Immortal Paladin

189 After the Carnage

[POV: Ru Qiu]

The False Earth—or the Prison, as only a handful like Ru Qiu dared call it—was shifting.

"I... Ru Qiu swears with Heaven as my witness and Hell as my reminder that I shall have my revenge..."

For countless cycles, the world had known only stagnation and death. It was a land of endless decay masquerading as permanence. Yet something had changed. A new player had arrived, one not shaped by the rot of this realm.

Ru Qiu slumped upon his throne of lacquered bone and woven obsidian. He could feel it in the marrow of his soul. The divine currents within him snarled and churned, his breathing shallow, each inhale scraping against his ribs like knives of wind.

"This might be dangerous, even for me."

His voice was low and hoarse from blood loss and fury. His robes clung to his skin, soaked with sweat. The spear embedded in his lung was not what concerned him most. The true danger pulsed from his chest, where his heart had nearly been cleaved in two. The enemy's blade had carved a diagonal wound from shoulder to sternum, one that mocked even the resilience of his divine and demonic flesh.

“He called himself Da Wei, didn’t he? I’ll remember that.”

Ru Qiu gripped the spear's haft and tore it free with a guttural snarl. Blood sprayed across the steps of his throne. His face twitched, but he refused to cry out. Pain had been his oldest companion. Familiar and hated.

"Such a shame, to be struck by a mortal weapon with neither magic nor miracle in its steel."

He studied the spear. Its craftsmanship was utterly mundane, the sort of weapon any common soldier might carry.

“God of War, he said.”

His thoughts drifted to the countless beings he had encountered among the stars, some genuine powers, others vermin draped in grand titles.

“There was no such existence in the Greater Universe. No Da Wei who claimed such an epithet. Could he be a Supreme Being or a Lost God?”

He scoffed.

“Unlikely. Perhaps he fell from grace. Or was discarded.”

Speculation was a luxury he could no longer afford. With a flex of his will, he activated his Qi Speech.

“The Purple Cloud Physician. Attend to me. At once.”

His command rolled through the palace like thunder wrapped in silk. Even now, he felt the nervous stirrings of his subordinates. His pain and malice seeped through the air like venom.

Yet his thoughts remained fixed on the newcomer. This interloper had not only survived entry into the False Earth but had wounded him, a feat few could claim.

The throne room stood in stark contrast to the dying world outside. Rich tapestries, rare silks, and vials of amber light adorned the walls, each artifact a trophy of conquest. Amidst such splendor, Ru Qiu laughed. It was a dry, mirthless sound.

“The others will loathe this turn,” he whispered. “But this world is no simple purgatory. My encounter with Da Wei was pure misfortune. For him to brush against the others, he would need a mountain of cursed luck.”

His eyes gleamed like shards of obsidian.

“And before that, he must survive the martial clans, the fractured sects, and the madness governing this prison. The False Earth hides truths that remain veiled even to me. No cultivator from outside, no matter how powerful, will endure its laws unscathed.”

A harsh cough escaped him. Blood flecked his palm.

Despite it, he smiled.

The thought of Da Wei suffering here, alone and unprepared, brought him a sliver of satisfaction.

“I can’t be complacent. I need to heal quickly. Then I'll stoke the fires again and drive the feudal states back into war.”

There was strategy in his words, but also something older. Ru Qiu had a tendency to talk to himself. It was a habit born from years of being ignored, scorned, and underestimated by higher beings that had cast him into this world. That loneliness had driven him to cultivate with relentless ferocity until even gods no longer dared look down upon him.

And where had it led?

To this forsaken prison.

“Enter,” announced the guards beyond the massive doors. “The Purple Cloud Physician pays respect to the Heavenly Demon!”

At last, footsteps echoed through the hall. The great gates creaked open, revealing a figure with his head bowed low and robes trailing like mist.

The Purple Cloud Physician entered and immediately dropped to his knees.

