Immortal Paladin

228 The Bones Beneath the Sand

The wind howled low across the dunes as we descended from the mountain’s veil. Only when I turned to look back, the Sacred Mountain was already gone as if it had never existed. Even with a piece of my soul still anchored in Tao Long, not a whisper of the mountain remained in my senses. It was impressive. More than that, it was unsettling. Mountains weren’t supposed to vanish.

“That’s par for the course with Ward, I guess…”

We stood ankle-deep in hot sand, a desert sun looming overhead like a glowing white wound in the sky. The silence stretched, broken only by Hei Mao’s tentative voice.

“Uuh… Master? Which direction is the Grand Ascension Empire?”

I didn’t answer immediately. I swept my gaze across the endless desert, hoping something would spark a memory. But the land was unfamiliar, and the shifting dunes made poor landmarks.

“I don’t know, Mao,” I said at last. “I really don’t know…”

The desert did not like visitors. That became obvious when the ground began to tremble. I tensed as several massive sandworms burst from the ground, their gaping maws lined with teeth like obsidian shards, their hides glistening with dry scales. They coiled midair with frenzied roars.

Hei Mao barely blinked. His red scarf uncoiled from his neck, transforming mid-flight into a spiral of blood-forged blades. They twisted and spun in calculated arcs, carving through the sandworms before they could even strike. By the time they hit the ground, they were nothing more than neat, steaming segments of meat.

“I am quite excited to see the others again,” Hei Mao said cheerfully, dusting sand off his sleeves as his scarf reassembled itself around his neck.

I allowed myself a small smile. “I feel the same. But first, we need to get our bearings.”

“How long has it been, Master?”

I considered that for a moment. “It’s been some time since you died… Beyond that, I don’t really know. Time in the False Earth might be different if compared to the Hollowed World. Not to mention, it has been some time since I died…”

Hei Mao took a few steps ahead, then turned back toward me. “So, where is this place exactly?”

I gazed around. Dunes as far as the eye could see, sand like pale gold dusting the horizon. “It’s the Great Desert.”

He blinked. “That’s a terrible name.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t choose it.”

“What’s our next move?”

I exhaled. “We find the closest place to civilization. Somewhere with people, maps, maybe a tavern. Anything to help figure out where and when we are.”

The truth was, I had no way of knowing how long I’d been gone. I had spent decades in the False Earth, but that didn’t mean the same amount of time passed here. For all I knew, it had been centuries or no time at all. That was why I needed information, and fast.

I focused, extending my Divine Sense across the dunes. Qi flowed out in radiant arcs, mingling with the world’s Quintessence. As an Ascended Soul, I could feel the threads that connected all things. But even this had limits. The Hollowed World was vast, and my power wasn’t meant to brute-force through it.

Still, I felt something. There was a disruption. Not qi exactly, but like a festering wound.

“I found something,” I murmured.

“What is it?” Hei Mao asked.

I frowned. “I don’t know yet. But it feels… wrong.”

The wind shifted as I beckoned him forward. “Stay close, Mao.”

I activated Zealot’s Stride, and the ground exploded beneath my feet. Gold light erupted in blinding pulses as I surged forward, a streak across the desert. To my surprise, a blur of red kept pace beside me. I turned and saw Hei Mao matching me stride for stride, his own movement technique echoing mine but laced with crimson trails.

“That’s… impressive,” I said.

Hei Mao smirked. “Do you remember the other you, Master? Dai Fu?”

Of course I did. Dai Fu, Dave, David_69… and my trusty friend. The Holy Spirit that I’d entrusted more than myself.

“He taught me a few things,” Hei Mao continued. “Well… not exactly taught. More like, showed me some things. I figured out the rest myself. We didn’t have much time together, since, you know… I tried to be a hero and got killed for it.”

I chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “It’s fine. You’re your own person, Mao. You did what you believed was right. That’s enough.”

Hei Mao grew quiet, then said, “Is it strange that I find strength in believing in you?”

That gave me pause. Not because I had an answer, but because I didn’t. I had been dodging that kind of thought for a while now. The idea of worship unsettled me, whether it came from beasts, ghosts, or men. I didn’t want to be a god. I wasn’t sure I even wanted to be a hero.

I stopped walking. Hei Mao slowed beside me.

In front of us stood a city, at least, it had once been.

Now, it was a tomb.

