Immortal Paladin

501 Schemes & Stuff

[POV: Supreme Death]

In the first layer of the Underworld, where the concept of sound itself seemed reluctant to exist, Supreme Death stood upon a stretch of ghostly barren land that neither decayed nor lived. The ground beneath him resembled ash that had forgotten fire, pale and unmoving, stretching endlessly beneath a sky that did not qualify as one. There were no stars above, no heavens to peer into, only a suffocating expanse of muted void pressing downward like an unseen weight.

Before him, the enormous black hole pulsed.

It was not merely a celestial phenomenon but a wound carved into existence itself, a remnant of a conflict that had transcended the comprehension of lesser beings. Its presence bent perception, warping distance and time as the six realms revolved around it in an unnatural orbit, bound by laws rewritten through force. Each pulse sent ripples across reality, like a heartbeat belonging to something far greater than life or death.

Supreme Death observed it without expression.

His hollow gaze reflected nothing, not even the consuming darkness ahead of him. Memories did not burden him in the same way they afflicted lesser beings, yet they lingered regardless, surfacing not as emotions but as quiet acknowledgments of what had been.

He remembered the divisions of existence before the Age of Supremacy.

Before the universe that was known today, reality was divided between Heaven and Earth. In Heaven, you would find Heavenly Beings and the Asuras. In Earth or the world under, you would find the Hell Beings and the Yamas. Between Heaven and Earth, there were the Human Beings and Beasts.

Everything existed in a pair for a reason, yin and yang, sun and moon, life and death. When the Age of Supremacy came, the Supreme Beings changed that.

The balance had not merely shifted; it had been rewritten.

A voice broke through the stillness, casual and unrestrained, carrying an almost mocking familiarity that did not belong in such a desolate place.

“You really didn’t attend the meeting, didn’t you?”

Supreme Death did not turn immediately. He already knew who stood behind him, just as he had known long before this moment would occur.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied, his tone devoid of inflection. “I’ve lost interest in the great dream your lot share. I doubt you even believe in it.”

A soft chuckle followed, laced with amusement rather than offense.

“You really get it, huh?” Supreme Heart stepped forward, hands tucked lazily into his pockets as he stared at the black hole alongside Death. “It’s just Supreme Hope’s dream, honestly. That guy really thinks he can save everyone. The ego on him.”

He exhaled, shaking his head with exaggerated disbelief.

“If he wasn’t so absurdly strong, he wouldn’t be walking all over us like this.”

Supreme Death remained silent.

Supreme Heart glanced sideways at him, his expression shifting slightly, though the playful edge never fully disappeared.

“Hey, Death,” he continued, voice lowering just enough to suggest sincerity without fully committing to it. “Can you, for once, drop this whole quest of killing yourself?”

There was a pause, filled only by the distant, rhythmic pulsing of the black hole.

“At your theoretical prime, you’re the only one who stands a chance against him,” Supreme Heart added. “And I’m not exaggerating. That man is insane.”

He stretched his arms slightly, as if loosening tension that didn’t truly exist.

“You know me. I’m perfectly happy with my slice of paradise. I’d rather spend my days slowly enjoying life, doing whatever I feel like, without worrying about cosmic nonsense. I don’t know, like banging the most beautiful babes that xianxia universe have to offer?”

Supreme Death finally turned his head.

“What do you want?”

The question was direct, cutting through the unnecessary layers of conversation.

Supreme Heart grinned faintly, as though he had been expecting that exact response.

“There are six of us now,” he said. “You, Supreme Death of the Ghost Realm. Me, Supreme Heart of the Human Realm. Supreme Monster of the Animal Realm. Supreme Fate of the Asura Realm. Supreme Taboo of the Hell Realm. And, of course, Supreme Hope of the Heaven Realm.”

His gaze drifted toward the black hole as its surface distorted, swallowing fragments of light that did not exist.

“We’re all going to die,” he continued, his tone unusually steady. “In that order.”

The words lingered in the empty air, unchallenged.

