Immortal Paladin

The lie was that the Supreme Death had tried to kill himself, and that the failure of that attempt birthed the Four Horsemen.

The truth was different.

The Supreme Death had succeeded.

And the moment he truly died, the Four Horsemen had been born from the corpse of the impossible.

Silence descended upon the former Judges of the Underworld after I demanded they bring me to the grave of the Supreme Death. None of them moved. None of them even breathed. Their expressions tightened with the weight of an ancient secret finally dragged into the light.

“Come on, speak up,” Jue Bu said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Think very carefully on what you want to do, because all of you are soon going to be unemployed. Every layer of the Underworld is soon gonna be gone. Managing the new Underworld will be a difficult task, and the young man here could use every help he can get.”

Hei Mao stepped forward. “Please, cooperate. Master might’ve promised you rulership over every layer of the Underworld upon the Holy Ascension Empire’s occupation. However, with me in charge, things are gonna be different.”

There was resolve in Hei Mao’s eyes unlike anything I had seen from him before. The once-timid disciple who used to trail behind me now stood before ancient beings without fear. His gaze sharpened as he looked toward the silent judges.

“I owe a lot to Lady Meng Po,” Hei Mao said quietly. “She saved me from oblivion. If you help her, help us, then know that I will be grateful.”

The judges stared at him for a long moment. Hei Mao was younger than all of them by millions, perhaps even hundreds of millions of years, yet he stood straighter than any of them did. Eventually, they glanced toward one another, their eyes flickering with hidden intent. Qi Speech. Silent communication.

Zhan Chen said slowly to me, “If we do as you ask, can you slay the Great Beast?”

The question lingered heavily in the air.

I knew better than to make promises I could not guarantee. Strength did not make someone a leader. Lies did. Hope did. The willingness to shoulder expectations even when failure stood directly ahead did.

I looked at the former judges and answered anyway.

“I will do what needs to be done.”

Nobody spoke after that.

The former Judges of the Underworld moved outward until they formed a massive circle. Their sleeves fluttered as they raised their hands in unison, ancient symbols emerging beneath their feet. Death Qi flooded the world.

Then the ground below them tore open.

A colossal hole emerged beneath us, revealing a spiraling darkness beneath reality itself.

Shi Chang stepped forward. “I will lead the way.”

At the same time, I extended the authority of the Dark Veil.

Space twisted.

The Ninth Layer trembled violently as I began dragging the entirety of the Hollowed World. Mountains cracked apart. Rivers of souls spiraled upward into the void. The Dark Veil possessed the authority to pull worlds themselves, and I used that authority without restraint.

The Ninth Layer moved.

Then the Eighth would follow.

Then the Seventh.

Hopefully, Nidhogg would buy us enough time within the Sixth Layer before the Great Beast completely devoured it.

I exhaled slowly before glancing toward Hei Mao and Jue Bu.

“I’ll leave everything to the two of you.”

Jue Bu grinned. “Terrible decision.”

Hei Mao merely bowed his head solemnly.

Shi Chang turned toward the endless staircase hidden beneath the abyss. “Follow closely,” he warned. “The stairs are stiff and uneven, so be careful.”

I descended after him.

The stairs were made from bones.

Countless corpses had been compressed together to create each individual step, their hollow skulls and twisted ribs still visible beneath layers of blackened deathly sediment. Every step released faint whispers into the darkness around us.

The deeper we walked, the colder existence became.

Eventually, I broke the silence.

“How long did the Judges of the Underworld know the Supreme Death was dead?”

“Around the early beginnings of the Age of Supremacy,” answered Shi Chang.

I felt my chest tighten.

That long?

Shi Chang continued speaking calmly, though there was exhaustion buried within his voice.

“The Supreme Death was not like the other Supreme Beings. He was not ambitious. He did not desire worship. He did not desire conquest. He was an existence driven by only one goal.”

”To kill himself.”

“And when he succeeded,” Shi Chang said quietly, “we were left vulnerable.”

Everything suddenly made sense.

I had once believed the Underworld had fallen into disrepair because the Supreme Death simply did not care. The suffering souls? The corruption? The indifference? But it had not merely been indifference.

The ruler of the Underworld had been dead for ages.

Shi Chang’s expression darkened as we continued descending deeper into the abyss.

“The gods of the Age of Divinity were abandoned,” he said. “Left to fend for themselves beneath the rise of the Supreme Beings. They groveled beneath monsters wearing crowns while the Natural Order collapsed piece by piece. The Judges of the Underworld did not mind the change in rulership. We only wished to perform our duties as assigned to us by the ancient Shén and demanded by the Natural Order itself. We sincerely believed we were doing good work.”

There was bitterness in his voice now.

“And because of that belief, we became indifferent to the suffering of the greater realms beyond our own.”

The staircase groaned beneath our feet.

“When the Supreme Death died, the Underworld became prey. The other greater realms would have torn us apart if they learned the truth.”

Shi Chang slowly turned his head toward me.

