Immortal Paladin

It hadn’t even been ten minutes into our flight on the Megatron when Zai Ai started looking for her ring, her brows furrowing in what looked suspiciously like rising panic. She patted down her sleeves, then her sash, then made a little whirl halfway down the corridor like she was hoping she’d catch it falling through a portal in reverse.

Huh… So her perception sucked.

I reckoned the Emperor was the exception, fairly recalling the one time I tried to steal from his treasure hoard by sneakily spamming my Divine Sense and Item Box in tandem.

How was I supposed to pretend to be a little shit of a genius if no one could see my feats?

Meh~! It was fine either way…

“Has anyone seen my Storage Ring?” she asked, trying to sound calm but failing miserably. “It was just on my hand. A moment ago.”

Jia Sen didn’t even try to hide the smirk. “Amazing,” he said. “So young and already forgetting your things. What a prodigy.” He clapped slowly, mock applause echoing off the ship’s crystalline walls.

Zai Ai glared at him. “I’m being serious.”

“I am, too,” he replied smoothly. “Serious admiration. Very inspiring.”

Jia Yun made a noise like a stifled sneeze, which I was pretty sure was her trying not to laugh.

I kept my face blank. That’s the key to misdirection: not looking guilty when you absolutely are.

Because yeah. I stole it.

The moment I bumped into her earlier, right between our delightful exchange of creative insults and the ship taking off, I palmed the ring and slid it into my Item Box with the kind of practiced ease that should’ve belonged to a rogue, not a holy knight. But hey, I was no longer in a game, and class restrictions were long gone.

I was a Paladin, sure. But what was stopping me from picking up more Sub-Class?

Nothing.

That thought alone had me buzzing. Maybe I still needed to find a Legacy Advancement Book to unlock rogue talents formally, but clearly, the boundaries of my old world’s system were dissolving. Skills bled into each other now. Morality, too. I wasn’t trying to be a thief. It just happened. Like tripping over a rock and landing on a chest full of loot.

Yep, I’m a ball of contradiction!

In my defense, it wasn’t about the ring. It was about the look she kept giving Nongmin. That soft, downturned glance when she thought he wasn’t watching. The way her body turned slightly toward him whenever he spoke, like he was the only gravity in the room. It was subtle. But I noticed.

And so did he.

Nongmin hadn’t said a word since Zai Ai brought up the missing ring. He was just standing there, hands behind his back, eyes locked on me like I was a particularly noisy ghost he’d chosen not to exorcise yet.

Yeah. He knew.

He definitely knew.

And yet… he said nothing.

Which made me feel worse, honestly. Because it wasn’t like I wanted to make Zai Ai miserable. She had that particular brand of elder-youngster energy that made me want to break a teacup over her head. But still.

I didn’t hate her.

It was just one of those moods I’d get cranky, unapologetic… and impatient.

On top of that, I just felt weirdly, irrationally protective of Nongmin. The guy was emotionally constipated on a level I hadn’t seen since every sad dad in every fantasy JRPG ever. And yet, despite his terrifying power and high-level stoicism, he had this sort of dumb, wide-eyed sincerity under all that regality. Like if someone cared for him, even a little, he wouldn’t know what to do with it.

So... when Zai Ai gave him that glance? I felt… twitchy. Not jealous, not exactly. More like suspicious older brother energy.

It made me wonder why Xin Yune hadn’t told me anything about this dynamic. I mean, come on. This was the scoop of the millennium. Nongmin and Zai Ai? If that ship was even possible, how had the Empress of the Empire’s Secrets not spilled it?

Was she laughing at me from beyond the grave?

...Probably.

“Maybe the Honored Seat dropped it during the ship formation,” Jia Yun offered politely. “I believe the Honored Seat was on the far side of the hallway.”

“Maybe,” Zai Ai muttered, clearly not believing that but unwilling to escalate the matter without proof. “But lass, I am a Tenth Realm cultivator… Do you think I’ll drop my own darn Storage Ring for something so simple like that?”

I didn’t say anything. Just kept my expression blank and focused on a nonexistent scratch on the wall.

Eventually, Nongmin spoke. “We’ll arrive in three days’ time if we maintain current velocity. Until then, rest. Or meditate. Or whatever it is you people do when not accusing each other of thievery.”

He turned without another word, robe fluttering behind him like he was already over the entire situation. I followed his back with my eyes.

He didn’t ask for the ring back.

Did that mean he approved?

...Did that make me the bad guy?

“Hey,” I said, too quickly. Zai Ai turned toward me. “When I find your ring, I’ll return it. Just... try not to look too betrayed, alright?”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You know where it is? How suspicious...”

I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

She stepped forward, raising a hand like she was seriously considering smacking me across the face.

I pointed at my cheek. “Go on. Hit me. It’s not like I’ll dodge.”

