Immortal Paladin

[POV: David_69]

Zi Cheng sat upright in the guild’s marble lobby, his posture as precise as a drawn blade. The middle-aged man’s robes were plain, yet the aura that leaked from him was sharp enough to make nearby attendants keep a respectful distance.

On his lap rested a thin, well-thumbed novel bound in faded leather. Beside him, propped carefully against the bench, stood his sword. Its sheath was polished, hilt wrapped in fresh cloth, and the weapon treated less like steel and more like kin.

Zi Cheng’s lips moved with solemn pride as he read aloud, his voice carrying through the hall like a chant of scripture.

“And so the righteous sword, steady as the mountain, cut down the arrogance of the saber! With clarity of will and sharpness of spirit, the blade triumphed where brute force faltered.”

He paused, smiling faintly, and turned a page with exaggerated reverence. His free hand brushed the sword’s hilt, as though assuring it that these words were written in its honor.

“You see, beloved,” he murmured to the weapon, his tone one of gentle affection. “Even in stories penned by lesser men, the truth cannot be denied. The sword stands eternal. The saber is but a crude imitation.”

Several adventurers passing by exchanged glances, some stifling laughter, others whispering. But none dared voice mockery in earshot of the Sword Sage, for all knew that beneath his oddities lay a Tenth Realm titan whose blade had carved legends across the Hollowed World.

Zi Cheng’s eyes gleamed as he continued, his voice rising with pride.

“The saber wielder roared, his strikes wild, yet his strength was nothing before the clarity of the sword. And when the dust settled, only the sword remained shining, unyielding, and victorious.”

He closed the book with a firm snap, exhaling through his nose as if he had just imparted a sacred teaching. His hand rested on the hilt again, stroking it with unhidden tenderness.

“You hear that? We triumph, always. It has been written, it has been proven, and it shall ever be so.”

In that moment, to Zi Cheng, it seemed his sword hummed in agreement.

Dave cleared his throat, a deliberate cough to announce his presence. “Lord Sword Sage,” he said, bowing slightly, “how may I be of service to you?”

Zi Cheng’s head shot up from his book, his face splitting into a wide grin. “Oh, if it isn’t my favorite warlord! I missed you already.” His words echoed through the lobby, startling a pair of junior adventurers into nearly dropping their satchels.

Dave crossed the space and sat opposite him, his posture calm, hands folded neatly. “We just saw each other four years ago in the Union War Council.”

“Don’t be like that, Sacred Sword,” Zi Cheng pouted, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Of course you missed me! No one can resist missing me.”

The truth of his excitement lay not in sentiment but in obsession. Among the Seven Warlords, Zi Cheng alone wielded the sword. For decades, he endured the laughter of those who claimed the saber, the spear, or the halberd to be superior. When the new warlord, Mao Xian, Dave, appeared, wielding a sword of pure quintessence, it had filled Zi Cheng with vindication. Proof, in his eyes, that the sword’s supremacy was undeniable.

Dave remained impassive. “What’s the reason for your visit, Sword Sage?”

Zi Cheng clutched his chest, feigning offense. “Business, already? Can’t it be? That I just want to see my sword buddy?”

At his side, the sheathed blade he called Moonflower quivered. A clear, resonant hum filled the hall. It was the voice of steel. The vibration was so potent that passing adventurers staggered, some fainting outright as the pressure struck their souls.

Zi Cheng gasped, covering his mouth as though scandalized. “Oh my, Moonflower likes you very much! It makes me want to kill you.”

The humor vanished from the air. A killing intent, vast and merciless, flooded the space, sweeping down like a tidal wave. It was not mere aura, not simple bloodlust. It was imbued with world force. Zi Cheng’s cultivation at the Tenth Realm, the Endless Path, allowed him to project the might of a completed inner world. The will of a cosmos, honed and sharpened to a single point of death.

Dave’s gaze narrowed, though his posture never shifted. He lacked an inner world; his path had diverged to this world’s system, leaning heavily on the Transcendent Method and nurturing the Paladin’s Legacy. But what he lacked in structure, he compensated for with ingenuity. His vessel’s innate cultivation allowed him to manipulate spiritual pressure, and he had woven this with the many aura techniques he had mastered across twenty-five years of study.

Combined with an eternity of practical experience in the time-stopped mountain of Ward, he was more than able to do something like this…

Hybrid Skill: Transcendent War Aura.

