Immortal Paladin

397 Guests at the Temple

The moment Hei Mao finished speaking, the visitors erupted. One voice piled on top of another, sharp and ugly, filled with insults and ridicule.

“Preposterous,” one of them shouted, his tone dripping with contempt.

“Who do you think you are to speak to us like that?”

Another laughed loudly and called Hei Mao a nobody hiding behind tricks, while someone else sneered that shadows were the tools of cowards and thieves. The words grew cruder by the breath, each insult louder than the last, as if volume alone could establish dominance.

Hei Mao did not move. He did not raise his voice, nor did he show the slightest hint of anger. He simply opened his mouth and spoke a single word.

“Silence.”

The word carried no force in tone, yet the shadows beneath his feet rippled like a living thing, spreading outward in a slow pulse. The shouting died instantly, as if every throat had been grabbed by an unseen hand, leaving the air heavy and suffocating.

I took the chance to study them properly. Among the guests were two dragons, one male and one female, both in human form, their expressions calm and unyielding even after being forcibly quieted. They were clearly not intimidated, only restrained. The monks stood slightly apart, three figures dressed plainly but carrying very different presences. One looked like a beggar, his robes patched and worn, his eyes sharp beneath a careless exterior. Another was a woman with a clean, austere appearance, her gaze cold and disciplined. The last was an elder monk, his posture straight despite his age, his aura deep and heavy. All five of them radiated the cultivation of the Eleventh Realm, Perfect Immortal, a level so rare in my time that seeing one was an event, let alone a group.

I leaned slightly toward Wen Yuhan and spoke through Qi Speech. “Who are these clowns?” I asked, keeping my tone flat. “And why do they feel so comfortable barking at you like this?”

She answered calmly, her tone unchanged. “The two dragons are the leaders of the Four Seasons,” she said. “The Dragon King and the Dragon Queen. They are direct descendants of the late Dragon God’s bloodline.”

She continued without pause. “The monks are known as the Three Precepts. The beggar represents Redemption, the woman represents Purification, and the elder represents Adjudication. Together, they speak for a faction called the Monastery.”

“And what exactly are those factions,” I asked, “for them to act so brazenly?”

“The Four Seasons are a dragon clan formed after the Dragon God’s death,” she replied. “The Monastery was established under the teachings of the late Repentant Listener.”

As I processed that information, unease crept into my thoughts. If Wen Yuhan had truly been an ally of the Four Heroes, then this level of hostility made little sense. Even political posturing had its limits. Her so-called exile had to play a role in this, and there were likely agreements, grudges, or power struggles buried deep beneath the surface that we had yet to see.

The Dragon King finally stepped forward, his gaze locking onto Wen Yuhan. “Seeker,” he said, his voice firm and edged with authority. “What is the meaning of this?”

The female monk followed immediately, her tone colder still. “This behavior is unacceptable,” she said. “Especially from someone once revered as part of the Four Heroes.”

The beggar monk chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in it. “You seem to have forgotten your place,” he said. “You promised to live in silence. No disciples. No faction. Yet we hear you are raising successors.” He spread his hands as if apologetic. “Naturally, we had to see it for ourselves.”

The Dragon Queen’s eyes flicked toward Hei Mao, her expression darkening. “And now you bring along a hidden expert,” she said sharply. “Someone with such questionable techniques.” Her gaze returned to Wen Yuhan. “Are you secretly gathering forces behind our backs?” She paused, letting the accusation sink in. “Have you already forgotten the tragedies caused by the Heavenly Demon and the Eternal Undeath Cult?”

Wen Yuhan finally stepped forward, her posture calm despite the pressure pressing down on her from all sides. “You’re mistaken,” she said evenly, her voice steady and clear. “This is a misunderstanding.”

The elder monk finally stepped forward, his hands folded neatly within his sleeves, his voice calm yet cutting. “Seeker, what exactly is this misunderstanding you speak of, when it is so clear that you have chosen to act behind our backs?”

Before Wen Yuhan could answer, the female monk moved as well, her gaze fixed on Hei Mao. “There is another matter,” the Purification Monk said coldly. “The shadow techniques demonstrated just now felt… familiar.” She narrowed her eyes. “They resemble traces left behind by the Eternal Undeath Cult. That alone raises the possibility that you are colluding with them.”

The accusation hung heavily in the air.

I felt a twinge of unease crawl up my spine. Part of me worried that we were getting dragged into something far larger than necessary, something rooted in ancient grudges and political landmines. Still, the way they spoke, the certainty with which they accused and judged, rubbed me the wrong way. I imagined myself in Wen Yuhan’s place, cornered by people who claimed righteousness while offering no trust, and I found it easy to sympathize with her.

