Immortal Paladin

362 Journey to the Central Plains

Five years had passed since I walked into the Union as a mortal man. Five years of sweat, blood, and meditation beneath the weight of my own restraint. I had caged my realm deliberately, staying within Martial Tempering when I could have soared beyond. But now, that cage had cracked. The thin barrier between what I was and what I could be finally fell away. My body hummed with new energy, and when I exhaled, my breath shimmered faintly with silver.

At last, I reached the realm of Supreme Master, the point where aura no longer needed to be summoned or forced. It flowed naturally, weaving with every heartbeat. At the level of a Master, one could form a silk thread, slender but steady. At Grandmaster, that thread stretched into a silk road, able to carry others along your path. But at the level of Supreme Master, aura obeyed instinct. It became life itself. Merely breathing summoned it.

“Congratulations, my lord,” said Dave, standing there in his dull and plain armor.

“Oh, you’ll make me blush if you keep that up,” I said dryly. My body was a mess with cuts across my chest, torn robes, and bruises that painted half my torso purple. My hair had grown wild, my beard thicker than I’d ever allowed before. I looked more hermit than Emperor.

With a flex of aura, I drew a sharp edge through the air and cut away the long strands of hair and beard in one smooth motion. The result was crude and uneven. A proper shave was still beyond the precision I wanted. I sighed. “Still not clean enough.”

Dave chuckled and lifted a hand. “Allow me.” He murmured, “Great Cure,” and light poured from his palm. Warmth swept over me, knitting torn flesh, closing wounds, purging exhaustion.

I flexed my hand experimentally. “Not bad,” I said. “Thanks a bunch.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said mildly. His gaze drifted to the clearing around us, where countless corpses lay from the remnants of demonic beasts, their carapaces split, claws shattered, and blood soaking into the earth. Many were insectoid, grotesque things the size of carriages. Some had died by the sword, others by spears or blunt trauma. A few had been pierced by arrows of condensed aura that hadn’t even left my bow.

I’d been here for five years, alone in this cursed forest, a place mercenaries avoided but whispered about in taverns. The “Butcher of the Deepwood,” they called me. Crude, but not inaccurate.

Dave broke the silence first. “What plans do you have for now, my lord?”

I took a deep breath and stretched, feeling my aura spill out faintly like mist. “I’m thinking of going to the Martial Alliance,” I said. “There’s a tournament coming up. It might be time to stop suppressing my realm and move forward.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “You intend to fight your way through cultivation again, properly?”

“That’s the idea. It’s been too long since I fought with rules instead of instinct.” I crouched, gathering arrows from fallen beasts and sliding them into my storage ring. Their craftsmanship wasn’t remarkable, but the materials could be reforged.

Dave hesitated before speaking again. “Then… might I trouble you with something?”

I looked over my shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Go ahead.”

“Could you bring Yuen Fu with you?”

“Why?” I asked. “Is he causing trouble again?”

Dave gave a helpless laugh. “Nothing like that. He’s been training diligently. But Tao Long reached out. He’s being challenged by several Union warlords, some political dispute escalating into duels. He needs someone he can trust as a second combatant. I thought perhaps Yuen Fu could accompany you, while I help Tao Long on his ordeal.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Can’t Shouquan go, rather than you? He’s a better fit for that kind of nonsense.”

“The old man’s occupied,” Dave replied. “He’s busy rebuilding his and Ward’s reputations after that disaster with the Sundering. He’s talking about disbanding what remains of their organization and transferring their members into the Adventurer’s Guild under Tao Long’s command. It’s… a lot of paperwork.”

I crossed my arms. “So, Tao Long’s cleaning up the Union, you are cleaning up after him, and I’m supposed to take my disciple back to lessen your workload?”

He smirked. “In short, yes.”

I clicked my tongue but couldn’t help a small grin. “You do realize I’m terrible at saying no, right?”

“Exactly why I asked so shamelessly,” he said lightly.