“This humble servant greets the Heavenly Demonic Master of the Cult. How may I serve the Great One?”

“Begin at once,” Ru Qiu commanded, though the edges of his vision blurred. “My heart hangs by a thread, yet I still draw breath. Mend it. As for my fury, leave that untouched. I will have need of it.”

…

..

.

[POV: Yuen Fu]

It had only been minutes since Yuen Fu returned to life.

His last memory before death remained burned into his mind: the sensation of his entrails spilling onto the blood-soaked earth, his torso sliding away from his legs as an invisible force tore him in half with brutal precision. There had been no glory in that moment, no heroic resistance. Only terror, a scream cut short, and the frigid emptiness that followed.

Yet now he breathed.

His lungs were whole. His heart beat within a chest that should have been destroyed.

Around him, the soldiers of the 112th Bronze Squadron stood in loose formation, their faces pale and bewildered. They clustered around a boy who looked no older than fifteen, unconscious and naked beneath the pale sky. Dirt smeared his limbs, but his breathing remained steady.

“Is that really Da Wei?”

“I swear he looked older a second ago. Like... a God of War.”

“He did call himself the God of War.”

“Are we dead?”

“We're breathing, aren't we?”

“I don't understand what happened, but he resurrected us, didn't he?”

Their whispers swirled through the air. Awe and unease colored every word. The boy lying unconscious in the dirt had dragged them back from death itself, and none of them could explain how.

Ding Shan, commanding officer of the 112th, pushed through the crowd with a scowl etched into his weary face.

“Move aside! The young man won't be able to breathe if you crowd him like vultures!”

The soldiers quickly obeyed.

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Ding Shan knelt beside Da Wei and pressed two fingers against the boy's neck.

“Thank heavens,” he sighed. “He's alive. Just unconscious.”

Someone behind him whispered, “Of course he's alive. He's a god.”

“Don't say that!” another hissed. “Do you want to be executed for heresy?”

The voices immediately dropped.

The Sun Empire's laws were absolute. To worship any existence other than the Emperor, declared divine by imperial decree, was treason. Yet what they had witnessed had blurred the line between myth and reality.

“We owe him our lives.”

“But speaking like this could cost him his.”

“What do we do now?”

“Who was that demon?”

“He slaughtered us like livestock.”

Ding Shan rose and turned toward the only man among them who still appeared composed.

“What do you think, Young Master Yuen?”

The soldiers' gazes shifted toward him.

Though still young, Yuen Fu stood above them in both rank and skill. Before today, he had considered himself second only to Da Wei among the squadron's younger talents.

Now, the comparison felt laughable.

A bitter taste lingered in his mouth. He remembered measuring himself against Da Wei as though they were rivals. That illusion had been shattered. This was no prodigy, no gifted martial artist.

This was something far beyond either title.

“I suggest we report the attack,” Yuen Fu said. “But we keep the truth about our savior to ourselves. No good will come from revealing a man with divine powers to the court. You all know how they would react. They would brand him a demon and condemn us as heretics. I, Yuen Fu, will not repay salvation with betrayal.”

A murmur of agreement spread through the soldiers.

Most were peasants and common-born men or women. Their thinking was simple, but their loyalty was not. Gratitude and self-preservation pointed toward the same decision. Even so, guilt gnawed at Yuen Fu. He valued honesty, discipline, and honor. Concealing the truth felt wrong.

But he also knew history.

Power feared what it could not control. Miracles were often rewarded with chains, fire, or the executioner's blade.

This was the beginning of something far greater than any of them yet understood.

Before he could dwell on the thought, Ding Shan cleared his throat.

“Ahem... Young Master Yuen. I appreciate you keeping us out of a difficult situation, but perhaps...” He gestured awkwardly downward. “You should consider your own?”

Yuen Fu blinked in confusion, then followed the soldiers' shifting gazes. One after another, they looked away, their expressions caught somewhere between embarrassment and suppressed laughter.

He looked down, and his face went pale.

