Immortal Paladin

475 Origin Art

“Ox-Head, you know this guy?” I asked as I looked down at Herald pinned beneath the crater. “He seemed to recognize you.”

“You horned livestock,” the Herald sneered weakly, spitting venom again. “A mutt servant licking the boots of monkeys. I should’ve known one of your kind would end up groveling before inferior species.”

That was enough.

“Divine Word: Rest.”

With Ophanim amplifying the command, the divine word struck him like a hammer. His body went limp instantly. The Herald collapsed unconscious in the dirt.

Ox-Head released his Immortal Art.

The massive brass bull dissolved, shrinking back into his usual half-man, half-bull form. He kept his weapon ready though, clearly unwilling to relax around someone like this.

After studying the Herald carefully, Ox-Head spoke.

“I believe this is an Origin God,” he said slowly. “He used an Origin Art, so that makes sense.”

I was already considering my next step. Divine Possession would let me extract information directly from his memories. If this guy really was connected to the so-called Origin, learning what he knew could be incredibly valuable.

Just as I was about to try it, Gu Jie’s voice stopped me cold.

“Father, don’t even think about it.”

I turned toward her.

She was hovering in the air nearby, staring at the unconscious Herald with an expression that was unusually tense for her.

I raised my hands lightly.

“Relax,” I said. “I was only thinking about it. You don’t need to look like I’m about to poke a sleeping dragon.”

Her expression didn’t soften much.

“You are exactly the kind of person who would poke a sleeping dragon just to see what happens,” she replied flatly. “Sadly, I think the dragon would have a harsher time than you would, Father. But this is a different matter, entirely.”

I scratched my cheek.

Well, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Still, she was probably correct this time. Using Divine Possession on something tied to the Origin sounded like the sort of reckless move that could explode in my face. And while I had a long history of reckless moves somehow working out for me, I wasn’t quite desperate enough to gamble on that right now.

Looking at Gu Jie more carefully, I realized something.

She was shaken.

Not visibly panicked, but definitely unsettled.

That Herald had managed to approach our city without her noticing until the last moment. For someone like her who relied heavily on perception and cultivation awareness, that kind of blind spot must have felt terrifying.

I decided not to press the issue.

Instead I nodded toward the crowd gathering beyond the ruins.

“Gu Jie,” I said gently, “go talk to the people. Tell them everything’s under control and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“I understand, Father.”

With that, she flew off toward the pilgrims and residents who were watching the scene with anxious expressions.

Joan stepped forward next. Her divine form had already faded, though the faint aura of Ephryn still lingered around her.

“I will leave this to you, my lord,” she said.

I sighed.

“Come on, Joan,” I replied. “You can be more casual with me, you know. I thought it was just my imagination, but it really feels like you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder lately.”

“Fine, I’ll be frank. This world is going to end soon, and I don’t like it. I told you I wouldn’t blame you for the choices you made. But things are not good, Da Wei.”

I winced.

I hadn’t realized she felt that strongly about it.

What exactly had she and Gu Jie discovered in their dungeon research?

Before I could ask further questions, Joan simply turned and walked away, clearly done with the conversation. That left me standing there with Ru Qiu and Ox-Head.

“That Origin Art he used looked dangerous,” said Ru Qiu thoughtfully. “And it didn’t seem affected by the strange conditions of this world either.”

He looked at Ox-Head.

“So what exactly is an Origin God?”

Ox-Head let out a long sigh.

“Worshippers of the Origin,” he began. “They existed during the Age of Divinity, a faction of gods who believed everything in existence would eventually return to the Origin.”

He crossed his arms as he continued.

“They believed in a mythological ending where the entire world collapses back into the beginning of everything. According to them, all creation is just a temporary deviation before returning to the primordial source.”

He glanced at the unconscious Herald with visible disgust.

“Back then, the gods were divided into three major factions. First were the Lost Gods, who followed the banner of the Yellow Emperor. Then there were the Origin Gods, who many believed had vanished long ago. And finally there were the neutral gods like Lady Meng Po, who chose to hide and stay out of the conflict entirely.”

Ox-Head puffed his chest slightly.

“I’ll have you know I was a god during the Age of Divinity too,” he added proudly. “So it makes sense that this fellow recognized me. I might not look like much now, but in my prime I was a mighty warrior who struck fear into the hearts of enemies like these traitors.”

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He scratched his chin thoughtfully.

