Immortal Paladin

I’ve done my reading.

Not just the usual surface-level stuff either. Before coming here, I made it a point to study everything the Empire had on the Promised Dunes: their history, politics, economy, and culture. If I were going to walk into another nation’s lands with a target on my back and a bunch of Phoenix Guard warriors at my side, I figured I should at least know why people might want to stab me.

So I knew why Queen Liu Yana was angry. Her outburst back at the table wasn’t just about what Jin Yi said, though that certainly helped light the fuse. No, this went deeper.

The Kingdom of Promised Dunes had long suffered under a certain… reputation.

Back in the day, this place was considered a paradise for the flesh. The slave trade thrived here. So did prostitution. Their desert elixirs, crafted from rare herbs only found in their lands, were famously potent in enhancing vitality, passion, and, well… libido. If you wanted to feel young again, last longer, or charm the robes off a courtesan, you came here.

And people did.

Even after the Promised Dunes joined the Martial Alliance and pledged to walk the path of righteousness, the old shadows clung tight. The Queen and her council managed to kill off the slave trade, which was no small feat. But the businesses of flesh: the dancers, the courtesans, and the pleasure halls… those only thrived further, legitimized and refined into high art. Their pharmaceutical technology even improved, pushing their aphrodisiac game to terrifying new heights. An awkward victory, maybe, but a victory nonetheless.

Their cities were known for beauty, seduction, and scandal. And now, with a Queen on the throne, unmarried no less, governing a land synonymous with lust and indulgence?

Yeah.

I could imagine how many lecherous old lords whispered about her behind palace walls. I could see why she’d want to throttle anyone who even hinted at validating those rumors. And I definitely understood why Jin Yi’s mention of my so-called vacation with concubines rubbed her the wrong way.

That’s why, when she made her demand, I wasn’t entirely surprised.

“I will permit your group to stay,” Queen Liu Yana declared, her voice echoing beneath the high-vaulted ceiling of her audience chamber, “and allow you to traverse our sacred dunes. But only under one condition.”

She looked me dead in the eyes. “A hundred ships. The likes of the Soaring Dragons you rode in on.”

Jin Yi made a noise that was somewhere between a gasp and a choking laugh.

Even Xue Xin blinked.

Bai Zheme just smiled to himself like he’d seen this sort of thing before.

As for me? I tilted my head. “You want a hundred warships?”

“Yes.”

“Fully functional?”

“Naturally.”

“Equipped with formations, runes, warp powers, the whole deal?”

She didn’t even flinch. “Exactly that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You realize that’s enough to arm a small nation?”

“Then arm us,” she replied, crossing her legs beneath those billowing robes. “You came here under the banner of luxury and leisure, Lord Da Wei. If you want your pleasure, pay the toll.”

I let silence sit for a bit. Let her believe she’d stunned me.

In truth, I was stunned, but not because of the demand. No, what caught me off guard was how desperate it sounded beneath the polish. Queen Liu Yana was posturing, throwing a price so high it could only mean one thing: leverage. She needed ships. Power. Recognition. The Martial Alliance didn’t take her seriously, and the Empire? Well, they likely looked at her kingdom like an awkward mistress they had to pretend not to visit.

She was starving to prove herself.

This wasn’t about a hundred ships. It was about status.

“I see,” I said at last. “You want power.”

She said nothing.

“You want to show the Martial Alliance that your kingdom isn’t just the place with pretty dancers and miracle tonics.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“You want legitimacy. It’s hard to have that these days.”

At that, her jaw tightened. Slightly.

Jin Yi looked like he wanted to vanish.

“Let’s not pretend I’m stupid, Your Radiance,” I said with a calm smile. “You’re ruling a land still healing from its past. You’re trying to steer it toward a better future. But the world isn’t patient, and your throne isn’t heavy with respect. So you ask for ships. Not because you need them immediately, but because they would change your position at the table.”

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table like I was back in my classroom, explaining something to a stubborn student. “But a hundred ships is insane. You know that. I know that. And more importantly, your people know that.”

Queen Liu Yana didn’t speak for a long while. The silence stretched like desert wind before a sandstorm.

Finally, she said, “Then make a counteroffer.”

I grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

She gave me a look that suggested I’d only barely earned that right.

Jin Yi kept his silence.

I wasn’t sure if it was out of fear, wisdom, or sheer disbelief that I’d managed to defuse the Queen’s fury with half a smirk and some conversational aikido. Either way, I appreciated the open floor. His retreat meant this was mine to handle.