Where there should have been trousers, armor, or even underclothes, there was nothing. His lower half was completely bare, showing off his mighty shaft in the wind. The agony of being torn in two had made him forget a simple fact that his body had been rebuilt from the waist down, and the miracle had not seen fit to dress him.

Yuen Fu's hands flew to cover his shaft.

“Why didn't anyone say something sooner!?”

One soldier dared to grin.

“We thought you knew, Young Master.”

“I just came back from the dead!” Yuen Fu snapped. “Forgive me for not checking my modesty first!”

Another soldier coughed to hide a laugh, and that was all the invitation the others needed.

“It's quite a fine regeneration, though...”

“Hm.” A soldier stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Makes a man wonder if it was remade bigger.”

Several heads immediately turned toward Yuen Fu.

“Bold of you to assume it had much room for improvement,” another shot back.

The group burst into laughter.

“Forget him,” a third soldier said. “Now you've got me worried. What if mine got bigger too?”

“You'd need a miracle greater than resurrection for that.”

“Oi!”

“Why don't you go check the river and report back to us?”

“I was considering it.”

“Of course you were.”

“I don't know,” another soldier chimed in. “If we're all getting upgraded, I feel cheated. Nobody told me death came with benefits.”

“Maybe that's why Young Master Yuen came back first. He got the premium version.”

The laughter grew louder.

Yuen Fu shot all of them a glare sharp enough to nearly knock the man backward.

Ding Shan offered him a small cloak with a crooked smile. “Modesty restored, Young Master. Now let's figure out what in the heavens we're supposed to do next.”

By the time the sun dipped behind the torn hills, the 112th Bronze Squadron had already made several hasty but necessary decisions.

They could not remain near the site of their deaths. The stench of blood, ruptured entrails, and shattered bodies still hung over the battlefield like a curse. They retreated several hundred paces toward the riverbank, where a stretch of flat ground allowed them to pitch a handful of tents in tight formation. It was neither secure nor comfortable, but it was the best they could manage.

At the center of the camp, beneath the largest tent, Da Wei remained unconscious. Two guards stood watch outside. Despite his youthful appearance and vulnerable state, no one approached casually. The boy who had dragged them back from death deserved more than awe. He commanded it.

Yuen Fu eventually found his missing trousers among the wreckage, still attached to what remained of his former body. He chose not to dwell on it.

No one did.

The soldiers had witnessed too much to be shocked by anything anymore. Blood caked their skin and stained their clothing. The river glittered nearby, yet few bothered washing. The grime and gore felt almost sacred, proof that they had survived the impossible.

Strangely, morale remained high.

Men gathered around small fires, sharing fragmented accounts of the battle.

“It happened too fast.”

“I didn't even get the chance to move.”

“I managed to drive my spear into him, I swear.”

“That was you?”

Soft laughter followed.

“I got obliterated.”

“Me too.”

“I thought I was going to die.”

“You did die.”

“Well... I'm alive now, aren't I?”

Perhaps it was the courage Da Wei had instilled in them during those final moments. Perhaps they were simply too dazed to grasp the weight of what had happened.

Whatever the reason, their hearts felt lighter than they had in days.

Morning arrived with streaks of gold across the horizon.

Ding Shan stood before the drowsy soldiers, his voice rough from too much shouting.

“Alright, listen up! Half of you go forage and recover whatever supplies you can from the old camp. Food, weapons, gear, anything not reduced to splinters. The rest of you will clean the battlefield. I don't care how you do it, but get rid of the gore, the limbs, and anything else likely to attract scavengers.”

He paused.

“We have no walls, no barriers, and the war is still raging around us. Don't grow complacent just because you got a second chance.”

A few soldiers grumbled, but none openly objected. Instead, they settled the assignments the way Da Wei had once jokingly suggested. It was a game of rock-paper-scissors that decided who got to do what. What had begun as a ridiculous game had somehow become the squadron's preferred method of resolving disputes.

