Immortal Paladin-Chapter 090 Hollow Point

090 Hollow Point

The veranda where we sat embodied the Shadow Clan’s reserved elegance—spacious yet unadorned, its wooden beams darkened by time and a tiled roof curving subtly at the edges. Delicate wind chimes swayed from the eaves, their intermittent notes blending with the evening breeze.

Beyond the railing, a mist-shrouded garden stretched into the distance, its winding paths obscured by drifting fog. Lanterns flickered like distant fireflies, their glow mirrored in the koi pond’s still waters. This was a place for quiet contemplation, for hushed conversations over tea.

And tea, of course, was what we drank.

I took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle within me. The taste was rich—earthy, slightly bitter, yet carrying a lingering sweetness that clung to my tongue.

More than that, it felt different.

The moment it passed my throat, something stirred within me—a faint surge, subtle yet unmistakable. A ripple of energy, threading through my being.

“This tea is quite something.” I set the cup down, studying it. “It tastes... different.”

Hei Yuan smirked, pleased. “Naturally. The roots used to make this tea drink deep from the ley lines of our ancestral land. They absorb qi for decades before a single leaf is harvested.” He swirled his own cup, watching the liquid move. “To cultivators, it is more than mere tea—it tempers the body, sharpens the mind, strengthens the flow of qi.”

I hummed in thought, taking another sip.

Once, I would have hesitated.

The idea of consuming qi-infused anything would have sent me into a spiral of paranoia. After all, my body did not belong to this world. I had once wondered—what if I carried unseen plagues from my old world, or worse, what if this world harbored pathogens fatal to me?

And qi?

What if it wasn’t a blessing but a slow-acting poison? What if my very existence was at odds with the laws of this realm?

That caution still lingered. Brukhelm and Lu Gao were proof enough that qi was not always a gift.

But this tea?

This was fine.

A small amount of qi wouldn’t kill me.

And given the vitality I felt with each sip, I was beginning to think it wasn’t so bad after all.

I swirled the tea in my cup, watching the ripples settle before taking another sip. The warmth spread through me again, laced with that subtle, undeniable current of qi.

Setting the cup down, I leaned back slightly and glanced at Hei Yuan. “So,” I began, “what moved you to invite me for tea?”

Hei Yuan’s lips curved faintly. “Must there be a reason? Can I not simply extend a courtesy?”

I raised a brow. “A courtesy, is it? You and I both know your clansmen might see it differently.” I gestured toward our surroundings—the secluded veranda, the hushed atmosphere, the quiet, private conversation. “Won’t this invite unnecessary speculation?”

Hei Yuan scoffed, shaking his head. “My clan is not so petty. They know I act with purpose.” He met my gaze, his expression calm yet unwavering. “And whether they approve or not, they trust my judgment.”

“Is that so?” I tapped a finger against the table. “Then let’s turn the question around—what made you think I’d accept?”

Hei Yuan studied me for a moment, then exhaled lightly. “Shall I hazard a guess?”

I smirked. “Go on.”

He took his time, sipping his tea before answering. “You thought I might be more forthcoming in a private setting,” he said. “Without prying eyes, you hoped I’d let something useful slip.”

I chuckled, raising my cup in a mock salute. “Not bad.”

“But,” Hei Yuan continued, his expression cooling, “if you believe I would betray my clan’s trust so easily, you will be disappointed.”

I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice as if in confidence. “What’s so important about your past that it must remain hidden? Black masks aren’t exactly a fashion statement. If you’re ashamed, I’d understand.”

To my surprise, Hei Yuan actually laughed, shaking his head. “If only it were that simple.”

His fingers tapped idly against the table, but when he spoke again, his tone was steady, deliberate. “I will give you a month.” His voice carried an unmistakable weight. “If, by then, you and your people still refuse to cooperate and leave, I won’t hesitate to bloody my hands.”

I arched a brow but said nothing. “Even if it kills you?”

“Even if it kills me.” His gaze remained steady. “For now, you are free to roam the eastern wing. If you wish to step beyond it, however, you must be accompanied by myself, Hei Mu, or Hei Mai.”

I scoffed. “No need. The eastern wing suits us just fine. Better yet—” I gestured toward the tea, the quiet veranda, the vast library beyond us. “—let us make our resting place in the Umbral Scripture Hall.”

Hei Yuan drained the last of his tea, setting his cup down with a soft clink. Then, rising to his feet, he dusted off his sleeves and regarded me with a measured look.

“I will allow it,” he said at last. His voice was even, but something unreadable flickered in his gaze—curiosity? Wariness? He wasn’t saying.

Then, without another word, Hei Yuan turned on his heel and left.

I let out a slow breath, watching his retreating figure. I had expected him to be more forthcoming, but it seemed my Speech stat wasn’t quite cutting it. Either that, or he was just as adept at maneuvering through words as I was.