The atmosphere shifted. Dave’s presence erupted outward, not as a world but as a paradox. It was calm and raging, holy and dreadful, transcendent yet rooted in steel. The air trembled as the clash of forces ground against one another, invisible yet unbearable. Dust lifted from the floorboards, lantern flames quivered, and even the sturdy walls groaned.

Zi Cheng’s grin widened as if he had found a long-lost friend. For a moment, the killing intent deepened, sharp enough to peel the skin from bone. Then, suddenly, he withdrew it, exhaling as if satisfied.

“Now, now,” Zi Cheng said, his tone playful again. “As long as you don’t take away my sweet darling, we’d be best friends.”

Dave, his gaze unwavering, allowed his aura to dissipate as well, folding the Transcendent War Aura back into silence.

Before Zi Cheng became one of the Seven Warlords of the Union, his name had already been carved into the Hollowed World. They had called him the Demonic Sword Fanatic. A madman, a pilgrim of blades, and a storm that never ceased. He roamed the lands without banner or faction, hunting for swordsmen and swordswomen alike, challenging them in duels, and when he won, which was almost always, he claimed their swords as trophies.

Zi Cheng’s collection of blades was said to number in the hundreds. Some whispered that he remembered each one, could tell their stories as if they were living beings. And though now he bore the air of a refined warlord, that fanatic edge had never left him.

Dave knew this well. And in the quiet recesses of his mind, he admitted something few others would dare: if he and Zi Cheng were to face each other in pure swordsmanship, without aura, without divine force, without the tools of cultivation… he wasn’t sure he would win.

Zi Cheng’s grin was bright as ever as he leaned forward, his sword humming faintly at his side. “I am so excited to visit the Empire…” he declared. His voice carried the enthusiasm of a child presented with a new toy. “Do you know? They have this guy called the Sword Pilgrim, whose swordsmanship is so precise he could cut an apple and have it not realize it had been cut?”

Dave blinked slowly. The statement was absurd, bordering on farce. Yet Zi Cheng’s eyes shone with genuine wonder, as if he had just spoken of a miracle worthy of scripture.

‘It frankly sounds stupid,’ Dave thought, his lips pressing into a thin line. ‘Even if there’s truth in his rhetoric, my time is too precious for this nonsense.’

Aloud, his voice was clipped, businesslike. “What do you want, Zi Cheng?”

The Sword Sage pouted briefly before his grin returned. “Someone wishes to meet you, but not here.”

Dave’s gaze sharpened. “Who?”

Zi Cheng tapped the pommel of Moonflower, the hum deepening like laughter. “An old buddy of mine.”

That set alarms ringing in Dave’s thoughts. Suspicion crept in as he regarded the man before him. Zi Cheng was not an enemy. Not exactly. But neither was he an ally. Among the Seven Warlords, none trusted the others fully. They tolerated, maneuvered, and schemed, each waiting for the day the balance shifted so they might tear one another apart. To think otherwise was to be a fool.

‘And yet,’ Dave mused, ‘it would be too cynical to assume every hand extended is meant to draw blood. Still… Zi Cheng is a battle maniac. That cannot be forgotten.’

Compared to his Lordship, however, the Sword Sage seemed almost restrained. His Lordship would have crashed through the Union Hall itself just to duel a stranger if it fancied him, dragging entire armies into his obsession with PvP.

Well… at least, that was how the old David would act.

Zi Cheng, at least, wrapped his mania in eccentric charm. “Don’t look so grim. My friend has information… on the Nameless City.”

The words cut sharper than any blade.

Dave immediately straightened, every ounce of calculation in his mind shifting at once. The Nameless City, born from his Lordship’s sundered battle, and guarded by angels that devoured all who approached.

“I’ll meet him,” Dave said without hesitation, his voice low but firm. “But how did you know I have an interest in this information?”

“Oh, you will have to talk it out with my friend.”

Zi Cheng rose to his feet, sliding Moonflower into place at his hip with practiced ease. His novel vanished into a pocket dimension with a flick of his wrist, as if it had never been there at all. He flashed Dave a smile that was too casual for the gravity of his aura.

“Follow me closely, Sacred Sword. Don’t lag behind. You’ll lose the path if you do.”

