Immortal Paladin

The following week passed quietly.

I wandered through every district of Woodland Fortress I could legally access, searching for work while gathering information at the same time. I visited blacksmiths, lumberyards, workshops, warehouses, and construction sites. Every answer was identical.

”No experience.”

”Too weak.”

”Come back after Level 10.”

Some employers were willing to lower their standards.

Their minimum requirement was Level 15.

Eventually, I stopped asking.

Finding employment had never been my objective in the first place. I simply wanted to understand how ordinary workers lived inside the Tower. As it turned out, nearly all skilled laborers originated from the lower floors, where they had been raised specifically to pursue trade-related Classes. Blacksmiths trained apprentices. Builders trained builders. Hunters trained hunters. The entire labor force operated like a carefully maintained ecosystem, producing specialists generation after generation.

The Tower truly was another world.

With no work to occupy my time, I resorted to begging or performing in the streets.

Sometimes I sang old songs that had survived from my game world. Other times, I told exaggerated tales about wandering heroes and mythical beasts. Children listened with sparkling eyes, while adults occasionally tossed a coin my way if the story proved entertaining enough.

Sadly, not everyone appreciated my presence. One afternoon, I unknowingly wandered into another group’s territory. Several beggars surrounded me before I even realized what was happening.

”The fuck are you doing here?” one of them spat.

”This is our corner.”

A burly man stepped forward from behind the others. He was at Level 30. His scarred face twisted into a threatening grin. ”I don’t care where you crawled out from,” he growled. ”If I see you begging here again, I’ll kill you.”

I immediately raised both hands in surrender. ”My apologies,” I said with an embarrassed smile. ”I didn’t know this place belonged to anyone.”

”It does now.”

”I understand.”

Without another word, I turned around and left. There wasn’t the slightest point arguing over territory with a group of beggars. My observations during that week gradually revealed another interesting aspect of Woodland Fortress.

There were no slums.

At least, not in the conventional sense.

The fortress ensured everyone contributed somehow. Those who couldn’t secure regular employment usually found work around construction projects, hauled supplies for merchants, or hunted rats within the sprawling sewage channels for small commissions. Beggars still existed, but their numbers remained surprisingly low. Most wandered constantly between districts rather than staying in one location, and several appeared loosely affiliated with small taverns or neighborhood businesses that occasionally exchanged food for errands.

It painted an unusual picture. Woodland Fortress wasn’t charitable. It was simply efficient.

The greatest surprise, however, came from the Tower itself.

As I quietly examined passersby through Ophanim whenever an opportunity presented itself, I eventually noticed a peculiar designation inside several System interfaces. There were NPCs in this place. At first, I assumed it was some unusual Class, Race, or some other classification. It wasn’t.

The designation identified native inhabitants born inside the Tower itself. They weren’t people from the outside world but genuine residents created or perhaps nurtured by whatever force governed the Tower. They lived ordinary lives alongside everyone else. They married, worked, raised children, and paid taxes. Without peering into the System, there was absolutely no way to distinguish them from ordinary citizens.

Quite a few craftsmen belonged to that category.

So did several guards.

Even some laborers carrying lumber through the streets possessed the NPC designation.

Judging by scattered conversations, they had existed here for generations and had become completely integrated into Tower society, especially on the lower floors. The distinction meant surprisingly little to the people around them, since they couldn’t even identify or distinguish them from the crowd.

Life simply went on.

Meanwhile, I continued behaving exactly as expected of a confused newcomer. I wandered, begged, listened, and memorized streets, landmarks, patrol schedules, and gathering places. Every piece of information brought me one step closer to finding Li He and Yu Han.

I wanted to begin searching immediately.

Instead, I waited.

Patience was more valuable than haste.

Ever since entering Woodland Fortress, I’d occasionally felt faint traces of attention following me. Whoever they were, they possessed enough discipline to avoid revealing themselves directly, but they couldn’t completely erase the sensation.

It was probably Cheng Bao’s people.

I’d wager the surveillance originated from him.

From his perspective, my story had passed inspection, yet several inconsistencies remained impossible to ignore. The massive spear fashioned from the tusk of an enormous boar was eye-catching enough by itself. A supposedly helpless newcomer shouldn’t have possessed such a weapon.

