Immortal Paladin

The Hollowed World were many things. It could be a graveyard to some, a prison to others, and to me, inconveniently, a third home that I could neither abandon nor fully claim.

More recently, it had become something else entirely, a cradle for the so-called Eternals. Players. Anomalies who wore mortality like a costume and discarded it just as easily. Their presence had twisted the structure of the world in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, culminating in what they proudly called the Player Covenant. Or the Player Alliance, depending on which of them you asked, as if consistency itself was optional.

I was currently tasked with negotiating their entry into the Greater Universe, a responsibility I would have preferred to delegate, but circumstances had a way of circling back to me.

I stood upon a high balcony overlooking the arena below, where chaos had been distilled into spectacle. Steel clashed, magic tore through the air, and players hurled themselves into battle with reckless enthusiasm, knowing full well that death was an inconvenience rather than an end.

Ren Xun had organized the tournament efficiently, using it as a filter to determine which among them would earn the right of first entry. I had given him only a rough outline, yet he had executed it with precision. He adapted quickly, far more than most would when faced with entities like the players.

Before me sat Saber, the elected representative of the Player Covenant. She carried herself with a composure that bordered on regal, her blond hair framing a face that reflected both discipline and conviction. Her attire was refined, chosen for diplomacy rather than war, though there was no disguising the warrior beneath. She inclined her head slightly, her voice measured and resonant as she spoke.

“Your Holy Majesty, it is an honor beyond measure to stand before you. On behalf of the Player Covenant, I extend our deepest gratitude for granting us audience, and for considering our place within the vast tapestry of the Greater Universe.”

Her performance was flawless, almost too flawless. The immersion was complete, to the point where it blurred the line between role and reality. Knowing the one behind that persona was Arthur only made it more disorienting. I remembered him as both a reckless companion and an uncompromising PvP rival, someone who laughed easily yet fought with ruthless precision. Seeing him now, embodied as Saber, projecting elegance and restraint, created a subtle tension in my mind that I could not entirely dismiss.

To her side stood familiar figures, Fanarys and Arthur, though the latter title required mental adjustment every time I acknowledged it. Fanarys stepped forward first, her expression composed as she addressed me with diplomatic clarity.

“Your Holy Majesty, I and Arthur here represent the interests of Radiant Losten. King Davian and Queen Joana have entrusted us with their authority in this matter. While the Eternals as a whole are beings of freedom and instinct, we seek to guide and support them in their endeavors, whether those efforts be grand or modest.”

Arthur followed without hesitation, his tone carrying the weight of ceremony.

“Your Holy Majesty, this discussion holds profound significance. Before we proceed further, may we request that you introduce us to your esteemed companions?”

Ren Xun, positioned to my right, responded with a slight nod, his demeanor calm yet attentive.

“I believe we’ve crossed paths before, though circumstances did not permit proper conversation. I am Ren Xun, King of the Dragon Court and an acting primary of the World Council. I have served as liaison to the Eternals, alongside Lord Mao Xian of the Adventurer’s Guild.”

His words were concise and deliberate.  Ren Xun understood the necessity of presenting unity, especially in front of individuals who were new to this world and prone to impressions that might be proven a diplomatic hurdle along the line.

Of course, the presence of Fanarys and Arthur in this world was no coincidence. It was a calculated effort to give the players structure, to shape them into something resembling a cohesive faction rather than a chaotic swarm. Others had already begun to take advantage of their naivety, carving out influence through manipulation.

Mao Xian and Tao Long had recognized this early, leveraging their experience to establish footholds. The Ward-player faction and the Guild-player faction were already forming beneath the surface, subtle fractures that would widen if left unchecked. The Player Covenant, for all its awkward naming, was a countermeasure. A means of control.

“And she?” Fanarys asked, her gaze shifting toward my left.