I leaned slightly toward Gu Jie and spoke quietly. “If I’m about to do something we’ll greatly regret in the future,” I said, “stop me.”

She glanced at me briefly and replied, “Do as you please.”

Hei Mao’s shadow shifted, spreading another inch along the ground. “Mind your tone,” he warned the guests calmly. “If you continue like this, I may be forced to make an example out of one of you.”

The Dragon King laughed loudly, the sound full of disdain. “An example?” he said. “With what strength?”

Before Hei Mao could respond, Wen Yuhan raised her hand. “That’s enough,” she said softly. “It’s fine.”

I frowned and turned toward her. “It doesn’t look fine,” I said. “What’s going on?”

She met my gaze, her expression unreadable. “They’ll forget me soon enough,” she replied quietly.

The words struck harder than I expected. I remembered what she had told me about the ultimate punishment, about being erased from existence and memory alike. She was holding back, I realized, because these people were legacies of those she once called friends. In her eyes, they were remnants of the past she could not bring herself to hurt. In mine, all I could see were ungrateful brats bloated with fear and useless greed.

Wen Yuhan took a step forward, her voice steady. “Tell me,” she said. “What do you want from me?”

The Adjudication Monk immediately clasped his fist and bowed deeply. “For the peace of the world,” he said respectfully, “we ask that you burst your dantian and sever your meridians.” He did not hesitate. “Give up immortality. Live the rest of your life peacefully with nature as a mortal.”

The beggar monk followed, bowing as well. “Please sacrifice yourself,” he said earnestly. “So the world may never again fall into chaos.”

The Purification Monk bowed next, her tone solemn. “This is the best outcome for everyone.”

The Dragon King and Dragon Queen bowed in turn, their movements formal and practiced. “For the sake of peace,” the Dragon Queen said, “we ask you to comply.”

I could see straight through them, and it made my stomach churn. Their fear of Wen Yuhan was naked, and their greed was even worse. I stepped forward and spoke before she could answer.

“Let me ask you something,” I said evenly. “Are you asking this for the good of the world?” I looked at each of them in turn. “Or are you asking because you’re coveting her Immortal Art?”

Immortal Arts were impossibly rare, rarer even than reaching Ascended Soul, and far more difficult to manifest. Wen Yuhan’s Destiny Seeking Eyes were, to people like them, a treasure that could shake eras. Of course they wanted it gone, or better yet, taken.

Their reactions were immediate.

Spiritual pressure crashed down on me like a mountain, violent and merciless, five Perfect Immortals releasing their intent at once. The air screamed, the ground cracked, and my bones creaked under the weight. I shrugged it off and looked at them calmly.

“If that’s not the case,” I asked, my voice steady despite the pressure, “then why are you reacting so aggressively?”

Wen Yuhan’s calm finally fractured. Her voice sharpened, anger bleeding through the restraint she had maintained until now. “If I were to do as you requested,” she said coldly, “would you truly let me live the rest of my days peacefully as a mortal or would you simply find another excuse once I became helpless?”

Gu Jie stepped forward slightly and spoke in an even tone. “If trust is the concern, contracts bound by quintessence can be used,” she said. “With quintessence as the binding power, neither side could violate the terms without paying a catastrophic price.”

The beggar monk snorted, the sound full of disdain. “Enough,” the Redemption Monk said irritably. “I have tolerated enough disruptions today.” His eyes flicked toward Gu Jie and then toward me. “And enough rudeness from those who shouldn’t even be speaking.”

I understood immediately. To them, Gu Jie and I were insignificant. Eighth Realm cultivators had no right to interrupt a conversation among Perfect Immortals, much less propose solutions. From their perspective, every word we spoke was an insult layered on top of another insult.

The Dragon King laughed dryly. “Quintessence,” he said, shaking his head. “You speak of it as if it were simple.” His gaze was mocking. “Even those of our realm struggle to wield it properly.”

I sighed, feeling my patience thin. “Oh,” I said casually, “is that so?”

I raised my hand and condensed quintessence without ceremony, shaping it into a warm loaf of honey bread. Steam rose faintly as I took a bite. I chewed, swallowed, and looked back at him. “What was that again?”

The courtyard fell into stunned silence.

For a brief moment, no one spoke. Even the dragons froze, eyes widening despite themselves. The monks stiffened, their expressions cracking before discipline dragged them back into composure. It did not take long for them to recover, but the shock had already landed.

The Dragon Queen’s face twisted. “Trickery,” she snapped. “Illusions and sleight of hand!”

