Immortal Paladin

I leaned back against the chair, arms crossed, staring Nongmin down. ”Is it possible for you to just shoot straight for once and tell me the name of the person I’m supposed to have a fateful encounter with?” I asked, half-frustrated, half-begging for an ounce of directness. ”I’d rather get this over with and focus on resurrecting Ren Xun and Gu Jie already.”

For a moment, Nongmin just regarded me silently, eyes half-lidded, like he was weighing whether to humor me. I pressed forward, unable to help myself. ”Isn’t Ren Xun your grandson?” I said, voice growing sharper. ”You said yourself he has incredible formation talents, talents even you were seemingly proud of. Shouldn’t you be just as motivated to bring him back?”

Nongmin gave a long, almost theatrical sigh, the kind old men gave when humoring a stubborn child. ”Patience, Da Wei,” he said, smiling faintly. ”It must happen naturally. Force it, and we risk losing everything we seek.”

I frowned, drumming my fingers against my arm. ”So what is it that I actually have to do?”

He met my eyes and answered with infuriating simplicity, ”Be yourself.”

I stared at him, waiting for more, but nothing else came. Just those two useless, impossible words. ”Be myself,” I repeated, hollowly. ”You realize that’s the least helpful instruction ever, right?”

Nongmin only chuckled, the sound low and maddeningly calm. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to process it. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t know how to act like myself. It was that I didn’t even know what myself meant anymore. Sure, I carried the title of Paladin, but between the power I wielded and the spirit that truly owned it, I was just… borrowing the light.

Yes, I was a nice guy. I tried to be decent. I tried to be good. But the ’Paladin’… the true champion of light and the unwavering force of justice… That wasn’t really me! It was Dave. My Holy Spirit. A character from a game that, somehow, had taken on a life and will of his own. Every ounce of strength, every divine miracle I cast, every surge of holy might… it belonged to him. I was a Paladin in name only.

If I could have just handed over the wheel to him completely, let Dave take charge without falling into existential madness, I would have done it a long time ago. But it wasn’t that simple. My human pride, my stubborn gamer mindset, the seductive thrill of choice and power… They had distanced me from what a Paladin was truly meant to be. That was the truth I didn’t like admitting, even to myself.

I let out a slow breath and looked at Nongmin again. ”So I just need to be myself,” I said carefully, trying to make sure there weren’t any hidden traps. ”And I don’t need to do anything?”

He nodded slightly. ”For the duration of seven days, you must remain in your room. Let the world turn outside. Do nothing. Interfere with nothing.”

That sounded so easy it was suspicious. I thought about it for a moment, weighing the implications, then tilted my head. ”Would it be fine if I took the backseat and let my Holy Spirit steer instead?” I asked cautiously. ”Let him handle things?”

Nongmin’s answer came without hesitation. ”It wouldn’t matter. You are free to do as you please.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, scanning his posture, his breathing, even the slight fluctuations of qi around him with my Divine Sense. Nothing felt off. No deceit, no hidden malice. Still, just to be sure, I pressed further. ”No prank hidden somewhere? No ’gotcha’ moment where I end up stuck fighting ten dragons barehanded? Because last time, you stuck me with a harem… and a curse, even to this moment, I dread when they will surface.”

He smiled again, but it was smaller this time. ”None this time.”

The sincerity in his words told me it was the truth. Worse still, that little emphasis ‘this time’ confirmed what I had long suspected: Nongmin had, in fact, been pranking me before. Probably more often than I realized.

I groaned under my breath and flopped back into the chair, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams. ”Great. So I just sit here and be useless for seven days. Perfect. Absolutely living the dream.”

Nongmin, mercifully, said nothing, letting me wallow in my own sarcasm. Maybe he figured I’d need the time to come to terms with the fact that sometimes doing nothing was, paradoxically, the hardest thing to do.

Seven days of waiting. Seven days of self-reflection. Seven days of hoping that, somewhere out there, fate was winding up the encounter that would change everything.

I didn’t know if I was ready. But ready or not, it was coming.

I stepped out of the Emperor’s quarters, closing the door softly behind me, only to find Tao Long standing there, arms crossed and posture stiff like a statue. His sharp eyes flickered toward me, and after a moment, he spoke in that calm, flat tone of his.

