Immortal Paladin

434 Six Disciples

[POV: Lu Gao]

The camp was in constant motion.

Lu Gao stood at its center, arms folded, expression carved from stone, as chaos unfolded around him like a marketplace with no rules. Tents rose and fell with every relocation. Campfires burned day and night. Cultivators of wildly different appearances and strengths mingled together, argued, bartered, and shouted as if they had forgotten they were living in the shadow of annihilation.

The resurrected clan elder from the Martial Alliance was being harassed again.

“I’m telling you, old man, just take my money,” a player said, shoving a pouch forward. “I need twenty talismans. Twenty. Don’t scam me.”

The elder’s face twitched. “I have told you,” he snapped, veins bulging at his temple, “writing talismans requires focus, spiritual ink, and—”

“Yeah, yeah, cooldowns and stamina, got it,” the player waved him off.

Nearby, a cultivator from the Federation of the Promised Dunes was surrounded by three others arguing over medicine ratios. Further away, a former Union weapon refiner slammed a cracked blade onto his anvil with a curse.

“That is the eleventh one today,” he growled, deliberately snapping the weapon in half as a player leaned too close. “Ask me again, and I will forge it wrong on purpose.”

Lu Gao did not react.

Internally, he sighed.

He understood his path. He had accepted it the moment his master entrusted him with the Hell Soul. Roam the world. Gather the scattered forces. Rebuild what had been shattered.

But these people.

A player was punching a tree repeatedly. With each strike, fruit dropped from its branches. Another rushed in to collect them.

“I was farming that!” the first shouted.

“You walked away,” the second shot back. “Loot’s free!”

The fruit itself looked painfully ordinary. Lu Gao recognized it immediately. Poisonheart fig. Lethal if eaten raw. Useful if processed correctly.

“I found the recipe!” one of them crowed to his companion. “Turns it into a low-tier poison. Makes hunting mobs way easier early game.”

Lu Gao stared at them for a moment, then looked away.

Paladins, he had once believed, were beings of virtue. Warriors of discipline and restraint. Champions of righteousness.

These players shattered that image daily.

Still, he was learning.

Gamer slang, his master called it. Lu Gao absorbed it through the faint connection granted by the Hell Soul. Da Wei’s voice would occasionally echo in his mind, calm and steady.

Maintain presence. Give structure. Speak in quests. Aura and grandeur matter.

Aura.

Lu Gao had briefly wondered if that meant releasing killing intent and suppressing them into obedience. His master clarified, with mild amusement, that it did not.

They had been moving constantly. Never staying long enough to become a target. Setting tents, dismantling them, then moving again. Skirting the western territories, combing battlefields and ruined cities for remnants of Asura Soul’s coalition.

They had recovered Guardians, survivors of the Holy Empire, and idealistic cultivators who had once sworn loyalty to Da Wei.

Lu Gao had gathered them and spoken plainly.

“Remain stoic,” he told the Guardians and the other cultivators. “Think of the players as paladins born of the Holy Emperor’s flesh.”

Strangely enough, that explanation worked.

The resurrected accepted the players’ eccentricities far more easily afterward, attributing their bizarre behavior to divine inheritance rather than madness.

A sudden shout cut through the noise.

Two level ten players were fighting near the edge of camp, rolling through the dirt and swinging wildly.

A Guardian leaned close to Lu Gao. “Should we stop them?”

Lu Gao did not even turn his head. “No.”

The Guardian frowned. “It feels like a waste of resurrection.”

Lu Gao exhaled slowly.

Players were absurd creatures. As long as the Holy Emperor lived, they resurrected endlessly. Moreover, they have the ability to grow quickly. Their inability to truly fear death made them reckless to the point of madness.

Some had already surpassed level one hundred. Fourth Realm equivalents.

Their suicidal charges terrified cultivators two or even three realms above them.

Lu Gao closed his eyes briefly and reached outward.

He had not been idle.

Hell crows circled far beyond the camp, invisible to most eyes. His summons scoured battlefields, ruins, and forgotten burial grounds. They marked corpses worth reclaiming. They whispered of survivors.

With the Hell Soul, his strength had grown terrifyingly fast.

Perhaps not equal to his master.

But close enough to stand beneath his shadow.

Another commotion erupted.

This one drew his attention.

A group of high-level players approached, straining as they dragged a wooden cart. One of Lu Gao’s quests had been simple. It was to retrieve corpses, so that he could resurrect them.

But this?

A battered man staggered at the front of the group, blood drying on his robes. On his back was another figure, unconscious, barely breathing.

Lu Gao recognized them instantly.