I followed her line of sight, where Ru Qiu stood in full view. Dark hair framed her face, her eyes sharp and predatory, carrying an intensity that seemed entirely at odds with the elegant maid outfit she wore. The contrast was absurd enough that I felt laughter rise instinctively, though I suppressed it with effort.

“I will kill you, Da Wei,” Ru Qiu said flatly, her voice devoid of exaggeration.

“I have no doubt,” I replied inwardly before addressing the others. “This is Ru Qiu, the Heavenly Demon.”

Silence settled over the trio for a brief moment, their expressions shifting in unison as recognition clashed with disbelief. They leaned slightly toward one another, their voices dropping into hushed whispers that, while intended to be discreet, did not escape my hearing.

“Wait… the Heavenly Demon?” Fanarys murmured, her brows knitting together. “Wasn’t he supposed to be—”

“A man?” Arthur finished quietly, eyes flicking back to Ru Qiu. “I distinctly remember about a towering, domineering figure who could wield dark flames that defy the heavens. Not… this.”

Saber’s composure wavered just slightly. “Perhaps,” she whispered, “this is… an alternate manifestation? Or some form of transformation mechanic?”

Ru Qiu’s eye twitched faintly.

I let their confusion linger for a moment before offering an explanation.

“He lost a bet, and now he has to stay this way for some time.”

The words settled over them in a strange silence, their minds clearly attempting to reconcile the image before them. I did not elaborate further. Some things were better left as they were, especially when Ru Qiu’s patience was already thinning into something dangerous.

I allowed my expression to shift, the faint trace of amusement fading into something more measured.

In truth, there had never been a necessity to involve the players in leadership decisions. Their nature made them unpredictable, often erratic, and at times dangerously naïve. Yet I had chosen this path deliberately. They were not like the rest of us, not incarnated through the same descent as the Supreme Beings, but they were still fragments of the Source. That alone made them valuable beyond measure.

They were my trump card.

A resource I intended to refine, to elevate, to shape into something that could tip the balance when the time came. Freedom was essential to their growth, but too much visibility would invite attention I did not want. The Six Supremes were not blind. If they began to understand what the players truly were, there was a very real possibility they would attempt to claim them. Or worse, dismantle them.

After all, the players were miracles I had created through my own power intertwined with the Source.

I gestured lightly toward Ru Qiu, ignoring the subtle hostility radiating from her.

“Ru Qiu will serve as your point of contact once you enter the Greater Universe. As for myself, I will be occupied elsewhere.”

That was putting it mildly. There were gaps in my strength that I could no longer ignore. My layers of immortality needed refinement, my abilities required restructuring, and there were paths I had yet to explore. If I was to maintain control over everything I had set into motion, I needed to ascend further.

The ‘bout’ with Aixin thought me that.

Learning that Pestilence was playing me was hardly news to me for one thing.

I rose from my seat.

“I will leave the rest to you, Ren Xun, Ru Qiu, Saber, Fanarys, and Arthur.”

There was no need for further ceremony. I invoked Egress, and the world folded.

The transition deposited me upon one of the Hanging Islands, an unfinished expanse of floating land suspended within fractured skies. The air carried a faint distortion, a reminder that this place was still under construction. Before me, a tear in space had been carved open, its edges trembling with the influence of the Dark Veil.

Through it, I could see Nongmin’s dragoon puppets moving in precise coordination, assembling a massive warp array formation. The structure pulsed faintly, incomplete but already radiating complexity.

Alice and Gu Jie were waiting nearby.

I glanced at Gu Jie, who floated in place, her small form unmoving except for the subtle shift of her gaze.

“Is it just me, or are you not growing at all?”

She stared at me with quiet indignation, the expression on her childish face clashing with the weight behind her presence.

“Father,” she said, her tone controlled, “I believe the nature of my resurrection was flawed. However, my cultivation is progressing rapidly. It will not take long before I surpass my previous peak.”

I gave a small nod. “Good. That saves me some concern.”

Alice stepped in without hesitation, her arms slipping around me as she pressed a brief kiss to my lips. Her presence was warm, grounding in a way few things were.

