315 The False Faith

3

15 The False Faith

[POV: Jue Bu]

Jue Bu knew a fight when he saw one.

At first glance, the three cloaked figures hardly seemed threatening. No qi signatures radiated from their dantians, nothing to betray the presence of a conventional cultivator. But their aura told a different story. There was an oppressive weight that prickled against the senses.

‘Transcendent cultivators,’ Jue Bu thought grimly, tightening his grip on the pipa slung at his back. Rare, troublesome, and often stronger than longevity cultivators of the same theoretical class. The kind who defied the heavens without leaving a ripple in the rivers of qi.

Still, he was confident. Against him, they posed no true threat. But the civilians? That was another matter. These people cheering for him minutes ago would be cut down like grass if a real battle erupted here.

“Da Wei wouldn’t like that,” Jue Bu muttered under his breath, recalling snatches of memory he had inherited from the madman himself. Da Wei’s mind was equal parts brilliance and recklessness, and they were etched in him like an unwanted tattoo.

Without another word, Jue Bu turned his back on the trio. He leapt lightly into his small flying vessel, pressing qi into its core array. “Warp.”

The vessel shimmered, the sands blurring beneath as the warp activated… and then shattered. The sudden backlash spun the craft violently, hurling Jue Bu sideways. His instincts screamed. Something lethal was rising from beneath.

In one smooth motion, he stashed his pipa inside his pocket dimension and drew his blade. The steel rang as it met another weapon, a downward slash that cleaved straight through the vessel’s hull, nearly bisecting him in the process. Sparks and shattered wood exploded into the air.

Jue Bu landed in the sand, boots sinking into the shifting dunes. His arms vibrated from the impact, blood roaring in his ears. ‘That strike… Quasi-God level at least. And that sword…’ His gaze narrowed at the glowing etchings that danced across the attacker’s blade, markings too ancient for common runes.

He smirked. “So you do have fangs.”

Another figure came at him from the right, slashing with a clawed gauntlet in a wild, unorthodox arc. Jue Bu’s eyes flashed. With a thought, he reversed the space beneath them, stepping through his Immortal Art: Reversal of Heaven and Earth.

The man’s footing faltered for an instant. Jue Bu’s sword carved cleanly through flesh and bone. The body crumpled headless into the sand.

The last of the trio moved. From the shadow cast by the remaining swordsman, she emerged, flowing like smoke and solidifying with inhuman grace. Her cowl slid back, revealing a face that was almost unreal in its beauty: bewitching eyes, lips curved into a sly smile, and skin smooth as polished jade.

Her mere presence made Jue Bu’s body stir, a sudden heat rushing southwards at his groin. He grimaced, shifting his stance, sword raised.

“Tch…” His voice was low, irritated but half-amused. “Of all the tricks in the world… you really had to go with that? I can’t blame you… It’s a classic, after all.”

“Slander,” remarked the woman. “I come with no tricks, only release!”

“Your charming arts won’t work on me, witch,” Jue Bu said coldly. His qi shifted as he wove his Immortal Art, Reversal of Heaven and Earth, inwards. The fire of lust that her face, her curves, her scent had provoked in him twisted backwards, reversed, until all he felt was the sharp clarity of a mountain breeze cutting through fog.

The woman snarled, her beauty twisting into venom. “How dare the false prophet delude people with my lordship’s image! How dare you sully the Unholy Taint’s reputation!”

The swordsman to her left circled with measured steps, his movements reminiscent of a panther, coiled, cautious, and eyes sharp for the killing strike.

Jue Bu didn’t lower his blade, but his thoughts churned. ‘Transcendents. Always a pain in the ass to deal with. No qi signatures, no clear path to measure their strength, and unpredictable as madmen. And I don’t even want to kill them… With my strength, holding back might be harder than striking them down outright.’

But there was something stranger here and something that poked at his curiosity like a thorn in his ribs. They spoke of Da Wei, revered him, yet treated Jue Bu as an enemy who only said the truth about Da Wei. ‘Why revere him, then attack me?’

“I believe,” Jue Bu said lightly, his lips curling into a smirk, “we’ve gone off on the wrong foot. So why don’t we amend this with a proper introduction?”

The woman lifted her chin, pride in every line of her posture. “I am the chosen bride, among many of his eminence’s harem—”

‘Oh no… here we go.’

“—the Mourner,” she continued with a voice that resonated with fanaticism, “and we have come to this land to slaughter the defiler of our lord! The one who dares to claim she was favored, the false Radiant Queen, Liu Yana! And you, Wandering Bard, you who sing false hymns, will suffer the same fate!”

Jue Bu blinked once. Then twice.

‘Oh… ohhh. A cult. A full-blown cult born out of Da Wei’s insanity. Of course. Why wouldn’t there be? The man only lived here for less than a hundred years, and already he’s sprouting shadow churches, false brides, and unholy harems. Hells, he barely survived long enough to scratch his arse in this world, and yet here they are.’

