Immortal Paladin-Chapter 106 God of War

106 God of War

I remained aloft in the air, watching the two gargantuan demons in front of me. Their massive, twisted forms loomed over the battlefield, their skin like molten rock, their eyes burning pits of malice. One of them was still regenerating its arm, the limb that had been obliterated earlier. The other let out a guttural roar, the force of it shaking the island beneath us. More demons spilled forth from the incomplete Hell’s Gate behind them, their forms twisting and writhing as they emerged.

I reached into my Item Box and pulled out my helm piece, fitting it into place. The weight of it settled over my head as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon.

Good. That meant my spell slots had recovered.

Unlike skills or ultimate skills, spell slots would regenerate twenty-four hours after the first spell had been cast. I’d been burning through Divine Possession at the crack of dawn every day since my training arc, making sure my mana cycles aligned with my peak condition.

Sigh… I’d love to be carefree about this, but this was really bad.

I focused inward, sensing the lingering effects of my previous spells. Divine Word: Life was still active, and my accumulated reflect was holding strong. But that wasn’t enough. Not against this.

I reached into my Item Box again, pulling out Magic Scrolls. With a flick of my wrist, I tore them apart, unleashing their stored magic.

Greater Strength. Greater Freedom. Greater Thought. Anti-Demon. Heaven’s Embrace. Magic Reflection. Fortified Sanctuary. Arcane Warding. Divine Aegis.

The power surged through me, layer after layer of protection and enhancement reinforcing my body. The crackling energy of Magic Reflection hummed against my skin, and the divine warmth of Heaven’s Embrace settled into my core.

Then I turned to my skills.

Bless. Lion’s Courage. Shield of the Eternal. Holy Sanctuary. Shield of Faith. Holy Aura. Armor of the Indomitable. Spell Resonance: Sacred Bulwark.

Golden radiance flared around me as the skills took effect. My Holy Aura pulsed, a beacon of divinity cutting through the darkness, searing the ground where lesser demons dared step.

The wounded demon growled, its infernal voice dripping with rage. “I will rend you to pieces until nothing remains!”

Thanks to my Translation Skill, I heard him loud and clear.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s cute. Say it again after you grow your arm back.”

The other demon roared again, louder this time, sending tremors through the battlefield. The Hell’s Gate crackled with energy, and more demons poured forth, such as lesser fiends, enough to overwhelm a small army.

Deep breaths.

I could do this.

I’d fought against an incomplete Hell’s Gate before. The problem was, this was my first time soloing one.

I just needed to survive.

As long as I held out, the incomplete Hell’s Gate would eventually dissipate. But that meant enduring the relentless onslaught until then.

I swept my Divine Sense across the battlefield, searching for any survivors. A few Shadow Clan cultivators still fought desperately, shielding what remained of their people. They were battered and bloodied, but they hadn’t given up yet.

Without hesitation, I activated Voice Chat, broadcasting a message across my Divine Sense radius to anything non-hostile.

"To all surviving members of the Shadow Clan—hurry and evacuate! Things are about to get messy!"

There was a pause, then flickers of movement as they started retreating.

Good.

I renewed Blessed Regeneration, feeling my body reinforce itself further, then reached for my Item Box once more. A handful of mana potions materialized in my grasp, and I chugged them down one after another. The moment the last vial shattered in my grip, I summoned my weapons.

Silver Steel.

Hellcleaver.

The long sword and great axe gleamed in the morning light, radiating an aura of divine power and hellish touch.

I adjusted my grip, feeling tense at the moment.

“Alright, you oversized abominations,” I muttered, exhaling slowly. “Let’s see who lasts longer.”

Then I dove straight into the fray.

The only strategy I could think of at the moment was to abuse Reflect damage.

That meant abusing Sacrificial Zeal, my passive ability that turned every hit I took into divine retribution.

The flying demons, gargoyles, fallen angels, red-skinned horrors, and djinns screeched as they swarmed me from all sides. But the moment they got too close, they exploded.

Feathers, stone, and charred flesh scattered in the air like grotesque fireworks. Even those that barely grazed my aura detonated on contact.

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The swarm quickly realized the problem.

They dispersed.

And that gave the demons below an opening.

Blinding arcs of flame, spiraling lances of darkness, searing void beams: spells of terrifying potency surged toward me.

I let them hit.