It was Tao Long and Shouquan.

Tao Long’s eyes widened as he spotted Lu Gao standing atop the stone platform. For a moment, disbelief overtook exhaustion.

“So it’s true,” Tao Long said hoarsely. “The Holy Empire hasn’t truly fallen.”

…

..

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[POV: Ren Jingyi]

They had been forced to move constantly through the forest.

No matter how carefully the camp was concealed, enemies would eventually find traces of them. Sometimes it was a scouting beast. Sometimes a probing formation. Sometimes a sudden raid that descended without warning. Each time it happened, Ren Jingyi felt a quiet tightening in her chest, a reminder that survival here demanded motion.

That was when she began to focus on formations.

She was not particularly skilled at them. Not yet. Her attempts were clumsy, inefficient, and prone to collapse under pressure. In the end, she had no choice but to rely on Elder Da Ji.

With Da Ji’s illusions layered over the forest, the camp finally vanished from hostile senses. The players had gathered materials tirelessly, hauling spirit wood, illusion crystals, and beast cores until Da Ji could weave a veil thick enough to deceive even seasoned cultivators.

To push things further, Ren Jingyi asked the players to help construct the formation itself.

Somewhere along the way, it escalated.

By the time she realized what was happening, a full shrine stood at the heart of the camp, stone steps leading upward, incense burning day and night, and a statue carved in her likeness placed reverently at its center.

Her likeness.

According to her master, who spoke through the Animal Soul with barely concealed amusement, one of the players possessed exceptional artistic talent. The game’s trade professions, he explained, allowed players to immerse themselves deeply into craftsmanship, blurring the boundary between role and reality.

Ren Jingyi did not fully understand what he meant.

But she could not deny the results.

Slowly, steadily, they were making progress toward reclaiming New Willow.

That goal, however, remained frustratingly distant.

New Willow was mobile. A flying island that drifted freely through the skies. Infiltrating it directly was nearly impossible. For now, all she could do was prepare.

She invested her time into three things: building soaring vessels, taming flying beasts, and engraving formations across the land they currently occupied.

Da Ji handled most of the complex work. Ren Jingyi learned as she went, guided by the Animal Soul. Beast taming came naturally to her, instinctive and smooth. The other two tasks were far more difficult, demanding patience she did not always possess.

Within the shrine, things were busier than usual.

She had summoned multiple Ezekiels, identical in form but limited in function, to act as interaction points for the players. Weapons. Skills. Instruction. Quests.

Still, complaints arose.

“This place is so bland,” one player muttered. “Barely any named NPCs.”

Another scoffed. “Should we change servers?”

Ren Jingyi felt the urge to smack them. She resisted with visible effort.

Someone else laughed. “At least this place has the cutest NPC.”

She lifted her chin slightly.

She was indeed cute.

“I’d die happy if I could just see Da Ji once,” another player said wistfully.

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Ren Jingyi’s mood immediately soured.

“What about the goldfish lady?” someone asked.

Excuse me?

“She’s weird,” another replied.

Weird?

“I saw her eating her booger,” a voice added.

Ren Jingyi stiffened.

She was not. Never. That was slander.

A player approached the shrine and bowed lightly, quest complete. Ren Jingyi glanced down and recognized him.

The tiger-man.

Mukul, she believed.

He had been performing well lately. Very well. His level had already reached one hundred and fifty, surpassing many players under Lu Gao’s command. She approved of diligence when she saw it.

Before she could speak further, a commotion broke out near the edge of the camp.

At first, she assumed it was another dispute between newcomers. Then she caught fragments of conversation.

“New NPCs?”

“Another storyline?”

Her attention sharpened.

Ren Jingyi stepped out of the shrine.

Two familiar figures stood just beyond the formation’s edge.

Zai Ai of the Ten Thousand Tools.

And her disciple, Mao Xian.

Ren Jingyi’s eyes widened. She stepped forward at once. “What are you doing here?”

Zai Ai smiled faintly. “I came to help you build your ships,” she said. “And to raise this little patch of land into the sky.”

Ren Jingyi’s lips curved into a wide grin.

Perhaps luck truly was a skill.

“What do you need?” she asked without hesitation.

…

..

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[POV: Hei Mao]

Hei Mao had been working relentlessly for the past few years, and the same could be said for his sibling-disciples.

While most of them focused on raising armies and consolidating visible power, his efforts unfolded in the shadows. He rebuilt what could be salvaged from the remnants of the Shadow Clan and the Night Blades, stitching together a covert formation network that stretched across borders, sects, and continents.