No use dwelling on it. I drained the last of my tea and made my way back to the Umbral Scripture Hall.

Inside, the others were gathered as usual—reading, cultivating, or pretending to do one of the two. As I stepped in, their gazes flicked toward me.

“I have news,” I announced. “Hei Yuan has granted us permission to use the library as our resting place.”

A brief silence followed before Gu Jie nodded. “It’s better this way.”

Ren Xun leaned against a bookshelf, arms crossed. “Agreed.”

Hei Mao merely shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

From his corner, Dave, ever the dutiful knight, spoke up. “My Lord, do you not trust the Shadow Clan?”

I met his gaze. “It’s not about trust. It’s about caution.” Folding my arms, I added, “Better safe than sorry. We only have one life, after all.”

Dave’s head tilted slightly at that, the metal joints in his Puppet Armor shifting. I could practically hear the gears turning in his artificial skull.

Before he could voice whatever thought had taken root, I cut in, “Yes, I have resurrection magic. But there will always be exceptions.” My gaze swept the room. “The fact that I couldn’t restore Lu Gao’s meridians and spirit roots proves that even my healing has limits.”

At that, I noticed Lu Gao, sitting unnaturally still in the corner. His posture was rigid, his breath uneven. His face had gone pale, beads of sweat forming along his brow.

My eyes narrowed. “Lu Gao… What’s wrong?”

Slowly, as if each motion required immense effort, he raised his index finger.

“I…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “I succeeded.”

Silence.

I took a careful step forward. “Succeeded on what?”

He swallowed. “Blessed Weapon.”

On his finger?

The room tensed.

I kept my voice even. “Lu Gao… calm down.”

His breathing was shallow. His hand trembled.

“If I let go of it,” he rasped, “I feel like I’ll die.”

A faint glow pulsed at the tip of his finger—pure white light, unnervingly sharp.

I took another step forward, voice steady. “Lu Gao, close your eyes.”

He hesitated, then obeyed, his breaths still ragged.

I turned to Dave. “Dispel Divine Possession. Return to my body.”

Without hesitation, Dave complied. His Puppet Armor slumped where it sat, the glow in its eyes fading. A hollow clang echoed through the library as the lifeless metal shell sagged under its own weight.

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The moment I returned to my body, I activated Divine Possession—but this time, I seized control of Lu Gao.

A strange sensation washed over me as my consciousness shifted. My own body faded from my perception, replaced by his. The weight of his limbs, the rhythm of his pulse, the tense grip he had on his sense of self—it all became mine.

At the edges of my awareness, his thoughts hovered, small yet burning with excitement, expectation… and raw hope.

He had done it. He had finally succeeded. And now, he was trusting me not to let it kill him.

Meanwhile, my real body—the one I had just left—was under Dave’s control. “Take my place,” I instructed through our mental link via Voice Chat. “Keep up the act and ensure everyone’s safety while I’m gone.”

Dave’s response was immediate. “Understood, my Lord.”

I could no longer access my Item Box in this state. That meant I needed contingencies—just in case I was suddenly exorcised. Egress should be enough to bring us back, but it was better to be prepared.

“Dave,” I said, my voice now coming from Lu Gao’s lips. “Hand me a Featherhome.”

A silver feather appeared, hovering before me. I reached out and took it, tucking it securely inside Lu Gao’s robes.

Featherhome—a consumable item that allowed me to teleport to my party. If things went sideways, we’d have a way out.

I turned to Gu Jie. “Continue cultivating.”

She shot me a skeptical glance but said nothing.

Then, I faced Ren Xun. “Stay alert. Keep teaching Hei Mao. And make sure he learns more than just the characters for ‘black’ and ‘cat.’”

Hei Mao grumbled, still not fully grasping the situation.

I exhaled sharply. “Listen well—Lu Gao and I are at a critical point in cultivation.”

That wasn’t exactly a lie.

For me, this was another step in my experimentation—substituting qi with mana.

I took a deep breath, cast Zealot’s Stride, and rushed forward.

In the next instant, I was running in the air.

Zealot’s Stride had truly paid off. With each step, a faint golden glow shimmered beneath my feet, granting traction where none should exist. I pushed forward, putting distance between myself and the Shadow Clan’s territory. Below me, the landscape blurred—rolling hills, winding rivers, endless sky.

“Lu Gao, you still in there?”

A flicker of his consciousness stirred. “Yes, Master. I can feel everything you do…”

His voice was tight with strain.

I examined our now-golden index finger—the one still crackling with unstable energy. The glow pulsed, flickering at the edges, held together by sheer willpower. I couldn’t afford to lose control now.

As I ran, I focused on the energy surging through it. Was it qi? No—this was mana.

A subtle but striking difference hit me.