Good. I’d already been here… sort of. Not in the flesh, sure, but in theory.

Back in the Imperial Palace, Nongmin had run me through this exact situation. Coaching, lectures, mock negotiations. He even had a script written for me: formal wording, respectful tone, and just enough flexibility to shift if things went south.

Which, given Jin Yi’s earlier blunder, they very nearly had.

I felt sorry for Jin Yi, though, since his blunder was most likely and pretty much a part of Nongmin’s scheme to make me look competent… or something like that. Why? I have no idea…

Still, I’d cooperated. I played along, not because I loved the pageantry or respected his grand schemes, but because I needed to be here. My quest to find and revive my fallen friends depended on not being blocked at every border. The less chaos I caused, the easier the journey. That was the deal.

And now it was time to say what needed saying.

I rose from my seat, adjusted my outer robe, and clasped my hands politely in front of me. “Your Radiance,” I said, voice measured but firm. “The upcoming World Summit presents a unique opportunity.”

Queen Liu Yana tilted her head. Her expression cooled, but curiosity flickered in her gaze.

“If you’re truly seeking recognition,” I continued, “why not aim higher than ship counts or toll fees? The Grand Ascension Empire will have a seat at the summit. I’ll be attending by His Heavenly Majesty’s side.”

I didn’t bother masking the implication. Nongmin wanted me there, wanted me seen. He called it diplomacy. I called it damage control. Still, the influence was real, and Liu Yana knew it.

“If you wish,” I added, “you can sit at the table beside the Emperor and the Martial Alliance… neither behind nor beneath them.”

The Martial Alliance would have representatives… and the Queen would definitely not be one of them. However, the Emperor could make it a reality, or so he claimed.

Her fingers, gloved in sheer silk, tapped the edge of her throne. She was listening, but conflicted.

“Of course,” I said with a wry smile, “you’re free to align with the Alliance’s block, if that’s more your style. Cozy up to them, trade favors, make alliances. No one’s stopping you. But a seat at the summit… that changes everything. Visibility! Legitimacy! Leverage! Of course, you will have to work for it.”

I paused for effect, letting the weight of those words settle.

“You want your kingdom taken seriously?” I asked. “This is how you do it. Ships help, but diplomacy moves empires.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes searched me, like she was trying to spot the trap in my words. I didn’t blame her. If someone offered me everything I wanted on a silver platter, I’d check it twice, too.

But I wasn’t done.

“There’s more,” I said. “A proposition.”

I gestured to Jin Yi, who stiffened slightly. “I’ll be leaving him here with you. He’s more than just a mouthpiece… he’s a direct liaison to the Empire. Through him, we can open talks of technological exchange.”

Queen Liu Yana raised a delicate brow. “Exchange?”

“Warship schematics, formation designs, propulsion techniques,” I listed casually. “You give us research on your herbal technologies, your pharmaceutical advancements… maybe even your pleasure elixirs.”

She gave me a flat look at that last one, and I raised my hands in surrender. “Purely medicinal, I promise.”

That almost earned a smile. Almost.

“In return,” I went on, “General Bai, Captain Xue, and I will depart. We’ll leave your fine castle undisturbed, and the rest of my entourage will enjoy the land in the spirit of peace and luxury.” I gave a brief, sheepish smile. “As promised in our… initial declaration.”

Of course, I couldn’t tell her what I was really here for. I couldn’t share the truth: that I was searching for my comrades, and that somewhere in this desert kingdom, Lu Gao, one of my disciples, was alive, in hiding, and waiting for me. Nongmin had been uncharacteristically firm on that point. Keep their existence hidden. Conceal their names. When I asked why, he’d only furrowed his brow and muttered something about a “bad feeling.”

Hah~! Almost reminded me of Gu Jie.

Coming from him, that meant something.

So I stuck to the script.

I offered legitimacy, power, and partnership. I left out the personal truth, buried deep behind my words. Queen Liu Yana leaned back in her seat. The gold trim of her robes shimmered in the light, her expression unreadable.

But her silence wasn’t hostile now. It was contemplative.

And that, I could work with.

Moments after a few more formalities were exchanged and the barest sheen of diplomacy wrapped up our talk with Queen Liu Yana, we were off. Just like that.

It felt almost anticlimactic, considering the tension just an hour ago, but I wasn’t about to complain. The fewer obstacles between me and my goal, the better. We departed with a Soaring Dragon warship: sleek, elongated, and brimming with refined qi arrays. Its prow shimmered with subtle blue talismans that pulsed with rhythm, like a heartbeat.