The Shadow Clan had suffered catastrophic losses. Most of their core members and essential personnel had been stationed within the Holy Empire when it fell, leaving only scattered survivors. The Night Blades fared little better. They had been subjected to targeted purges by both the Heavenly Temple and the Union, their assassination routes compromised, their informants uprooted one by one.

None of that stopped Hei Mao.

The arrival of the players changed everything.

According to his master, speaking through the Ghost Soul, players possessed an absurd learning capacity. As long as they had the appropriate statistics or skill points, they could absorb techniques, crafts, and disciplines that would take ordinary cultivators decades to master.

That insight became the foundation of Hei Mao’s work.

With the surviving Shadow Clan operatives and Night Blade veterans as instructors, he refined the players into spies, infiltrators, and information brokers. The result was terrifyingly effective.

Too effective.

The players did not simply follow established paths. They created their own.

They developed strange “builds,” branching specializations that combined espionage, social manipulation, combat, and crafting in ways that even Hei Mao found unsettling. Some of the configurations were brilliant. Others were disasters waiting to happen. All of them were unpredictable.

That unpredictability was their greatest strength and their greatest weakness.

When a player was exposed as a spy, it was rarely due to a conventional mistake. It was because they did something no rational infiltrator would ever do.

One seduced a politically important woman for no strategic reason and succeeded. Another stole precious pills they had not been ordered to retrieve. Some punched trees repeatedly in public spaces for weird reasons. Others started fighting each other in the middle of a street for reasons no report could adequately explain.

Hei Mao pressed his fingers to his forehead.

Ye Yong, captain of the Night Blades, stood across from him. “Are you well?” she asked.

He did not answer immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the parchment spread across the table.

The study hall was a secure chamber, layered with concealment formations and sound isolation arrays. It was where he handled reports and coordination when he was not personally in the field.

And yet, the document before him made him question whether reality itself had begun to unravel.

One of the players had infiltrated the Heavenly Temple.

Not only that, the report detailed how the player had discovered a hidden prison holding individuals of apparent importance, as well as evidence of an army being amassed in secrecy.

Hei Mao narrowed his eyes.

The player’s name was listed as Seven.

According to the report, Seven had defected intentionally, talked his way into the enemy’s trust, seduced his commander, and married her as the woman’s concubine.

Now, he was being groomed by the Heavenly Temple to join the war as a commander.

Hei Mao stared at the parchment in silence.

He handed it to Ye Yong. “Am I reading this correctly?”

Ye Yong scanned the document. Her expression shifted rapidly from disbelief to irritation, then to outright anger.

“Should we summon Lady Liang Na?” she asked coldly. “This traitor needs to be dealt with.”

Hei Mao considered it.

Then he shook his head.

“Not yet,” he said. “Leave Seven where he is.”

Ye Yong frowned. “You think he can still be used?”

“There is always a way,” Hei Mao replied. “Especially with players.”

After a brief pause, he added, “Support him quietly. From the shadows. Do not interfere unless absolutely necessary.”

Ye Yong nodded, though her displeasure was evident.

As she departed, Hei Mao leaned back slightly, eyes half-lidded.

Players truly were terrifying.

And if wielded correctly, they would be the sharpest blades the world had ever seen.

…

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[POV: Yuen Fu]

Yuen Fu no longer called them players.

Master had insisted through the Heaven Soul that such a term was unimmersive and disrespectful to the role they played in this world. Because of that, Yuen Fu referred to them as the Holy Warriors of Heaven. Sometimes, he called them the Blessed. On rare occasions, Paladins.

Before him sat Yi Qiu inside his study hall. His complexion was pale, his breathing shallow. Standing beside him was his daughter, Yi Chan, her hands clenched tightly as she watched her father with anxious eyes.

“It is unfortunate that the Holy Empire had to fall like this,” Yuen Fu said. “Master once promised you a safe place.”

Yi Qiu gave a weak smile. “In times like these, no place is truly safe.”

They had met like this countless times.

Yuen Fu reported calmly, “The plague has been slowed. My Immortal Corps have purged several districts. However, the pace is far from ideal.”

Yi Qiu bowed his head slightly. “Then I must thank you. And your Immortal Corps. Their sacrifices are not forgotten.”

“There is no need for thanks between friends,” Yuen Fu replied. “This is what my master desires.”

Yi Chan hesitated before speaking. “But Father’s condition… it is worsening, isn’t it?”

Yi Qiu suddenly coughed, his body convulsing. Blood stained the cloth in his hand.

“Father!” Yi Chan cried. “Please, do not force yourself anymore!”

