Immortal Paladin

Gu Jie dropped to one knee so suddenly I almost thought she had collapsed. But no—her posture was deliberate, her hands clenched into fists, and her eyes burned with determination.

“Please allow me to become your follower!” she declared, voice quivering yet resolute. “Though I may be unworthy, I am willing to die for you!”

I frowned.

Not this shit again.

NPCs? They were easy to dissuade.

People? Not so much.

I looked down at her. “Your life is your own.” My tone was flat but firm. “While you’re free to do whatever you like with it, I have no need for servants.”

With that, I turned around, ready to leave.

But then—

Something latched onto my leg.

I stopped mid-step and looked down.

Gu Jie was clinging to my leg.

I slowly raised an eyebrow. She flinched under my gaze, but she still wouldn’t let go.

What’s your problem, woman?

If this was some xianxia bullshit again—a forced scenario designed to foist a woman onto me—then screw the heavens.

…That being said, I couldn’t deny that having a sidekick would be useful.

I was too uninformed. My knowledge of xianxia cultivation was stuck in vague tropes that I barely remembered. I lacked the common sense of this world, and blindly applying Earth’s common sense would probably get me killed.

Hmmm…

Logically, having someone from this world guide me would be beneficial. And morally? My conscience would be clean even if I tried this.

Rehabilitating a bandit sounded like a just cause I could get behind.

Might as well give it a try.

I looked at Gu Jie again. “Fine. If you’re willing to become my follower, I won’t stop you.”

Her grip on my leg tightened. “I am! I swear it, Senior!”

I crossed my arms. “There will be a test.”

Gu Jie blinked. “A… test?”

I reached under my sleeve and retrieved a handful of gold coins.

Back in Lost Legends Online, currency didn’t exist in the Item Box—it was stored in a separate currency panel. But now? It seemed all my funds had merged into the Item Box.

Gu Jie stared at the gold in shock.

I flipped a few coins in my palm before tossing them to her. She caught them with trembling hands, her expression shifting from awe to confusion.

“Your test is simple,” I said. “Exchange that gold into the local currency and meet me back here at dusk.”

Gu Jie took one of the gold coins and bit down on it.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Classic move.

She hummed thoughtfully, turning the coin over in her fingers, inspecting every detail with a contemplative look.

”Senior, this is too valuable,” she finally said, her voice laced with disbelief. ”Judging by the carving, this would have historical value too.”

Without hesitation, she picked out only three gold pieces and returned the rest to me, as if holding any more would be a crime.

I raised an eyebrow. ”Is that so? But what if I require you to exchange all of the gold I have?”

Gu Jie immediately tensed. She looked down at the coins, then back at me, her brow furrowed in deep thought.

”This is definitely a trick question,” she muttered under her breath. Then, as if testing something, she channeled a small amount of cultivation energy into her jaw and bit down on the coin again.

Nothing. The gold didn’t bend, didn’t crack.

Her eyes widened. ”I tried to use my cultivation to chew on the gold, but it wouldn’t break. This is definitely a special kind of gold! If I tried to sell a bunch of this gold, it could be the death of me! Of course, that would only be merely an inconvenience to you, Senior.”

Of course, it was special gold.

According to the game’s lore, Lost Legends Online’s gold coins weren’t just regular currency. They were made from a unique golden alloy—a blend of mythril, steel, and black gold. In-game, this alloy gave the coins a near-indestructible quality while also ensuring their value remained stable in the economy.

Gu Jie clenched her fist around the coins, her eyes shining with newfound determination.

”I swear I shall accomplish this task and pass your test, Senior!”

Without another word, she spun on her heel and bolted out of the alleyway, disappearing into the bustling streets.

I blinked.

Well. That was fast.

I hadn’t even acknowledged her as my follower yet, and she was already proving her worth.

This might turn out to be interesting.

I exhaled and stretched, rolling my shoulders as I took in my surroundings. Now that the matter with Gu Jie was settled—at least for the moment—I had time to kill.

The streets were alive with festival energy. Colorful lanterns hung from wooden stalls, illuminating the marketplace with a warm glow. The air was filled with the scent of sizzling skewers, steamed buns, and spiced wine. Performers danced through the streets, their silk sleeves billowing like waves as they twirled to the rhythm of drums and flutes.