“So when I told you that you’re going to die, I meant it,” he added. “Your whole quest of ending yourself? It’s almost over anyway.”

Supreme Death did not react.

“But here’s the problem,” Supreme Heart went on, his voice tightening just slightly. “I’m next.”

A faint smile returned to his face, though it lacked the earlier ease.

“So let me save you.”

“I refuse.”

The answer came without hesitation.

Supreme Heart clicked his tongue, unimpressed.

“Well, that’s your funeral,” he said lightly. “I gave you my word, though. I’ll see this through.”

He tilted his head, studying Death with a curious expression.

“And thanks for not touching Da Wei,” he added. “He still needs time. A bit more seasoning before he can even think about reaching you.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, subtle yet deliberate.

“It’s a tall order, but I believe he can do it,” he continued. “Foresight is tricky like that. Especially when blind spots start showing up.”

Supreme Death shifted his gaze back toward the black hole.

“Should we get Fate?”

Supreme Heart immediately grimaced.

“Fuck off,” he muttered. “What, you don’t trust me?”

“No one can trust a human,” Supreme Death replied. “Especially the insane.”

For a brief moment, silence returned.

Then Supreme Heart laughed, genuinely amused.

“Wow,” he said. “You’re warming up to me.”

He leaned back slightly, rocking on his heels.

“You didn’t even try to kill me.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

That earned another quiet laugh.

Supreme Heart turned his attention fully to the view before them.

“So,” he said, gesturing toward the massive void. “You like the scenery?”

The black hole pulsed again, its gravitational pull distorting the very concept of distance as the six realms revolved around it in a fragile, imposed harmony.

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“You do know,” Supreme Heart added, his tone shifting into something more contemplative, “that the moment you die, whatever magic is holding that thing back will start to weaken. After all, this thing was held by prayers and wishes of us Six Supremes.”

The implication was clear.

Everything would eventually be consumed.

Supreme Death’s gaze remained fixed on the abyss.

“I don’t care,” he said.

The response carried no hesitation, no hidden conflict, only a quiet certainty that defined his existence.

“I just want to die.”

…

..

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[POV: Supreme Heart]

The Greater Universe stretched across six immense realms, each bound to a Supreme who embodied one of the Six Paths. From a distance, it resembled a perfect system, every realm gifted with something that defined its existence, something that elevated it beyond what it once was.

Supreme Heart never saw it that way.

From where he stood, leaning lazily beside the silent figure of Supreme Death, the entire structure felt less like a masterpiece and more like an elaborate setup waiting to collapse. The prophecy lingered in his mind, not as a distant warning but as an inevitable conclusion he had already begun preparing for.

Heaven had been gifted freedom, and its people fractured under the weight of their own individuality. The Asuras had been gifted entertainment, drowning in indulgence until purpose itself eroded. Hell had been gifted release, and its denizens clung to second chances until they lost all meaning. The Yamas had been gifted life, only to fear its end more than anything else. Humans had been gifted providence, stagnating beneath unseen guidance. Beasts had been gifted evolution, chasing perfection until it consumed them.

Every gift was a seed.

Every seed carried its own ruin.

Supreme Heart exhaled slowly, his gaze unfocused as layers of futures overlapped within his mind. Supreme Fate’s prophecy had never been vague to him. It had been irritatingly precise, though not in a way that offered simple answers. It provided patterns, intersections, blind spots that demanded attention.

And one particular blind spot had grown increasingly loud.

The moment his awareness shifted, the world around him folded.

A different space formed, quiet and undefined, shaped entirely by his will. Standing within it was a small figure, barely reaching his knees, her presence both insignificant and impossibly intrusive at the same time.

Gu Jie looked up at him, confusion written plainly across her face.

“What am I doing here?”

Supreme Heart stared down at her, his expression flattening into mild annoyance rather than curiosity.

“You keep appearing in my visions, you little shit,” he said. “It’s becoming annoying.”

He did not wait for a response. His hand moved casually, tapping her forehead with the ease of someone brushing away dust. The contact carried no visible force, yet it unraveled the moment itself, stripping it of continuity.