The moment dragged. Then she huffed and turned away, muttering something about insufferable gremlins.

I exhaled.

Just another normal day on the Megatron.

Here’s the thing about being a gamer: we loved loot.

We didn’t just love it, we lived for it. Whether it was raiding boss chests, farming drop zones for that 0.2% drop rate, or pulling gacha rolls at 2 a.m. with all the reckless hope of a man lighting fireworks inside a gas station… loot made us tick.

But if we existed in real life like how we existed in our games? We’d probably be put in prison. Or a mental hospital. Or straight-up found dead in an alley, impaled on a rare sword we couldn’t unequip.

Even a Paladin like me—technically holy, mostly noble, debatably lawful—had his moments of weakness. Or strength, depending on how you viewed opportunistic thievery.

I waited until everyone had shuffled off the corridor. Zai Ai stomped back toward her quarters like the hallway had insulted her ancestors, and Jia Sen had wandered off humming a tune that sounded suspiciously like the Emperor’s anthem but off-key on purpose.

I reached into my Item Box and pulled out the Storage Ring.

Time for some reconnaissance.

I closed my eyes, activated Divine Sense, and pushed my awareness inside. It felt a little like sifting through a very judgmental closet. No traps. No spiritual guardians. Just rows of spatial compartments, neat and tidy… and filled with disappointment.

“Come on…” I muttered.

No jade slips. No secret manuals. No sword scrolls inscribed with forbidden lightning techniques that could vaporize enemies and emotionally cripple their families.

Just… clothes.

Specifically, robes. A dozen varieties. Battle robes. Cultivation robes. Casual “I’m-not-trying-but-I’m-still-hot” robes. Some even looked tailor-made to match certain lighting conditions... was she color-coding by time of day?

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Is this… a vanity ring?”

And then there were the portraits.

I paused, squinting at one.

It was a spiritual sketch, one of those animated types that moved slightly if you looked long enough. Zai Ai, striking a dramatic pose against a backdrop of mountains and mist, wind tugging at her hair while a crane circled overhead like it had been paid to photobomb.

I found five more just like it.

Each one had different poses. In one, she was meditating under a waterfall. In another, she was dual-wielding spirit sabers with a little spark effect that probably cost extra.

This was not a treasure trove.

This was a highlight reel.

There were spirit stones, hundreds and thousands of them, glowing gently in the corner like obedient puppies, but I didn’t dare take those. Someone like her would notice the exact weight and spiritual balance of her currency pile down to the decimal.

Techniques, though? Those I could’ve copied on a separate piece of paper while in the shitter. That was the plan. Just good ol’ bathroom piracy. But there were none. Not even a basic cultivation method. I found a comb imbued with wind affinity and a tea set that auto-boiled, but no manuals.

I sighed.

My day was ruined.

Closing the ring and slipping it back into my inventory, I leaned against the wall and stared at the ceiling. Light from the ship’s core pulsed faintly through the translucent panels above me, bathing the corridor in a soft blue glow.

“I’m in my villain arc,” I muttered.

Then paused.

“No. Actually… this is the start of my little shit arc.”

There was a difference.

A villain planned. Had schemes. Goals. World domination. Long-term bitterness.

Me?

I was just vibing in moral gray. Low-stakes chaos. Annoying people slightly to make myself feel better while desperately hoping my karma didn’t stack too high too fast. I stretched and wandered toward the dining hall. Might as well grab something to eat before I started casing Jia Sen’s ring next. That smug bastard had to have something worth copying. If Zai Ai was hoarding fashion accessories, maybe Jia Sen was hoarding something actually illegal.

Or at least embarrassing.

The thought made me grin.

Then I paused, mid-step, because Nongmin was standing at the edge of the hall’s entrance, holding a cup of what looked like plum tea. His gaze was level, as always.

But this time, when he looked at me, he raised an eyebrow.

Not in judgment.

In amusement.

I blinked.

“Problem?” I asked.

He took a slow sip. “Did you learn what you needed?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You knew.”

“I always know,” he said mildly. “You’re not as subtle as you think.”

I flushed, more from embarrassment than guilt. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

He considered that, then gave a tiny shrug. “She deserves to be humbled now and then.”

I blinked again.

That was… unexpected.

He added, “Though next time, ask. Theft lacks elegance.”

“Right,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “So you’re okay with me… you know. Picking through people’s rings?”

He gave me a look.

I raised both hands. “Purely for information!”

He rolled his eyes, an honest-to-gods eye roll from the Emperor of Grand Ascension Empire or whatever title he had now.

“Just don’t get caught. And don’t touch my ring.”

I snorted. “Got it.”

And just like that, he walked off with the faintest smile at the corners of his mouth.

I stood there a second longer, wondering what kind of fever dream I was living in where the Emperor was encouraging my petty crime career, and why it weirdly felt like he approved of my chaos.