Jue Bu found the whole thing absurd, but also suspicious. ‘It was too fast and too organized. And Liu Yana? Radiant Queen? Sounds like Da Wei’s mess, but I never heard of that detail. Either his antics inspired this madness… or someone is accelerating it for their own gain.’

He sighed, then a wicked idea sparked in his mind. If they wanted a prophet, then why not give them one?

With deliberate slowness, Jue Bu released the effect of his Immortal Art. His disguise cracked, melted away, until what stood there was the true visage of his vessel: the likeness of Da Wei himself, sharp and handsome, the man whose shadow he carried.

His immortal aura spilled like a storm tide, pressing the air heavy as lead. His voice thundered with authority:

“If you are truly my followers… then why do you go against me, Da Wei, himself!?”

The woman’s eyes widened, sparkling as if she beheld a long-lost lover. A flush spread across her pale cheeks, her lips parted, and her legs buckled beneath her. She collapsed to her knees in trembling devotion. The swordsman followed suit, though with far more dignity, spine straight, forehead lowered, and blade pressed reverently against the ground.

Jue Bu crossed his arms, his immortal aura simmering with menace. His voice lashed like a whip.

“Tell me… who told you Liu Yana of the Promised Dunes was favored by me!?”

The Mourner’s lips quivered. “The… the Voice of God—”

“Voice of God?” Jue Bu barked, his words shaking the sand around them. “And who is this Voice of God?! I speak directly to my favored souls, and only through them do I act! There is no Voice but mine! Repent! Confess!”

“I… I don’t know!” The Mourner’s head touched the earth, tears streaking down her cheeks. “He comes in our dreams as a black shadow. He tells us what to do… to spread your faith, to grow your influence… to feed your power! To prepare for your true ascendance!”

Jue Bu’s scowl deepened.

‘So that’s it… The scheme isn’t to elevate Da Wei. It’s to corrupt him.’

He knew well how faith functioned. Most Ascended Souls collected it through organized churches and pantheons, priests chanting hymns, minstrels spreading tales, and artists raising temples. It was clean, refined, and controlled.

But Da Wei? He had none of that. The closest thing was that ramshackle Church of the Great Guard, an abomination of worship, half-baked and incomplete. Its very structure was flawed, lacking the order needed to channel faith safely.

Jue Bu clenched his teeth, memories stirring. ‘When I rose to godhood, when I became one of the Ten Kings of the Underworld, the pantheon already existed. Worship flowed into me like a river, raising me easily to the peak of godhood, even letting me graze the edges of the Rulership of Law itself.’

But Da Wei? He was being force-fed corrupted faith, twisted by shadows.

A prickle of dread ran down Jue Bu’s spine. Something was wrong.

The corpse of the headless man twitched. Jue Bu’s instincts screamed, but by the time he moved, it was too late as the corpse’s shadow detached, rising unnaturally. Black tendrils lashed outward and seized Jue Bu’s own shadow, pinning him in place.

His body stiffened. He couldn’t move.

The swordsman blurred, faster than Jue Bu expected, and faster than even his Immortal Art had prepared for. In an instant, the blade drove clean into his chest. A strange, alien qi pulsed into him.

Jue Bu staggered, choking on copper. ‘What—? Even I couldn’t read that strike…’

From beneath the cowl of the “corpse,” two pinpricks of white light erupted. They glowed like eyes, forming a ghastly face within the silhouette of shadow.

The voice that came was calm, deep, and cold.

“Interesting…” the entity said. “You are Da Wei… yet you are not Da Wei.”

The Mourner’s eyes went wide, her trembling hands pressed to the sand. “W-What’s happening? Shadow Guard, how dare you hurt his eminence!?”

The shifting mass of blackness hissed like wind scraping over bones. “This is not your lord, but a false veneer he showed to test your faith. Collect yourself, Mourner and don’t disappoint the Unholy Taint!”

Jue Bu snarled, his grip tightening on his sword. With a flash of undead qi, he thrust the blade through the swordsman’s chest, only to feel… nothing. No flesh. No bone. The sword simply passed through as though through smoke.

The shadow binding him chuckled, voice echoing across the dunes. “It’s futile. I am not even here.”

Gritting his teeth, Jue Bu summoned his quintessence, letting it pour into his blade. His Immortal Art flared, Reversal of Heaven and Earth, to unmake the swordsman. But the blade fizzled, its light sputtering against the darkness.

The voice mocked, “A shadow knows neither reversal nor change, so I don’t think your Immortal Art would work, Jue Bu.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know me.”

“Of course I do,” the shadow purred. “You are one of the few existences within the Hollowed World I have watched closely, for your cursed existence. That’s why I will not kill you. You would only rematerialize elsewhere… But imagine the potential of refining you into a weapon. A true immortal weapon in every sense of the word.”