Yuen Fu stepped forward and placed his palm near Yi Qiu’s chest. Holy light flowed gently into him.

“This will ease the pain,” Yuen Fu said, “but it will not cure you.”

Yi Qiu exhaled slowly. “I know. I have been burning my blood to suppress it. My time is short.”

He raised his gaze and looked directly at Yuen Fu.

“When the day comes,” Yi Qiu said, his voice steady despite his state, “when you and the Immortal Corps confront that monster… Conquest… bring me with you.”

Yi Chan turned sharply. “Father, no!”

Yuen Fu answered without hesitation. “You have my word.”

Yi Qiu nodded, satisfied.

Yuen Fu left the study hall soon after, his thoughts heavy with unease.

The enemy had been far too quiet. That silence meant preparation. Something terrible was being forged in the dark. New monsters had begun appearing alongside the plague creatures. Creatures master referred to as kobolds, goblins, undead, and others. Their arrival drove the Holy Warriors into fervent activity.

“More mobs! More mobs!” one shouted.

“Group up, group up!” another yelled.

“Let’s earn enough EXP to make the next expedition easier!”

Among the sibling-disciples, Yuen Fu commanded the largest number of high-level Holy Warriors.

He stood at the courtyard, watching them spar under the guidance of Martial Alliance elders.

Then chaos erupted.

“All EXP is mine!” one Holy Warrior shouted.

“Get off him, I tagged first!” another screamed.

They swarmed a lone elder in the center, attacking relentlessly.

The elder shouted in outrage. “Have you lost your minds?!”

Yuen Fu sighed quietly. “This is exactly why master worries.”

Suddenly, he felt a presence. It was subtle and familiar.

He vanished.

At the edge of the city, a small figure staggered forward.

“Tan Jin?” Yuen Fu called out.

She looked up slowly.

“Yuen Fu… Did I get that right?”

She was far smaller than he remembered. Barely half her former height.

“What happened to you?” he asked. “Why are you like this?”

Tan Jin smiled weakly. “I sacrificed most of myself just to live. Just to make it here. I am glad… the Martial Alliance still stands.”

Yuen Fu knelt and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Rest. You are safe now.”

Holy light flowed into her. Her breathing steadied. Her body finally gave out, and she collapsed forward.

Yuen Fu caught her.

As he looked back toward the city, he spoke softly to himself.

“This is good. Slowly, our forces are returning.”

He tightened his grip.

“This is our second wind. We will not waste it.”

…

..

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[POV: Ding Cai]

Inside a vast dome of sand, Ding Cai worked without rest.

Roots spread beneath the dunes like veins, reinforcing the structure from below, while layered formations distorted visibility and perception. From the outside, the place barely existed. From within, it had become a growing hub of resistance.

Ding Cai stood over a series of ancient tablets laid out carefully before her. Her fingers brushed over the eroded inscriptions, eyes narrowing in concentration.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding,” she murmured softly. “A mechanism disguised as history.”

Nearby, Wu Chen sat cross-legged, both palms pressed against a strange tree embedded deep within the sand. Its bark pulsed faintly with light as its roots shifted beneath the dome. She frowned, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“It’s resisting less now,” Wu Chen said, her voice low. “The land remembers this thing. Or perhaps… it recognizes it.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Ding Cai replied without looking up.

She straightened, gaze drifting back to the tablets. No matter how she rearranged the fragments, they all pointed toward the same conclusion.

The secret of the Promised Dunes was not a weapon.

It was a switch.

“How does something like this decide whether master lives or dies?” she muttered. “What kind of place are you… really?”

Master’s voice reached her through the Human Soul, light and encouraging, deliberately casual.

“You’re doing fine. Better than fine, actually. Don’t rush it.”

Ding Cai snorted quietly. “Easy for you to say.”

At the center of the dome, Peng Ru stood before a group of players, her posture relaxed but authoritative.

“You,” Peng Ru said, pointing at one of them. “Stop staring and listen. If you bring me broken relics again, I will personally send you back out to retrieve proper ones.”

The player laughed nervously. “Yes, Instructor Peng!”

Beside her, an Ezekiel calmly arranged items on a counter. When another player approached, it spoke in an even tone.

“Relics accepted. Materials exchanged. Prices adjusted for contribution ranking.”

The settlement buzzed with activity.

Players came and went, some dust-covered from battle, others arguing loudly about rewards or routes. Ding Cai watched them for a brief moment, her expression conflicted.

“They’re growing faster than expected,” she said quietly.

Wu Chen glanced at her. “That troubles you?”