I didn’t bother arguing. I formed another honey bread with my other hand and tossed it lazily in her direction. It struck her cheek, bounced once, and fell to the ground at her feet. The motion was so unexpected that she froze, staring first at the bread I was still eating, then at the one lying near her boots.

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

The air shifted violently. Clouds churned overhead, winds picking up as heaven and earth reacted to the rising hostility. Spiritual pressure thickened, lightning flickering faintly in the distance as if the sky itself was growing impatient.

“I’ve had enough,” the Dragon Queen said, her voice trembling with rage. “Enough humiliation.” She turned slightly and said, “Seeker, do not interfere.”

The Dragon King followed immediately. “This does not concern you, Seeker,” he said firmly. “Let it play out. Someone of inferior blood and cultivation like this mongrel had to be taught their place in the hierarchy!”

Wen Yuhan closed her eyes for a brief moment. When she opened them again, her expression was distant. “I won’t intervene,” she said calmly. “But remember this. Sometimes, things are not what they seem.”

The Dragon Queen scoffed. “Then I’ll simply teach an inferior his place in the hierarchy.”

Hei Mao stepped forward, shadows rolling off his feet. “As the disciple of Da Wei,” he said evenly, “I will handle this.”

The elder monk frowned. “Do nothing unnecessary,” the Adjudication Monk warned. “And who exactly is Da Wei supposed to be?”

I smiled and stepped forward. “That would be me.”

Before anyone could react, I activated Flash Step, and I vanished from where I stood, reappearing directly in front of the Dragon Queen. She sneered, already moving. “Too slow,” she said as her world force crashed down on me like a descending sea. “Now, this immortal shall teach you a lesson about etiquette! Grit your teeth for me, boy!”

A spear flashed into existence from her pocket dimension, its edge screaming as it swung toward my neck. The weapon passed straight through my body as I activated the innate intangibility of the Ghost Path, the blade cutting nothing but air where I stood.

“Wow,” I remarked with a dull tone. “That was almost scary.”

I moved the moment her spear passed through my intangible body, letting the Ghost Path fade as my feet settled firmly into reality. Being this close, I started with Stagger, a sharp twist of force aimed at ruining her balance rather than hurting her outright. Her center of gravity slipped for a split instant, and that was all I needed. I could not keep my ghostly state while attacking, so I leaned slightly to my right, trusting my soul’s perception as it showed me the choice she made, the decision to press the attack instead of retreating.

A beam of compressed qi screamed past my neck, close enough that it burned my skin and shaved off a few strands of hair. I kicked forward without hesitation, War Smite crashing into her knee with brutal precision. Her leg buckled, and she fell forward toward me, but there was no panic in her eyes. She stomped her right foot into the ground, forcing her body back up, and swung her spear in a vicious diagonal slash meant to split me from shoulder to waist.

It never landed. My fist met her face first, Divine Smite detonating on impact as bone cracked beneath my knuckles. Blood sprayed from her nose as her head snapped back, yet I knew even then that it would never be enough to kill her. This was not about killing. This was about breaking something deeper.

In truth, I was still an entire three realms below her, and that difference mattered more than pride or confidence ever could. Even so, that gap did not stop me from giving her the full Da Wei experience, the kind you remembered long after the wounds healed.

“Judgment Severance,” I said calmly.

A golden rift shaped like a cross tore open above us, light roaring outward as it swallowed every trace of supernatural energy in the area. Qi, techniques, bloodline power, and authority were stripped away in an instant, devoured by the absolute rule of the art. Gasps echoed from every direction. I saw shock on the faces of the monks and the Dragon King, while Hei Mao and Gu Jie remained still, as if they had expected this outcome all along.

The Dragon Queen’s eyes widened in horror as her qi drained away, leaving her suddenly grounded and exposed. I did not waste the moment. I stepped in and threw a clean one-two, my fists smashing into her face again, splitting skin and swelling flesh as blood stained her cheeks.

The shape of my soul was a cross, a symbol of choice and sometimes of burden. With that shape came clarity, an endless spread of paths unfolding before me. I leaned into the most optimal one, the route that let me deal the most punishment in the shortest time, without hesitation or mercy.

While Judgment Severance held, I became relentless. My fists moved like hammers guided by intent rather than rage. I struck her cheek, then her jaw, followed by her throat, forcing air from her lungs. My knuckles dug into her eye, then her side, then her solar plexus, each hit timed to break rhythm and breath. I drove another punch into her chest, catching her breast and ribs together, then snapped my fist back into her eye again. I followed with a sharp blow to her philtrum, crushed her nose once more, and finally seized her throat with Monkey Grip as the golden rift above us began to fade.