“Though I don’t remember this particular fellow,” he admitted. “Which means he must be new blood.”

I frowned.

“That doesn’t make much sense,” I said slowly. “You trust your memory that much?”

After all, there must have been countless gods during the Age of Divinity. Just the number of souls inside the False Earth hinted at how vast that era must have been. And this was Ox-Head we were talking about. The same Ox-Head who served Meng Po, the Goddess of Oblivion and Forgetfulness.

“An Origin God doesn’t care for their name,” said Ox-Head. “The only name they care about is the one their messianic figure gave them. I’ve met a lot of ‘Heralds’ before during the Age of Divinity, but not this one.”

Ru Qiu frowned slightly at that.

“A messianic figure?” he asked.

Ox-Head nodded slowly, as though recalling something very old.

“There exists a godly race revered as the most exalted and closest to the Origin itself,” he explained. “They were called the Shén. Among the Origin Gods, their leader was a Shén who thought very differently from the rest of his kin. According to the stories of that era, he was only second to the Yellow Emperor in cunning, and second only to the Buddha of Victorious Fighting when it came to raw strength.”

He paused briefly before continuing.

“During the calamity that ended the Age of Divinity, the Origin Gods mysteriously vanished. The two prevailing theories were that they were either annihilated by the Six Supremes, or they retreated into hiding somewhere beyond the reach of the world.”

He looked down toward the unconscious Herald.

“I certainly didn’t expect to find an Origin God here of all places.”

“Should we just kill this Herald?” asked Ru Qiu bluntly. “We don’t actually have the means to imprison someone like him. Assigning people to watch him would also be a waste of manpower.”

Ox-Head didn’t answer him.

Instead, he turned to me and spoke through Qi Speech, making sure only I could hear.

“Da Wei, we need to talk. Preferably somewhere more private.”

I nodded.

“Ru Qiu, you’re in charge of our prisoner,” I said. “Ox-Head, come with me.”

Ru Qiu stared at me in disbelief.

“So my opinion just gets ignored again, huh?” he complained loudly. “Great. Fantastic. I used to be a terrifying cultivator who struck fear into the hearts of enemies, and now I’m reduced to babysitting racist chickens with one wing. I swear I’m getting less respect by the day.”

I ignored him.

Activating Zealot’s Stride, I launched myself into the sky above New Risendawn.

The ruined city rapidly shrank beneath my feet as I climbed higher into the clouds. Ox-Head followed closely behind me, his large frame surprisingly agile in the air.

We finally stopped above a thick layer of clouds where the city could no longer be seen from below.

Ox-Head raised one hand.

A faint ripple spread outward as he conjured a sound barrier, isolating the space around us from the outside world.

He could have simply spoken through Qi Speech if he wanted secrecy, so the fact that he went this far immediately caught my attention.

“What is it?” I asked.

Ox-Head looked unusually serious.

“You must never use that technique again on beings that have lived long enough to witness the Age of Divinity,” he said. “Especially not on gods or entities tied to the Origin.”

His voice carried a heavy warning.

“That technique of yours, Divine Possession, is extremely dangerous when used on ancient existences. Memories from the Age of Divinity are not simple records. They contain fragments of divine authority, ancient laws, and remnants of powers that should never be touched by younger beings. If you try to forcefully absorb memories like that, the backlash could destroy your mind or worse. There are things in those memories that were never meant to be seen by mortals and immortals alike.”

I raised both hands defensively.

“Noted,” I said quickly. “Trust me, I’ve already had enough scolding from my daughter today. I’m not planning to add more to that list.”

Then a thought occurred to me.

“But wait,” I continued. “How did you even know I have that technique? I don’t remember demonstrating it in front of you or Horse-Face.”

Of course, except that one time I used it to teach an unruly cultivator by the name of Wei Bao.

Ox-Head let out a slow breath.

“It’s a signature technique of the Shén,” he explained. “At least, what you use is a variation of it. The Shén used a similar ability to share their divinity with followers and elevate candidates into gods. I’ve lived long enough to recognize the signs.”

That explanation surprised me. Still, I didn’t think that revelation alone justified dragging me into the clouds for a private conversation.

I studied him closely.

“Is that all?” I asked.

Ox-Head slowly shook his head.

“No.”

His gaze drifted toward my face.

“Your eyes,” he said quietly. “Let’s talk about your eyes.”

I blinked in confusion.

