Immortal Paladin

057 Heavenly Demon

I woke up.

The stone ceiling above me was the same as always—cold, cracked, eternal. My thin bedding did little to soften the hardness of the floor, but I had long since learned to ignore such things. Comfort was a luxury meant for those who had already proven themselves.

I sat up, my limbs aching from yesterday’s training. My breath came out slow and steady, white mist curling from my lips in the dim morning air. The world outside had yet to awaken. No sounds of combat. No screams. No commands barked from the overseers.

It was quiet.

But quiet never lasted long.

Among the hundred of us seeded disciples, only eleven remained.

I was second to dead last.

Not the worst, but close enough that it hardly made a difference.

I had no delusions. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t particularly talented. The only reason I had made it this far was because of my bloodline ability—Sixth Sense Misfortune. It allowed me to survive where others failed, to step just slightly out of death’s reach.

But it was a crutch.

And crutches did not make one strong.

The truth was evident in the gap between myself and the others. The ten remaining disciples before me had all pierced into the Soul-Recognition Realm, the fifth realm of cultivation. I, meanwhile, remained stuck in the Spirit-Mystery Realm, the fourth realm.

It wasn’t as if I had slacked. I had given my all. Dedicated every fiber of my being to cultivating for the sake of the Heavenly Demon. And yet, this was my limit.

A quiet failure.

A forgotten ember among roaring flames.

I should have felt despair. I should have been terrified.

Instead, I felt nothing at all.

I swallowed a sustenance pill.

It sat heavy in my stomach, dissolving into warmth that spread through my limbs. Food was unnecessary at our level. Wasteful, even. The sect provided these pills instead—nutrient-dense, perfectly portioned, devoid of taste or pleasure.

I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing.

Then, I cultivated.

Delayed Destiny of the Demonic Path.

That was the name of the technique I had been granted. A method that allowed me to manipulate misfortune, to defer and accumulate fate itself.

It was also a curse.

The more I cultivated, the more misfortune gathered within me. I could delay it, postpone it, but I could never be rid of it entirely. The elders had told me this was a boon. A strength. A tool to be wielded against enemies.

And yet, I wondered.

What happened to a blade that had no sheath?

What happened to a vessel when it was filled beyond its limit?

I exhaled.

The cold air carried the weight of my thoughts away.

None of it mattered. Not really.

The path before me was already set.

So, I did what I had always done.

I cultivated in silence.

I felt a presence outside my door.

It was faint—hesitant, even—but with my Qi Sense, I could still detect it. A familiar trace of energy, light and cold like the morning frost.

I sighed.

“Come in.”@@novelbin@@

The door creaked open, and in walked her.

Silver hair framed her youthful face, her pale eyes filled with that same naive brightness she always carried. Dong Yun was a couple of years younger than me, barely past thirteen, and she had the irritating habit of seeking me out whenever she could.

“Big Sister Gu Jie!” she greeted with a grin.

I gave her a tired look. “Why are you here, Dong Yun?”

She ignored my tone and stepped inside, her hands hidden within the long sleeves of her robes. “You were cultivating all night again, weren’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

She took my silence as confirmation. “You should take breaks, you know. There’s more to life than just—”

“Cultivation is life,” I cut her off, my voice sharper than intended. “You should be raising your realm instead of wasting time.”

Her smile faltered, but only for a second.

“I am cultivating,” she protested. “I’m already at the peak of the Will Reinforcement Realm! Soon, I’ll reach the Spirit-Mystery Realm like you!”

I narrowed my eyes. “Not soon enough.”

Dong Yun pouted. “You sound just like the elders.”

“Maybe because they’re right.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. I could feel the cold mist curling around her fingers, the natural manifestation of her Wintry Cloud Breath. A special constitution. A gift, just like my Sixth Sense Misfortune.

But gifts meant nothing here.

I looked at her, this naive little girl who still believed that we were chosen by the Heavenly Demon to have better lives.

How foolish.

How pitiful.

She had yet to understand what it meant to be a seeded disciple.

And by the time she did, it would be far too late.

Dong Yun was naive.

Her illusions weren’t even the beginning of it.

She talked about righteous cultivators, heroes of the realm, and the world outside as if it were some grand adventure waiting to be explored. A place where justice prevailed, where the strong protected the weak, where people had the freedom to choose their fates.

Once upon a time, I shared those dreams too.

But I had long since cast them away.

There was no world outside for us—only the Heavenly Demon’s domain.

“Big Sister Gu Jie, did you know? I overheard an elder talking about a sect in the west, one that takes in orphans and raises them as true disciples! They don’t make them fight for their place, and they teach arts of healing and protection instead of just killing.”

I stared at her.

She was smiling as she spoke, her eyes sparkling with foolish hope.

“…You’ve been listening to rumors again,” I said flatly.

“It’s not a rumor!” she insisted. “They called it the Azure Harmony Sect! The elder said they’re weak but kind. Can you imagine, Gu Jie? A sect where no one has to fight to survive?”

“No,” I said.

Her face fell slightly, but she wasn’t deterred. “Maybe when we get stronger, we can leave and—”

“There is no leaving, Dong Yun.”