Her memory vanished instantly.

The constructed space collapsed just as easily as it had formed.

When awareness returned, he was once again standing beside Supreme Death, the oppressive presence of the black hole ahead grounding reality back into place. The transition left no visible trace, as though nothing had occurred at all.

Supreme Death’s voice cut through the silence, low and edged with faint impatience.

“I’ve been very patient—”

“Calm down, calm down,” Supreme Heart interrupted, raising a hand dismissively. “That’s exactly why I’m here.”

Unlike his casual tone suggested, his preparations had been anything but careless.

Threads extended across the Human Realm, subtle manipulations embedded within organizations that believed themselves independent. The Celestial Circle moved according to his design, issuing bounties when necessary, withdrawing them when it suited his purpose. Da Wei and Ru Qiu had been carefully restricted with that bounty, their paths guided without their awareness.

Limitation created desperation.

Freedom would create recklessness.

Both were necessary.

Now, he had removed those bounties, affording those two a more bold action for adventure.

Supreme Heart had been careful in his preparations.

He had arranged encounters, opportunities, and pressures, each calibrated to force growth at just the right pace. Da Wei, in particular, required careful handling. Too slow, and he would be irrelevant. Too fast, and he would collapse under his own potential. Da Wei would need that strength.

Supreme Death spoke again, his tone as indifferent as ever.

“Is there something you will gain by making the Supreme Bearer stronger?”

Supreme Heart’s lips curled slightly, amused by the question.

“Yeah,” he said. “Part of a very, very long scheme I’ve been cooking up since I first noticed him in the Hollowed World.”

His gaze drifted briefly, as if watching events unfold far beyond the present moment.

“I need him to raise his Supremacy Trait as soon as possible,” he continued. “If that happens, I might actually be able to save the human race.”

There was no grandeur in how he said it, no heroic conviction, only a matter-of-fact certainty wrapped in casual delivery.

Supreme Death regarded him with the same hollow gaze.

“You are truly bizarre,” he said. “Your love for humans is as contradictory as it is tyrannical.”

A faint pause followed before he added, “How are you going to save them?”

Supreme Heart’s grin widened, slipping easily into something more mischievous.

“I’m going to make him bear my babies,” he said without hesitation. “Get it? Supreme Bearer. Da Wei. It has layers.”

Silence followed. Even the distant pulse of the black hole seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a moment. Supreme Death said nothing.

Supreme Heart held the expression for a beat longer before waving a hand dismissively.

“I’m joking.”

The lack of reaction lingered longer than expected. Without another word, Supreme Death turned away, clearly uninterested in entertaining him further.

Supreme Heart blinked, then straightened slightly.

“Hey, hey,” he called out, stepping after him. “Don’t just walk away like that.”

There was a hint of laughter in his voice now, light but insistent.

“Don’t you want to hear how I planned your encounter with him?” he continued. “Come on, it was just a joke.”

…

..

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[POV: Supreme Bearer]

Something crawled along my spine without warning, a sharp, unpleasant shudder that made my shoulders tense. At the same time, my ear twitched with an irritating itch, and a faint pressure built in my nose like a sneeze that refused to come out. The combination felt unnatural, intrusive in a way I couldn’t quite describe, like someone had reached across existence just to poke at me.

Did someone just curse me, or talk behind my back?

For some reason, I also felt… violated, like something brushed against my thoughts and left without permission.

“Da Wei, is something wrong?” Alice’s voice cut in, calm but attentive.

I waved it off, forcing my shoulders to relax. “No, it’s nothing.”

Even as I said it, the feeling didn’t fully disappear.

We stood on the deck of the Mighty Duck, the massive paddle steamer gliding steadily through the expanse of the Underworld. The ship was a ridiculous fusion of aesthetics, polished wood and brass mechanisms layered with glowing formations and humming arrays. Steam hissed from its sides while spiritual energy pulsed beneath its surface, making it less of a vessel and more of a statement.

Ultimate sci-fi xianxia engineering.