“It shouldn’t,” she replied. “They don’t need us hovering over them. Half of them could kill a cultivator a realm above if they worked together.”

She paused, then sighed.

“And yet… this place has grown too quickly. Their immortality allows them to work non-stop.”

Wu Chen followed her gaze toward the far edge of the dome, where refugees clustered together. Worn faces. Tired eyes. People who had nowhere else to go.

“They came because they believe this place can protect them,” she said.

“Yes,” Ding Cai answered. “And that belief will expose us sooner or later.”

She turned back to the tablets, irritation flickering across her face.

“I’m getting distracted.”

She raised her hand and summoned an Ezekiel. Then another. They appeared silently, kneeling.

“Begin construction of additional facilities,” Ding Cai ordered. “Storage first. Then living quarters.”

One of the Ezekiels inclined its head. “Materials will be required.”

“Coordinate with Peng Ru,” Ding Cai said. “Have her issue gathering quests. Prioritize sustainability.”

The Ezekiels vanished to carry out their tasks.

Ding Cai exhaled slowly and returned her attention to the tablets, resolve settling in her eyes.

“Base-building,” she murmured to herself. “You were right again, master.”

Her fingers traced the ancient symbols once more.

“And whatever this secret is, I will uncover it before it uncovers us.”

…

..

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[POV: Ren Zhe]

Within the depths of the Holy Empire, in Riverfall’s forgotten reaches, Ren Zhe had established her base of operations.

The Hidden Land of Dragons lay folded within space itself, accessible only through her dragon bloodline. Even surrounded by enemy territory, it was a place that could not be easily found, let alone displaced. Ancient stone pillars curved overhead like ribs, and beneath them rested the throne of the late Dragon King. Ren Zhe sat upon it, her small frame almost swallowed by its size, feet dangling slightly above the ground.

At her side stood Ru Qiu.

Her feelings toward him were tangled and uneasy. He was the same man who had slaughtered her mother and elder sisters, even if Ru Qiu’s mind had been twisted and broken by others. Hatred lingered, quiet but sharp. Yet reason prevailed. She needed his strength, and she knew it.

Though her appearance and emotional instincts leaned toward that of a child, Ren Zhe understood herself well enough to know that when it mattered, she could choose correctly.

Through the Asura Soul, her master’s voice reached her.

“You’re doing well,” he said. “I trust you.”

Her lips curved into a faint smile. Another presence stirred within her, his tone serious.

“If you mess it up,” her twin soul chimed cheerfully, “I can always take over.”

Ren Zhe huffed softly. “I’m not letting you. I will do my part well. Just cultivate within me, for now…”

Before her throne, the settlement buzzed with activity.

Players moved through the cavernous halls, interacting with the few survivors and experts she had gathered through Ru Qiu’s efforts across the Holy Empire. Jiang Zhen stood behind a long table covered in talismans and strange materials, while his disciple Fan Shi instructed a group of players with sharp gestures.

“No, don’t pull it out like that,” Fan Shi snapped. “If the corpse collapses, you lose the core. Again.”

Nearby, Sikao Biaoji of the late Grand Ascension Empire inspected a blade with critical eyes as players lined up.

“This weapon can withstand three more full-force activations,” he said. “After that, it breaks. Don’t waste it.”

Members of the Isolation Path Sect sparred openly with newer players, their movements restrained but precise, offering just enough pressure to force growth without killing intent. Not far from them, Iron Bull Zhu Shin, newly resurrected, laughed thunderously as he corrected a player’s stance.

“Lower your center of gravity,” Zhu Shin boomed. “You fight like a reed in the wind.”

A small settlement had begun to take shape at the edges of the hidden land. Tents, makeshift homes, and cooking fires marked the presence of civilians who had survived the war with nothing but their lives.

Ren Zhe closed her eyes and sank inward.

She could feel it. The Asura Soul had not fully fused with her yet. Power stirred within her, vast and violent, but still unrefined. Time was short. Before the final battle arrived, she needed to grow stronger. Much stronger.

She opened her eyes and turned toward Ru Qiu.

“Train me,” she said plainly.

Ru Qiu looked down at her. His abyss-like eyes held no warmth, only depth, and when his gaze met hers, a chill crept up her spine. Then, slowly, he smiled.

“Can you take it?” he asked. “I won’t hold back.”

Ren Zhe’s small hands clenched against the arms of the throne. Fear flickered, brief and honest, before being swallowed by resolve. Her twin soul resonated within her, lending strength and clarity.

She met his gaze without flinching.

“Yes,” Ren Zhe said. “I can take it.”