“So we lied.”

His eyes reflected the darkness around us.

“We declared that the Supreme Death had failed to die.”

His voice became quieter.

“And we fooled the greater realms into fearing a corpse.”

“You used Conquest,” I remarked.

Shi Chang shook his head immediately. “No, it’s not that simple.”

The judge continued descending the endless staircase of bones, his boots scraping against skulls worn smooth by countless years. The darkness around us thickened with every step. It no longer resembled ordinary darkness either. It felt alive.

“When a Supreme Being dies,” Shi Chang explained, “they leave remnants of their existence behind. Concepts. Corruptions. Fragments of authority that continue influencing reality long after the death itself. The Supreme Void’s death created the Void Beasts, the Abyss, and all manner of cosmic horrors now drifting throughout the Greater Universe.”

I listened quietly.

“The death of the Supreme Death created undeath.”

His voice became heavier.

“Not merely the art of refining corpses. Not simple necromancy. Undeath is the persistence of death through life itself. A contradiction that should not exist.”

My mind immediately drifted toward the Hollowed World.

Shi Chang noticed the shift in my expression.

“I believe there is a cult dedicated to undeath back in the Hollowed World,” he said. “Do not be surprised. The Underworld kept a close eye upon the Hollowed World through the layer of the Underworld that fell into it. Through Jue Bu, the King of Fools.”

The Judge of Order man sighed.

“All this time, Lady Meng Po guided us. She foresaw the possibility that the Supreme Void might one day use the remnants of the Supreme Death in one of his schemes. That was part of the reason she tore away a piece of her soul and incarnated herself into the Hollowed World.”

I frowned deeply.

“What are you talking about?”

Shi Chang glanced at me briefly before continuing.

“When the Heavenly Demon first perished and was cast into the False Earth, Lady Meng Po managed to send a fragment of her soul into the Hollowed World. That incarnation carried the destiny to combat undeath.”

His voice echoed softly against the cavern walls.

“In every cycle, a Divine Physician would rise among the cultivators of the Hollowed World. They would aid the world against calamities. Sometimes against the Eternal Undeath Cult. Sometimes against opportunists attempting to exploit the remnants of undeath left behind by the Supreme Death.”

I felt my heartbeat slowing.

Something about his words unsettled me deeply.

“Because history itself became distorted by the war between the Lost Gods of the False Earth and the Heavenly Demon, the Judges eventually lost the ability to secretly peer into the Hollowed World.”

Shi Chang’s expression softened slightly.

“But Lady Meng Po maintained a connection.”

Then he looked directly at me.

“And then you appeared.”

Cold realization crawled down my spine.

“The existence known as Xin Yune,” Shi Chang said quietly, “was one of Lady Meng Po’s incarnations.”

My steps halted for a moment.

Xin Yune.

Memories surged violently through my mind. Her smile. Her voice. The exhaustion hidden behind her calm demeanor.

Shi Chang eventually stopped walking as well.

“Because of you, the torn fragment of her soul was finally liberated from the Hollowed World. For that, we are grateful. But the truth is also this. Because of you, Lady Meng Po perished. Da Wei, the Judges of the Underworld do not like you.”

“I know.”

I had known for a long time. That was part of the reason I made Hei Mao the God of the Underworld instead of trying to claim the position for myself. The Underworld needed someone the judges could tolerate.

Not me.

I exhaled slowly before looking toward Shi Chang again.

“But that still doesn’t explain Conquest.”

“Conquest?” he repeated. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

That surprised me.

I stared at him carefully before finally speaking.

“The Great Beast is connected to Conquest.”

Shi Chang frowned.

I continued walking as I explained everything I knew. The Unsupreme Death’s innocence. The corruption infecting existence itself. The sacred epithet of the mysterious existence who called himself the Game Master. The Great Beast’s creation.

“You seriously don’t know anything?”

Shi Chang looked genuinely confused afterward.

This was the same guy who pretended to be a ‘madman’, so that he wouldn’t be bothered by others and targetted by the Four Horsemen. Now, I got more questions than answers instead.

Eventually, we reached the bottom of the staircase.

The pathway itself had been strange from the very beginning. Laws hidden within the darkness prevented flight or spatial movement entirely. We had been forced to descend manually, step after miserable step, as though the Underworld itself demanded reverence toward whatever lay below.

And what lay below was a mausoleum.

A massive underground palace stretched endlessly before me, illuminated by rivers of spirit stones embedded into the walls. Mountains of precious metals rested within enormous vaults. Ancient artifacts floated in suspended formations, each radiating terrifying power capable of shaking realms.

The sheer wealth gathered there was incomprehensible.

Shi Chang slowly spread his arms. “This is the hidden treasury of the Underworld. We preserved everything here in the hope that one day the gods of the Age of Divinity might rise again and fight back.”