“What’s wrong with my eyes?”

Ox-Head didn’t hesitate.

“They are dangerous,” he said. “Destroy them.”

“No,” I said firmly.

Destroying my eyes was simply not an option. The Ophanim was too valuable, too mysterious, and far too important to discard so casually. It had changed the way I perceived reality itself. With it, I could see truths that were invisible to others, fragments of fate, echoes of power, and connections that stretched far beyond ordinary perception. I knew very well that unraveling those mysteries carried enormous risk. The Ophanim was not something that could be studied recklessly, because it might very well swallow the one who gazed too deeply into it.

Even so, the idea of destroying it felt unacceptable.

More than that, these eyes were part of David, the other me who desired only to go home. The Ophanim was the last tangible piece of him that still remained within me. Discarding it would feel like discarding a part of my own identity.

Ox-Head watched me quietly before speaking again.

“You may not be aware of it, but your eyes are an Origin Art.”

His words made my brow crease slightly.

“However, unlike the crude Origin Art that Herald used earlier,” he continued, “yours is far more mature. In fact, it’s frighteningly refined.”

His expression darkened.

“I am certain you understand just how dangerous the Origin truly is. It is not something that mortals, immortals, or even gods should treat lightly. Don’t be tempted by its power, Da Wei. Please… destroy it.”

I shook my head without hesitation.

“No. Even if I could destroy them, they would just regenerate.”

Ox-Head frowned.

“Then seal it.”

I cut him off immediately.

“No. Even if destroying or sealing them were possible, I wouldn’t do it.”

My voice carried a quiet certainty.

“These eyes, the Ophanim, will be necessary for our future. Through them I’ve seen things, visions that are both near and impossibly distant at the same time. I know what I saw, and I know the Ophanim will play a crucial role in it.”

I met his gaze directly.

“I might come off as reckless, but please believe me. I have the Ophanim under control.”

I let out a breath and gestured downward toward the clouds beneath us.

“Now if that’s all, we should return to the others.”

Ox-Head sighed heavily, the kind of sigh that came from someone realizing their warning had completely failed.

“Fine,” he muttered. “It’s your choice.”

He crossed his arms and continued in a more resigned tone.

“Since you are so insistent on keeping it, I might as well do everything in my power to minimize the risk of the Origin tainting you with its influence. Listen carefully. The Origin is not a person, nor is it a place. It is a concept that exists in a higher dimension, one that operates on the same fundamental level as the Source itself.”

I listened quietly.

“Exactly how the Origin manifests within lower worlds is still a mystery,” he continued. “However, the metaphysical Origin is not limited to that higher dimension. Every living being possesses an Origin within themselves. It is that inner Origin which serves as the source of an Origin Art.”

He lifted a finger for emphasis.

“Each individual can only manifest one Origin Art in their lifetime. It works similarly to how a Ruler of Laws can only cultivate a single Dao Domain.”

He glanced toward the horizon as if recalling something ancient.

“An Immortal Art and an Origin Art may appear similar in strength, but their growth is fundamentally different. Immortal Arts grow stronger as your immortality deepens and your cultivation advances.”

Then his eyes returned to mine.

“Origin Arts grow stronger through something far more dangerous. They grow as you feed your Origin with mythology, legends, and the stories built from your achievements.”

That explanation immediately made several puzzle pieces click together in my mind.

Ox-Head continued.

“Horse-Face tried to guide you toward the Path of a Sage. He even hinted about the rumored Sage of the Six Paths in hopes you would pursue that instead of awakening your Origin.”

He snorted softly.

“That annoying horse might seem bitter and impossible to get along with, but he’s far softer than he pretends to be.”

Ox-Head rubbed his temple.

“Of course, I also wouldn’t rule out the possibility that he was playing a prank on you by nudging you toward that absurdly reckless path.”

Despite his irritation, there was faint amusement in his voice.

“Achieving sagehood is extremely difficult and filled with brutal trials. However, at the very least it does not carry the same risk of being devoured by the Origin.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“Even knowing all of this, are you certain this is the path you want to walk?”

I couldn’t help but smile.

I hadn’t expected Ox-Head to be this subtle in his persuasion. He was trying to appeal to my emotions, probably assuming that I would reconsider if he framed it as concern from both him and Horse-Face.

Unfortunately for him, my resolve was not that fragile.

“Sorry about that, Ox-Head,” I said calmly. “But the answer’s still no.”