Buildings carved from red stone rose from the dunes like bones of giants. The streets were filled with skeletons, strewn in chaotic piles, curled in corners, slumped against doorways. There was no rot, no smell, no sand covering the bodies. They looked recent, preserved by stillness.

Not a single soul stirred.

There were neither birds nor bugs. Not even the whisper of ghosts.

My Divine Sense pulsed once, then again, and a third time before it honed in on a faint flicker of life nestled within the heart of the dead city. The presence wasn’t strong. It was Seventh Realm at best. It pulsed from the center of the grandest structure, a castle whose towers were worn smooth by sand winds and time.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I took careful steps through the city’s winding pathways, the crunch of bone beneath my boots punctuating every motion. Skeletons lined the streets, some still clutching weapons, others holding each other as if their final moments had offered no reprieve. I recognized the tarnished armor on several of them from standard-issue plate from the Promised Dunes, with desert sigils etched into faded pauldrons. These weren’t ancient dead. Their belongings were intact, their bones unscattered, untouched by rot or scavenger. It was as if their flesh had been peeled away by some unseen hand, leaving only clean white bone.

Hei Mao broke the silence, his voice light but uncertain. “Master, there’s a presence inside…”

I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a beat of hesitation before he continued, “Uuh… I already knew there was someone inside, but I only felt like saying it now because, you know… the silence is making me feel awkward.”

I gave him a glance. “I get it, Hei Mao. But go ahead and slip into my shadow.”

He nodded without another word and blurred from view, his essence slinking seamlessly into the space beneath my feet. Ever since his time in the Underworld, Hei Mao had picked up more than just a few tricks.

The castle loomed before me, less majestic than it had once been. Once it might’ve stood as a bastion of faith in the desert’s harsh heart, but now it was just another tomb, and I was the last pilgrim to wander into it. I stepped through rusted gates and crossed into a wide throne room whose banners hung like skinless corpses. There, at the end of the long hall, beneath a shattered mural of desert kings and azure skies, I saw him.

A man sat cradling a skeleton, rocking gently back and forth like a father lulling a dead child to sleep. His bronze cuirass was scuffed and darkened with old blood, and his bare arms were laced with cuts both new and ancient. His long black hair clung to his face, and his eyes stared without focus, red from too many nights without sleep and too many days without hope.

I knew him.

Even in this sorry state, I recognized Falconeer Han Lun.

His head slowly turned toward me, eyes dull, voice a gravel scrape across dry stone. “What are you doing here?”

I took a few steps closer. “It’s been some time,” I said carefully, “or at least I’d like to think so. How long has it been since… you know… after what I did in the Summit Hall?”

Han Lun blinked once. His face didn’t move, but his body tensed like a bowstring.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

I tried for a serious expression, but even I wasn’t sure if it worked. “Is there a problem?”

His voice cracked. “Is there a problem?!” He stood, the skeleton dropping from his arms with a hollow clatter. “I just lost the queen I’ve devoted my whole life and heart to, watched the nation I was raised in turn to ash right in front of me, and was cursed with the knowledge that I was left alive just so I could spread the tale of what happens to those who defy the Heavenly Temple!”

His voice rose with each word, raw and bitter.

“So, yeah! No problem at all! I feel great! Incredible, really! I could just drop dead right here, and you know what? I would’ve, if I was allowed to! But the queen made me promise not to die. And now I can’t even choose the coward’s way out!”

His body trembled, and for a moment, his knees buckled, but he didn’t fall. He cried openly, without shame, the tears cutting through the grime on his face. That pain was not something I could touch with words. It was old, deep, and woven into the bones of his soul.

I understood then, I wasn’t going to get permission for what I needed to do.

So I didn’t ask.

I extended one hand and cast Divine Possession. One of my souls left my body and darted toward Han Lun, intending to bridge into his spirit and bring me the truth he couldn’t speak. But the moment it touched him, it vanished as if devoured by something far deeper than his mortal self.

My instincts flared in alarm.

Han Lun’s eyes snapped shut, and he exhaled like a man finally giving up a burden. Then he sank, melting into his own shadow like water spilled over hot stone.

The moment he vanished, his shadow rose.

It took form, his form, but warped, more suggestion than flesh. A silhouette of Falconeer Han Lun, black as void, radiating an aura colder than death. Its edges bled smoke, its eyes glowed with a pale white light that held neither life nor hatred.