He wasn’t wrong. Beneath my irritation, I did want to see how far Yuen Fu had come. I’d been a negligent teacher at best lately, sending disciples to other masters, and watching from afar through my clones or souls.

“Fine,” I said at last, standing and brushing off my robes. “I’ll do what I can.”

After submitting the proof of my insect-slaying quests at the guild, I left the noisy hall behind and found Yuen Fu waiting at the edge of the forest. A small flying boat hovered quietly beside him, its array of spirit runes glowing faintly in the dusk.

“Master, is that you?” Yuen Fu asked, eyes wide. “You look… different.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Yuen Fu, on the other hand, looked completely transformed. His hair had turned a radiant blond, and his eyes gleamed like polished gold coins, likely the result of his cultivation method. His aura was calm but dense, like a mountain wrapped in silk.

“It’s been a while,” I said, stepping onto the deck of the flying boat. “You’ve changed, Yuen Fu. I take it your training’s been going well?”

He scratched the back of his neck, giving an awkward smile. “If by ‘well’ you mean getting beaten half to death every other day by Sir Dave… then yes, I suppose it’s been quite productive.”

I chuckled. “That sounds like him. What else did he make you do?”

“Too many strange things,” he said with a grimace. “Sometimes he’d make me swing a sword ten thousand times while chanting the ‘Prayer of Steel.’ Other times, he’d tell me to clean the temple floor until I could see my reflection in it, bare-handed, with suppression of my cultivation.”

“Hah. That’s classic Dave. Sounds like he’s giving you the LLO-style quest treatment.”

“LLO?” Yuen Fu blinked.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, smiling faintly. “Just know that the suffering will pay off eventually. For someone with your talent, these trials are necessary. You’ll understand one day.”

He nodded slowly, though I could see the shadow of doubt in his eyes. Yuen Fu hadn’t advanced in five years, still stuck in the Seventh Realm. But growth wasn’t only about realms. Sometimes it was about endurance.

As the boat lifted off, the forest shrank beneath us, swallowed by clouds and distance.

“Oh, you’ve reached the realm of Supreme Master,” Yuen Fu suddenly said, sensing my aura. “I wonder what’s different from how you achieved it in False Earth?”

“I can’t really tell,” I replied, watching the horizon blur into streaks of color. “Except for better mastery of aura control and… cleaner breathing.”

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He smiled. “Then, congratulations, Master.”

“Don’t call me that,” I said, waving a hand. “When we reach the Martial Alliance, you’re not to address me as your master. I’ll be your junior, and you’ll be my senior. Understood?”

“What?” Yuen Fu’s golden eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s absurd. At the very least, I should call you ‘lord’ or ‘young lord.’”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Fine. Call me ‘young master’ if you must. Just not ‘master.’ It’ll make things less complicated.”

“Then at least look like a young master!” he said sharply, glancing at my torn sleeve. “You look like a beggar who robbed a cultivator and failed to run fast enough.”

Before I could retort, he rummaged through his storage ring and tossed me a folded robe. “Put this on.”

I caught it, unfolding a garment of gold and white silk, the weave fine enough to shimmer under the light. It matched his style, though mine was lined with a verdant waistband instead of gold.

“Fine, fine,” I said, changing right there on deck. “Better?”

“Much.” Yuen Fu nodded approvingly, steering the boat higher. “Now you look like someone respectable.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

We soared for hours in silence, the clouds peeling away to reveal a vast landscape. Rivers gleamed like molten silver, mountains rose like silent guardians, and far ahead, the Central Plains came into view, the heart of the Hollowed World.

As we descended, the air thickened with qi so pure it prickled against the skin. Yuen Fu let out a low whistle, his golden eyes wide in wonder.

“Master, uh, young master… the qi here is incredible. It’s like breathing liquid light.”

We reached the Central Plains after a month and a few weeks of travel. It was an impressive feat, considering the distance. The warp formation arrays installed on Yuen Fu’s flying boat cut our travel time drastically. Still, the constant hum of spatial distortion had left me with a dull headache.

