Immortal Paladin

In one of the rooms assigned to the Isolation Path Sect within the City Governor’s estate, a certain little goldfish swam happily in her bowl. I leaned in close, using the allure of the lettuce to gently feed the little fishy. Ren Jingyi wiggled excitedly in response. Good girl. I continued to shower her with affection, watching her swim in lazy circles, while my attention remained on Gu Jie.

She sat across from me, her posture composed, her hands resting lightly in her lap. Her complexion was still paler than it should be, but there was something steadier about her presence. She seemed more at ease, the shadow of constant deterioration no longer pressing so obviously against her.

I asked, “How are you doing?”

Gu Jie lowered her head slightly in greeting before responding, “Elder Lei Fen has delivered on his promise, Master. I can now continue cultivating Delayed Destiny of the Demonic Path at the First Realm.”

I hummed, continuing to watch Ren Jingyi’s little fins flap. “That’s good news. Does that mean you’ve stabilized your condition?”

Gu Jie hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. “It is an improvement. But ultimately, it is still an incomplete technique. I will have to complete it myself.”

I glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. “And when you do?”

Her expression didn’t change, but I could hear the conviction in her voice. “I will rename it. It will no longer be associated with the demonic path.”

A smile tugged at my lips. “So, a path of your own, huh?”

Gu Jie’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before she gave a small nod.

I leaned back, stretching. “Well, that makes two of us, then.”

She tilted her head slightly, but I didn’t elaborate.

It was the morning of the fifth day of the festival, and nearly the sixth day since my arrival in this world. Time moved fast. Too fast. The semi-finals would happen this afternoon, and after that… well, things would only get more interesting from here.

Across from me, Gu Jie sat with perfect posture, her black and red robes neatly arranged as she poured tea with measured grace. She was always composed, always restrained, but I had spent enough time around her to recognize the occasional flicker of emotion in her eyes.

She looked at me seriously, then finally spoke.

”Master… why did you not take me as your disciple?”

I paused mid-offering of lettuce to the goldfish. That was… unexpected.

”Do you believe I am lacking?” she continued, voice even, but I could sense something fragile beneath it.

Oh boy. How was I supposed to answer that? I wasn’t even sure how to process the idea of having a disciple in the first place. Pretending to be an immortal cultivator was already a lot to juggle, and now I had people actively trying to shove themselves into the role of my students.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. ”It’s not about that, Gu Jie.”

”Then what is it?”

I glanced at her, considering my words carefully. ”The path I walk… it wouldn’t be compatible with yours.”

For a moment, she just stared at me. Then, slowly, her expression fell.

”I understand.” She lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening slightly around her tea cup. ”Forgive me for overstepping my bounds, Master. Clearly, a demonic cultivator like me should not have dared.”

…Oh, come on.

I sighed again, setting aside the lettuce as Ren Jingyi swam around, probably sensing the shift in mood.

”That’s not what I meant,” I muttered.

But Gu Jie didn’t look up.

I wasn’t great at this whole ’profound wisdom’ thing, and I really wasn’t about to sit here acting like some enlightened master who spoke in riddles. The truth was, I had no idea if my abilities could even be taught to someone else, let alone someone with a completely different cultivation path.

How was I supposed to explain to her that my power system probably wouldn’t work on her?

Instead of trying to force an answer, I reached over and tapped the wooden board between us.

”Teach me Go.”

Gu Jie blinked. ”Go?”

”Yeah. I’ve never played before, but it looks fun.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, slowly, she set down her tea and started placing the black and white stones on the board, explaining the rules as she went.

As we played, the tension gradually eased. She was patient, methodical, and surprisingly good at explaining strategies without overwhelming me with details.

For the first time in a while, we weren’t talking about cultivation, or fate, or power struggles.

Just two people, playing a game.

And honestly?

It was kind of nice.

The soft clack of stones filled the quiet room.

I studied the board, pretending I understood what I was doing. Gu Jie sat across from me, her gaze sharp and focused as she placed another stone down with precise intent.

”Master,” she suddenly said, not looking up from the game, ”do you still sleep?”

That was an odd question. I glanced at her before returning my focus to the Go board. ”It depends. Not so much recently. I didn’t really have to sleep, anyway.”

Honestly, I missed the sensation of sleeping.

But I’d rather not, suspecting the weird memory mumbo-jumbo haunting me.