It was… a lot.

I wasn’t used to crowds. In Lost Legends Online, I had avoided major city hubs when possible. Too many people meant too much noise, too much attention, and too many opportunities to get dragged into some questline I wanted no part of.

But here?

I didn’t have the luxury of a minimap, an auction house menu, or a convenient fast travel system. If I wanted to survive in this world, I had to live in it, not just treat it like another game.

And the more time I spent in this world, the more I adjusted to its quirks—some more bizarre than others.

One of the strangest was the language system.

I shouldn’t have been able to understand or speak this world’s language, yet it came naturally. The words flowed from my tongue with ease, the grammar aligned with my thoughts, and the scripts on signs, scrolls, and banners all made perfect sense.

At first, I thought it was some kind of automatic translation—a perk of transmigration, perhaps. But after paying closer attention, I realized something odd. While I understood everything, I still had to consciously think about certain idioms and phrases that locals used. It was like my brain had absorbed the linguistic structure, but the cultural nuances required active learning.

I suspected my Sub-class: Linguist had something to do with it.

Sub-classes in Lost Legends Online were primarily trade professions. They weren’t about direct combat or flashy abilities but instead provided long-term benefits that supplemented a player’s main class. A Blacksmith could craft weapons, a Tailor could weave enchanted garments, and a Chef could prepare food with buffs. These were practical, utility-driven choices designed for players who wanted to invest in the game’s economy or provide unique advantages to their parties.

My sub-class, Linguist, was categorized under historian-type professions, but that didn’t mean I was a Loremaster or an actual historian. People tended to assume that because my game character had a deep understanding of languages, I must also be some kind of scholar or a well-read sage who could recall the names of forgotten emperors and the dates of ancient battles. That wasn’t how it worked.

Linguists had an innate grasp of languages—spoken, written, and even lost ones from forgotten civilizations. I could read history, but I wasn’t automatically an expert on it. I could translate old texts, but that didn’t mean I understood the cultural context behind them unless I studied. At best, I was like a high-speed translation device with a slight buff to articulation.

I hadn’t thought much about it before, but considering how quickly I was adapting to this world’s language, it made sense. 

I wasn’t sure if this was due to Linguist alone or if my intelligence stat played a role. While it was one of my lowest attributes, it was still leagues above what a normal human should have. A superhuman memory meant I was picking up the finer details of this language faster than an ordinary person would.

Still, being able to fluently speak a language I had never studied my entire life was... disorienting.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. Dwelling on it wouldn’t change anything. The important part was that I could communicate effortlessly. Whether it was a blessing from transmigration or a hidden effect of my Sub-class, I’d take full advantage of it.

As I walked, the festival’s noise and warmth gradually gave way to something else—an undercurrent of tension. The laughter and merriment still filled the air, but there was a shift in the atmosphere. A buzz of speculation. A hushed excitement.

I followed the murmurs and curious gazes toward a familiar path, my feet carrying me toward the abandoned park where I had experimented with my stats the night before.

Only—it wasn’t abandoned anymore.

The open field was now a gathering point, a landing zone for the powerful.

The city was abuzz with excitement as more cultivators began to arrive.

They came in waves, descending from the skies on flying swords, golden chariots, floating leaves, and drifting clouds. Some rode upon giant cranes or spirit beasts, their figures wrapped in flowing robes embroidered with sect insignias.

Crowds gathered around the perimeter, keeping a respectful distance. The people of Yellow Dragon City understood that this was a momentous occasion. Whenever powerful cultivators arrived, it was best not to get in their way.

Yellow Dragon soldiers formed a defensive perimeter, their armor gleaming under the morning light. They stood tall, spears at the ready, their presence ensuring that no reckless onlookers disturbed the arrivals.

At the center of the welcoming party was Enforcer Liang Na.

Dressed in her official uniform, she greeted the incoming sect members with a composed demeanor. Unlike last night, where she had been condescending toward me, she now spoke with measured respect. After all, these weren’t just ordinary travelers.

These were the big three sects of the region.

I stood among the spectators, blending into the crowd as best as I could. Around me, commoners, free warriors, and independent cultivators whispered in hushed tones, their voices brimming with curiosity and speculation.