The rest of the boats stayed behind at the military outpost, left in the capable hands of the Formation Specialists for much-needed repairs. Apparently, spamming the Bless Spell like a madman to force our warps had a few minor side effects… like warping the rune channels, overcharging the cores, and slightly cracking the keels. You know. Nothing serious.

The engineers and artisans were already hard at work when we left. They looked somewhere between furious and inspired. A few of them cursed under their breath when they saw the damage. One even wept silently when he examined the spiritual lattice.

“Good news,” I had told them with a grin. “It held together.”

“Bad news,” muttered one of the specialists, “it held together.”

We left them to it.

The Soaring Dragon we took was the fastest of the lot, newly reinforced and stripped of unnecessary bulk. It was elegant, lean, and ready to tear across the skies like a golden arrow. The phoenix emblem on its prow shimmered as it caught the desert sun.

Our new travel party was compact and efficient.

I had General Bai Zheme on one side… still looking half asleep, as if war was just something to fill the afternoon with when there was nothing else to do. His massive war fan was strapped lazily to his back, but the sheer pressure he gave off kept everyone at a polite distance.

Captain Xue Xin stood at the bow, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Her crimson cloak billowed even without wind, her aura as commanding as ever. Second only to me in terms of sheer authority, though I wouldn’t say that out loud.

Then there was Hei Yuan and Jin Wen.

They would be fine.

Two Formation Specialists came along to monitor the boat’s stability and make mid-flight adjustments if things went haywire again. Given my spell habits, that wasn’t a “maybe”—it was a “when.”

And finally, the remaining three were from the Phoenix Guard, handpicked elites. All three had cultivation just beneath Xue Xin’s level, formidable in their own right. Their armor gleamed with inscribed runes, and their faces were stoic and disciplined. I hadn’t learned their names yet, but I respected them all the same.

As the boat ascended, slicing through the bright desert sky, I felt a weird mix of relief and anticipation.

This was the part I liked.

Not the meetings. Not the politics. Not even the carefully worded back-and-forths where everyone pretended not to threaten each other.

This. Moving. Searching. Flying toward the unknown with a mission ahead and good people at my back.

I leaned on the rail, the wind brushing through my hair, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Lu Gao was out there. Somewhere.

And I was coming.

I waited until the others were asleep or pretending to be. The desert wind moaned outside the hull, and the ship creaked like an old man stretching his bones. The Soaring Dragon boat had quieted down after a full day’s flight, and now only the glowing formation plates kept things aloft, humming in their steady rhythm.

This was the best time to try again.

I closed the cabin door, drew the power from within, and fed a gentle stream of qi and mana into my existence. The special ability flickered, then stabilized. Voice Chat, activate!

My thoughts flicked toward Alice.

Nothing.

Then Joan.

Still nothing.

I frowned. That wasn’t normal.

”Lu Gao,” I called out in my mind.

Static answered. Then a flicker.

And then…

“Master?!” came the desperate cry through the link. “Is that you?!”

My breath caught. Relief rushed in before caution could take over.

“Lu Gao! Yeah, it’s me! Where are you? How are you doing?”

I expected a joke. Maybe something like ‘Doing swell, Master… if swell meant dying slowly in a hellhole.’ Something sarcastic. Something Lu Gao. But what I got wasn’t even close. His voice was steady, quiet, and cracked around the edges like glass stretched too thin.

“I am sorry, Master.”

I froze.

“…What?” I asked. “Lu Gao, what do you mean by ‘sorry’? Sorry for what?”

But the line was already cracking.

A low rumble like distant thunder echoed through the Voice Chat, then the sound warped… pulled and distorted like someone yanking the connection away.

“Lu Gao?!”

The Voice Chat shattered.

The power inside me blackened, smoke curling from the edges of my mind. The scent of scorched brain matter reached my nose. My heightened senses now knew what was the taste of scorched brain matter.

I wiped my nose.

“Chunky, gooey, and very… disgusting.”

I used Blessed Regeneration on myself.

I stared at my index finger with the bloody pus, heart thudding against my ribs.

That wasn’t a weak connection. That was someone, or something, cutting me off.

A warning?

A trap?

A goodbye?

“…Ah, crap,” I muttered.

I pressed a hand against the table, trying to steady my thoughts. There wasn’t enough information, but what I did know was enough.

Lu Gao was alive.

But something was very, very wrong.