“So,” she asked softly, “are we ready to go?”

I turned my attention toward the large table nearby, where several figures were gathered in discussion. Nongmin stood at its center, while Zai Ai, Sikao Biaoji, and Ox-Head surrounded the formation schematics laid out before them.

Nongmin looked up as I approached, his expression calm.

“Just a few more hours,” he said. “Ox-Head has been an immense help.”

I shifted my gaze toward the towering figure, only for it to be intercepted by another presence entirely.

Dragon Goddess Zhou Yong sat perched upon Ox-Head’s shoulder as if it were the most natural seat in the world, her lithe form relaxed, her eyes gleaming with curiosity.

“Well,” she said, her voice carrying a playful lilt, “I couldn’t help myself. I heard there was a Lost God here, but my, he certainly has quite the physique.”

I exhaled slowly, choosing not to entertain that line of commentary.

“I take it you won’t be returning with us, Ox-Head?”

He shook his head, his massive frame unmoving otherwise.

“That is correct,” he replied. “I intend to establish a proper prison system within Radiant Losten. You will need such a place. There are entities better sealed than destroyed. Even you cannot simply eliminate everything in your path without consequence.”

His reasoning was sound.

“The land itself possesses unique properties,” he continued. “It suppresses qi. Once Radiant Losten merges with the Hollowed World, I will begin in earnest. Ao Lun has already expressed interest in assisting.”

I folded my arms slightly, listening as he went on.

“There are remnants of the Origin Gods still active,” Ox-Head added. “Those who survived the Age of Divinity. Additionally, there are Lost Gods residing within Losten, sustained by lingering faith. If I can make contact with them, perhaps even hunt some of them, it may prevent unnecessary complications.”

Zhou Yong smiled faintly at that, though she said nothing.

“I believe,” Ox-Head finished, “that introducing them to a different god like me from the Age of Divinity may stabilize their reactions. It would reduce the likelihood of… accidents that might interfere with your plans.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly, glancing between Zhou Yong and Ox-Head, letting a faint smirk form as the thought crossed my mind.

“You sure it’s not because of some other reason?”

Ox-Head did not respond immediately. The silence stretched just long enough to make the implication settle, his massive frame remaining still while Zhou Yong’s lips curved ever so slightly in amusement.

“…”

I let out a short laugh, waving it off as I shook my head.

“Nah, I’m just messing with you. I appreciate the work you’ve put into this.”

There was no need to press further. Whatever dynamics existed there were their own, and I had more immediate matters to occupy myself with. I turned away from the table, letting my attention settle on the two figures who mattered far more to me in that moment.

Alice stood close, her presence as steady as ever, while Gu Jie floated nearby, watching with that same unreadable expression that never quite matched her youthful form.

“So,” I said, shifting my tone into something lighter, “how about we go kill some time? Might as well get married quickly while we can. I’ve been feeling a bit envious of Dave.”

I leaned closer to Alice, my fingers brushing gently along her cheek as I moved a strand of her hair aside. She responded instantly, her grin widening as she reached up and poked my nose with playful defiance.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Gu Jie’s face scrunched into a small pout, her voice carrying clear disapproval.

“Get a room, you two…”

The moment fractured.

A sudden surge of cold qi flooded the surroundings, sharp and invasive, swallowing the atmosphere in an instant. The sky above twisted as something vast tore through the clouds, descending with overwhelming presence. A massive fox emerged, its form ethereal and imposing, before collapsing inward into a humanoid figure I knew all too well.

Da Ji.

Her expression was strained, her usual composure fractured by something deeper, something heavier.

“Brother,” she said, her voice unsteady in a way I had rarely heard, “mom and dad… They… They’ve departed to the afterlife.”

Fifteen minutes later, I stood in New Willow.

The transition from the Hanging Islands to the quiet solemnity of the city felt almost unreal, as if I had stepped into a memory rather than a place that still existed. Everything was subdued, draped in mourning. Black garments replaced color, silence replaced motion, and the air carried a weight that pressed down without mercy.