More importantly, I had reached this alive, well-intact, and seemingly without injury. 

No amount of luck adequately explained that. The spear could perhaps be dismissed as some beginner weapon scavenged from an abandoned corpse or received through extraordinary fortune. My survival couldn’t. No performance, however convincing, could erase that inconvenient fact.

Eventually, after another uneventful afternoon of wandering, the irresistible aroma of grilled meat drifted through the marketplace. My stomach immediately reminded me that I hadn’t eaten since morning. I approached a small food stall where skewers of seasoned meat sizzled over glowing charcoal.

”Two meat skewers, please,” I said, fishing a few coins from the small pouch hanging at my waist.

The elderly vendor smiled as he accepted the payment before handing the skewers over.

”Fresh off the fire,” he said cheerfully. ”Careful. They’re hot.”

I thanked him before taking my first bite.

The meat was tender, richly seasoned, and carried a pleasant smoky flavor that spread through my mouth.

”This is good stuff, boss! You’ll make it big someday, I can tell!”

”Hah~! Stop flattering me. I ain’t giving you a freebie just because you praised ’em.”

”I do advertisements, though. You know me—the vagrant storyteller and fine singer of the streets, loyal to no one but the pouch on his waist, and, occasionally, his tummy—”

”Fine, fine! Here, have another one. Put in a good word for me, will ya?”

Time passed quickly.

Before I realized it, two weeks had already slipped by since I arrived at Woodland Fortress. Despite keeping a deliberately low profile, the people assigned to watch me showed no signs of giving up. Their persistence was almost admirable.

Every morning, different presences lingered at the edge of my perception, blending so perfectly into the surrounding shadows that an ordinary cultivator would have mistaken them for tricks of the light. Their concealment wasn’t achieved through artifacts or illusion techniques either. They were merging directly with the shadows themselves. Among the people I knew, only Hei Mao and Ru Qiu possessed anything comparable. Even the elite assassins of the Hollowed World who had once tried to attack me needed specialized treasures or elaborate sorcery to disappear so completely.

I casually wandered through the bustling streets with a skewer of grilled meat in one hand, taking slow bites as though I had nothing more pressing on my mind than deciding which food stall to visit next.

”If you’re going to follow me everywhere, at least have the decency to buy your own lunch,” I muttered beneath my breath, chuckling to myself. ”Watching someone eat on an empty stomach must be torture.”

My gaze never drifted toward any of my pursuers, yet I could clearly feel them shifting from rooftop to rooftop, their movements synchronized well enough that they would have escaped almost anyone else’s notice. It was a pleasant little game at this point. They believed they were studying me, while I had spent the past two weeks studying every one of them.

Among the more useful discoveries I made during my stay was Cheng Bao’s past. Peering into another person’s history through the Ophanim was never an easy task. Every memory existed as an immeasurable sea of interconnected possibilities, and forcing my way through them strained both my soul and concentration. Fortunately, Cheng Bao neither cultivated techniques that obscured fate nor possessed a destiny powerful enough to resist observation. After several exhausting attempts, I finally pieced together the life he had hidden beneath his composed exterior.

He had been one of the few Guardians who survived the campaign against the Great Beast.

A familiar ache settled quietly in my chest as those memories resurfaced. That battle had stolen far too many people from me. Ding Shan had fallen while holding an entire mountain pass by himself. Su Ai had burned away her life to seal a breach that would have swallowed quite a few number of worlds. Li Feng had laughed until his final breath, refusing to retreat despite being hopelessly outnumbered. Fu Wu had remained behind to ensure everyone else escaped, knowing full well he would never return.

They had been among my strongest Guardians, warriors who had stood beside me through countless wars. I had searched every possible method to restore them, exhausting techniques that even most immortals considered impossible, yet the corruption left behind by the Great Beast refused to relinquish their souls. It was one of the few failures I carried that even time could not dull.

The survivors returned as changed people. For many, their faith deepened into something almost unbreakable after enduring such overwhelming despair. Others found themselves unable to reconcile their losses with the ideals they had devoted their lives to protecting. Some quietly abandoned their faith altogether. A handful directed their grief toward me, the very person they had once worshipped without question. I never blamed them for it. It was easier to resent a living god than accept the cruel randomness of war.