Without waiting for a reply, Zi Cheng moved. His body erupted into motion, leaving streaks of brilliance in the air. His movement technique was effortless, neither too fast nor too slow, yet each step carried him impossibly far, as if the world itself bent to his stride.

Dave adjusted immediately, his own form blurring with the activation of Zealot’s Stride. His movements were sharper, more direct, each step infused with the unwavering conviction of his path. He matched the Sword Sage’s pace, maintaining vigilance. With Zi Cheng, one could never be certain if a sudden detour was a friendly jest… or a killing strike.

They passed the edges of the city-proper where Dave’s Adventurer’s Guild held sway, the stone towers shrinking in the distance. Soon, the countryside rolled into jagged mountains, their peaks clawing at the heavens, before dissolving into narrow valleys that funneled them toward the coast.

The scent of salt filled the air, and the crash of waves thundered below as the horizon opened. At last, the pair arrived at the vast expanse of the sea.

There, upon its surface, stood a figure.

He was immense in stature, his frame broad, each muscle cut as if carved from iron. His long red hair flowed like fire in the ocean wind, and the sheer presence radiating from him churned the waves beneath his feet. He stood aloft over the sea as though it were solid ground, unshaken, unyielding.

Zi Cheng stepped lightly onto the water, Moonflower humming faintly at his side, his footing as delicate as if he had landed on silk.

Dave followed, his boots striking the waves without sinking. Zealot’s Stride held him steady, the aura of his conviction keeping him anchored even as the waters surged and roared around him.

His eyes narrowed as he studied the red-haired man. Recognition struck like lightning.

“Yi Qiu…” Dave murmured under his breath.

The Master of the Martial Alliance.

The sea wind howled across the open waters, scattering the spray in fine mist. Yi Qiu stood aloft on the waves as though upon solid marble, his red hair whipping in the gale, his presence bearing down like the weight of a storm.

His voice was deep, steady, carrying an authority that did not need to shout. “I believe this is the first time we’ve met.”

Dave kept his stance rooted with Zealot’s Stride, his robe swaying faintly in the salted breeze. His eyes did not waver from the figure before him. “Your fame stretches far and wide, Master Yi Qiu. Of course I know you.” He paused, his voice sharpening. “Now, I hope you don’t find my question rude, but I would dare ask… what made you think I want information regarding the Nameless City? And even if I did… why would you want to tell it to me?”

The Martial Alliance Master regarded him in silence for a heartbeat, his expression unreadable. Then he shifted his gaze toward the Sword Sage.

“Zi Cheng,” Yi Qiu said evenly, “leave us be.”

That simple dismissal carried the force of command.

For all his eccentricity, Zi Cheng did not protest. His grin softened into something oddly restrained. “Then I shall leave you be.” With a flicker of motion, he was gone, Moonflower’s hum fading into silence as his presence slipped away into the horizon.

The sea calmed in his absence. Only Dave and Yi Qiu remained, two figures poised over endless waters.

It was far more shocking to stand face-to-face with Yi Qiu than to entertain the Sword Sage’s eccentric ramblings. Zi Cheng was merely a fraction of a great power. Yi Qiu was the whole power itself, representing the entire Martial Alliance.

Yi Qiu finally spoke again, his eyes fixed on Dave with the intensity of a hawk. “The movements of your adventurers… to most eyes, they appear random. Scatterings of quests, deployments, meaningless exploration.” His lips curved slightly, not into a smile but something colder. “They are not random at all.”

Dave’s gaze tightened, but he remained silent.

“With the resources of the Martial Alliance,” Yi Qiu continued, his tone measured, “I traced the threads. The patterns. And they all point to one thing… your interest in the Nameless City.” “

“You must be mistaken,” denied Dave, yet Yi Qiu just continued.

“It was frankly a stroke of luck, considering how I found the traces of your organization while looking into the Nameless City. When I learned how deep and thorough your preparations were, I realized your designs for the Nameless City were not mere whim or fancy. You want it for yourself, no?”

Yi Qiu’s aura flared, though not with hostility. His voice lowered, carrying weight, conviction. “I have no interest in land, Sacred Sword. Conquest does not move me, nor do thrones. But there is something… in that City. Something that must be confirmed by my own eyes.”

Dave naturally asked. “Then what is it you want?”

“Your cooperation,” He extended his hand, palm upward. “So I offer this: join forces with me.”