They should have incinerated me. Instead, the moment they struck, the casters themselves suffered.

Some erupted into gore, obliterated by their own attacks reflected back at them. Others staggered, their bodies mangled by the overwhelming damage rebounding at multiplied force.

Normally, Reflect only worked in a certain radius. But I was too stacked with buffs right now.

The battlefield turned chaotic.

I gestured in the air.

Summon: Holy Spirit.

A pillar of light and a golden sigil manifested beside me. From it, a familiar figure materialized in divine brilliance...

Dave.

His form was ethereal, his presence like a fragment of the divine itself.

I turned to him. “Use Divine Possession on me.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

His voice held no hesitation.

When Divine Possession was nerfed back in LLO, I had devised a workaround... a combo using a summoned Holy Spirit.

As Dave merged into me, I felt it instantly; his emotions were raw and true.

He was hurting.

Just like me.

But he didn’t waver.

He pushed his emotions aside. Not to suppress them, but to turn them into strength for me.

My stats skyrocketed by fifty percent. On top of the fifty percent buff, I gained two additional spell slots, a trick I had discovered by accident. The Holy Spirit's presence provided me with extra divine reserves, allowing me to stretch my endurance even further.

I needed every bit of power I could get.

And my Reflect damage? It multiplied several times over.

The gargantuan demon with its arms still intact suddenly lunged.

Each step shattered the ruins beneath it. Buildings crumbled as it charged straight at me.

I didn’t stop swinging.

Silver Steel. Hellcleaver.

The divine blade and demonic axe cut through the demons in my path like wheat before a scythe.

The gargantuan demon leaped, both arms wreathed in hellfire, swinging down in an arc meant to crush me.

I dismissed Hellcleaver.

And summoned World Aegis.

The tower shield materialized in my grip just in time...

BOOM!

Its fiery limbs collided with my shield.

The result?

Not me breaking, but its arms shattering on impact.

Bone burst through its flesh, jagged and exposed, as its own force rebounded against it.

Dave’s voice resonated through our connection.

“My Lord, I advice the use of the evolved Heavenly Punishment...”

I grinned. “Let's do it.”

As one, we activated it.

The sky darkened.

Storm clouds churned, thick and foreboding, gathering above like the wrath of the heavens itself.

In its original form, Heavenly Punishment was a gigantic sword of judgment descending from above.

But now?

The divine punishment was contained within a single sword.

My Silver Steel glowed.

Brighter. Hotter.

The storm above rumbled as I raised my sword.

Then...

I swung.

Divine Smite.

The gargantuan demon had no time to react.

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The blade cut straight through it.

Bisected.

A clean, brutal split down the middle.

Because of Hollow Point, which gave me a near-perfect critical chance, the strike registered as a critical hit.

The demon never even screamed.

Its body fell apart, severed completely, its blood evaporating before it even touched the ground.

A silence, brief but heavy, hung over the battlefield.

Then...

I roared.

The catharsis burned through my veins.

The battlefield trembled in response.

A voice reached me through the chaos: old, weary, yet unmistakably alive.

Hei Yuan.

I glanced in his direction, half-expecting to see only his severed corpse. But there he was, hovering in the air, his face soaked in blood, his right arm completely gone, torn away in some battle I hadn’t seen.

And he wasn’t alone.

A handful of Shadow Clan cultivators stood with him, some barely holding themselves upright. Their ashen hair and battle-worn faces suggested they were elders, survivors of this slaughter.

Hei Yuan’s gaze locked onto mine. "Master Wei, we will fight alongside you."

My Divine Sense swept over the battlefield. The demons swarming them were roughly level 100, though I could tell some stronger ones lurked among their ranks, hiding within the lesser horde.

The Shadow Clan elders weren’t in much better shape than Hei Yuan. Wounded. Drained. Struggling.

I opened my mouth to tell them to retreat, but then, in the distance, the gargantuan demon with the missing arm moved.

It picked up an entire ruined building and hurled it toward me like a toy, carefully angling it to descend on Hei Yuan’s group.

I didn’t hesitate.

Zealot’s Stride.

The air beneath my feet solidified as I burst forward, bridging the distance between myself and Hei Yuan in an instant.

A serpentine demon, massive, sinuous, and covered in writhing black scales, lunged from the ruins of the building, its body expanding as it shot toward Hei Yuan and his group, intending to crush them whole.