The surrounding landscape stretched into a dim, endless horizon, the air thick with a muted stillness that felt heavier the deeper we went.

I glanced around before asking, “Where’s Gu Jie?”

Alice leaned lightly against the railing, her gaze drifting toward the distant void. “She’s resting in her quarters,” she replied. Then she looked back at me. “Where are we heading?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I raised my hand and summoned a Star Map, threads of quintessence weaving together into a luminous projection. The Underworld unfolded before us in layered detail, nine vast strata stacked upon one another like a distorted reflection of existence.

“The Underworld has nine layers,” I began, studying the shifting map. “The Luminary’s Rest should be somewhere between the ninth and eighth.”

Each layer pulsed faintly, marked by domains that once belonged to the Yama Kings. Back then, each ruler had absolute authority over their respective layer, beings that should have stood at the same level as Jue Bu in his prime.

Now, that authority meant almost nothing.

“The Four Horsemen really did a number on this place,” I muttered. “Whatever power the remaining Yama Kings have left is basically decorative.”

I traced a few sections of the map, highlighting specific regions.

“The fourth, fifth, and seventh layers were War’s turf,” I said. “So we’ll avoid those for now. We can move around the eighth layer instead and start accumulating immortality.”

I paused briefly before adding, “The easiest way is to steal it. So we should register with the Celestial Circle. Their bounty network spans all six realms.”

Alice raised an eyebrow slightly. “Why are you asking me? You probably know more about this than I do.”

That was fair.

Before I could respond, a soft, almost lazy voice chimed in.

“The problem is, your face is probably known to them because of a previous bounty. Attracting attention should be avoided.”

I glanced down at the source.

A white, blob-like cat sat nearby, its form slightly amorphous, as if it hadn’t fully decided what shape it wanted to be. This was Yang, the Ghost Soul I had bestowed upon Hei Mao. Now, it carried fragments of me, my memories, even access to parts of my power.

Lately, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had turned into some kind of walking network hub.

Yang flicked what might have been an ear. “It would be wise to use disguises.”

I exhaled slowly. “I wish I could just shapeshift,” I said. “But I can’t use the Human Path of Transformation anymore. No Six Souls, remember?”

That loss still felt… inconvenient.

“And I’m not relying on that gimmicky skin item,” I added. “Any decent cultivator could probably dispel it.”

Alice tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I can use the Human Path of Transformation,” she said. “You can just copy it from me with Ophanim.”

I considered that.

“My copying ability isn’t as good as my counterpart’s,” I admitted. “But it should work.”

The plan settled into place easily enough.

Then the Mighty Duck shook.

The entire ship trembled violently, the paddle wheels stuttering for a brief moment as the surrounding energy currents distorted. I grabbed onto the railing, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the area.

“What’s that?”

There was no reason for this.

This ship wasn’t some cheap construct that would break down in the middle of nowhere. Even my Ophanim wasn’t detecting any internal issues.

Which meant the problem was external.

Something massive shifted in the distance.

Then it emerged, a massive hand pinching our ship delicately.

A cyclopean figure rose into view, its sheer size distorting perspective itself. It was enormous, easily comparable to a moon drifting through the Underworld. Its single eye blinked slowly, locking onto us with a dull, almost absent-minded focus.

It wasn’t bigger than the Warden.

But it was still absurd.

Yang’s voice carried a hint of curiosity. “That’s an Asura Eye from the Asura Realm. Some people call the place Paradise.”

The giant moved slightly, and the resulting motion alone sent another wave through the surrounding space.

“What are you going to do, me?” Yang asked.

I rolled my shoulders, already stepping forward. “Of course I hit it.”

Before I could act, the giant spoke.

“Sooowry… Juuust… peeedling…”

I froze.

“…What?”

The massive being shifted again, its voice dragging like something unused to forming words.

“Meee meeerchant… seeell cooool stuuufff…”

I stared at it, my thoughts briefly derailing.

“…Seriously?”

That had to be the most aggressive marketing strategy I’d ever seen.