Immortal Paladin

255 Tax Collectors

The throne room had grown noisy with the cultivators’ clamor. Some came draped in sect colors, others carried the banners of distant nations, and all of them were demanding their share of “taxes” as if the sky itself granted them dominion over us. Their words overlapped in a constant stream from claims of owed tribute, threats of embargo, and veiled warnings of retaliation if we refused.

“If New Willow wishes to fly across our borders,” one man sneered, “then your people must pay the toll befitting honored guests.”

“Guests?” another barked out a laugh. “What I see is a city of freeloaders, trespassing our skies. Either you pay or we force you down.”

Their arrogance seeped through every syllable. I let them vent for a moment, leaning back in my throne as though listening to a chorus of spoiled children fighting over scraps.

If these fellows knew who I truly was and what I had done, they’d be shitting in their boots, I thought, the corners of my mouth twitching with disdain. The audacity of them demanding payment from me, of all people, almost felt amusing if it wasn’t so pathetic.

I reached out with Qi Speech, connecting directly with Alice. Her tone carried strain as she admitted, “Forgive me. I failed to keep these fools in line. They’re asking too much compensation for every patch of sky we cross. They’ve made it clear they won’t back down without a display of strength.”

Her apology was laced with anger she tried to bury, but I felt it. Alice was dangerous when provoked. I warned her with measured calm, “Do not lose yourself. If you show them the darker side of your power, the so-called righteous factions will mark us as a threat. We don’t need that kind of attention.”

Alice withdrew her fury, though reluctantly.

The chamber remained filled with bickering voices, all puffed up with self-importance. I drew in a slow breath, straightening on the throne. This room was built for moments like these, where authority had to be established with no doubt left in the minds of those present.

Little of my mana stirred within me, meeting the currents of my qi in deliberate collision. Sparks of quintessence rose from the clash, filling the air with a palpable weight. Alice had been the one to show me that mana and qi were two faces of the same truth. By forcing them to resonate, I could create something higher, sharper, and undeniable.

The cultivators faltered as the pressure thickened, their voices lowering, though not silenced yet. I allowed the tension to peak before finally letting my voice explode outward, amplified by my skill.

“SILENCE!”

The Lion’s Roar tore through the throne room like thunder rolling across the mountains. Their words died instantly, and the chamber sank into an uneasy stillness. Not a single cultivator dared to open their cakehole again.

I could tell from the way they stood, the way their eyes shifted, and their demands overlapped, that every person in front of me was in collusion. Their voices carried a thin veneer of diplomacy, but the intent underneath was sharp and hungry. And why wouldn’t it be? A flying city wasn’t just a marvel of convenience. It was a miracle of dominion. To command the skies meant to command trade, migration, even the flow of war. Who wouldn’t want such a thing for themselves?

I thought back to the foundations of New Willow’s existence. The technology I developed while I still bore the Destiny Seeking Eyes had been carefully calculated, each line and rune inscribed with a vision of efficiency and long-term viability. The floating platform beneath our city had been adapted from the Grand Ascension Empire’s flying boat technology, only stripped down, refined, and reshaped until it could sustain not a vessel but an entire nation. To these people, New Willow was an unattainable treasure. To me, it was simply a solution born from necessity.

My face was hidden behind a wooden mask, its grain polished smooth to reveal nothing of who I was. My robes, too, were unlike my usual attire, stitched in a manner that distanced me from the identity of “Da Wei,” the so-called Unholy Taint. Still, a mask was only a mask. It didn’t mean I couldn’t act like him if the occasion required it.

That usually meant, with me acting like a crazy overpowered thug.

With deliberate calm, I rose from my throne. My quintessence flared, igniting my hair into blazing strands of gold, light spilling outward as though the sun itself rested upon my shoulders. It was nothing but a visual effect, and purely for show. Quintessence was creation itself, and with that foundation, even the simplest tricks became awe-inspiring. To their senses, it would not feel like a trick; it would feel like a truth. I chose to fashion myself after the image of a lion, regal and merciless, a reminder of strength and inevitability.

Qi Speech carried my words directly into their minds, the resonance clear and undeniable.

“New Willow has always treated its friends fairly,” I began, my tone both measured and thunderous. “To those who approach us with sincerity, we have given what others hoard: knowledge, Spirit Stones, food, and safety. Our gates are open to those who respect them.”

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The golden blaze around me sharpened as my voice grew colder. “Believe it or not, New Willow also treats its enemies fairly. To those who approach us with greed, malice, or extortion, we gift something else, valuable lessons that cannot be forgotten.”

To drive the truth of my words into their hearts, I raised my hand. Mana and qi collided within me, birthing quintessence in radiant excess. The chamber cracked with divine resonance as Judgment Severance unfolded. A rift tore open before their eyes, golden and perfect, shaped like a massive cross that blazed with hymns of an unseen choir. The sound was overwhelming, reverberating as though Heaven itself had decided to lean upon this room and watch. For a moment, every shred of supernatural energy in the chamber bent and then vanished, consumed by the rift’s hunger. Spells, defensive charms, even the smallest hidden talismans they carried were all rendered null and void.

The light faded after a few brief seconds, the rift closing as though it had never been. Silence lingered in its wake, heavy and suffocating. I let the pause hang before I spoke again, my voice slow and cutting. “So, what did we learn?”