Its laugh was cold, oily, and unending. “But more intriguing still… how did you steal his body? Oh my… I smell his destiny on you; his divine name clings to you. The Immortal Paladin, is it? An interesting destiny. But why do you carry it? Did he find a way to reverse fate entirely? I’ve tried for so long to reverse fate…”

“No…” The Mourner’s voice cracked. Her trembling turned to desperation. “N-No… No… He’s the real deal… You can’t do this to him…” She raised a hand toward Jue Bu. “Let him go!”

“Annoying wench.”

The shadow’s rebuke was absolute. The Mourner convulsed as if struck by lightning. Then her skin split from within as putrid red flames erupted through her body. She shrieked, her songlike voice warping into a beast’s howl.

“Kryaaaagh~! My lord! Please, Da Wei, save me… cleanse me of my filth!”

Her figure collapsed, burning from the inside out, until nothing but ash and a single charred veil remained.

Jue Bu could only stare. His chest heaved, his qi circulation locked down by the shadow’s hold. ‘What kind of monster is this…?’

Disturbing Jue Bu’s thoughts was the small fluttering of a creature. A bat hovered before his eyes, its wings beating unnaturally slow. Its body shimmered faintly, a strange distortion around its form. Jue Bu frowned. ‘A bat? Here?’

Before he could think further, his own shadow tore open, like silk ripped from underneath. From it emerged a woman, pink floral hair cascading in wild waves, eyes glowing like twin rubies.

She waved her hand once, and the tendrils binding Jue Bu shrieked before bursting apart into a spray of bloody ichor. The swordsman leapt back instantly, blade raised, as invisible curses filled the air, twisting the dunes into malformed shapes.

Jue Bu collapsed to his knees, coughing blood, gasping as the pressure vanished. He looked up, his vision blurry, but his heart certain.

“Alice…” he whispered, disbelief lacing his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you, obviously,” she said.

Jue Bu pressed a hand against his chest where the blade had struck. With a surge of quintessence, he invoked his Immortal Art. Flesh and bone rewove themselves, blood stilled, and the wound closed as though it had never been.

Meanwhile, the strange swordsman danced frantically across the sands, his movements feline and precise. Alice’s invisible spells lashed out in silent arcs, distortions in the air warping into foul shapes that only Jue Bu’s trained eyes could notice. They weren’t spells at all, but curses vile enough that the swordsman, despite his skill, had no choice but to stagger back, step after step, his retreat evident.

“You jest,” Jue Bu said, his tone caught between mockery and disbelief. “Save me? After so much of my salacious harassment? I must say, you must’ve fallen hard for me… Da Wei would be sad.”

Alice rolled her eyes, though the corner of her lips twitched faintly. “Fine. I came here with a planar spell. Be more grateful. It requires… quite a lot of energy to pierce the barrier surrounding the Empire.”

Something clicked in Jue Bu’s mind. His gaze narrowed.

“It was you who gave the order to have me sent here… Da Wei wouldn’t give me a direct order like that. He’s disdainful of me. He’d rather keep me somewhere he could watch me.”

Alice’s silence was telling.

Jue Bu chuckled darkly. “I knew it. You pulled the strings. You knew something was wrong with him.”

“You are correct,” Alice finally said, her voice low, deliberate. “I told Da Wei to give you the order. And he trusts me enough to do so without asking too much—”

“The corruption of his faith.”

The words left Jue Bu’s mouth like a knife.

Alice’s expression hardened. She snapped her hand closed, and from the void, a spectral, gnarled hand the size of a carriage seized the swordsman. He let out a strangled cry, but before another sound could escape, his body erupted into a crimson burst. The desert sands drank deeply of the blood, and the lingering curses ate away at whatever remained of him.

Alice exhaled slowly. “Indeed. We’ve done all we can to streamline the faith he receives, but clearly, the enemy is ahead of us. It was my idea to send you here. That makes me responsible for you. Thus… I came to save—”

“Oh, please.” Jue Bu cut her off, voice laced with mocking laughter. “You wanted to use me as bait. And you succeeded.”

He straightened, brushing dust from his scholar’s robe, his tone losing some of its edge. “I don’t resent it. You care for Da Wei, and you’re willing to dirty your hands to protect him. My question is… what did we gain from this little encounter? All it proved is that there’s indeed a cult working behind the scenes to smear his image, to corrupt him through fate. Perhaps a glimpse of the mastermind, someone you no doubt already suspected. Beyond that? The only real achievement is that we just revealed to the enemy that we know Da Wei is being corrupted by faith and that their plan is working.”

He stopped, his eyes darting to the sky. The fluttering presence he had noticed earlier, the bat, was gone. A chill crawled down his spine.

Alice noticed his reaction, and for the first time, she smiled fully, a wicked curl to her lips.

“Oh, we achieved plenty,” she said. “Also, you need to work your sarcasm better.”