I stood before their portraits.

For a brief moment, my thoughts had been simple and direct. I could bring them back. The method was already known to me, refined, perfected even. Death, at their level, was not absolute. It was a boundary I could cross with ease.

I had believed, instinctively, that it was the right thing to do.

But power did not dictate necessity.

In my hands rested the letter they had left behind, its contents clear, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. Their words carried no hesitation, no hidden longing, only a quiet certainty that this was the end they had chosen. They did not want to return.

And for once, I did not override that choice.

After paying my respects, I found myself standing atop the palace at the heart of New Willow, overlooking the city stretched out beneath me. The familiar landscape felt distant, like something I no longer fully belonged to. The letter remained in my grasp, its presence heavier than it should have been.

“David, are you okay?”

Alice’s voice came from behind as she appeared beside me, her concern evident even before I turned to face her.

“I’m fine,” I said after a moment. “Honestly, I saw it coming. I get surprised easily, even with the Ophanim and everything else I have. The future still finds ways to slip past me. But this… this didn’t surprise me at all.”

Their cultivation had never been high. Barely Fifth Realm. Their bodies remained, untouched by dissolution, still anchored to this world. Even a much weaker version of myself could have reversed what had happened without difficulty.

Alice stepped closer, leaning lightly against me.

“Do you feel sad?”

I paused, considering the question more carefully than I expected to.

“I can’t really tell,” I admitted. “I’m not frustrated. Just… disappointed, I guess. I wish they had lived longer. Maybe let me spoil them a bit.”

The thought lingered, uncomfortable in its simplicity.

“I had Jue Bu visit them from time to time, but that wasn’t me. Not really. I was always somewhere else, dealing with something bigger, something more urgent.”

My grip on the letter tightened slightly.

“Now it just feels like guilt. I could’ve given them anything if they asked. Everything, even. But I was busy. The kind of busy that doesn’t leave room for anything else.”

I exhaled slowly, my gaze drifting over the city.

“I think what bothers me the most is that they were happy without me there. That they didn’t need me in the way I thought they might.”

The realization sat quietly, but it did not fade.

Maybe that was something Nongmin had understood long ago. Something I was only beginning to grasp now. The weight of everything I carried was not something I had chosen willingly, but it was something others had chosen for me. They gathered around me for a reason, followed me for a reason, and trusted me to stand at the center of it all.

Alice remained beside me, silent for a moment before speaking again.

“Let’s go. They want you to say a few words.”

I nodded faintly, folding the letter carefully before turning away from the view.

The procession stretched farther than I had expected.

As I walked back toward the courtyard where the funeral was being held, I saw lines upon lines of people filling the streets of New Willow. It was not just the citizens of the city. Visitors had come from distant regions, their attire and bearing marking them as outsiders, yet they stood in the same quiet respect as the locals. The entire place felt… full.

It was as if the lives my parents had touched had converged into a single moment.

I moved through the crowd without obstruction. People made way instinctively, their gazes following me, some curious, some reverent, others simply heavy with shared grief.

Near the courtyard entrance, I spotted a familiar figure waving at me with surprising enthusiasm.

“Elder brother, it’s nice to see you here!”

Da Wen approached with a wide smile, though time had not been gentle with him. His hair had long since turned gray, his face lined with age, his posture no longer as straight as I remembered. Yet there was a steadiness in him now that had not existed in his youth.

“I thought mother and father would outlive me,” he added with a chuckle that carried a trace of resignation. “But I suppose we’re all at the mercy of time.”

I wished that were true.

Because if time truly ruled over all things equally, then the alternative would be far more unsettling.

He did not dwell on it for long. Instead, he turned, gesturing eagerly toward a group gathered nearby.

“Come, come. You should meet them.”

One by one, he began introducing them, his voice swelling with unmistakable pride.

