Immortal Paladin

073 Sidequest? Nah…

073 Sidequest? Nah...

On the Floating Dragon, I sat cross-legged in my usual corner, idly swirling the water in Ren Jingyi’s fishbowl. The ripples distorted her golden scales, making her look almost otherworldly. I had been waiting, watching. Something told me she was close.

Then, in an instant, it happened.

A surge of Qi pulsed from the bowl, subtle yet undeniable.

“Holy shit,” I nearly dropped it. "By the heavens!"

Ren Xun, lounging nearby, bolted upright. "What shit is holy?! What in the name of the ancestors—" His eyes narrowed as he saw me clutching the fishbowl as if it were a priceless treasure.

I barely registered him, my entire focus on the trembling water. "She broke through," I muttered, half in awe, half in disbelief.

Ren Xun blinked. "Who did?"

"The fish," I said.

Silence.

"The fish?" His voice turned flat.

"The fish," I confirmed. "She stepped into the First Star of the Martial Tempering Realm."

Ren Xun stared at me as if I had just told him the heavens had collapsed. Then, slowly, he leaned in, scrutinizing the fishbowl as though expecting some trickery. The Qi was real—tiny, flickering ripples in the water, like embers dancing in the wind. Ren Jingyi herself floated in place, golden scales gleaming with an intensity they had never possessed before.

Across the boat, Lu Gao muttered, "The fish broke through? But... it’s only been a few weeks."

Yes, Lu Gao. I understood you completely. The young man had spent years trapped in his crippled state, his meridians shattered beyond repair, unable to cultivate a single step forward. And yet, here was my pet—my damn goldfish—defying the heavens as though fate had never bound her in the first place.

Ren Xun exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temples as if warding off a headache. “Senior... you mean to tell me that while cultivators suffer through life-and-death trials, endure years of arduous training, and wager their very souls against tribulations, your fish—a domesticated, insignificant fish—ascended in a matter of weeks?”

"Well, when you put it like that—"

"That’s because it is like that!" He groaned. "What next? Will it sprout legs and challenge me to a duel?"

Ren Jingyi, oblivious to the existential crisis she had just inflicted on a her fellow cultivators, swam in slow, lazy circles.

Lu Gao sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe I should’ve been born a fish."

Ren Xun muttered something about needing a drink.

I simply leaned back, watching Ren Jingyi with newfound curiosity.

“I got an awesome fish, huh? Lucky me.”

The Floating Dragon idled over the mooring area, a vast stretch of hardened dirt where boat artifacts of all sizes were docked. Grand vessels lined with intricate formations pulsed with light, while humbler crafts, like our own, blended into the crowd. The towering walls of Ironmoor loomed in the distance, with attendants and guards ensuring order among the arrivals.

I stepped onto the dirt pier, rolling my shoulders. The ground was firm beneath my feet, marked by the faint traces of past landings. The air carried the scent of dust, lingering spirit energy, and the faint metallic tang of the city beyond.

Hei Mao stood beside me, gazing at the sprawling cityscape ahead.

After a long pause, he muttered, “Was cultivation truly meant to be this difficult?”

Ren Xun scoffed, adjusting his robes as he stepped off the boat. “Young Master, please,” he drawled with a dramatic sigh. “While some humans may claw their way to the First Realm in mere weeks, for a beast—no, a fish—to achieve such a feat simply by existing? Preposterous.”

Hei Mao blinked.

I blinked.

Lu Gao turned to stare at Ren Xun.

“...Young Master?” Hei Mao echoed, his tone laced with confusion.

Ren Xun merely shrugged. Given how the city guards had treated Hei Mao earlier—with hesitant deference and carefully measured respect—it wasn’t hard to see why Ren Xun had chosen to follow suit. His attitude shifted like the wind when it suited him.

That was when a truly terrible idea took root in my mind.

I could’ve ignored it. Let it slip away into the void of what-ifs and missed opportunities.

But I didn’t.

I let the intrusive thoughts win.

“For the next five minutes,” I declared, grinning, “Hei Mao, you’re going to speak like a Young Master.”