”I asked an inn servant which place here has the best view,” Tao Long said without waiting for my reply. He turned on his heel and began walking away at a steady pace, clearly expecting me to follow.

I sighed inwardly but trailed after him anyway. We wound through a few narrow corridors and up a set of polished stone stairs, emerging into an open pavilion that overlooked the city. The scene was beautiful enough that even I had to pause for a second. The mountains in the distance sat like sleeping giants wrapped in mist, the sea shimmered beneath the setting sun, and the industrious quarter of the city buzzed faintly below, like a hive full of diligent bees.

Tao Long walked toward the farthest corner and stood silently, his hands clasped behind his back, the very picture of a loyal guardian. I watched him for a while, waiting for him to say whatever it was he dragged me up here for. When the silence stretched too long, I finally broke it.

”What are you waiting for?” I asked, my voice carrying lazily across the open air.

Tao Long turned slightly, enough to look at me out of the corner of his eye. ”For the sake of your disguise,” he said, ”I’ll be living together with you from now on. The same is probably true for Liang Na.”

I blinked, processing that. Having bodyguards wasn’t a bad thing, especially bodyguards at their level of strength. But the thought of having my privacy constantly infringed upon made something deep inside me bristle. I wasn’t used to that kind of constant surveillance, and I doubted I ever would be.

Still, I didn’t argue. It wasn’t like this would last forever.

While Tao Long returned his gaze to the horizon, I silently activated Voice Chat and reached out to Dave. ‘Hey,’ I thought to him, ‘do you mind steering the wheel for a while?’

The reply came almost instantly, a ripple of familiar presence brushing against my mind. ‘Apologies,’ Dave said, his voice dry. ‘I am still healing, My Lord.’

I sighed and mentally leaned back. I might have been too hasty, pushing the idea of giving Dave more freedom. Thinking about it now, it wasn’t just unfair… it was cruel. At least back on Earth, when I was a teacher, I had weekends off. Time to breathe. Dave, on the other hand, was trapped inside me most of the time, silent, sleeping, sometimes just plain missing.

It made me remember the old Pokémon games I used to play as a kid. How we’d shove these poor creatures into little balls, call them out only when we needed them, and never think twice about it. Maybe I had treated Dave a little too much like that… a summoned entity, a tool. Not a partner.

‘We need to set up a schedule,’ I told him through Voice Chat, trying to sound lighter than I felt. ‘Once you’re fully healed, I’ll make time for you to experience the world. Not… not in the weird way,’ I added hurriedly when I felt his amusement. ‘I mean stuff like eating food, singing, dancing, whatever you want. You deserve more than just battles.’

There was no reply, but I felt a faint warmth settle in the back of my mind. That was enough for now.

”You look lost,” Tao Long suddenly said, his voice snapping me back to reality.

I looked over at him, then shrugged and walked over to a nearby couch nestled under the shade of a pavilion beam. ”No problem at all,” I said easily. ”Just thinking.”

I sprawled onto the couch, feeling the softness of expensive silk and the faintest scent of tea leaves that clung to the cushions. Seven days of doing nothing. Might as well do something useful with my time.

Reaching into my Item Box, I rummaged through the chaotic mental shelves until I found one of the books I had stashed ages ago. I pulled it free and turned it over in my hands… a thick tome with golden script embossed across the front: The Twelve Gateways to Spirit Mystery: A Guide to Your Breakthrough.

Not exactly light reading, but it was better than staring at the ceiling for a week.

I cracked the book open, feeling the familiar thrill of falling into new knowledge. As the distant city hummed below and Tao Long stood guard in the corner, I settled in and started to read, already losing myself in the labyrinthine theories of qi cycling and soul resonance.

One way or another, these seven days would pass.

And when they did, fate would come knocking.

It didn’t take long for the first day to pass. Honestly, it was boring, but at the same time, I found myself completely absorbed in my reading. There was something about cultivation that fascinated me in the same way gaming once had. The way systems and rules layered on top of one another, creating a path for advancement, felt familiar, almost nostalgic. In the Martial Tempering Realm, I read, you would get a boost in your physical abilities every time you connected a star to your dantian. Those stars were also referred to as meridians, and each one you conquered made you stronger in a direct, measurable way.