Thunderous Smite.

I swung Silver Steel, and the force of my strike sent a roaring shockwave outward. The serpent reeled back, its flesh burning from holy energy, but the attack also blasted Hei Yuan and his elders backward, away from me.

It wasn’t gentle.

But it got them out of danger.

I hovered in place, glaring at Hei Yuan. “You’re a burden.”

Silence.

For a moment, just a moment, I saw something in his eyes.

Pain.

Not just physical, but wounded pride.

The other elders stared at me with grim expressions, their faces hardened, not from anger, but from the unforgiving truth of my words.

Hei Yuan gritted his teeth, then forced himself upright, blood dripping from his missing arm.

"Even so," he said, voice unwavering, "we will fight."

The other elders nodded, some summoning what remained of their strength, others gripping their weapons tightly.

Fools.

But determined fools.

The days blurred together in an endless cycle of blood and steel.

I killed.

Then I killed again.

Then I kept killing.

The Shadow Clan cultivators fought alongside me, their movements swift, precise, and merciless. We were warriors locked in a hopeless battle, drowning in the tide of demons spilling forth from the Hell’s Gate.

They died.

One by one, they fell.

But they died smiling, as if they had already accepted their fate.

Meanwhile, the demons fought like they wanted nothing more than to see me erased from existence. Their hatred for me was palpable, their screeches deafening, their attacks relentless.

It was as if my very existence offended them.

I felt no pity. No sorrow. No guilt.

Just resolve.

Hei Yuan approached me between battles, his face weary but his voice steady. "Wei, use us as you see fit. We are yours to command."

I scoffed, swinging Hellcleaver through a lesser demon’s skull before answering.

“I have no use for you.”

Hei Yuan didn’t react, only nodding in understanding.

“Then,” he said, “we will fight and die as warriors.”

I didn’t stop him.

Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, a darker part of me whispered.

“Use them.”

“Throw them at the enemy.”

“Abuse your resurrection items and keep them fighting.”

But I didn’t.

Every time a Shadow Clan cultivator fell, I snatched their body and stuffed it into my Item Box, a cold comfort, but a comfort nonetheless.

Because if I lived through this day…

If I survived…

I would resurrect them.

If not, then at the very least, I would give them a proper burial.

I wouldn’t die here.

I couldn’t die here.

Not before I found Gu Jie and Ren Xun.

The thought was both sobering and suffocating.

So I swung my weapon and lost myself in the battle once more.

Time lost all meaning.

Days bled into weeks.

I fought.

I butchered.

I pushed forward.

The battlefield became a graveyard of demons, their corpses piling so high they formed mountains of the damned. My armor, once pristine, was now drenched in gore, my weapons chipped, my mana reserves strained, but I endured.

Because I had to.

Because there was no one else left.

The Shadow Clan cultivators were gone.

Every last one of them had fallen.

Their bodies were now safely stored away, a silent promise that I would bring them back... or, at the very least, lay them to proper rest.

But now, I stood alone.

At the threshold of hell itself.

I had bottlenecked the Hell’s Gate, forcing the demons to trickle out in smaller numbers, making them easier to cut down. If I could just hold this position… if I could last long enough… the incomplete gate would eventually collapse.

That was my gamble.

That was my only hope.

I had slaughtered my way forward, step by agonizing step, until I now stood inside the gate, positioned at its very mouth, where the fabric of reality twisted and screamed.

Hell’s breath burned against my skin.

The sky above was wrong, a swirling abyss of impossible colors.

The ground beneath me pulsed like a living thing.

And beyond, in the writhing depths of the infernal, I could feel them watching.

The true lords of this abyss.

The ones who had not yet emerged.

The ones waiting for me to break.

I tightened my grip on Silver Steel and Hellcleaver, my body aching, my soul screaming, but I refused to fall.

I had come too far.

I had lost too much.

I was not going to die here.

So I raised my weapons, took a deep breath, and prepared for the next wave.

Days stretched into eternity. It was hell.

I fought.

I bled.

I survived.

At first, the demons were mere fodder, low-level creatures that shattered upon my Reflect and compounding Sacrificial Zeal, their grotesque bodies bursting into pools of ichor the moment they touched me. Gargoyles, their stony forms cracking like brittle clay. Red-skinned fiends, their claws snapping against my armor. Lesser djinns, their smoky bodies torn apart by my relentless attacks.

