her, and yes, I did die more often than I can count, but she doesn’t have any Dao Domain. That’s the ultimate ability of a Ruler of Laws, and she doesn’t have it. That’s something, right? She’s basically an Ascended Soul who didn’t have an Immortal Art.”

Ru Qiu let out a short, disbelieving scoff.

“You are comparing an Ascended Soul to a Ruler of Laws.”

I tilted my head slightly, a faint smirk forming despite the situation.

“I thought you’d be eager to kick some ass. Think of it as a competition between us. We can’t really afford sparring lately, right? Since we’d end up destroying entire continents if we get too carried away. How about we compete who gets to punish Aixin the best?”

I paused just long enough for that to settle before continuing, my tone shifting into something more practical.

“Also, this is for the greater good. Nongmin’s been building this super sci-fi warp array that needs to be installed outside of the Hollowed World. If Aixin’s out there being crazy as usual, she’ll find it and either take it hostage or outright destroy it. We don’t really need to beat her. We just need to kick her away.”

That was the official reasoning and the convenient justification.

The truth was that I couldn’t pull the same trick I used on Conquest.

Aixin wasn’t built the same way. Where Conquest had cracks, ego, pressure points waiting to be exploited, Aixin’s chaos formed a strange, unyielding stability. I had already tested it through the Ophanim, throwing myself into countless projected futures, dying again and again in variations that blurred together.

No matter how many times I tried to break her mentally with relentless, suicidal charges, it led nowhere.

Even now, a fragment of my awareness lingered within the Ophanim’s projections, watching yet another version of myself get torn apart without achieving anything meaningful.

“It would be boring if there’s no stakes at play,” said Ru Qiu, voice laced with amusement. “Let’s make it into a bet. If you lose, you get to cross dress as a girl for the next ten years.”

I stared at him, the words taking a second longer than usual to settle in.

“Hey, ten years are too much!”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“I will do the same if you win.”

Silence stretched between us for a moment as I weighed it. I had to admit, the idea had… appeal, though not in the way he probably intended. The players would absolutely eat that kind of thing up. The thought alone made me imagine the chaos it would cause across the Hollowed World, and that almost tipped the scale.

Almost.

I really didn’t want to cross dress.

Still, if there was a chance to squeeze more out of this…

I folded my arms and tilted my head slightly.

“If you lose, I want you to lead the campaign to the Greater Universe with the players.”

Ru Qiu’s expression darkened immediately.

“Now, that’s just dirty. If I lose, I’d lose my dignity in the most terrifying manner. No deal.”

I clicked my tongue softly, already expecting that reaction. After a brief pause, I adjusted the terms.

“Okay, if I lose, I’ll give you Soulsunderer. But I’ll get to pick what you wear.”

That did it.

His grin returned, sharper this time.

“Good enough. To make it official, we’ll need a mediator.”

Ten minutes later, we found Alice. Explaining the bet to her was a mistake. Her expression shifted halfway through, lips curling into a mischievous smile that only grew wider the more details we gave.

“That’s a very interesting bet,” she said, clearly entertained. “How about we raise the stakes higher?”

I should have refused right there.

Five minutes later, Jue Bu joined us. He didn’t even try to hide his reaction. He doubled over, laughing so hard it echoed across the area, clutching his stomach as if the sheer absurdity was physically hurting him.

“Oh, this is rich,” Jue Bu wheezed, barely able to stand straight. “Absolutely rich. I’m going to enjoy this so much. I’ll be looking under your skirts personally when the time comes, make a whole ceremony out of it. Maybe even write a speech—”

Ru Qiu’s eye twitched.

“Can I hit him?”

I stepped forward immediately.

“No, you block him the other way, I’ll hit him.”

Before either of us could move, Alice raised a hand, cutting us off.

“No, no one gets to touch him,” she said lightly. “He will not only choose the outfits of the loser, but also use his Immortal Art to make it more genuine.”

That stopped us, completely.