Cheng Bao had been initiated as a Guardian in one of the territories governed by the Martial Alliance. During the Great Beast’s invasion, he lost his son, his grandson, and his daughter-in-law while defending the frontlines. By the time the war ended, his bloodline had been reduced to memories and empty graves. When he finally returned home, the government celebrated him as a hero. He received honors beyond measure, along with enough wealth that he could have purchased several nations outright if he wished. I had never been stingy with those who fought beneath my banner. No reward could truly compensate for the price they paid, but I refused to let sacrifice go unrecognized.

What Cheng Bao did with that fortune surprised even me.

Rather than rebuilding his own clan, he distributed most of his rewards to the families of his fallen comrades. They were already receiving lifelong support from my administration, but that was never the point. Every coin he gave away was another attempt to lessen the guilt crushing his conscience. Survivor’s guilt was a far crueler enemy than any monster. It whispered endlessly that the wrong people had lived.

Perhaps that understanding came from the life I inherited through the Supreme Death. I had experienced humanity’s despair on Earth through his memories and witnessed firsthand how easily broken soldiers could become after surviving disasters no one should have endured. Because of that, I spared no expense caring for my Guardians. Their families received pensions that would last generations. Their children were guaranteed opportunities unavailable to ordinary citizens. Those left scarred by war were offered counselors, healers, teachers, and every resource I could provide. Material rewards alone never healed shattered hearts, but abandoning them after victory would have been an unforgivable betrayal.

Only now did I remember Cheng Bao clearly.

He had been among the few Guardians who declined every invitation to meet me after the war.

At the time, I chose not to force the issue. Reports consistently described him as stable, competent, and fully committed to rebuilding his clan. He eventually retired from active service and assumed the role of patriarch, leading his family with the same discipline that had once earned him distinction on the battlefield. From a distance, he appeared to have accepted everything that had happened.

The Ophanim revealed a different truth.

Hidden beneath his calm exterior was resentment that he never allowed anyone else to see. He viewed every favor I extended toward him as another reminder that his loved ones were gone. Every reward felt less like gratitude and more like pity. He hated himself for accepting them, yet he hated the circumstances that made them necessary even more. Still, resentment could not survive forever against reality. Years passed. His clan prospered. New children filled the halls that had once echoed with silence. The anger gradually faded, worn away not by forgiveness, but by the simple passage of time.

His admiration for me never recovered.

His respect, however, endured until the very end.

Cheng Bao had intended to spend the remainder of his life quietly.

After retiring from the Guardians, his only ambition was to guide his clan, watch future generations grow, and leave the world a little better than he had found it. It was a simple dream, one any old man who had survived countless battlefields deserved to have. Unfortunately, fate rarely cared what people deserved. Some lives seemed destined to know only suffering, and Cheng Bao’s was one of them.

Although the Guardians had succeeded in their mission, the world remembered only the devastation left behind. Their objective had never been to defeat the Great Beast outright. They were buying time for me to find an answer, time for the evacuation of countless worlds, time for civilization itself to survive. They had accomplished exactly what I asked of them, paying an unbearable price in the process. Yet history had little patience for nuance. To many, the Guardians had failed. The countless dead became proof of their incompetence rather than their sacrifice.

I never agreed with that judgment.

From my perspective, they had won one of the most impossible battles ever fought. Had they broken even a single day earlier, there would have been no Hollowed World left to protect. Their names should have been remembered alongside the greatest heroes in existence.

Instead, they became convenient targets for grief.

Cheng Bao himself endured the accusations with remarkable composure. Age had tempered him into a man who understood that words alone carried only as much weight as one allowed them to. He neither argued with his critics nor sought revenge against them. He simply continued living the best life he could. Sadly, wisdom was not something his descendants or admirers possessed. Every insult directed toward their patriarch became another ember feeding resentment within the family.

There had been moments when I considered intervening.

With a single decree, I could have silenced every rumor spreading across the Hollowed World. One sentence from the Holy Emperor would have been enough to stop the public condemnation overnight. Even so, people rarely changed because they were ordered to. Their mouths might have closed, but their hearts would only grow more resentful. Bonds between family members were delicate things. Emotions ignored reason far more often than they obeyed authority.