In the Mind Enlightenment Realm, the system became more intricate. It wasn’t just about growing stronger anymore. It was about creating a network, connecting every star to each other, forming your own unique constellation. It wasn’t a simple increase; it was a qualitative leap. Your physical and mental abilities would evolve from synergy, and your access to qi would transform from a trickle to a raging river if you did it correctly. Then came Will Reinforcement. That was where I currently stood. Through it, you could manifest an aura, a tangible extension of your soul and strength. Simply put, will! I had connected my stars carefully and meticulously, and now I stood at the ninth star of Will Reinforcement.

No… more than that. I wasn’t just standing at it. I was at the peak. Every star inside me thrummed with suppressed energy, bursting at the seams like they were dying to break free. I counted them one by one, over and over, and no matter how many times I double-checked, the number remained constant: twenty-seven stars. Twenty-seven stars burning within me, demanding to move forward.

I turned the page slowly, reading about the Spirit Mystery Realm. In order to ascend, I had to destroy the outer layer of my dantian. From its ruin, nine smaller stars would emerge, each needing to be fed with qi in a strict order, starting from the smallest to the largest. It sounded terrifying in theory. In practice, it was worse. For most people, the dantian sat in the lower abdomen. It was bad enough trying to destroy something so fundamental to your life, but in my case, my dantian wasn’t there.

My dantian was in my heart.

I leaned back in the couch, staring at the ceiling. Destroying the dantian meant destroying the heart… or at least the part intertwined with it. Sure, I could regenerate my heart with healing spells or divine methods, but could I really regenerate the core of my cultivation? I wasn’t so sure. Even Lu Gao had only managed to survive his dantian’s restructuring because he had endured the horrific toll of Divine Possession, not to mention he was practically an empty husk when he began using Mana Road Cultivation. It had been a miracle.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to cultivate, to try, to push forward. I sat still for hours, breathing slow and deep, directing my consciousness inward. I tried every technique I had learned: compression, resonance, visualization, even prayer. Nothing worked. My stars continued to pulse with potential, but the breakthrough refused to come. My heart was simply too precious, too tightly woven into my being for me to casually rip it apart.

When the second day passed, I barely noticed. I spent it much the same way… reading, meditating, contemplating, and failing. At some point, I used Voice Chat to check on Dave, just to pass the time.

”Dave,” I whispered inwardly, ”how are you feeling?”

”My Lord,” Dave answered, his voice warm and respectful, like a knight addressing his king. ”This one is still mending his spirit, but fear not. I am fine.”

”Rest well,” I told him gently. ”You don’t need to force yourself. When you’re ready, I’ll be counting on you again.”

”It will be my greatest honor, My Lord,” he replied. His words rang with sincerity, and after that, he grew quiet once more.

By the time the third day arrived, I accepted that there would be no miraculous progress. No breakthrough would come simply by wishing for it. I resigned myself to more reading, more theorizing, and more quiet reflection. At least I could deepen my understanding.

So, without any drama or fanfare, I pulled another thick tome from my Item Box, settled onto the couch, and continued my silent, studious war against the mountain standing between me and the next realm.

By the fourth day, I was starting to lose it.

Boredom gnawed at my mind like a slow, persistent disease. I found myself imagining the worst possibilities, like what had happened in Yellow Dragon City. Maybe an enemy would break in. Maybe some wild event would sweep me up again. Maybe I would snap under the stillness and do something stupid. Honestly, if I stayed trapped here much longer, I felt I might genuinely lose my mind.

I gave Tao Long a firm order the moment the thought crossed my head.

”Whatever happens,” I said sharply, meeting his unreadable gaze, ”don’t let me leave this room.”

Tao Long gave me a small nod, hands tucked neatly behind his back. ”Understood.”

He didn’t even ask why. That was professionalism, I supposed.

With nothing better to do, I asked Tao Long if he wanted to play a game of Go. He agreed without hesitation, and soon he was patiently explaining the rules to me, moving black and white stones across the board with calm precision. It wasn’t a bad way to kill time. The soft clack of the stones hitting the wood was oddly soothing, like rain on a roof.

Food would usually arrive with clockwork regularity, and while I didn’t need food to survive, it had become an important ritual for me. A small anchor to a normal life. But as the sun reached its peak in the sky, lunchtime came and went with no knock at the door.

I frowned, tapping a finger lightly on the side of the Go board.

”Tao Long,” I said, ”can you check on the inn servants? There’s no need to be overbearing. Just... if there’s a problem, please resolve it peacefully.”

