Chapter 2: The Army and the Old World

"Hey, did you hear? General Lee just got to the Eastern Front of the Heavenly Command."

"General Lee? Which one? Wait, you mean General Lee Jennings? The Heavenly Command is really pulling out all the stops for the campaign against the demon clan in Savannah this time?"

"Yeah, that’s what I heard. Savannah used to be part of the Heavenly Command eons ago. Word is, the order came from—"

"Stop, don’t say it."

"Yeah, thanks, or this post’ll get flagged."

"Also, I heard the 118th Regiment of the 4th Army is recruiting a bunch of rogue immortals for a mission with a one-in-ten-thousand chance of survival. If you make it, you can be a Heavenly Soldier and never have to face tribulations again."

"Man, that’s rough. Really rough odds."

The barracks had the feel of a battered Army Reserve depot in the middle of nowhere, the kind with old vending machines humming in the corner and a bulletin board full of tattered flyers. You could almost hear the buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, see the tired faces lined up at the window, hoping this would be the break that kept them out of the next storm.

At the death squad recruitment office:

"I told you, old man, your cultivation isn’t enough. If you want to die, go die somewhere else."

"Fine, fine. Since you insist on dying, who can stop you."

There’s always that one grizzled sergeant at the desk, chewing a toothpick, not even looking up. You hand over your papers, and if you look like you’ve got nothing left to lose, you just might get a slot. No ceremony—just a nod and the push of a stamp. It feels like the DMV, except it could cost you your life.

"Congratulations. Out of fifty thousand death squad members, only you—a mere Primordial Immortal—survived."

"Not bad. Welcome to the 358th Battalion of the 118th Regiment. You’re now a proud Heavenly Soldier."

Who am I? Just an unknown small soldier, number 95274065.

They didn’t even use my name. Just a string of numbers, like something you’d see on an old dog tag or a social security form. The only thing that mattered was that I survived, and most folks didn’t care how. My boots were new, but my spirit was already old.

"Number 95274065, your leave’s up. You’ve got three thousand years off. Don’t be late coming back, or you know what happens."

"Yes, sir."

I packed my things and tossed them in my Storage World. Looking at the vast barracks, I turned and flew toward the Eastern Heavenly Gate.

The Battle of Savannah ended thirty thousand years ago. I’ve long since advanced from Primordial Immortal to True Immortal, served for thirty thousand years, and now have three thousand years off. That’s the benefit of being a high-level Heavenly Soldier.

Three thousand years’ leave. In the old world, it’d be a gold watch and a handshake after a lifetime at the plant. Now, it just felt empty. Even the chow hall felt too quiet, the clang of my mess kit echoing in the dark. I should’ve been happy, but I just felt hollow.

But these three thousand years—where do I go? In a lifetime of seeking the Path, never married or had kids. Where do I go? Where is home?

I really want to go home and take a look.

Almost fifty thousand years now.

In the lower world, with the right cultivation you can ascend, but from the upper world back to the lower world is extremely tough. Not impossible, just hard to arrange.

The wind at the gate was always sharp, smelling faintly of ozone and something old. I took a breath, let myself fade into the ether, not sure if I was running away or just chasing the echo of something I once called home.