More importantly, I had foreseen terrible consequences if I involved myself in Cheng Bao’s household or anyone’s household for that matter.

The exact details escaped me now, buried beneath countless futures I had observed over the years, but I remembered the conclusion clearly enough. My intervention would only accelerate disaster. Believing I was making the wiser choice, I stepped back and allowed events to unfold naturally.

I had been wrong.

There were many people I failed throughout my life.

Lin Yong was one.

Cheng Bao was another.

His death came during one of the darkest periods of my reign. At the time, I was locked in battle against the Supreme Heart while simultaneously recalling the countless projections of myself scattered throughout the Hollowed World. My attention had been divided across innumerable fronts, leaving blind spots that should never have existed.

It happened then.

His own family murdered him.

The tragedy itself was born from a cruel coincidence, a cascade of misunderstandings, fear, resentment, and greed colliding at precisely the wrong moment. By the time the news reached me, Cheng Bao had already drawn his final breath.

I still remembered the fury that consumed me.

For one terrifying instant, I nearly erased his entire bloodline from existence.

Only the last fragments of my reason stopped me.

Then came an even greater shock.

I couldn’t resurrect him.

No matter what method I attempted, no matter how deeply I searched through fate or reincarnation, Cheng Bao remained forever beyond my reach. It was as though some unseen force had taken him before I ever realized he was gone. I searched relentlessly for an explanation, but every trail ended in emptiness.

Looking back now...?

Perhaps that was when the Tower claimed him.

The thought lingered in my mind as I finished the last piece of grilled meat. I flicked the wooden skewer into the air before quietly invoking Searing Smite. Golden flames consumed the stick without producing so much as a wisp of smoke, reducing it to fine ash that scattered with the afternoon breeze.

”Ah, shit,” I muttered, brushing the ash from my fingertips. ”Should I just reveal my real identity to him?”

Cheng Bao’s class as a Dark Paladin inspired suspicion. It sounded less like someone worthy of trust and more like the final boss of a game.

I stepped into a deserted alley between two stone buildings before speaking in an even voice.

”You’ve followed me for two weeks.”

Silence answered me.

I sighed.

”If we’re going to keep doing this, at least have the courtesy to stop hiding. Come out.”

The shadows stirred.

One figure stepped calmly into the alley before me, emerging as though he had always been standing there. A second presence materialized several paces behind my back, while the third remained concealed atop a nearby rooftop. Unlike the others, he chose not to reveal himself completely, though I could still sense his heartbeat through the stone beneath his feet.

Each of them wore identical dark robes embroidered with a green band around the shoulder bearing a single embroidered word, Woodland.

The man before me studied my face without blinking.

”You’ve hidden your cultivation, concealed your origins, and wandered our fortress under a false identity,” he said, his tone neither hostile nor welcoming. ”Who are you really? Reveal your true identity.”

I looked at the three of them for a long moment.

It seemed my search for Yu Han and Li He would have to wait.

Woodland Fortress was proving to be far more valuable than I had anticipated. If I intended to establish a foothold within the Tower, earning the trust of Cheng Bao’s faction would provide an excellent foundation.

Of course, this was quite a gamble.

Cheng Bao carried an unusually heavy Weight of Existence. His presence distorted destiny so thoroughly that even the Ophanim failed to produce a reliable future whenever he became involved. I couldn’t determine what would happen if I revealed the truth. Whether he welcomed me or tried to kill me remained hidden behind a veil even my authority couldn’t penetrate.

There was another problem. This body wasn’t my true one. It was mortal and finite. If it died here, there would be no miraculous resurrection waiting for me.

After weighing the risks, I reached a decision.

My disguise dissolved like mist beneath the morning sun.

The borrowed features peeled away layer by layer until my original appearance emerged beneath them. My black hair shone naturally under the light, and the familiar pressure of my true presence seeped into the surroundings. Though I restrained it to the greatest extent possible, the air itself seemed to grow heavier.

I met the stunned gaze of the man before me.

”Who am I?”

A faint smile crossed my lips.

”I am the Holy Emperor, Da Wei.”

Golden light flickered briefly within my eyes.

”Kneel before your Emperor.”