Qi had always been easy to grasp with Divine Sense, flowing naturally through meridians, forming the foundation of cultivation. But mana? Mana was different. Harder to perceive, harder to control. If qi was a tangible particle, something I could seize and mold at will, then mana was an elusive wave—fluid, shifting, always slipping just beyond my grip.

I frowned. “Is this a fundamental difference between the two energies?”

Back on Earth, I wasn’t exactly a physicist. My major had been Education—I knew how to break down concepts, how to teach in digestible pieces. Hand me a textbook, and I’d learn well enough to explain it to a classroom. But coming up with original theories? Proving things mathematically? That wasn’t my strong suit.

Yet, here I was, standing at the edge of an entirely new system of power, forced to figure it out as I went.

To be honest, I’d been lucky so far. My method of teaching Lu Gao—meditation, mana perception, absorbing skill flavor texts to deepen his understanding—had all been trial and error. No grand theory. No rigid structure. Just experimentation until something worked.

And now, finally, we had a real lead.

If mana and qi functioned on fundamentally different principles, then understanding that difference might be the key to pushing my abilities even further.

Gaining skill proficiency through understanding flavor texts had been a good start, but that was just the surface. I needed to go deeper.

If I could adapt this world’s skill system to my own, I might even be able to create original skills—something that wasn’t bound by the rigid structure of the Paladin class.

I pushed that thought aside for now and focused my mind, speaking inwardly to Lu Gao.

"Tell me, how exactly did you cast Blessed Weapon on your finger?"

Lu Gao hesitated. His consciousness flickered in the back of my mind, uncertain. “I… I was frustrated. I kept trying to cast it, but no matter what I did, it wouldn’t work. It felt like something was missing.”

I remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

"Then, while reading in the Umbral Scripture Hall, I found a book on philosophy. It mentioned how the term ‘weapon’ wasn’t limited to metal or blades. A warrior’s body itself could be a weapon."

That… actually made sense.

If that was the case, could I cast Blessed Weapon on my teeth? No—stretching it too far. It wasn’t just about interpretation. There was something more.

Lu Gao continued, his tone more certain now. “I also recalled an assassination technique taught in my clan—one that used the index finger like a spear. The movements mimicked a piercing thrust, precise and lethal. When I thought about my finger as an extension of my intent, something just… clicked.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So you were able to cast Blessed Weapon because you redefined what counted as a weapon?”

"Exactly. I thought about my finger as a spear, the way I once wielded qi in my clan’s techniques. And then… it just worked.”

I processed his words carefully.

Lu Gao had reinterpreted the very concept of the skill, bending its definition to activate it in a way that wasn’t normally possible. Even though he still struggled to perceive mana, he had bypassed that limitation—not through brute force, but by reshaping his understanding of the skill’s nature.

This… this was valuable.

Perhaps skill activation wasn’t just about following a system’s rules. Perhaps it hinged on how one conceptualized the ability itself.

In hindsight, my method of training—using flavor texts as a reference—followed the same logic. I had just taken extra steps to reach the same conclusion.

A rocky outcrop appeared in the distance, and I guided my descent toward the hill. My landing sent loose pebbles skittering down the slope, the uneven terrain pressing firm beneath my feet.

This spot would do.

There was space here—enough space—and scattered chunks of rock that would serve as decent targets.

Lifting my hand, I examined my index finger, still glowing faintly from the lingering effect of Blessed Weapon. The sensation was… strange. It wasn’t just an enchantment. It was proof that rules could be bent—that sheer will could redefine what constituted a weapon.

"Lu Gao." I shifted my focus inward. "Show me how you did it."

I felt his presence stir within me. His voice came, not as a spoken word, but as a thought woven with memory.

"Master already knows how I did it. You were in my body when I cast it."

"Knowing and understanding aren’t the same thing," I countered. "I need to see how you first learned. How you first trained."

A brief silence.

Then, like a floodgate breaking open, his memories surged forward, pulling me in.

I stood in a training hall, surrounded by murmurs. Elders and instructors lined the perimeter, watching with measured anticipation.

At the center stood a child—no older than eight or nine—dressed in crisp martial robes embroidered with the Lu branch clan’s sigil. His hair was neatly tied, his stance proud, and his eyes…

His eyes shone with boundless confidence.

"Lu Gao will be the one to elevate us."

"His talent surpasses all before him. He will be our answer to the Lu Imperial House."

The voices surrounded him, feeding his growing arrogance. The young Lu Gao smirked as he performed one technique after another, flawlessly executing the basic forms of the clan’s internal arts. His strikes were sharp. His footwork pristine. Every movement radiated untapped potential.

A mentor stepped forward, eyes filled with quiet approval.

"Good. Very good. With this talent, you may even stand among the main clan’s elites one day."

Lu Gao puffed up with pride.

"Of course I will! Why wouldn’t I?"

But arrogance was a fragile thing.

One day, his training took a different turn.