Ren Xun hesitated, his tone unusually polite. “Senior... is this wise?” Always the voice of reason. Just for that alone, I was glad I brought him with me.

I glanced at him. Still, it was brave of him to question me openly. A few weeks ago, he would have swallowed his concerns and followed without complaint. He was beginning to understand my temperament—or at least, he thought he was.

I met his gaze. “Together, we are strongest. And my strength is the only certainty we have.”

Ren Xun exhaled through his nose but didn’t argue.

I lifted the fishbowl and held it out to him. “You’re on goldfish duty.”

He blinked. Then, with visible reluctance, he accepted it. His grip was careful, his expression one of resigned disbelief. “Of course, Senior.”

With that settled, I turned toward the towering Ironmoor Gates. The flow of people had thickened, law enforcers moving in controlled formations, their gazes sharp and searching. A tension hung in the air—an unspoken fear, the weight of a predator lurking unseen.

I squared my shoulders and stepped forward. “Let’s go.”

Hei Mao handed the permit to Lu Gao with a slight nod. Without hesitation, Lu Gao stepped forward, exuding an air of absolute authority.

“Young Master and his esteemed entourage have been granted passage into Ironmoor,” he declared, his voice smooth and commanding. “This is our permit. Do be quick about it.”

I raised a brow. Overbearing yet refined, arrogant yet articulate—he played the role of a high-ranking attendant flawlessly. I mentally shot him a thumbs-up. Not that he could see it.

The guard barely spared us a glance before waving us through.

Inside the city, I activated Voice Chat and contacted Gu Jie.

“Where are you?”

“Some kind of outbuilding. City enforcers are questioning us. Dave’s in the next cell over.”

Not great, but it could’ve been worse.

“What’s your read on the situation? I can swap places with Dave if things go south.”

“We’re being treated decently. No need for violence. I’d say we’ll be out in a day or so.”

I cut the connection and switched to Dave. If Gu Jie was downplaying the situation, I needed a second opinion. My Divine Sense’s lie detection didn’t work at this range, so cross-checking was the next best thing.

“Same questions I gave Gu Jie. Where are you? How’s their hospitality?”

Dave’s response mirrored Gu Jie’s.

Good. She wasn’t sugarcoating things.

Now we needed disguises.

I led the party into a narrow alley, the kind that smelled faintly of damp stone and questionable liquid spills. Without a word, I reached into my Item Box and pulled out a set of robes—plain, worn, and far less ostentatious than what we currently wore. Given that we had already passed Hei Mao off as a Black Clan cultivator, the next best thing was posing as merchants.

I handed Hei Mao a Magic Scroll of Disguise. “Make yourself older. Change your features, change your hair color. Blend in. Gu Jie taught you how to use one, right?”

“Y-yes, I can handle this!” Hei Mao took the scroll and activated it while the rest of us swapped outfits.

Lu Gao pulled out a small knife and, without hesitation, sawed off part of his hair, letting the uneven strands scatter onto the stone. Ren Xun, on the other hand, went straight for the dirt, smearing it across his robes before running a greasy hand through his hair.

I frowned. “We’re pretending to be merchants, not beggars.”

Ren Xun didn’t even glance up. “We shouldn’t look too rich. That’ll just invite scrutiny.”

Lu Gao scoffed. “And looking like street trash won’t? No one trusts a destitute merchant.”

I let them bicker and turned to Hei Mao, who had just finished his disguise.

Then I stared.

His hair was now a deep crimson, long and flowing like a war hero from an ancient epic. His features were too sharp, too sculpted—like an artist had painstakingly carved him from divine jade. And his physique—his absurdly muscular physique—strained against his sleeves as if he had been training exclusively in boulder-crushing techniques.

Hei Mao hesitated under my scrutiny. “Uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I read an old novel about a martial artist with red hair. Thought I’d, y’know... try it.”

I exhaled slowly. Right. Hei Mao was still a kid at heart.

I turned to assess my team—one dirt-smeared monk, one overly polished young master, and one unnecessarily shredded redhead. Oh, and a goldfish in her bowl.

A simple side quest for fish food had somehow spiraled into this.

I sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”