But as the days dragged on, the enemies grew stronger.

I knew this pattern. This was a Raid.

In LLO, the waves would escalate, moving from elites to Raid Bosses, and then finally to World Bosses.

The realization sent a chill down my spine.

Because I was alone in every sense of the word.

And this wasn’t a game.

But did I let that stop me?

“No.”

The first to test me was a Fallen Angel, his wings scorched black, his golden armor warped into cruel spikes.

He descended like a comet, sword raised high. "You reek of divinity, filthy human!" His voice dripped with contempt and arrogance. "This place shall be your grave!"

I let him connect, his blade biting into my shoulder. But the moment it did, Sacrificial Zeal and the accumulated Reflect damage activated, and his form twisted. His body convulsed, veins rupturing, as my reflected damage tore him apart from the inside.

He screamed, his arrogance melting into pure agony, and then... he burst into ash.

Next came demonic nobility.

A Marquis of Ruin, his twin blades crackling with cursed lightning, moved faster than I could track.

A Countess of Slaughter, her spindly fingers dripping acid, danced around me, laughing as she conjured illusions.

A Duke of Madness, a three-headed beast, each maw chanting a different spell, weaving destruction in chaotic, unpredictable patterns.

They were nothing like the mindless demons before them.

They were tactical.

They coordinated their strikes, forcing me to burn through mana potions, to cycle through buffs and defensive spells at an unsustainable pace.

I blocked the Marquis’s twin blades with World Aegis, only for the Countess to sink her claws into my back.

I retaliated with Thunderous Smite, sending a shockwave through her skeletal frame, only for the Duke to nearly incinerate me with an Eldritch Cataclysm.

I endured.

I adapted.

I slaughtered them.

Then came the Named Ones... the true monsters.

A demon clad in black chains, his body an ever-shifting mass of shadowy tendrils.

A colossal warlord, his four arms wielding molten cleavers, his body pulsing with unstoppable bloodlust.

A sorcerer, his voice like a dying whisper, who twisted reality with every incantation.

These were the kinds of foes that, in LLO, would have required a full guild raid to take down.

But I had no raid party.

I had only myself.

And Dave.

Through Divine Possession, he shared the burden. He channeled power into me, strengthened my attacks, enhanced my defenses, and guided my hand when exhaustion blurred my vision.

Every strike felt like swinging through molten steel.

Every demon slain left a scar on my soul.

Every victory only brought another challenge.

But I did not break.

I would not break.

I roared, Divine Smite igniting my blade, and cleaved through the warlord’s chest, watching as his four arms spasmed, his molten blood turning to steam as his massive body collapsed.

The sorcerer whispered a final curse before my Hellcleaver split his skull in two.

And the shadowed demon, the one who had lurked at the edges of my vision, trying to wear me down with deception and despair, I caught his tendrils, tore them apart with my bare hands, and burned his essence away with Judgment Severance.

I stood atop a mountain of corpses, my breath ragged, my vision blurred with exhaustion.

And still... the demons came.

But they were afraid now.

I could see it.

They hated me.

They feared me.

And for the first time, I realized... they weren’t just trying to kill me anymore.

They were desperate to erase me.

Because I had become something they could not understand.

I was still standing.

I laughed in the face of death.

It was a ragged, broken sound, something between exhaustion and pure, unhinged exhilaration.

I had long stopped counting the days.

At some point, I must have breezed through Mind Enlightenment while cycling my Mana Road Cultivation mid-combat. It wasn’t intentional... Instead, I was simply fighting, adapting, and growing, my very existence pressed to the breaking point.

And before I knew it, I had stepped into Will Reinforcement.

Something changed then.

My movements sharpened. My mind refined every action into pure efficiency. Every swing, parry, dodge... everything I did carried purpose. There was no wasted effort.

No hesitation.

Only slaughter.

Yet, even with this newfound clarity, I had long lost the ability to hold a proper conversation.

At first, Dave and I spoke, exchanging strategies, reinforcing our synchronization.

Then it became one-sided, his voice pressing into my mind, but I gave no response.

Then, finally... silence.

Even the Holy Spirit’s presence faded to the edges of my perception.

There was only the battle.

Only me and the demons.

My armor had seen better days.