“Where do we go from here, master?” Yuen Fu asked, his golden eyes glinting under the sun.

I turned to him, my tone flat. “Yuen Fu.”

He blinked, then laughed nervously. “Ah, sorry, hahahaha. But it should be fine when we’re alone, right?”

“Only when there’s no one around to hear,” I said dryly. “We’re heading to the headquarters of the Martial Alliance, Phoenix City.”

He nodded and guided the boat toward the southeast, where crimson clouds hung like veils above the horizon.

The term mainlands was often used to describe the great belts of civilization where providence gathered the densest. They were lands overflowing with prosperity, wealth, and power. But when people said Central Plains, they specifically meant the regions wedged between the territories of the Martial Alliance, the Union, and the Heavenly Temple.

As I watched the vast expanse beneath us, I couldn’t help but think of how fractured this world truly was. The feudal system ruled here with kings and lords, fiefdoms and clans. Once upon a time, empires had unified continents under single banners. Now, those empires were gone.

Except mine.

For all intents and purposes, the Holy Ascension Empire was the last standing empire of this era. The rest of the world was divided among the Three Great Powers, namely the Union, the Martial Alliance, and the Heavenly Temple.

From the readings and lessons Nongmin had drilled into me, it wasn’t hard to see how the world fell apart. The rise of the Union with their obsession for conquest and the expansion of trade through the seas, destabilized the ancient kingdoms. The Martial Alliance, on the other hand, refused to involve themselves in politics, choosing instead to “separate the martial from the mundane.” It sounded noble in theory, but in practice, it left governments powerless.

The Heavenly Temple had been the last bastion of imperial order. But after the calamity a thousand years ago, one so severe that the world’s balance itself had shifted, they, too, withdrew into their faith. Without them, nations fell into chaos, and the Three Great Powers became the de facto rulers of civilization.

Yuen Fu broke the silence with a hesitant voice. “Master… I mean, young master… uh, I haven’t done my reading lately, so I might be… lacking in worldly knowledge. But, uh… isn’t it strange that the Martial Alliance still exists?”

I raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”

“Well…” He scratched his cheek. “Every continent here has a presence from all three powers. The Union’s fleets dominate the waterways and ports. The Heavenly Temple spreads faith in every major city. But the Martial Alliance…” He gestured vaguely at the plains below. “They don’t have an actual territory. Just sects, families, and wandering masters. How can they still stand against the others?”

A fair question.

Within the Central Plains alone, there were dozens of landlocked continents, each divided by invisible borders and smaller factions. The Union thrived in the oceans, establishing bases on countless islands and archipelagos. Their expansion was near-limitless with no borders to bind them. In just seven thousand years, they became a global power.

By comparison, the Heavenly Temple held the mysterious north, spreading southward with their temples, their radiant cultivators, and their endless preaching about virtue. They were the “saints” of the world, though their righteousness often came with a blade.

And then there was the Martial Alliance.

Unlike the others, it didn’t rule through faith or conquest. It was a coalition of sect upon sect, family upon family, all bound loosely by the same banner. Their strength came not from unity, but from sheer numbers and the power of individual martial might.

Yet that strength was fading. The Heavenly Temple’s influence grew with every sermon and every saved village. The Union’s dominance of trade routes strangled the Alliance’s old mercenary networks. Even the great clans were struggling to sustain themselves.

As a civilization, the Martial Alliance was starting to crumble.

“It’s just weird,” Yuen Fu frowned. “How are they still standing?”

“Because,” I said, eyes narrowing as Phoenix City came into view, a sprawl of jade towers and crimson rooftops, its core burning with qi visible from miles away—“even without unity or land, they still have the one thing that defines them.”

“What’s that?”

“Martial might,” I replied softly. “The foundation of all power in this world.”

“I still don’t understand, master,” Yuen Fu said, voice small but earnest as we coasted above the city outskirts.

