Immortal Paladin

Four days. We had been stuck in Iron Kettle for four days.

I was getting sick of it.

We sat at a modest roadside stall—one of those places with creaky wooden tables, chipped bowls, and a vendor who had likely served enough travelers to predict their orders before they even spoke. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling oil, fragrant herbs, and the rich, spiced aroma of slow-braised meat.

My bowl held steaming rice, tender pork belly glazed in a dark, caramelized sauce, and greens stir-fried in garlic and sesame oil. A clay cup of herbal tea sat untouched beside it. I barely needed food, but some xianxia spices weren’t just flavorful—they carried minor effects, sharpening the mind or calming the nerves. A cultivator could live off Qi alone, but I’d take a good meal over silent meditation any day.

It wasn’t like I could interact with Qi the same way a cultivator does.

Across from me, Hei Mao idly poked at his food. His disguise—woven by the Magic Scroll of Disguise I’d given him—remained intact. Back in Lost Legends Online, the scroll had been a gimmick, letting players assume NPC appearances from preset models. Here, the effect lasted indefinitely unless disrupted by physical stimulus of a certain level.

I rested my chopsticks against my bowl. “Lost your appetite?”

Hei Mao exhaled sharply, irritation flashing in his eyes. “How much longer are we staying?”

I felt the same. The city enforcers had been dragging their feet, keeping ‘suspicious’ individuals detained under flimsy pretexts. They were stalling.

Lu Gao set his chopsticks down and leaned forward, voice lowered. “I overheard something last night about the murder.”

I kept eating, but my focus sharpened.

“The victim was the vice sect master of the Black Anvil Sect,” he said. “But there are conflicting accounts. Some claim it was actually the sect master himself, and the truth is being concealed.”

Ren Xun furrowed his brow. “Why cover it up? A sect master dying would be a big deal, but they’d still have to announce it sooner or later.”

Lu Gao shook his head. “It’s not just that.” He glanced around, lowering his voice. “The City Lord’s son was killed that night as well.”

That made the air grow heavier.

Ren Xun clicked his tongue. “No wonder the city’s locked down.”

The Black Anvil Sect was powerful, but it was still just one force among many. A sect master’s death was an event, but not necessarily a disaster for the city. But the City Lord’s son? That was a political nightmare.

Hei Mao’s fists clenched. “And they still haven’t found the murderer?” His voice was low, tight with barely restrained emotion. 

“They say it was a demonic cultivator,” Lu Gao folded his arms. “The body was found completely drained of blood.”

I stopped eating. That sounded an awful lot like a vampire.

The more I traveled, the more I encountered things that shouldn’t exist outside Lost Legends Online. Either LLO had drawn inspiration from this world… or something far stranger was happening.

Hei Mao let out a frustrated sigh, shoving a piece of pork into his mouth. “So we’re stuck here because some freak is running loose?”

I finished my meal and set my bowl aside. “We’re not going to sit around waiting. Ren Xun, come with me.”

Ren Xun blinked. “Where?”

“A bookstore.”

He looked at me like I’d suggested something absurd. “A… bookstore?”

I brushed off my robes and stood. “I need to check something.”

We paid and stepped onto the bustling streets.

As we walked, I turned to Ren Xun. “How does the Empire control the dissemination of knowledge?”

Ren Xun considered the question before replying. “Knowledge is divided into five classes. Class Five is the lowest—meant for outsiders. It includes common knowledge, things a traveler might learn simply by passing through. Most publicly available books fall under this category.”

“That was what I expected. And Class Four?”

“Class Four covers knowledge on cultivation—the first four realms. It includes fundamental techniques, theories, and general information on Qi.” Ren Xun’s tone was even, practiced. “It also includes city-sensitive knowledge—things that might affect security or governance but wouldn’t shake the Empire itself.”

I nodded. That made sense. “Class Three?”

Ren Xun hesitated, just for a moment. “Class Three pertains to the greater world—the balance of power beyond individual cities and regions. It contains knowledge that could influence powerful sects or shift the Empire’s standing.”

I raised a brow. “So if I wanted to know which sects secretly oppose the Empire, that would be Class Three?”