My gaze eventually drifted toward the center of the mausoleum. A pedestal stood there alone. And atop it rested a coffin. No. Not merely a coffin. A grave. An unbearable pressure radiated from it even after countless ages. The surrounding space trembled faintly beneath the lingering authority of death itself.

But what caught my attention most was what rested atop the coffin.

It was a pale and lifeless arm, yet still carrying traces of impossible divinity.

Shi Chang stared at it silently for a long moment before speaking.

“That is all that remains of Lady Meng Po.”

Pain flickered briefly across his ancient face.

“We were fortunate to recover even that much.”

I walked toward the coffin slowly.

The mausoleum had fallen silent behind me. Even Shi Chang no longer spoke as I approached the pedestal. Mountains of treasure surrounded us, yet all of it felt insignificant compared to the single arm resting atop the coffin.

I reached out and grabbed Meng Po’s final remains.

“Da Wei,” Shi Chang said sharply, “what are you thinking?”

I tightened my grip around the pale arm.

“I’m going to resurrect her.”

“That is impossible. The fundamental laws that made the existence known as Meng Po are gone. At best, all you will accomplish is hurting yourself.”

“I need to do this.”

“No,” Shi Chang snapped, raising his voice for the first time since we entered the depths below the Underworld. “Meng Po was a Shén. Do you understand what that means? The cost of resurrecting an existence like her will destroy you. As much as I loathe admitting it, you are important to us now. Important to the world itself. You carry responsibilities far greater than your grief.”

“This isn’t about grief.”

I consulted my Ophanim. Golden rings emerged in my eyes. The countless eyes upon them opened simultaneously. Future timelines unfolded before my vision. I saw myself resurrecting Meng Po. And I saw myself screaming.

In another future, my Divine Qi burned apart entirely, consuming my soul from the inside.

In another, my body cracked apart beneath the weight of resurrecting a Shén.

And in some timelines, I simply died.

Blood leaked from my nose as I forced the Ophanim to continue spinning.

I needed answers.

So I tried consulting Meng Po herself through the branching futures. If I could not understand the path forward, then perhaps she could guide me through the alternate possibilities. The Ophanim rotated faster as thousands, millions, and infinite fractured timelines occurred to me.

I caught glimpses of her.

An old woman sitting beside a bridge of souls.

Meng Po drinking tea quietly while staring at me with disappointment. Meng Po laughing softly as she played chess against me beneath a dead tree. Meng Po placing a hand against my forehead. Meng Po standing within an endless ocean of white flowers.

“Da Wei,” one version of her whispered.

“You are too stubborn,” another sighed.

“You still do not understand,” another said sadly.

I could hear the words, but I could not process them.

Her Weight of Existence was too immense.

Every attempt to comprehend her drained my Divine Qi at a horrifying pace. The Ophanim trembled violently as cracks slowly spread across the golden rings. I coughed blood onto the pedestal.

The timelines blurred together afterward from the countless Meng Pos, futures, and warnings.

And eventually, I reached a conclusion I did not want to accept.

I could not resurrect Meng Po.

The realization hollowed my chest, yet I still needed answers.

Only Meng Po knew the truth about too many things.

Or…

Did she?

A thought suddenly occurred to me. There was another person I could resurrect. Someone smaller, lighter, and connected to Meng Po, yet not burdened by the full weight of a Shén. I slowly raised the arm.

“Xin Yune.”

Divine Qi surged through my body.

“Divine Word: Raise.”

Light erupted from the arm.

The mausoleum trembled.

The rivers of spirit stones shook violently as death and life collided against one another. The severed arm dissolved into countless motes of pale light before gathering together into the form of a woman.

A naked figure collapsed directly against my chest.

I caught her instinctively.

Long dark hair spilled over my arms as the woman slowly opened her eyes. Confusion filled them immediately.

“Da Wei?”

Relief escaped me before I could stop it.

I smiled weakly.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.”

Using quintessence, I quickly wove clothes around her body. Threads of golden energy formed robes around her trembling figure while she stared blankly at me.

Then her lips quivered.

And Xin Yune started crying.

“You dummy!” she shouted suddenly, punching me hard in the chest. “Dummy! Dummy! Dummy!”

Each strike carried genuine frustration behind it.

“I was dead!” she yelled through tears. “I finally had peace! Why did you bring me back?! This is unfair!”

She hit me again.

“I was resting!”

Another punch.

“So why did you call me back?!”

Eventually, the tantrum weakened. Xin Yune leaned against me afterward, her fists slowly unclenching as exhaustion overtook her anger. Her breathing trembled unevenly. “So,” she murmured quietly, “it’s come to this, huh?”

There was remorse in her voice.

Regret too.

I lowered my gaze toward her.

“I need your help.”

Instead of answering, she asked softly.

“How’s my son?”

I snorted quietly.

“Still not very cute.”

Xin Yune glared at me weakly through tear-filled eyes.

“But,” I continued, “he retired from all the Emperor stuff now.”

A faint flicker of relief crossed her expression.

I smirked slightly afterward.

“Vented your frustrations yet?”