She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels as if she were arranging a game rather than something that would inevitably end in destruction.

“Now, boys, we’ll be watching from afar hidden in the Dark Veil while the two of you compete for Aixin, okay?” she continued. “Oh, and if you win, I will give you this.”

She produced a vial, its contents shimmering with layered colors that didn’t quite obey any known spectrum.

“This is an Immortality Elixir, the most recent innovation of Joan and Gu Jie. It allows you to raise the layers of immortality you have depending on how much you can refine within you. It’s made with concentrated legendary fruits and ingredients you would find only in Losten, so it’s extremely precious.”

Even I couldn’t deny that caught my attention.

Ru Qiu immediately leaned forward.

“Hold on, if that’s the case, we should renegotiate—”

I didn’t let him finish.

Divine Qi surged through my body in an instant, and before he could react, my heel came down with precise force. A sharp crack echoed as his leg snapped cleanly.

At the same time, I cast Halo of Restriction.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Silver rings slammed into place around him, locking his movement just long enough.

I didn’t wait.

The Dark Veil unfolded around me like a living shadow, and I grabbed Alice and Jue Bu without ceremony before tearing through space.

The world twisted and then stabilized.

We appeared directly before Aixin.

Her radiant, titanic form dominated everything, her presence alone distorting the surrounding void as she hammered relentlessly against the Dark Veil encasing the Hollowed World like a madwoman trying to tear open reality itself.

Alice and Jue Bu immediately realized what I had done.

“YOU ABSOLUTE—WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!” Alice snapped.

Jue Bu wasn’t any calmer.

“ARE YOU INSANE?! YOU DRAGGED US HERE LIKE BAIT?!”

I didn’t bother easing them into it.

I shoved them forward, placing them squarely between me and Aixin.

“Fuck, you think it’s funny, huh?” I shot back. “How about the two of you join the bet as well, huh? Alice, Jue Bu, the two of you are having too much fun. You are not young anymore. You should learn how to hold back.”

Aixin’s attention shifted instantly.

Alice and Jue Bu reacted without hesitation, their Immortal Arts deploying in layered defenses as the pressure from Aixin’s focus alone began to crush the surrounding space.

I stepped forward, grinning slightly despite the chaos.

“Aixin, we’ve come to beat your ass!”

The Dark Veil behind me responded.

It twisted, condensed, and reshaped itself into something colossal, an enormous blade the size of a small moon forming in my grasp. Its surface rippled with endless darkness before igniting with golden radiance.

Heavenly Punishment surged through it.

I swung.

The strike carved through the void, glowing gold as lightning coiled around it, crashing directly into Aixin’s head with overwhelming force. Divine Qi erupted outward, shaking the entire region.

Jue Bu’s voice cut through the chaos.

“You cocksucking troll, that’s foul!”

Alice followed immediately.

“DAVID! I SWEAR, I’LL SEE YOU WEARING A DRESS AFTER THIS!”

A sudden distortion tore through the Dark Veil.

A white blur shot forward like a collapsing star.

Ru Qiu.

He had broken through. His Supremacy Trait burned at full force, dark flames inverted into blazing white, his entire presence screaming fury as he pierced through the authority of the Dark Veil itself.

He didn’t slow down.

He became a streak of judgment aimed straight at Aixin.

“DA WEI! FUCK YOU!”

Even as the battlefield erupted into complete chaos, I couldn’t help the faint grin that tugged at my lips.

Far in the future, this moment would become one of many that defined us.

The Hollowed World would earn a reputation that spread across realms far beyond its standing, whispered about as a place filled with lunatics and unreasonable madmen. Beings who hurled curses at each other with something almost resembling affection, all while clashing against existences far above their realm.

And somehow, impossibly, still managing to make those higher existences struggle.

With the arrival of the players, later known as the Fourth Calamity, that reputation would only grow louder.

More chaotic.

More undeniable.

And moments like this would be exactly why.