I added after a pause, ”I overheard that the servants here like feeling useful. They take pride in serving guests. So, if it’s just a delay, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Tao Long gave a slight bow. ”As you command,” he said, and slipped away with the soundless efficiency only an experienced cultivator could manage.

Normally, I would have gone myself. But Nongmin’s words rang in the back of my mind that I must remain in my room. So, I stayed. Obediently. Restlessly.

I stared at the Go board, only half-focused, and realized that Tao Long had been winning. Badly. His pieces had already dominated most of the board, closing off my territories bit by bit. A mischievous part of me… the part that had cheated at board games back on Earth just to annoy my cousins, whispered that I could totally cheat and fix this.

Maybe just flick a stone or two when Tao Long wasn’t looking.

But I wasn’t feeling it today. My heart wasn’t in it.

Sighing, I pushed myself up from the floor and rummaged through my Item Box. After a minute of digging, I pulled out an easel, a canvas, a set of paintbrushes, and a box of paints. If I couldn’t win at Go, I could at least kill time with something a little more relaxing.

I set up the easel by the window, adjusting it until I had the best view of the outside. Beyond the pavilion, the sea stretched out into the misty horizon, meeting the sky in a faint, silver-blue blur. Mountains rose like jagged gods on the edges, their peaks shrouded in thin veils of cloud. Closer to the city, life bustled: merchants unloading carts, children chasing each other, fishermen hauling in their catch.

It was a beautiful view. So peaceful it hurt.

I dipped a brush into blue paint and began to sketch the lines of the sea in slow, deliberate strokes. There was no rush. No enemy to fight. No crisis to solve. Just the rhythmic movement of brush to canvas, tracing out a fragment of the world as I saw it.

And for the first time in days, my heart felt a little lighter.

It didn’t take me long to finish the painting.

The sea shimmered in layers of muted blue and green, the mountains loomed with solemn dignity, and the busy corner of the city buzzed with life in the distance. Somehow, through a little patience and idle brushstrokes, I had captured a moment of peace. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine and for now, that was enough.

I leaned back, surveying the canvas with a small amount of pride. Maybe if this whole cultivation journey went sideways, I could just open an art shop somewhere remote and paint my remaining days away.

That moment of quiet satisfaction was shattered by a sharp, hurried knock at the door.

I paused mid-stroke, brush hovering over the canvas. I had already sensed a presence outside some time ago… someone lingering, hesitant, unsure whether to announce themselves. Since they weren’t hostile, I let them be. Now, however, they were making themselves known.

Setting my brush aside, I wiped my hands on a cloth and walked over to the door.

When I opened it, I was met with a sight that made my mind momentarily freeze.

Standing there was a young girl.

She looked to be about twelve or thirteen years old by Earth standards, maybe a bit older by cultivation standards. Delicate features, bright eyes, and neatly combed hair. She was clearly nervous, judging by the way her fingers twisted into the hem of her dress.

I blinked. Then I remembered something important.

My chibi form.

I was still in it.

In this smaller body, I looked—what?—about ten years old? Maybe younger, depending on who you asked. It was hard to tell how people judged age here, but I had a sinking feeling this situation wasn’t going to be easy to navigate.

Still, I cleared my throat and asked the obvious question. ”Can I help you?”

The girl’s cheeks flared a bright crimson, and then, practically shouting, she said,

”Please marry me!”

There was a moment of stunned silence.

I felt my lips twitch, somewhere between laughter and horror. I instinctively glanced around, half-expecting sirens, flashing lights, and a group of agents screaming, ”FBI! OPEN UP!”

Internally, I cursed. Please, for the love of God, don’t call the FBI on me.

And because that wasn’t enough mental suffering, another thought immediately followed, filled with venomous spite: Also, fuck you, Nongmin.

Because clearly, somewhere in the depths of that sly Emperor’s mind, he had thought this would be hilarious. Yup, that was my policy now, remember? Blame the Emperor if something wrong happened to me… This was one of those situations.

I resisted the urge to physically massage my temples and forced a stiff, polite smile instead.

”Uh... maybe we should start with your name first?” I said.

My voice cracked a little. Not from nerves… no, from the sheer mental strain of trying to navigate what could only be described as a landmine field.

The girl nodded quickly, looking both mortified and hopeful at the same time.

”My name is—”