Yep. Definitely the little shit arc.

”Okay, what’s next?”

The Megatron was many things: massive, mysterious, and a marvel of artifact engineering, but above all else, it was weirdly domestic on the inside. We each had personal quarters, real beds, and door handles made of jade-inlaid starmetal. The walls had subtle formation scripts that glowed faintly with mood lighting. There was even a damn bonsai room. A bonsai room. If it weren’t for the occasional flash of lightning across the view panels or the muted hum of flying at ridiculous speeds through the upper stratosphere, I’d have assumed we were living inside someone’s fancy mountain estate.

Naturally, I took this as permission to act like a gremlin.

Over the past three days, I’d been entertaining myself the only way I knew how: by being a little shit.

For example, on the second morning, I walked into the central corridor, flopped dramatically onto one of the jade benches, and groaned loud enough for the entire ship to hear.

“No chef?” I whined. “Really? You bring me to some god-tier flying fortress, and you expect me to reheat my own dumplings?”

Zai Ai was meditating. Her eye twitched.

Jia Sen blinked at me like I was an exotic insect he hadn’t studied yet.

Nongmin, ever the bastion of regality and passive-aggression, just stared.

I pressed harder. “Are you telling me the Empire couldn’t spare one culinary cultivator? One soulfire baker? Not even a Spirit Stew Grandmaster? You know food affects qi flow, right? What if I die from improperly steamed buns?”

“Nongmin, discipline your grandson,” Zai Ai muttered without opening her eyes as she expressed her complaints in Qi Speech to Nongmin from her quarters. “Or I will do it.”

“See? That’s the spirit!” I beamed. “Even she agrees.”

Nongmin looked seconds away from teleporting into deep space just to avoid further social interaction. His hands folded tightly behind his back as he walked past me. “Your quarters are fully stocked… with food. Use the talismans if you must, so go and cook for yourself.”

“Yeah, but then it feels like I’m eating scrolls. It’s emotionally unsatisfying.”

“Then meditate on that dissatisfaction.”

God, he was such a nerd.

Zai Ai muttered something about ‘scrubbing me off the deck with a broom’ and turned away. Jia Sen, whom I still hadn’t decided if I liked or hated, gave me this slow, smug smile like he was recording my tantrum in a mental ledger.

But honestly? It was worth it.

That night, I returned Zai Ai’s Storage Ring. Slipped it onto her finger while she was deep meditating, right after triple-checking she wasn’t going to open her eyes and explode me on reflex. I might be a gremlin, but I wasn’t suicidal, whether it be physical suicide or social suicide. I even used Divine Word: Rest, because I could be such a brat sometimes.

“Not so worth it… Man, I got my priorities so wrong sometimes...”

Two days in, I pulled the same trick on Jia Sen. He didn’t even notice, probably too busy studying that flower manual he kept in his Storage Ring. A whole technique scroll about horticulture. Tenth Realm cultivator, and he was obsessed with the spiritual harmony of petunias.

What was with these people?

You’d think two peak cultivators would be hoarding doomsday techniques and forbidden soul arts. But no. They had tea blends, paintings, flower books, and robes so ugly they must have been enchanted to repel criticism.

I didn’t steal anything permanent. Just copied some manuals. Mostly out of curiosity. I figured if I ever needed to start a flower shop or impersonate a scholar, I’d be covered.

Eventually, the ship began descending. The Megatron didn’t land like normal flying vessels. It phased downward, the warping formations humming with ridiculous precision. Nongmin’s control over the formation scripts was terrifying. At one point, he literally rewrote the space-time pathway of the ship mid-flight to bypass a dimensional fog pocket. And he did it in under two minutes, like he was editing a spreadsheet.

By the time we reached sea level again after that stunt, I felt like I’d gone through five stomachs and left my soul somewhere near the troposphere. I really should’ve stayed in my room.

We emerged onto the deck as the mist cleared, revealing our destination. The ocean sparkled below like molten silver. Cliffs rose jagged and proud, and there, nestled between mountain and shoreline, was the outline of a fortress still under construction. It wasn’t just stone and scaffolding—it was alive with qi, glowing runes etched into every tower spire, shimmering barriers weaving between construction crews. It looked like someone had tried to manifest a city out of a dream.

Liang Na, who had appeared out of nowhere like a polite ghost, clasped her hands behind her back and said, “Each World Summit is hosted at a neutral site… and each time, a city or fortress is built by a joint alliance of attending factions. It is symbolic of cooperation.”

“More like a show of power,” Tao Long said, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

“Sometimes both,” Liang Na replied mildly. “This time, the fortress is sponsored by the Martial Alliance. They serve as this summit’s host.”

Nongmin nodded. “Their leader, Grandmaster Yi Qiu, selected this location for strategic and spiritual resonance. Earth qi converges with ocean qi here. It also makes escape difficult. An ideal setting for... diplomacy.”

