Immortal Paladin

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.”

Hei Mao frowned. “And how exactly am I supposed to—”

Ah. He needed a reference.

I turned to Lu Gao. He stiffened as if I’d just pointed a blade at his throat.

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“Lu Gao, teach him.”

“…What?”

“You heard me. Make him sound like a proper Young Master.”

Lu Gao’s expression flickered between confusion and reluctant horror before he finally sighed and beckoned Hei Mao closer. The two huddled together like scheming conspirators, Lu Gao whispering with exaggerated flourishes while Hei Mao listened with unnerving seriousness.

Ren Xun, watching this spectacle unfold, turned to me with open skepticism. “Is this truly wise?”

“We’re not impersonating nobility,” I reasoned.

Ren Xun exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “He might do it too well.”

I sighed. “You’re being way too obvious.”

Ren Xun sighed back—dramatically, of course—arms crossed as he tapped his sleeve in mock impatience. “What’s taking Gu Jie so long?”

I was about to use Voice Chat when movement caught my attention. One of the Ironmoor Guards—the same who had inspected our boat earlier—was approaching.

Lu Gao and Hei Mao immediately broke from their whispered plotting.

Then something subtle but undeniable shifted in Hei Mao.

His posture straightened, his gaze grew half-lidded with quiet arrogance. Not an overt display, but the kind that suggested he expected the world to bend around him.

That was… fast.

Either Lu Gao was a phenomenal teacher, or Hei Mao was a terrifyingly good student.

The guard stopped before us, his expression carefully neutral, but his stance betrayed tension. “There has been a murder inside Ironmoor,” he announced. “For the time being, the mooring grounds will be restricted under law enforcement jurisdiction.”

That explained the silent increase in guards, their presence thickening like a storm on the horizon.

The guard turned his attention to Hei Mao, inclining his head in a shallow bow. “Young Master, if you and your entourage intend to stay in the city, I advise you to enter now.” He hesitated, then added in a lower voice, “Or, should you prefer to avoid… complications, you may wish to depart while the path is still open.”

…This guard was doing us a favor.

I felt my pulse quicken. If law enforcement held this area too long, someone might start inspecting identities a little too closely. The last thing we needed was to be mistaken for Black Clan impostors.

I activated Voice Chat, directing my thoughts to Hei Mao.

“Ask about our companions. Use the tone of a Young Master.”

Hei Mao didn’t falter. Chin lifted slightly, he exuded the quiet arrogance of someone accustomed to having answers delivered to him. “And what of my companions within the city?” His voice was the perfect blend of measured impatience and effortless authority.

The guard hesitated a fraction too long before replying, “They are being held for questioning. For now, the city is under lockdown—no one enters, and no one leaves.”

I immediately switched my Voice Chat to Gu Jie.

“What the hell is happening in there?”

Her response was crisp. “We’re being detained. A murder took place, and the city won’t reopen until the killer is found. There’s Martial Law… They are not engaging in any extrajudicial killing or questionable activities, so it should be fine to give them what they wanted.”

…That was inconvenient.

The guard, oblivious to my silent exchange, continued, “You have two choices, Young Master. Abandon them and proceed as you wish, or remain outside until the investigation concludes.”

Like hell I was leaving my people behind.

I activated Voice Chat again for Hei Mao.

“Tell him we have nothing to hide and will enter the city.”

Hei Mao nodded, then let out a soft scoff. “We have nothing to conceal. We will enter.”

The guard studied him for a long moment, then withdrew a fresh permit and presented it with a slight bow. “Very well. Take this. It will grant you passage through the gates.”

With that, he turned and slipped into the crowd of enforcers, vanishing into the shifting tide of armor and robes.

I let out a slow breath. That had gone smoother than expected.

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.”