Her struggles were clumsy and slow, and that told me everything I needed to know. This was likely her first time being dragged down to this level, stripped of power and forced to rely on raw instinct. That shock was exactly how I caught her off guard and beat her so thoroughly.

Before Judgment Severance fully disappeared, I cast it again.

“Judgment Severance,” I said once more, my voice steady and clear. The golden cross tore open anew as I looked down at her and spoke plainly. “Someone really ought to teach you kids to respect your elders more.”

I pinned the Dragon Queen to the ground with one hand, my palm pressing down on her collarbone as cracks spread through the stone beneath her. With my other hand, I drove my fist into her face again and again, Divine Smite erupting with radiant force each time it landed. Light burst outward with every impact, washing her bloodied features in gold before smashing them back into ruin. Her head snapped side to side under the blows, scales flickering uselessly as her body failed to rise.

She began to whimper, the sound raw and broken, drowned out by the sickening rhythm of flesh and bone being struck. The echo of each punch rang sharp and repetitive like a drumbeat of judgment. Every time I felt Judgment Severance nearing its end, I poured quintessence into another casting without pause, the golden cross tearing open again and again to strip her of everything she relied on. I stared down at her in disbelief, unable to reconcile this level of weakness with the title of Perfect Immortal.

Even cultivators of the Ninth or Tenth Realm from my era would have reacted better than this. They would have forced distance, escaped with strange arts, or met me head-on in a brutal exchange without qi. This Dragon Queen did none of that. As I continued, the thought settled in that this era must have been far more peaceful than my own, softened by long stretches of stability that dulled the edge of survival.

A sudden pressure flared to my left. The Dragon King appeared there in a blur, rage twisting his face as he moved to intervene. Before he could act, I spoke calmly. “Castling.” Space folded instantly, and Hei Mao vanished from where he stood, replaced by me, while Hei Mao appeared exactly where I had been standing.

“I leave it to you,” I said, stepping back.

Hei Mao did not disappoint. He stomped once, hard, and the Dragon Queen’s body sank straight into the shadow as if swallowed by liquid darkness.

The Dragon King screamed, his voice cracking. “What did you do to her!?” His fury exploded outward, but Hei Mao only looked down at him, unimpressed.

Hei Mao’s scarf lashed outward, unraveling into thin red strings that cut through the air. They carved lines across the Dragon King’s body, shallow but numerous, forcing him to raise a barrier spell while relying on his dragon flesh to endure the rest.

“This isn’t your place to interfere, interloper,” The Purification Monk struck at that moment, her palm glowing as she aimed for Hei Mao’s side. “I shall teach you a lesson to remember.”

Hei Mao stepped aside with minimal movement, his scarf snapping back to form a shield. In the same motion, he grabbed the Dragon King by the arm, twisted his body mid-air, and drove a War Smite into his face. The impact detonated with a dull boom, sending the Dragon King flying across the courtyard.

The shadows covering the area churned violently, surging upward as if alive. They nearly swallowed the Purification Monk whole, forcing her into an undignified hop to escape. The Redemption Monk followed through immediately, summoning a staff from his pocket dimension and swinging it down with force meant to crush bone.

Out of the blue, the Dragon King blurred, appearing directly in front of me, blood on his lips and madness in his eyes. “You will pay dearly for disrespecting my wife,” he roared, his aura flaring wildly.

He drew his arm back, power condensing violently around his fist as he shouted the name of his art. “Dragon Tyrant’s Fist.”

The Dragon King’s fist never reached me.

Before the pressure behind Dragon Tyrant’s Fist could fully bloom, something subtly shifted like the moment before a storm broke. The shadows around Hei Mao suddenly stopped moving.

Then they listened.

Hei Mao exhaled, slow and measured, and for the first time since the guests arrived, his spiritual pressure rose without restraint. It did not explode outward like the dragons’ fury or the monks’ righteous intent. It sank downward instead, heavy and absolute, pressing straight into the soul.

The courtyard groaned.

Stone cracked in spiderweb patterns beneath everyone’s feet, and the air thickened until breathing felt like dragging lungs through mud. Even I felt the pressure. It was muted and distant, but unmistakable. This wasn’t the pressure of cultivation alone. This was something layered, structured, and intentional.

Hei Mao spoke quietly, yet his voice echoed as if the space itself had bent to carry it.

“I did tell my Senior Sister and Master that I would handle this,” he said calmly. “So you have to understand that I am doing this not to look bad in front of them.”

Quintessence leaked out of him not in clean streams, but in violent, irregular pulses. It bled through the seams of reality, tinged black and gold, divine radiance threading through abyssal shadow. The sight made my scalp prickle.

