Immortal Paladin

Jiang Zhen studied me, his dark eyes unreadable beneath the shadow of his brow. The disguise he had worn as a simple goldfish stall owner was gone, but he still wore the same loose, earth-toned robes of a mortal vendor. Despite that, his presence had shifted entirely.

Before, he had seemed like just another old man at the marketplace—a little eccentric, a little mischievous, but ultimately unremarkable. Now? He stood like a mountain, his posture exuding the kind of effortless authority that came with years of power.

His hair, once entirely white, had regained streaks of black, making him look more like a middle-aged man rather than an elder at the end of his years. A neatly trimmed beard framed his sharp jawline, adding to his dignified, if somewhat disheveled, appearance. He looked like someone who had walked straight out of a martial arts legend—one of those reclusive masters who only revealed their true strength when the time was right.

Unfortunately for him, I had ruined his grand reveal with a single skill.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to personally vouch for your little follower here—a girl burdened with a demonic cultivation technique—before the Isolation Path Sect? And in return, you’re offering me a Phoenix Feather.”

I nodded. “That’s about the size of it.”

He folded his arms, glancing at Gu Jie with a critical eye. She flinched under his gaze, shifting uncomfortably. It was obvious she wasn’t used to being scrutinized like this—especially not by someone who could probably end her life with a flick of his wrist.

Jiang Zhen let out a thoughtful hum. “It’s true that the Sect has ways to modify demonic techniques. However, such knowledge isn’t shared lightly. Even among our own disciples, only a select few have access to it.”

“Which is why I need your help,” I said simply.

His lips twitched into something between a smirk and a grimace. “And if I refuse?”

I twirled the Phoenix Feather between my fingers. “Then I’ll have to resort to… other methods.”

His eyes narrowed. “Such as?”

I met his gaze without hesitation. “Letting her die and reviving her repeatedly until we find a solution.”

Jiang Zhen blinked. Then, for the first time since our conversation started, he let out a low chuckle. “Hah… you’re serious?”

I shrugged. “It’s not my ideal plan, but I’m not above it. Plan A is your recommendation. Plan B is… well, extreme. Plan C is just casting Divine Word: Life on her every day and praying something changes.”

His laughter died down, and he studied me with newfound curiosity. “You really think that will work?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I glanced at Gu Jie. She looked at me with a conflicted expression—part hope, part apprehension.

“…It has to.”

Plan A was simple: get the old man’s recommendation. If my reading of Jiang Zhen’s strength was correct, he had influence. An intermediary like him would significantly raise our chances of convincing the Isolation Path Sect to help Gu Jie.

Plan B was… more complicated. If the Sect refused or things went south, then Gu Jie would have to die. Either by my hand or theirs. Then, I’d use the Phoenix Feather on her, hoping it would reset her physique or something. I even had other resurrection methods lined up—skills, items, whatever it took. It’d be resource-intensive, but as long as she was willing to endure death, I wouldn’t give up on her.

Kindness was as expensive as it was rare, I guess. It was true no matter the world.

It was an extreme measure, but eventually, it would succeed.

After all, I had a certain gimmick item—a ridiculous thing made by the game devs as a pity mechanic for players who regretted their class choices. If you died a thousand times, it let you reset your class. It was an utterly masochistic mechanic meant as a joke, but in this situation? It might just work.

Plan C was if Gu Jie gave up on Plan B or if it outright failed.

Plan C was despair-incarnate.

Plan C was fairly straightforward: cast Divine Word: Life on her every single day.

The problem?

I could only cast Divine Word once per day, and using it on her meant I couldn’t use it in an emergency. It was a massive drain on my spell slots, and worse, it wasn’t even guaranteed to work.

Plan C was basically torture. A minuscule chance of success, relying on the daydream that if she cultivated long enough, she’d eventually recover. But the reality was, her bad health would always hold her back. No matter how much she cultivated, she wouldn’t reach the Third Realm again.

Yeah… Plan C sucked.

Jiang Zhen narrowed his eyes, twirling his beard between his fingers as he examined the feather in my hand. “Hmmm… How many of these do you have?”

I clenched the feather between my fingers. “Even if I had more, do you think I’d be willing to give them up?”

Phoenix Feathers weren’t exactly rare when it came to resurrection items of my level, but they were still valuable. In Lost Legends Online, using one revived a character at 30% health, gave a temporary health buff, and added fire damage to their attacks for a while.

They were convenient but impractical—kind of like a half-baked insurance policy.

It almost made Phoenix extinct in LLO.

Most players preferred the likes of Ressurection Elixir, Immortal Fire, and Ambrosia to top off the healing, layered with multiple buffs.

Jiang Zhen grinned at me like a cat that had just found a particularly dumb mouse to play with.

“How about this? Three times.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I will give you three chances to strike me. I won’t move. If you manage to impress me, then fine… I will set up a meeting with the Isolation Path Sect for you.” His grin widened. “But if you lose? I will have that Phoenix Feather out of your hands.”