“Exactly,” he said. “Information like that, in the wrong hands, could be dangerous.”

“And Class Two?”

His expression grew serious. “Class Two knowledge is directly tied to the Empire’s fate. Only high-ranking officials, sect leaders, and the imperial court have access to it.”

“And Class One?”

Ren Xun exhaled slowly. “The highest tier. Class One knowledge is enough to stir immortals. It includes secrets of true immortality, the fundamental truths of this world, and matters that could unravel existence itself.”

I took a moment to absorb that. “And you? What do you have access to?”

Ren Xun gave a wry smile. “Class Four. Maybe a few things that brush against Class Three. But if you’re looking for a bookstore…” He gestured at the crowded street. “You’ll only find Class Five knowledge.”

Basic history, travel guides, useless trivia. Not what I needed.

I sighed. “Figures.”

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look.

The bookstore was nestled between two larger buildings, its wooden sign worn but still legible. Ironmoor’s Grand Repository. A grand name, though I doubted it lived up to it.

The moment we stepped inside, the scent of aged parchment and ink filled the air. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with scrolls and bound books—some stacked haphazardly, others arranged with care. The lighting was dim, the only illumination coming from flickering lanterns set along the wooden beams. A few customers browsed in silence, the occasional rustling of pages and murmurs of interest breaking the stillness.

I ran a hand along the spines of the books before picking one at random. A guide to Ironmoor’s flora—complete with neatly drawn illustrations of herbs and medicinal plants. It might prove useful. I tucked it under my arm and moved to another shelf.

The selection was varied—regional histories, travelogues from wandering cultivators, basic Martial-Tempering manuals. Nothing groundbreaking, but I hadn’t expected anything more. According to Ren Xun, this shop only carried Class Five knowledge—the most basic, publicly available information.

Still, I didn’t mind. The books Gu Jie and Old Song had procured for me held more insightful knowledge about the world and the Empire, but it wouldn’t hurt to supplement that. I pulled another book from the shelf, this one detailing the legends of Deepmoor Continent. A glance at the preface told me it was half speculation, half folktale. But even legends held a kernel of truth.

I was about to check out when movement outside the store caught my eye.

Through the window, a line of shackled people was being marched down the street. A burly man led them, prodding them forward like cattle. Chains clinked with each step, rattling against the stone.

Slaves.

I frowned, fingers tightening around the book in my hands.

Among the pile of books I had gathered, one mentioned the Empire’s slavery system. I flipped through its pages, scanning for relevant passages, but I still turned to Ren Xun for confirmation.

“What’s the Empire’s stance on slavery?”

Ren Xun glanced at the scene outside and let out a quiet sigh. “Slavery is only permitted here, in the Deepmoor Continent,” he said. “The rest of the Empire abolished it long ago. The people you see there—” he gestured toward the chained procession, “—are likely criminals deemed unredeemable.”

I closed the book and studied the captives more closely. Some wore hardened expressions, their gazes sharp with defiance. Others were hollow-eyed, already resigned to their fate.

“And what makes someone ‘unredeemable’?” I asked, not bothering to hide my skepticism.

Ren Xun hesitated. “…That depends.”

I gave him a sidelong glance, but he offered nothing more.

A scream split through the marketplace.

Not just a cry—this was raw, desperate. One of the slaves was thrashing against his chains, his voice hoarse yet unyielding.

“This is wrong! Slavery is wrong! I didn’t do anything!” His wrists strained against iron bindings as he struggled. “I have a family! They’ll starve without me! Please! Someone—someone help!”

The slaver leading the group shoved him forward, nearly making him stumble. “Keep moving.”

“I’m not a murderer! I didn’t kill anyone! Please, believe me!” The man’s sobs were ragged, his body trembling as he fought against his fate. “I swear! I swear on my ancestors—!”

I reached out with my Divine Sense.

He was lying.

I exhaled quietly and watched as they dragged him away, his screams fading into hoarse sobs. No one paid him any mind. Merchants barely looked up from their stalls. A few passersby whispered, but there was no outrage. No sympathy. Just another day in Ironmoor.