Alice stepped forward, her eyes calm but sharp, her voice ringing out not to me but to the gathered cultivators. “You will return to your peers and tell them that New Willow is a friend. You will inform them that here lies a wealth of resources in knowledge and Spirit Stones, offered at fair value. And you will remember this day, for it has shown you what happens when you mistake fairness for weakness.”

The cultivators lowered their heads, none daring to speak, except one.

“How dare you threaten us?” he said, his eyes flashing with outrage. “Do you not understand the pressures that weigh upon our kingdoms and sects? The world teeters on the brink of war. Martial law spreads across the Empire, weapon prices soar, armies gather under the Martial Alliance, the Union rattles its swords as always, and the Heavenly Temple bleeds us further with new taxes. While there is peace today, every sign points to conflict tomorrow. And yet, instead of aiding us, you bare your fangs. If you gave us your city, at the very least, our people could flee the storm when it arrives.”

In other words, they wanted more. What they truly desired was the existing technology itself, the floating city, its secrets, and the culmination of my work. They did not ask for knowledge, but ownership.

I turned to him slowly, letting the golden light of quintessence still flicker faintly across my features. “And what about my people?” I asked, my voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.

The diplomat spread his arms as though his words alone carried benevolence. “Your people will be taken care of by my kingdom. We have the means, the resources, and the protection they will need.”

I let a harsh chuckle escape. “If you are going to lie, you should make it more believable.”

The air shifted. Before the next breath could be drawn, a ripple of killing intent sliced through the chamber. An assassin erupted from the shadows, faster than a whip crack, his blade pressed against Alice’s throat, his arm cinched around her neck in a chokehold. Gasps rose from the other guests, some feigned, others perhaps genuine.

To their senses, Alice must have seemed fragile, a harmless ornament by my side. They could only feel her longevity suppressed, her spiritual pressure no higher than the Fifth or Sixth Realm. They did not realize she was an Ascended Soul whose cultivation was woven differently, transcendent yet veiled, and far deadlier than they could imagine.

I raised a hand calmly, my words deliberate. “Alice. Don’t kill him.”

Her eyes flickered once toward me, then narrowed in silent agreement. Shadows curled at her feet, rippling like ink across marble. In the span of a heartbeat, she vanished, her figure blurring into a streak of motion. When she reappeared, her scythe gleamed wickedly in her hands, drawn straight from the darkness beneath her. The assassin screamed once, short and sharp, as his limbs were severed cleanly and clattered to the floor. His dagger fell uselessly, ringing against stone, and the room drowned in silence once more.

I turned my gaze upon my honored guests, letting the silence stretch until it pressed on them heavier than stone. “Which of you did it?” I asked, my tone steady but edged with steel. “Confess now, and I may forgive you and the faction behind you. But know this, you will receive nothing from me.”

Not a single word stirred in reply. They kept their eyes down, expressions carved in stone, though I could feel the ripple of unease coursing through the room.

Alice crouched low, her scythe still gleaming faintly with the assassin’s blood. Her voice rang with cold clarity. “Who sent you? Speak now, and perhaps you will not suffer worse.”

The assassin spat blood, a twisted smile creeping across his broken face. “Do you think I’m so unprofessional…?”

He never finished. My foot crashed down upon his skull, snapping it against the marble floor with a sharp crack. Gasps filled the chamber. The assassin’s body went limp, lifeless, but only for a breath.

I raised my hand and whispered, “Divine Word: Raise.” Light blossomed around the corpse as his chest convulsed, drawing breath once more. Then, with another word, “Blessed Regeneration,” his torn limbs knit together, flesh and bone stitching back until he was whole again. The murmurs and gasps redoubled, resurrection was a miracle even among cultivators, and I had displayed it as casually as breathing.

Seizing the man by his throat, I lifted him effortlessly and turned him to face the gathering. “Once more,” I said, my voice like thunder. “Who was it? Answer me, or I will kill you again and again until your soul shatters.”

Terror overtook him this time, and his trembling finger lifted toward one of the guests, the diplomat who had spoken earlier.

The man blanched, his composure cracking. “No! It was not me! He lies!”

But my Divine Sense pierced the veil of falsehood. I felt the discord in the assassin’s claim, the tremor of deceit woven into his claim. He was lying.

Without hesitation, I clenched my grip so firm, I beheaded the man from his shoulders, blood fountaining across the floor. But once again, I intoned the Divine Word, dragging his soul back into the shell of flesh, limbs restored, head reattached, and life forced into him as if death were merely an inconvenience.

I leaned close, my grip iron at his throat a second time. “Tell me the truth.”

His eyes quivered, finger pointing now toward another, this time, a representative of a powerful sect.

I straightened and let my gaze sweep the chamber. “You will not get anything from me,” I declared. “Send me your army, your assassins, your soldiers… It makes no difference. I do not care.”

In truth, I knew they could muster nothing swiftly enough to threaten me. By the time they organized a campaign, I would be gone, leaving only their suspicions. A bluff, yes, but one sharp enough to redirect their rage toward the hand that had dared to strike at me.

My grip loosened, and I let the assassin drop to the floor once more. My final words cracked like a whip through the chamber. “Now get out of my sight.”