“That’s the Cloud Mist Sect’s crest! I never thought I’d see them in person!”

“Look at their robes! So pristine, so elegant… they must be carrying artifacts worth a fortune.”

Huh? I thought they were already here.. like yesterday if the rumors were to be believed?

The Cloud Mist Sect was known for their profound mastery of illusion and mist techniques. Their members moved gracefully, their steps barely making a sound as they disembarked from a silver cloud. Their leader, an elderly man with a long white beard, exchanged a few words with Liang Na before being escorted further into the city.

Nearby, a pair of free warriors watched with crossed arms, analyzing the arrivals with sharp eyes.

“Hmph. I’d recognize that sword anywhere. That’s from the Sword Canopy Sect.”

“So they sent their elites this time. Those aren’t outer disciples—they must be inner sect members at the very least.”

The Sword Canopy Sect was famous for their sword formations and unparalleled swordplay. Their cultivators carried themselves with unyielding discipline, their swords humming faintly with restrained power. They rode in on floating blades, their postures firm, their expressions sharp. Unlike the Cloud Mist Sect, they didn’t bother with pleasantries.

Finally, the last group landed. This time, even the onlookers took a step back.

“Isolation Path Sect… damn. I never thought they’d show up here.”

“Don’t make eye contact. They’re ruthless.”

The Isolation Path Sect. Unlike the other two, who had an air of dignity or refinement, these cultivators exuded an eerie, unsettling aura. Their robes were a deep midnight black, embroidered with sigils that seemed to shift unnaturally. They arrived on dark clouds, their presence chilling the air around them.

Where the Cloud Mist Sect moved like scholars and the Sword Canopy Sect like warriors, the Isolation Path Sect members moved like shadows. Silent. Cold. Unreadable.

One of their disciples turned his head slightly in my direction, and for a brief second, I could feel something probe at my presence. A spiritual sense?

I immediately masked my energy—or rather, let my “lack” of qi make me seem utterly insignificant.

The disciple narrowed his eyes before turning away.

That was close.

While the sects commanded attention, they weren’t the only ones making an entrance.

A stir rippled through the crowd as another wave of arrivals descended—not on flying artifacts, but atop grand carriages pulled by rare spirit beasts. These were no sect members.

They were the heirs of the Seven Grand Clans.

The air grew tense as these young elites stepped onto the scene, each one radiating confidence and noble bearing. Unlike sect disciples, who dedicated themselves to cultivation above all else, clan heirs were raised to lead. They were not just warriors but future rulers, strategists, and political players.

The first to land was a tall young man with sharp features, clad in dark blue robes embroidered with a road stretching into the horizon.

A hushed whisper spread through the crowd.

”That’s Young Master Lu Gao of the Lu Clan!”

The Lu Clan was famed for their philosophy:

”The road is endless, and so is our ambition.”

They were merchants, diplomats, and warriors alike, expanding their influence across the continent with both wealth and martial prowess. To many, they were a clan of conquerors—always moving forward, never looking back.

Or at least that was what the stories said.

Lu Gao himself carried that presence. He moved like a man who had never once hesitated in his life. His steps were firm, his eyes calculating, scanning the crowd as if already deciding who was worth his time.

A few commoners lowered their heads, as if afraid to draw his gaze.

He did not travel alone.

Behind him, members of the Lu Clan followed—each one a cultivator, each one a warrior dressed in shades of deep blue and gold. They walked in unison, their discipline resembling a trained army rather than an extended family.

“They say the Lu Clan never settles. They build roads wherever they go, and through those roads, they claim the land itself.”

“A clan that expands without stopping... terrifying.”

As I observed Lu Gao, I frowned slightly.

He wasn’t just strong—he was dangerous. Not because of his cultivation level, but because of how he carried himself.

The confidence, the lack of hesitation, the air of someone who was used to winning.

I had met people like him before—people who never lost. And the thing about those kinds of people?

They never considered the possibility of losing.

That was the most dangerous kind of person to go up against.

Especially in a xianxia setting, because if you beat them too badly, they might call their fathers, grandfathers, and eventually their ancestors just to get a rise of the person who beat them up.

Annoying.