Zai Ai snorted. “You mean an ideal setting for passive-aggressive threats cloaked in flowery language and tea ceremonies.”

“Ah,” I said, grinning. “So a family reunion, but with swords.”

No one laughed. Figures.

I leaned on the railing and looked out at the growing fortress. So much was happening. Powers aligning. Tensions building. It felt like the prelude to a war, dressed up in robes and polite smiles.

I cracked my knuckles.

Good. I was getting bored anyway.

“So… how often does this World Summit thing happen, exactly?” I asked, my hands resting behind my head as I leaned back against the rail of the Megatron’s deck. The ocean breeze tousled my hair, and I squinted out toward the fortress rising from the beach and stone.

Tao Long, who had been standing like a statue for the past hour, spoke without turning his head. “Roughly once a century. Sometimes more. Sometimes less. Depends on the signs.”

“Once a century?” I whistled. “Not exactly your local monthly town hall meeting.”

“The timing,” Nongmin added from nearby, “corresponds to the opening of a new realm.”

That made me pause.

“…Wait, what do you mean by ‘realm’?”

He gave me a sidelong look, as if trying to figure out how to explain to someone who still occasionally forgot spirit stones weren’t edible. “A new realm. An unexplored world. Often with its own laws of qi, ecology, treasures, and dangers. Sometimes it’s a pocket dimension. Sometimes it’s something larger. A whole world.”

My mouth opened slightly. “You mean… You guys discover a whole-ass new dimension every century like it’s some seasonal event?”

“More or less,” Tao Long said.

That was… No. Hold on.

That was crazy. Insanely crazy!

Back on Earth, we spent centuries just trying to figure out if aliens existed or if Atlantis was real. These people? “Oh yeah, another world just cracked open in the void again, better hold a summit.” What next? A “Mystic Realm Loyalty Program”? Collect nine entry tokens, and get the tenth realm free?

Nongmin must’ve seen the look on my face. “It’s not always predictable. Sometimes a realm devours the cultivators who enter it. Sometimes the realm itself becomes sentient. But yes, roughly every hundred years, something opens… and when it does, the major powers gather to divide access.”

Of course. Because nothing said ‘civilized diplomacy’ like carving up a newly discovered world like pizza slices at a college dorm.

The Megatron slowly began its descent, its formation rings folding in with a series of soft, harmonic hums. Nongmin didn’t bother landing the ship properly—he let it hover a meter off the sand, hovering like a boastful god refusing to touch dirt. With a flick of his fingers, a glowing plank extended from the side of the ship and gently thudded onto the beach.

I hopped down first.

Instant regret.

“Ugh. Sand. On. My. Feet,” I hissed, brushing at my boots. “You couldn’t have parked us on the stone, seriously?”

Tao Long and Liang Na followed close behind, silent as ever. I was starting to realize they weren’t really my companions as much as my designated handlers. Maybe I should’ve been offended. Then again, with my track record, maybe I should’ve been grateful they didn’t put a leash on me.

I’d dare them to put a leash on me, though… I’ll throw hands.

To my right, Jia Yun clung to her father’s side. Jia Sen had already taken out a golden slip and was imprinting a message into it with a narrow stream of qi, probably some political notice or invitation scroll. His robes fluttered slightly in the breeze, and he looked like someone who never once had to deal with chafing in his life.

He turned to Nongmin and offered a shallow bow. “I’ll go ahead to join the Heavenly Temple delegation. They should be assembling on the main platform. I’ll inform the other participants of the Empire’s arrival.”

“Much appreciated,” Nongmin said, clasping his hands politely. “If it’s not too troublesome, let them know the Empire is interested in maintaining a… mutually respectful relationship with the Temple. Friendly, if possible.”

Jia Sen smiled faintly. “If it’s possible, then it shall be done. If not, I’ll find a way to make it possible.”

Classic cultivator answer, say nothing clearly, but sound wise as hell while doing it.

He departed with his daughter in tow, their silhouettes shrinking against the expanse of rising scaffolds and gleaming formation pillars from a distance. They sure could move fast. I watched them go, thinking to myself how I should behave for the rest of the day.

“You think he’ll actually put in a good word?” I asked.

Nongmin didn’t answer immediately. “He will. He understands the value of appearances.”

“Mm,” I nodded. “And here I thought the summit would be boring.”

Tao Long gave me a flat look. “You still have no idea what’s going to happen, so stay on your toes, young master.”

“Young master? Ah, never mind... I usually don’t have an idea,” I said with a grin. “That’s the point. But that’s half the fun of life, right? At least, if it’s a Shenyuan situation, I won’t weep if any of you suddenly kicks the bucket… wait, too far? Is it too far? Yeah, too far… I should dial down my brattiness index.”