Yuen Fu watched the matches with mild amusement. Da Wei had changed more than their fates. Somehow, he had changed the spirit of the entire unit.

He turned toward the former battlefield, intending to join the cleaning detail, when Ding Shan called after him.

“Where are you going?”

“I lost the game,” Yuen Fu replied, adjusting his belt. “So I’m helping clean up, I suppose.”

Ding Shan shook his head and pointed toward a stool beside one of the tents. “Not you. I have a different task for you. You're going to help me write a report for Commander Jin. We need to explain our situation clearly, without digging our own graves.”

Yuen Fu's expression turned serious. “You want me to draft it?”

“You're the one who suggested we hide Da Wei's identity,” Ding Shan said. “So you'll see it through. You're literate, you've studied court etiquette, and you know how to speak without saying too much. That's exactly what we need.”

Yuen Fu hesitated only briefly. If they mishandled the report, they could doom not only Da Wei but themselves as well. “I understand. We'll need to be careful with every word.”

Ding Shan handed him a scroll, a brush, and a clay bottle of ink. “Here, something to write with. Do not overcomplicate it, do you understand?”

Yuen Fu nodded. “Leave it to me.”

He knelt inside the tent, brush hovering above the blank parchment. It wasn't the report that gave him pause. It was the memory. He remembered the crack of bone, the sensation of his body being severed, and the cold certainty of death. Then came the impossible light that had washed over him, restoring what should have remained lost forever.

Scriptures spoke of miracles.

Scriptures did not speak of entrails, blood, and the taste of iron lingering in one's throat afterward.

“I need to keep this simple,” he muttered. "Apologies, I was distracted for a moment."

Ding Shan sat nearby, rubbing his sore shoulder. “Remember. No heroics.”

“I know.”

Yuen Fu lowered the brush and began to write.

...

..

.

To Commander Jin Chenglei of the Eastern Vanguard,

We humbly report the conclusion of a skirmish during our assignment along the western Huaiyao River sector.

The 112th Bronze Squadron, numbering fewer than fifty soldiers, came under sudden assault by an enemy force estimated at over one hundred and fifty strong. Their ranks consisted primarily of peasant levies, militia, and conscripts. Though they possessed a significant numerical advantage, they lacked discipline and coordination.

Under Commander Ding Shan's leadership, our forces maintained formation and successfully repelled the enemy assault. Through disciplined maneuvering and effective use of terrain, we inflicted sufficient losses to break enemy morale and force a retreat.

While our squadron suffered no casualties, our encampment sustained considerable damage during the engagement. Several tents, supplies, and signaling tools were destroyed when enemy forces breached the perimeter. As a result, we have relocated a short distance south along the riverbank and established a provisional camp while reorganizing our resources.

We respectfully request replacement supplies, rations, and basic equipment to restore operational readiness. In addition, our scouts have observed signs of increased bandit activity in the surrounding woodlands, which may indicate growing instability within the region.

In victory, we remain vigilant. In triumph, we remain humble.

Respectfully submitted,

Yuen Fu

Acting Adjutant of the 112th Bronze Squadron

On behalf of Commander Ding Shan

...

..

.

Yuen Fu set down the brush and flexed his aching hand.

Ding Shan leaned over the parchment and read through it. After a moment, he grunted in approval. “This is good. Simple, clean, and most importantly, it does not say anything about our savior. I imagine this might be the safest approach, after all.”

A tired smile crossed Yuen Fu's face. “I only hope it doesn't come back to haunt us. If word spreads about a boy with powers like that—”

“It won't,” Ding Shan interrupted. “The men understand the price of loose tongues. Let Da Wei rest. We'll figure out what he is when he wakes.”

Yuen Fu glanced toward the central tent where Da Wei still lay unconscious beneath heavy guard, feeling greatly uncertain. The boy was no god, yet no mortal should have been capable of what he had done.

With a sigh. Yuen Fu remarked, "Hopefully, we aren't making a mistake by doing this."