And I understood.

The silhouette that wore Han Lun’s shadow took on the shape of a man, smooth and confident in every step. Its voice echoed like smoke poured into a cold room. It was hollow, but laced with amusement.

“This is surprising… Da Wei, is it?”

I stood firm, my stance relaxed but ready. “Excuse me,” I said, narrowing my gaze, “I believe we haven’t met yet.”

The silhouette approached the throne with the casual arrogance of someone used to power. It sat down like it belonged there, folding one leg over the other as if mocking the concept of royalty.

“Oh, I believe we’ve met already… At least, you’ve met my corpse…”

I raised a brow, half-smirking. “If I’ve met any corpse, I would have either smote them to death or was about to.”

The silhouette chuckled, gesturing with open palms. “Quite a surprise then. I am either or… Someone you’ve already smote to death, yet haven’t smote to death yet… Guess who I am?”

I sighed, exasperated by the drama. “That’s a terrible riddle. And you know what? Spare me the theatrics. Return Han Lun.”

The shadow leaned forward, its tone now dripping with faux sympathy. “You’re not even going to negotiate for the soul you just… lost?”

I clicked my tongue and gave him a long, pitying look. “This isn’t a negotiation.”

I closed my hand into a fist. A golden flare of divine light erupted from within the shadow’s core. Judgment Severance flared to life, and the soul I had used to cast Divine Possession earlier ignited in holy light, detonating like a sanctified bomb.

The shadow screamed, not in pain, but in shock, as its form tore apart. Black tendrils recoiled and hissed as the silhouette burst into scraps of smoke. From the center of the explosion, Han Lun’s body fell out like a doll cut loose from its puppet strings. He landed on the stone floor, unconscious but intact.

Then the laughter began.

It came from every direction: cracks in the walls, the open sky above, the very bones of the city. I didn’t flinch.

“Hei Mao,” I said, dusting my palms, “can you deal with the rest of them?”

“Gladly,” he answered, leaping from my shadow like a serpent in reverse. His red scarf uncoiled like a whip, shifting into jagged crimson blades mid-flight.

I extended my Divine Sense to full capacity and found an entire swarm of figures, cloaked in black robes and hidden beneath veils, slithering through the city's broken streets and crumbled homes. They had been here the whole time, and lurking in the silence.

“Shadowspawn.”

They moved as a coordinated swarm, but Hei Mao moved faster. His blades carved through the walls, the floor, the air itself. Shadow after shadow was torn into ribbons and scattered into nothing. Black mist hissed into the light and faded without a trace. The slaughter was clean, efficient, and laced with elegance.

In mere moments, only three remained in the room.

Hei Mao stood calmly among them, each figure cocooned in a red barrier formed by swirling qi. He pulled away the veils one by one.

Behind each mask was the same face.

Hei Mao squinted. “Shenyuan… and another Shenyuan…”

He peeled away the last veil. “They all have the same face. Same hair. Same presence.”

I joined him and stared at the three identical beings.

“What exactly are you?”

One of them grinned faintly. “A shadow, apparently.”

Another shrugged. “A shadow of a corpse, apparently.”

The last one laughed, not cruelly, but as if this all amused him deeply. “We don’t know, really… I can’t say.”

I retrieved my soul from the unconscious Han Lun with a gentle pull. It glowed softly in my palm before I whispered, “Holy Sword.”

The soul surged, shifting shape until it solidified into a gleaming, radiant blade. It was pure white with golden edges, humming with my intent.

I swung once.

The motion was simple, clean, a straight cut through the air. The three Shenyuans didn’t even have time to scream. They exploded into clouds of shadowstuff, but unlike the others, this time the energy didn’t drift or recoil. It simply vanished and was erased, as if they had never been real to begin with.

More shadowspawn slithered through the cracks of the castle like smoke given sentience, their malformed shapes crawling over columns, spilling down from balconies, and creeping along the walls like mold with teeth. They didn’t speak, didn’t shriek, only watched with glowing sockets and clawed hands that twitched in rhythm with each step I took toward the throne.

From behind me, Hei Mao cracked his knuckles and tilted his head just enough for the red gleam of his scarf-blades to catch the light.

“Well,” he said with a lazy grin, “looks like someone forgot to lock the crypt.”

I added naturally. “This isn’t even a crypt, Mao…”