My helm had cracked, revealing half of my face, the exposed skin streaked with blood and soot.

A hole had been torn through my breastplate, right over where my heart should have been. The jagged edges still smoldered, remnants of whatever unholy strike had nearly taken my life.

My weapons, once pristine, were starting to chip.

Even Hellcleaver had stopped laughing, a legendary axe, showed visible wear, its edges dulled, its once flawless metal now marred with fractures.

Silver Steel, my trusted sword, was similarly worn, its once radiant glow flickering, struggling to sustain itself under the sheer onslaught of battle.

They would regenerate, given time.

But I wasn’t giving them time.

I cycled through my arsenal, alternating weapons to keep up the tempo. Whenever a weapon felt too strained, I’d dismiss it, calling forth another from my Holy Spirit’s innate conjuration or from the wealth of weapons I have from my Item Box.

Even that had become a mindless action, a practiced rhythm, like breathing.

And still, I fought.

I felt so tired.

A distant part of me, one that still remembered what it meant to be human, whispered that I should stop.

That I should rest.

But that voice was small, insignificant beneath the overwhelming fury of battle.

Because the demons were still here.

Because the Hell’s Gate was still open.

Because I wasn’t done.

And until it was over...

I would not stop.

The air trembled, a violent shudder rippling through the battlefield.

The turbulence became erratic, spiraling out of control as the Hell’s Gate began to collapse.

I had done it.

I had fought for weeks, probably a month or so, cut down everything that dared to stand against me, and now, the invasion was over.

The war was won.

A breath left my lips. something like relief, but too hollow to feel real.

I tried to cast Zealot’s Stride as my body screamed for escape. I needed to move. To leave before I was caught in the destruction.

Nothing happened.

It was dispelled.

I turned, my worn-out grip tightening around my sword, and there it was.

A black knight stood before me, wreathed in black flames that crackled with a presence far beyond any demon I had faced before.

It spoke, its voice a guttural snarl in the infernal tongue.

"Your efforts are meaningless. You may have sealed the gate, but as long as we take your life..."

The rest of its words burned into my skull, unintelligible but carrying weight, a command, a curse.

The exhaustion in my bones sank deeper.

I had fought so long. Too long. I wasn’t sure if I had anything left to fight this one.

But I raised my sword anyway.

Before I could act, spectral chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around my limbs, my torso, binding me in place.

I struggled, but my body felt heavy.

The black knight strode forward, deliberate, uncaring. It raised its sword, black steel humming with an energy I did not recognize, an energy that made even my divine defenses recoil in disgust.

Then it drove its sword into my chest.

Pain exploded through me.

The impact triggered Sacrificial Zeal and Reflect, a pulse of reflected damage shattered through barriers and armor surrounding the black knight.

Yet it did not move.

It simply stared down at me, as if mocking the very idea that my damage could reach it.

Fine.

If this was how it was going to be...

I activated Heavenly Punishment.

Not through my sword.

Not through my hands.

But through my teeth.

Everything about it felt wrong.

Heavenly Punishment wasn’t meant to be used like this. It should have been channeled through a blade, not something as crude and primal as a bite.

But I did it anyway.

A blinding backlash tore through me, the very act of forcing divine judgment into my own body nearly crushed my skull from the inside out.

I ignored it.

I sank my teeth into the black knight’s armored shoulder.

My teeth cracked.

The knight’s armor split.

And then divine light erupted, spreading like fire through dry wood, burning and bursting the corrupted metal apart.

The black knight finally reacted, its body jerking from the unexpected attack.

I triggered Flash Parry.

The chains holding me shattered.

I honestly didn’t think that would work.

With everything I had left, I kicked the black knight in the chest with War Smite, sending it flying back, crashing through ruins and debris.

I stumbled, my vision wavering.

The Hell’s Gate collapsed.

The path back to the mortal world was gone.

"Fuck."

The world blurred.

My knees buckled, and my body crashed onto my back.

I was going to die here.

Then... a voice.

"You’ve done well, God of War."

A faint green spark flickered in my dimming vision.

It grew, expanded, forming a circle beneath me.

My body fell.

I barely registered a new place, a new presence, two figures, a man and a woman.

The man looked at me and smirked.

"It’s been a hundred days."

He leaned slightly closer, as if amused.

"Now, if I recall correctly..."

"You owe me tea."

And then...

Everything went dark.