I smiled because the question was a good one and because answering it was part of why I’d agreed to bring him here. “Ever heard of Martial Ascension? How about the term Martial Saint?” I asked, keeping my tone casual though the topic deserved gravity.

“Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I heard it from Mentor Dave. They’re beings who reached immortality through martial arts, blending Transcendence and Longevity. A Martial Saint is spoken of in legends as someone who can tear through the stars with their technique. But… are they stronger than you?” There was honest doubt in his eyes, not arrogance, only curiosity.

I considered the question. It would be a lie to say I knew for sure.

The title “Martial Saint” carried a scale difficult to match with a single fight or theory.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I haven’t fought a true Martial Saint. That’s not a boast; it’s a fact. Strength means different things to different beings. A Martial Saint’s power stems from perfected technique and a forged body that spans both Longevity and Transcendence.”

I drew closer to the point I wanted him to hold. “An Alliance Master is someone with the potential to reach Martial Ascension. The Martial Alliance used to have more of them, but after the calamity a thousand years ago, most of the old saints perished. Now they only have three recognized as true Martial Saints in history, and maybe handfuls who could have reached it if fate had been kinder. The Alliance keeps its prestige because it still trains people who can, in time, become those kinds of legends.”

Yuen Fu nodded slowly, absorbing the shape of it. “So there’s still hope for us to learn from them.”

“Exactly. Don’t slack off,” I told him. “You have the potential to one day step beyond ordinary cultivation. Use this opportunity to hone yourself by observing those with similar potential to yours, study your betters, and be patient.”

“Yes, master!” he replied, more confident now, a familiar eagerness returning to his posture.

We passed mountains and green plains, then descended toward Phoenix City. The city spread like a coral reef of roofs and towers, jade and crimson set against each other.

“Finally, we’ve arrived,” I remarked in relief. “I’m getting bored already, let’s look around.”

The gates were busier than I expected. A long line snaked from the entrance, people pushing and arguing, guards trying to keep order. I watched faces with Divine Sense: most were under the Fourth Realm, small cultivators and merchants who wanted to enter the city for work or gambling. Here and there, stronger presence flared, Fifth Realm, Sixth, people who smelled like trouble if crossed. A scuffle broke out near the back, two men throwing punches and blocking, cultivator techniques flashing even in the street; guards had to break the fight before it turned lethal. City life always included a stew of petty violence and rigid rules that didn’t always stick.

We stowed the boat in Yuen Fu’s storage ring. When a pair of well-dressed men moved through a side entrance, escorted past the crowd, Yuen Fu frowned. “They get a different door?” he asked. “Is that how it is here?”

“That’s how it is in most great cities,” I said. “Connections and recommendations open doors. You’ll see this everywhere.”

We presented the recommendation to the gate captain, a plain man with a hawk’s nose who read the scroll with a practiced eye. His posture softened when he recognized the seal of an official who owed a debt to Yi Qiu; he signaled, and a smaller gate swung open to let us pass into Phoenix proper. The space beyond the main thoroughfare smelled of incense and steel. Statues of old sect founders lined the road, their carved faces stern and watchful. Merchants hawked staves and talismans; martial artists trained in squares; priests chanted by shrines.

As we walked through the market, Yuen Fu leaned closer and asked in Qi Speech, voice hushed so only I could hear, “Master, what are our objectives here?”

I smiled and answered quietly through Qi Speech. “First: win the martial tournament. Second: cause a few carefully measured troubles to raise our name. Third: investigate the new Alliance Master and see if there’s a link between the Martial Alliance and the Heavenly Temple. Fourth: spread the Empire’s influence. We fight, we learn, and we poke where we must.”

He blinked, mixing awe with a soldier’s readiness. “That’s a lot.”

“Brace yourself, Yuen Fu,” I added with a grin through Qi Speech, letting the command be light and sharp at once, “because we’re going to spite them until they feel like puking.”