The Dragon King tried to move.

A brief golden burst flared around his body, instinctive and desperate, but Hei Mao’s shadows slithered over his skin like living ink, crawling across scales and flesh alike.

“Rest,” Hei Mao said.

The word carried weight.

The Dragon King’s eyes rolled back, his aura collapsed, and he dropped straight down in front of me, hitting the ground with a dull, unceremonious thud as if he had simply fallen asleep mid-thought.

One by one, it spread.

The Redemption Monk stiffened, his staff slipping from his fingers before his knees buckled. The Purification Monk’s lips parted as if to shout, but no sound came out. Both of them collapsed just as plainly, their spiritual pressure snuffed out like candles under a bell jar.

Silence followed.

The Adjudication Monk remained standing.

His thick eyebrows lifted as his eyes opened wide, genuine shock finally breaking through his cultivated composure. He looked from the unconscious bodies on the ground to Hei Mao, then back again, as if his mind refused to accept what it had just witnessed.

I watched closely, committing every detail to memory.

Hei Mao had just combined Abyss Sight, Shadow Song, and the Divine Word skill series into a single execution. The resonance was unmistakable. I recognized the Divine Word immediately.

It was Diivne Word: Rest.

Any time of the day, any place, any realm, it was always terrifying in the right hands.

This had to be the “incomplete” Immortal Art he had mentioned before, the one he was still refining. Incomplete or not, the result spoke for itself. Three Perfect Immortals neutralized without a single wasted motion.

The Adjudication Monk finally spoke, his voice slower now, cautious.

“This… has been an unexpected development,” he said. “Where did such a hidden expert like you come from?” His gaze sharpened. “Hmmmm… Are you truly from the Eternal Undeath Cult? I recognize that your shadow techniques share principles with the infamous cult… but I also taste divine principles within them.”

He straightened slightly. “Tell me your name.”

Hei Mao inclined his head, polite but distant. “Hei Mao,” he said evenly. “Fifth Disciple of Da Wei.”

The monk turned toward me immediately, studying me with renewed intensity.

“You have a splendid disciple,” he said. “I can see that he respects you quite a lot.” A pause. Then, deliberately, “What do you think of joining the Monastery?”

I didn’t answer right away.

It was tempting. The Monastery’s resources alone could shorten our path home significantly. Ancient records, spatial anchors, relics tied to destiny and causality, they would have access to all of it.

Still, no amount of resources compared to having an extra pair of Destiny Seeking Eyes walking beside us.

“No thanks,” I said finally. “We’re all good here.”

The Adjudication Monk scoffed. “I see that your arrogance has poisoned your mind just because you have an excellent disciple.” His gaze slid back to Hei Mao. “Hei Mao, is it? Is serving such a master who is clearly your inferior truly to your benefit? The Monastery has many masters and various techniques that surely won’t pale in comparison to someone’s techniques of lesser cultivation.”

I almost laughed.

People of this era valued realms far too rigidly. The ability to fully hide spiritual pressure clearly hadn’t matured yet. The Human Soul had survived countless assassination attempts in my time, and creativity thrived when killing was an art. Compared to that, these guests were practically shouting their intentions at the heavens.

Their spiritual pressure was loud, crude, and too obvious.

Hei Mao said nothing. Instead, he lifted a hand.

The shadows he had scattered throughout the courtyard flowed back toward him like obedient streams returning to the sea. As they gathered, a small shape detached itself from his shadow.

A blob of darkness leapt out, vaguely cat-like, with bright, intelligent eyes. It spat out the thoroughly beaten and unconscious Dragon Queen with surprising indignation, then hopped back to Hei Mao’s feet.

Hei Mao looked at the Adjudication Monk.

“Things are not as they seem to appear,” he said calmly. “I suggest you take them along and leave before I change my mind.” His eyes flicked briefly toward me. “If it were Master, he’d at least kill you once if you stay stubborn in your ways.”

I frowned. “Hey,” I said. “Do you really see me as like that, Hei Mao? I feel hurt.”

Hei Mao didn’t even look back. “You are quick to temper, Master,” he replied flatly. “I told you I would handle it, but you just have to show them, huh?”

I sighed inwardly.

Oh, come on… they were annoying to the bones and couldn’t seem capable of holding a proper conversation.

The Adjudication Monk studied us for a long moment, then nodded slowly.

“I will remember this,” he said.

He gestured.

Multiple spells erupted simultaneously from the unconscious monks and dragons. It ranged from containment arrays, transportation seals, and layered recovery formations, activating with disciplined precision as light swallowed their bodies one by one.

Just like that, the guests were gone.