"You lack the right constitution for the main clan’s vaunted techniques," an elder informed him. "You will never master them."

The words struck like a slap to the face. Lu Gao straightened his back, confusion flashing across his youthful features.

"That’s not true! I can learn anything!"

The elder’s gaze was cold steel. "No, you cannot. Your talent lies elsewhere. If you wish to be of use, then refine your skills as an assassin."

Anger burned in his young chest. Assassin techniques? That was for those who hid in the shadows, those too weak to stand openly as warriors.

"I refuse!" he declared. "I will prove I belong among the main clan’s finest!"

The clan had no room for rebellion.

They arranged a match. A duel against a main clan child of his age. A test. A lesson. A way to put him in his place.

The day of the match, the air was thick with expectation.

Lu Gao stepped into the arena with his pride intact. Across from him stood his opponent—a boy dressed in far more elaborate robes, his presence calm, unwavering.

The duel began.

The first exchange shattered his delusions.

The main clan child moved with effortless grace. His strikes carried a force that outmatched Lu Gao’s best efforts. Every attack Lu Gao unleashed was met with superior technique, his footwork countered with flawless positioning.

He was being overwhelmed.

And then—desperation.

Instincts buried deep within his training surfaced. He abandoned his standard forms, shifting into an entry-level assassination technique. His body flickered. A shadowy blur. His fingers formed into a spear-like thrust, aimed at a vital point.

The main clan child barely dodged in time. The attack grazed his shoulder.

The duel was over. Lu Gao had won.

But when he looked around—

There was no applause.

The elders were silent. His opponent wasn’t humiliated—only disappointed.

Lu Gao had been forced to fight like an assassin to secure his victory.

His pride crumbled.

And from that day forward, his path was decided for him.

Or so that would have been the normal course of events.

But reality could be cruel.

The memories sharpened. Details I hadn’t noticed before came into focus—the beads of sweat clinging to young Lu Gao’s brow, the disappointed stares of the elders, the barely veiled sneers of the main clan cultivators.

Lu Gao let go, surrendering his past to me.

The story continued.

His victory had not been celebrated. It had been punished.

The main clan could not tolerate disgrace—not when the boy hailed as their future had been humiliated by a mere branch clan child—and with a dirty assassination technique, no less.

The insult had been unbearable.

A week later, they came for Lu Gao.

They called it a lesson. They called it justice.

But it was vengeance.

He was dragged to the training courtyard—the same place where he had once been admired—and stripped of everything.

His dantian was shattered. Not completely, but just enough to cripple his cultivation indefinitely.

"Consider this mercy," one of the elders said. "You may still live. But you will never surpass your station."

He was discarded.

Left to wallow in his failure.

No longer a prodigy. No longer a symbol of hope.

Just a broken child clawing his way back to the heights that had once been promised to him.

I gasped, tearing free from the memory. The weight of it crushed my chest, the injustice of it all burning like white-hot fire behind my ribs.

A name echoed in my mind.

"Hollow Point."

I breathed it aloud. My voice was steady.

Something shifted inside me.

Lu Gao’s pain, his anger, his relentless struggle—it all poured into the technique, mingling with my own sheer stats and the burning radiance of Blessed Weapon.

And something new was born.

A white-hot surge of power flared along my right arm. Purple and white flames erupted from my skin, devouring my sleeve in an instant.

The heat didn’t burn me. But the sheer force of it sent my pulse racing.

Within me, Lu Gao stirred, stunned.

"What is this…?"

I turned my burning hand, watching the flames curl around my index finger.

This was no longer a simple stab meant to pierce flesh.

This was something far greater.

I glanced at my ruined sleeve, then back at the wild energy crackling along my limb.

"I don’t know what to call it," I said. "You’re the one who made it possible. Give it a name, Lu Gao—my disciple."

Lu Gao was silent.

And then—

A laugh.

Not bitter, not hollow. But something giddy. Almost childlike.

"It is an honor, Master," he said, his voice lighter than it had ever been. "Then… Hollow Point: Incursion!"

I smirked. "Good name."

The air crackled around me as I took a single step forward.

And then—I lurched.

For an instant, my weight vanished, as if the world itself had momentarily lost its hold on me. It felt like an instantaneous movement technique, but… different.

I reappeared in front of a massive rock.

My glowing index finger stabbed forward.

The moment my finger touched the stone—

White cracks exploded across its surface, lightning-fast.

Purple flames surged through the fractures, devouring the core.

For a single breath, the rock held together—as if defying the inevitable.

And then—

It ceased to exist.

Not shattered.

Not broken.

Just… dust.

I exhaled, shaking off the lingering energy. The remnants of the flames danced in the air before fading into nothingness.

Within me, Lu Gao let out a slow, awed breath.

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"That was… absurd."

I grinned, flexing my fingers. "Feels like just the beginning of something even greater."