“This is my eldest grandson. He manages trade routes between three cities now, and he’s never once broken a contract. Reliable to the bone, that one. And here, this is my granddaughter. She’s studying medicine, says she wants to help people the way mother used to. Ah, and this boy here, he just passed the civil examinations. First in his class, can you believe that?”

He continued without pause, each introduction accompanied by a story, a detail, a reason for pride.

“This one helped rebuild the western district after the storm. Didn’t sleep for three days straight. And her, she teaches the younger children how to read. Says knowledge shouldn’t be a luxury.”

Every person he presented straightened under my gaze, their expressions shifting with a mix of nervousness and excitement. Some bowed, others simply smiled, but all of them carried a certain brightness when acknowledged.

Only then did it truly sink in.

My bloodline had spread far wider than I had ever cared to notice.

And standing there, surrounded by it, I felt… lacking.

A quiet realization surfaced, uninvited but undeniable. I had always operated on a scale too large, too distant. Individuals blurred into masses, names into numbers. I had once advised Nongmin to use his Heavenly Eye to better understand his people, to truly see them rather than rule over abstractions.

Now, I turned that same principle inward.

I activated the Ophanim.

The world fractured, multiplied, and unfolded.

I lived through countless moments in rapid succession, each thread connecting me to someone I had never truly known. Faces, voices, lives intertwined, and I followed them all.

A resident of New Willow stood beside a modest home, his voice thick with emotion. “Old Master Da Jin once paid for my repairs when my house collapsed. Didn’t even ask for repayment. Said a man should never sleep under a broken roof if it could be helped.”

A young cultivator, armor still marked with the remnants of battle, spoke quietly as he stared at the funeral banners. “Madam Lin Wei gave me food when I had nothing. Told me if I survived, I should become someone who could protect others. I’m… trying to do that now.”

A civil official, bearing a familiar surname, adjusted his robes as he addressed a group. “Our family stands where it does because of them. Their guidance shaped not just our household, but the policies I uphold even now.”

In a dim corner of the city, a woman with painted features and tired eyes whispered to herself, “She paid my debt. Just like that. Told me I didn’t owe her anything in return. I left that life because of her.”

A scholar stood before a canvas, brush trembling slightly as he added the final strokes. “They were not grand figures in the traditional sense,” he murmured, “but there was something… enduring about them. I wanted to capture that.”

The moments continued, overlapping, expanding endlessly.

The list did not end.

It kept going.

When I finally withdrew, the courtyard felt different. Or perhaps it was simply me.

The day of the speech arrived sooner than I expected.

I stood before the gathered crowd, the sheer number of faces pressing against my awareness. When I had first arrived, I thought I would handle this easily. Words had never been a limitation for me.

Now, I felt something unfamiliar.

A lack of confidence.

Not because I did not know what to say, but because I understood the weight behind it.

Still, I stepped forward.

“My parents were not extraordinary by the standards of this world,” I began, my voice steady despite the thoughts moving beneath it. “They did not reach great heights in cultivation, nor did they seek power or recognition.”

I let my gaze move across the crowd.

“But they lived in a way that left marks on others. Not through force, but through presence. Through choices that seemed small at the time, yet carried forward in ways I am only beginning to understand.”

I paused briefly.

“I am thankful to them. Not only for giving me life, but for grounding me in something I had long forgotten. Humanity. Something I had to recover, piece by piece.”

The words came easier after that.

“If there is such a thing as another life beyond this one, then I would choose to be their son again. Not as I am now, but as someone who could remain by their side longer. Someone who could return even a fraction of what they gave.”

A faint silence followed, but it was not empty.

I exhaled softly, letting the final thought settle before continuing.

“And if that is not possible… then I hope they continue as they always have. Touching lives, shaping people, leaving behind something that endures. The way they did for me.”

As I finished, a distant memory surfaced unbidden.

Another life. Another set of parents.

Earth.

For the first time in a long while, I found myself missing them again.