She flinched at my tone.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Listen to me. Your cultivation is still shallow, so you haven’t realized it yet, but our lives—our bodies, our talents—all of it belongs to the Heavenly Demon. We weren’t chosen for our potential.” I looked her dead in the eyes. “We were chosen to be consumed.”

She paled. “That’s not true. The Heavenly Demon—he saved us! He healed your voice, didn’t he? He gave us a chance to become strong—”

“Dong Yun,” I interrupted. “How many of us were there at the beginning?”

She hesitated.

“…Over a hundred,” she admitted.

“And how many are left?”

She swallowed. “E-Eleven.”

I leaned forward, my voice quiet but firm. “Of course, you know that already. Then tell me. Where did the others go?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Her hands clenched into fists.

I had asked myself the same question, once. And when I found the answer, I learned to stop asking.

Dong Yun turned away, as if looking at me any longer would make the truth real.

I sighed. She’s still clinging to hope.

I wished I could still do the same.

But I knew, to my very core, that my life—our lives—belonged only to the Heavenly Demon.

The air was thick with incense and expectation. Every disciple, elder, and master had gathered within the grand hall, kneeling in disciplined rows beneath the towering pillars. The hall itself was vast—vast enough to swallow a mountain whole, its ceiling so high that shadows stretched endlessly across its golden latticework. Flames flickered from braziers carved into the forms of open-mouthed beasts, their light unable to warm the cold within my bones.

I knelt among the others, my hands resting against my thighs, head bowed in forced reverence. I was not alone.

There were many of us here.

The outer disciples stood furthest from the throne, their numbers vast yet insignificant, their robes plain and unadorned. Behind them, the inner disciples—fewer in number, stronger in presence—dressed in the deeper shades of the sect, their sashes marked with the Heavenly Demon’s sigil. And then, there was us.

The seeded disciples.

We knelt closest to the throne. We were different. We were not merely students of the sect—we were the life and strength of the Heavenly Demon himself.

Under the seven clans he ruled, he alone was the honored one.

We, his chosen, existed for one purpose.

To give our lives to him.

I lifted my gaze, just slightly.

And there he sat, upon his throne of gold and shadow.

The Heavenly Demon was old, though his presence had long since surpassed the fragility of age. His features were noble, carved by time and power—sharp cheekbones, a long and straight nose, lips set in an expression that betrayed nothing. His hair, white as untouched snow, cascaded down his back, a stark contrast to the heavy robes of gold and black that draped over his frame.

But his eyes…

Pitch black.

Twin abysses, vast and empty, devouring the light itself.

He did not speak, not at first.

He did not need to.

The weight of his presence alone was enough to steal the breath from the weak. Even the elders, the ones who had long since transcended mortality, bowed deeply before him, their foreheads pressed against the marble floor.

I swallowed, suppressing the instinct to shiver.

Dong Yun knelt beside me, her hands curled into fists within her sleeves. I could feel the tremble in her qi, the quiet storm of emotions she tried to smother. Fear. Hope. Desperation.

She still believed in him.

Foolish girl.

The silence stretched, each second an eternity. Then, at last, the Heavenly Demon moved.

His voice was quiet.

It did not need to be loud.

"Rise."

The air trembled with his command.

Every disciple obeyed. Every elder followed. We rose in unison, our breaths held, our hearts steady.

He watched us, those abyssal eyes sweeping over the sea of bodies before him. And then, he spoke again.

"The time draws near."

My blood ran cold.

"You have been chosen," he continued. "As my strength. As my blood. As my life."

A murmur ran through the hall. Some disciples glanced at one another, uncertain. The inner disciples straightened with pride, as if to be acknowledged was an honor.

But we—the seeded disciples—stood in silence.

We knew what he meant.

He was not speaking in metaphor.

This was what we were raised for. This was what we were trained for.

We were not meant to serve.

We were meant to be consumed.

"The world moves toward its fate."

His words carried no urgency, only certainty. A simple truth, spoken as though it had already been written.

"Long have the heavens deceived mankind with their false light. Long have they pretended to be righteous, to guide mortals with empty promises of virtue and order."

A murmur ran through the hall. The outer disciples nodded, their expressions reverent. The inner disciples stood straighter, as if drinking in his words.

"But order is a lie."

His voice darkened, reverberating through the very walls.

"The heavens are but chains, forged by those who fear true power. They call us demons, yet they are the ones who hoard divinity for themselves, who cower behind celestial laws, who deny the strong their rightful rule."

The elders bowed their heads lower.

"But a reckoning shall come."

My fingers twitched.

"The fateful day draws near—the day when the devils shall roam the world once more. The day when the heavens shall shatter, and the false gods shall fall to ruin."

He lifted a hand, slow and deliberate. The golden rings upon his fingers gleamed in the dim firelight.

"And we, my devoted disciples, shall stand at the precipice of that new era."

A shiver ran through the assembled ranks. Anticipation. Fear. Exhilaration.

"The strong shall reign. The weak shall kneel. And the heavens shall burn."

A single pause. A single breath.

Then—

"Let the Demonic Ascendance Ceremony… begin."

The hall erupted.