Some kind of memory synchronization to my game character… or something.

Gu Jie nodded as if that was expected. ”I thought so. Elder Lei Fen once mentioned that cultivators of the Fifth Realm and above no longer require sleep. Those beyond that point do not even need to eat.”

Now that was interesting. ”So what, they just run on air?”

She shook her head. ”Not quite. They still require energy. That is why even the highest-level cultivators meditate. It serves as their means of replenishment.”

”Huh.” I leaned back, considering that. ”I guess that makes sense. Everyone needs energy in some form.”

Gu Jie hummed in agreement, her red sleeves shifting as she reached for another stone. ”But, Master…”

I felt her eyes on me, assessing.

”I have never seen you meditate.”

…That was a good point.

I never sat cross-legged in deep contemplation or absorbed Qi from the heavens or whatever it was that cultivators did. I barely even stopped moving. From the moment I arrived in this world, I had been running, showing off, and scheming nonstop.

Rather than answer, I decided to consult my inner holy spirit.

”David_69,” I whispered through Voice Chat, my voice only reaching the entity within me.

”Yes, My Lord?” came the immediate response.

I studied the Go board. ”Advise me on my next move.”

A pause. Then, ”Place your stone three spaces to the left. It will reduce your losses.”

I did as instructed.

Gu Jie raised a delicate eyebrow but said nothing. She placed her next stone without hesitation.

Then she asked, ”Master… are you an immortal?”

I almost fumbled my next move.

Frankly? I had no idea.

Back in Lost Legends Online, game characters—whether NPCs or player avatars—could exist for hundreds or even thousands of years, depending on their race and lore. But to players, those centuries translated into mere months or years in real-time. The game world ran on its own logic, separate from reality.

Technically, players were as immortal as they could get… considering the lore and there game characters’ immunity to aging. And then there was the respawn mechanic.

But this world?

Was I still bound by the same rules?

Or was I something else entirely?

I had been avoiding these questions, too caught up in the immediate survival game that was this Xianxia Land. But the reality of the situation was pressing down on me, demanding answers I wasn’t ready to face.

I needed to talk to David_69—not just about strategy or combat, but about what I was. About my transmigration. About what it meant. But I kept procastinating.

Gu Jie placed her final stone. I stared at the board and realized, despite my best efforts, I had lost.

Barely.

”That was close,” she remarked, eyes gleaming with amusement. ”You did well, Master.”

I sighed. ”Thanks. But credit goes to my holy spirit.”

Her expression flickered with curiosity, but she didn’t press further.

I stared at the board, at the carefully laid stones, and at the nearly invisible margin between victory and defeat.

Somehow, it felt like a metaphor for something far bigger than just a game.

One of the most recurring tropes in xianxia was that characters were never truly free. No matter how powerful they became, they were always pieces on a board controlled by unseen forces—old immortals playing their games, ancient monsters lurking behind the veil of reality, manipulating fate as they pleased.

It was an overarching storyline, a cosmic struggle that loomed over every protagonist whether they acknowledged it or not.

The thought unsettled me.

Because if this world followed the same rules, then there was a chance—no, a certainty—that I was just another chess piece here.

I pushed that thought aside as Gu Jie reset the Go board. The weight of existential dread could wait. Right now, I had a game to lose.

Just as we placed the first few stones, Fan Shi arrived.

I’ve requested her presence from Lei Fen, wanting this serious talk for some time now..

”This disciple greets Senior,” she said, hands clasped in a formal bow.

”Make yourself comfortable,” I replied.

Fan Shi smirked. ”Then that’s what I will do, Senior.”

She moved with ease, settling beside us and pouring herself a cup of tea. She looked comfortable around me now, likely because we had hung out last night. It was a strange thing to see—her rigid demeanor softened into something almost casual.

I watched as she took a sip. Then I asked, ”How did you end up following the Psymancy Path of the Mage Legacy?”

Fan Shi guffawed.

Then choked.

And then, with the force of a ruptured dam, she spat her tea in a full, unrestrained torrent.

”W-what do you mean, Senior?”

I met her eyes, my expression neutral. ”Psychic Bolt, Mind Over Matter, and Soul Rend.”

Fan Shi paled. Her hands trembled as she set down the cup. ”You even know the skills’ names…”

I did. And now, I was very interested in hearing her explanation.