Still, I took no joy in watching.

A light thump on my shoulder pulled me from my thoughts.

“You alright?” Ren Xun asked. His tone was casual, but there was something else in his gaze—concern, maybe.

I studied him for a moment.

I considered asking how confident he was in their judicial system. Whether he truly believed every slave was guilty beyond doubt, their fate justified.

But I let the thought pass.

Instead, I turned back toward the bookstore and stepped inside. “Come on,” I said. “We still need to buy these books.”

Back at Iron Kettle, we gathered the others and made our way toward the meeting spot.

Word was Gu Jie and Dave were finally being released today.

Summon: Holy Spirit didn’t have a time limit, so Dave still persisting wasn’t strange. It was one of those mechanics where summons could stick around indefinitely unless dismissed or destroyed. Still, the thought of him standing around in full plate armor for days amused me.

I connected to Gu Jie via Voice Chat. “Think they’ll actually let you go today?”

“Mn. Affirmative,” she replied between bites. “They already told us we’re free to leave.”

That made things easier.

…Huh. How did I know she was eating? Voice Chat didn’t transmit things like that. Maybe there was a way to improve it…

Five minutes later, we arrived at the meeting spot—a small food stall at the street corner.

Gu Jie was casually munching on sweets, her fingers lightly dusted with sugar. Beside her, Dave stood in his full knightly getup, posture as rigid as ever.

I waved them over.

Gu Jie set her sweets aside and rose to her feet, offering a martial artist’s bow.

Dave thumped his chest in salute.

I nodded in acknowledgment. “Let’s talk elsewhere.”

We found a quiet park with only a few visitors strolling about. A decent enough place to speak without prying ears. There was a wooden bench near a stone lantern, so I sat down, still carrying Ren Jingyi’s bowl. The others took their places—some standing, some leaning against trees.

Dave remained beside me like a statue. The rest of the group naturally formed a loose circle.

Gu Jie’s gaze lingered on Hei Mao for a beat too long, her expression unreadable.

Hei Mao shifted awkwardly. “It’s, uh, a disguise,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head. “From a Magic Scroll… that he gave me.” He gestured vaguely in my direction.

Gu Jie hummed, her eyes flicking from his too-pretty face to his unnaturally vibrant red hair. “I see.”

She turned back to me. “We probably won’t be able to leave anytime soon,” she said, dusting off her hands. “I overheard some guards talking. They’re reinforcing the perimeter.”

Ren Xun frowned. “I can read the formations from here,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly as his gaze swept the air. “And that says a lot about how strong their defenses are.”

Hei Mao crossed his arms. “What are they defending against?”

Lu Gao clicked his tongue. “Probably the rumors,” he said. “You know—the Demonic cultivator and the Buddhist freak stirring up trouble.”

Dave offered a different perspective. “Or,” he said, voice calm but firm, “the formations aren’t to keep something out. They’re to trap something inside.”

Silence settled over us.

Even now, they still hadn’t found the murderer.

Gu Jie faked a cough into her fist, then straightened, shifting into a more formal stance. “I have my report.”

I nodded for her to proceed.

She raised a finger. “First, I successfully procured vegetables for the fish.”

Internally, I winced. Over the past three days, I’d bought enough fish food to feed an entire school of Ren Jingyis. At this rate, she probably thought she was living in a luxury buffet.

Gu Jie, oblivious to my mild suffering, continued. “Second, I investigated the black-masked people.”

At that, my attention sharpened.

Not just mine. Hei Mao, who had been leaning casually against a tree—well, as casually as he ever got—immediately stiffened. His whole demeanor shifted. Eyes narrowing, hands curling into fists.

If he were still a ghost, I had no doubt the miasma rolling off him would’ve sent half the city guards running.

Instead, what I felt was something colder.

Bloodlust.

Raw. Seething. Ice-cold.

The others couldn’t sense it, but I could. It pulsed through the bond we shared—the link between a Paladin and his Holy Spirit.

I clenched my jaw slightly. This wasn’t just a matter of curiosity for him.

This was personal.

I met Gu Jie’s gaze. “So, what can you tell me about them?”