I stared at him, deadpan. Was this some sort of divine punishment? Karma? A cosmic joke at my expense?

Because I just pulled this exact same stunt yesterday with a certain young master.

I sighed. The old bastard was definitely messing with me, trying to squeeze every last benefit he could out of this deal. I could already see the future playing out—if I failed, he’d ask me for another Phoenix Feather or demand some other treasure. And only then would he properly introduce me to the Sect.

Classic old master nonsense.

Still, the guy was pretty confident. That meant one of two things: he was either ridiculously strong or ridiculously stupid. And given the setting, I was leaning toward the former. In xianxia land, power wasn’t just a tool—it was a social currency. Strength dictated hierarchy, respect, and influence.

Of course, there was always the small chance that this guy was some reclusive hermit, just out here cosplaying as a goldfish vendor for the fun of it… but my gut told me otherwise.

I needed to confirm something.

“Are you a local?” I asked, watching his reaction carefully.

Jiang Zhen tilted his head, as if mildly amused by the question. “Yes, I am a local.”

Good. That meant he wasn’t some wandering expert with no ties to this city. His word would hold weight here. It would’ve sucked if he was just another outsider like me.

I pressed further. “What’s your affiliation?”

Jiang Zhen let out a low chuckle. “I have nothing to hide,” he said smoothly. “But I won’t tell you… because I want to screw with you.”

I clicked my tongue. “Of course you do.”

Fine. If he wouldn’t tell me, I’d just ask someone else.

I turned to Gu Jie. “Does the name Jiang Zhen ring a bell to you?”

She blinked in confusion before shaking her head. “No, Master.”

At that, Jiang Zhen let out an almost visible sigh of relief.

…Why?

Was his identity confidential? Hidden from the public? That was odd. If he was some well-known figure, Gu Jie should’ve at least heard of him. And yet, the moment she said she didn’t recognize his name, he visibly relaxed.

Suspicious.

But fine. I’d play along for now.

“Let’s do it your way,” I said, stretching my neck. “But not here.”

Jiang Zhen smirked. “Of course. I’m not an idiot.”

That was debatable.

I turned to Gu Jie. “No need to follow us. Go and enjoy the festival.”

Gu Jie bowed. “Yes, Master.”

Jiang Zhen gestured with a tilt of his chin. “Keep up.”

And then he flickered out of existence.

I didn’t hesitate. Zealot’s Stride had cooled down, so I activated it again. A faint golden glow outlined my legs, and radiant footprints trailed behind me before fading into nothingness. I shot forward, keeping up with his blinding pace as we left the crowded streets of Yellow Dragon City behind.

The festival lights dimmed in the distance as we rushed past the outskirts, moving beyond civilization and into a wide, dirt-laden expanse between a mountain and a forest. The air here was crisp, untouched by city life, and carried the scent of pine and damp earth.

Jiang Zhen finally stopped. I halted a short distance away, planting my feet firmly on the ground.

The old man studied me, stroking his beard in contemplation. “Interesting movement technique,” he muttered. “I didn’t detect its usage the first time… Hmmm… the subdued qi… It resembles a Buddhist technique.”

I huffed. “I’m neither a Buddhist nor a monk.”

That was mildly amusing, though. He was referring to my mana as qi, wasn’t he?

I had no idea how this world defined qi. Maybe it was just an analog of mana, just a different way of conceptualizing the same energy. Or maybe they were fundamentally different things. Either way, it didn’t matter too much for now.

Still, something was bothering me. Call it personal curiosity, but I had to ask.

“What do you think my realm is?”

Jiang Zhen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Your qi is very murky and subdued, like a mortal’s,” he admitted. “So I can’t really see into what realm you are. But considering you could keep up with me… we must be around the same realm.”

I noted the careful wording. He was cautious—didn’t commit to a real answer.

But he did confirm one thing: qi and mana were fundamentally different. Whatever system he used to sense cultivation levels wasn’t picking up on me properly.

That was good.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders as I prepared myself. “Just to set things straight,” I said, locking eyes with Jiang Zhen, “if you move even a little bit, that counts as my win. I can’t have you claiming that my performance didn’t impress you despite forcing you to react. That would just be petty.”

Jiang Zhen let out an amused chuckle. “I’m not so childish as to do something like that.”

I squinted at him. “Debatable.”

He ignored my comment, stroking his beard. “Before we start, you don’t mind if I ask a question?”

I sighed. “What is it?”

His expression turned more serious. “When did you see through my stealth technique?”

I arched a brow. “Huh?”

“I’m fairly confident in my stealth arts,” he clarified. “So when exactly did you figure me out?”

I smirked. “Around the third time I lost your stupid arcade game.”

Jiang Zhen blinked. “...How?”

I shrugged. “Because I have eyes.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I added, “And I never fail to get what I want by the third try.”

Jiang Zhen stared at me for a long moment before rubbing his temples. “You’re insufferable.”

I grinned. “Shall we begin?”