As I placed another stone on the Go board, I glanced at Fan Shi, who was still staring at me like I had just unmasked her deepest secret.

”Only my Master and I should know the name of the secret technique I am practicing,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gu Jie made a move. I countered.

Fan Shi frowned, conflicted. Her fingers tightened around her sleeves.

I let the silence stretch between us, letting her battle her own thoughts. Eventually, she caved.

”I… found a mysterious book in an old ruin,” she admitted, looking down at her cup of tea as if it would offer some comfort. ”It was written in a language I couldn’t read, yet I felt like I could. The moment I tried to read it, it turned into motes of light… and then I absorbed it.”

I placed my next move on the board, my mind running a mile a minute.

”The next thing I knew, I could perform techniques that didn’t utilize qi but… an imaginary power that existed from a different dimension.”

I froze mid-move.

Imaginary power from a different dimension?

That was an apt description for mana.

That was why in flavored texts, they were moved by belief and willpower.

I set my stone down, exhaling through my nose. My mind spun back to my time in Lost Legends Online. When Fan Shi said book, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t just any book.

It was a Legacy Advancement Book.

In LLO, most players started without a class. After reaching a certain level and fulfilling specific requirements, they could use a Legacy Advancement Book to acquire a class or unlock a unique skill path.

Guilds loved hoarding those things.

Not only did they let new players advance, but they also allowed veteran players to unlock highly specialized and varied skill paths. Some books were rare beyond belief, hidden in obscure locations or guarded by high-level bosses. I had my fair share of fights over them.

Even if a player had the Skill Books they wanted, they couldn’t learn the skills without a Skill Point and the proper Skill Path unlocked.

Fan Shi had, unknowingly, done something very similar.

I placed another stone on the board and asked, ”Did you feel anything change about yourself after absorbing the book?”

Fan Shi nodded hesitantly. ”My perception became… different. The world started feeling lighter—as if I was standing in two places at once. My thoughts became faster. And when I willed something to move…”

She raised a hand. The cup of tea on the table shuddered slightly before settling back down.

”…it listened,” she finished.

Psymancy.

I leaned back. ”You didn’t learn these techniques. You remembered them.”

Fan Shi’s expression turned tense. ”What do you mean, Senior?”

I tapped the Go board idly, my mind already fitting the puzzle pieces together.

”It means,” I said, ”that book didn’t teach you anything. It unlocked something that was already there.”

And that… was very concerning.

Why was the game named Lost Legends Online?

Emphasis on Lost Legends… and then there was the classes refered to as a Legacy.

The game had a unique take on ‘cultivation,’ but in a medieval fantasy setting, blending swords and sorcery with something deeper—something forgotten with a touch of mystique.

I wasn’t big on lore, but I knew enough from my time as a frequent wanderer in the game.

Once upon a time, humanity had a legacy hidden within their souls—a potential untouched by the old gods. But during the long Dark Ages that predated the game’s beta version, that legacy was lost.

The worldly races of that era waged war against the gods, using their legacies as weapons.

And yet, they were losing.

To protect their last hope, they sealed the knowledge of their legacies deep within their souls, hiding it away. They placed their trust in the future, betting everything on the next generation.

A chill crawled up my spine.

The only characters who could use Skill Books and Legacy Advancement Books in LLO were players or special heroic NPCs.

Most NPCs in the game weren’t native to the world—they had arrived from portals, fleeing from their own ruined lands, repopulating the world after the Dark Ages. They mixed bloodlines with the denizens of LLO, giving birth to the next generation. Among the new generation, some had inherited immortal souls—fragments of champions from that lost era.

Those were the players.

And sometimes really badass NPCs.

I stared at Fan Shi.

”Master, your move,” Gu Jie reminded me.

I placed a stone on the board absentmindedly, but my focus remained on Fan Shi. I activated Divine Sense and swept my awareness over her.

Nothing.

There was nothing special about her. No distinct presence. No hidden energy. No signature that should mark her as different.

And yet…

”What is it, Senior?” Fan Shi asked, tilting her head.

I needed to be sure.

I needed a way to confirm if she was truly from this world.

So I tested it with the simplest trick I knew.

I cleared my throat.

”Baby Shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo~”

…

An awkward silence followed.

Gu Jie stared at me, completely lost.

Fan Shi tilted her head even further, looking equally confused.

The embarrassment wasn’t killing me, but I sure wished I was dead.