001 The Wrong Genre
The city sprawled before me, an endless tapestry of curved rooftops, towering pagodas, and floating lanterns that glowed like artificial stars in the twilight. Breathtaking? Sure. Exotic? Definitely. The kind of place that would make a Xianxia nerd weep with joy.
Too bad I wasn't one of them.
I was a sword-and-sorcery guy—knights, dragons, and good old-fashioned tavern brawls. Not cultivators, qi-powered nonsense, or sect drama. And yet, here I was, trapped in a world ripped straight out of a Chinese fantasy drama.
Just this morning—well, "morning" as far as I was concerned—I had been alive, well, and sitting at my desk, basking in the glory of my max-level Paladin build. Divine-tier armor, an unkillable setup, and a reputation for smiting anything that so much as looked at me funny. Perfection.
Then my PC exploded.
Now, I was here. Wherever here was.
I had slipped into the city under the cover of night, keeping to the shadows. Not that it was easy. My holy knight aesthetic—gleaming gold and blue armor inscribed with radiant blessings—stood out like a crusader who had taken a wrong turn into the wrong mythology.
So, I did the only thing I could: I dug into my Item Box and pulled out a cosmetic set I had won during a Chinese New Year gacha event—Lofty Jade Proposition.
I sighed as I equipped it over my divine gear.
Gone was my righteous, indestructible paladin. In his place? A silk-clad nobleman, draped in embroidered robes and weighed down by jade accessories. I looked like a rich young master who had never worked a day in his life. The 15% stat debuff that came with it? Absolute garbage. What kind of game punished you for wanting to look stylish?
Oh, right. This wasn't a game anymore.
I exhaled slowly and started walking, taking in my surroundings. The streets were alive even at this hour, merchants packing up their stalls while street performers showed off dazzling qi techniques. People actually flew past on swords, zipping through the sky like mystical skateboarders.
I sighed again.
"This is definitely the wrong genre."
The inn was a riot of color, sound, and motion. Silk banners swayed from the rafters, painted with golden dragons and swirling clouds. Laughter and conversation filled the air, blending with the lively tune of a pipa in the corner. The scent of sizzling meat and fragrant spices was intoxicating, making my stomach twist with longing.
Courtesans wove between tables, their flowing sleeves fluttering as they refilled cups and teased drunken patrons. Warriors, merchants, and scholars sat together, boasting of their exploits and throwing wagers as they devoured their meals with reckless enthusiasm. A few armored men—guards or hired muscle—watched the crowd with sharp eyes, their hands never far from their weapons.
It was loud. It was festive. And it was exactly the kind of place where I didn't want to be noticed.
I slipped into a shadowed corner near a support pillar, keeping my head down. Too many people. Too many eyes. I just needed to lay low, listen, and avoid unnecessary attention. I had no idea if my gold coins would even work in this world, and I wasn't about to find out by fumbling with currency I didn't understand.
I tuned into the conversations around me, filtering out the noise until something useful caught my ear.
"—Yellow Dragon City is at its peak now, I tell you!" a man boasted, his words slightly slurred from drink. "Forty years since the old patriarch laid the foundations, and now look at it! The jewel of the southern province!"
"A true city of heroes!" another agreed, raising his cup. "That's why this festival is unlike any other! Forty years of prosperity, forty years of strength! The lords and sects wouldn't dare ignore this celebration!"
Sects? Of course, there were sects. This was that kind of world.
A younger man chimed in. "I even heard one of the Seven Grand Clans might send a representative! If they grace the city with their presence, it could elevate Yellow Dragon City even further!"
"Bah!" The first man scoffed. "Who cares about those lofty immortals? The real excitement is the dueling stage! I hear even Young Master Lu himself will make an appearance!"
More murmurs followed. Apparently, Young Master Lu was a big deal.
I exhaled slowly, processing the information. Yellow Dragon City. That was my first real clue about where I'd ended up. And a festival? That was both good and bad.
Good, because no one would pay much attention to a random traveler when the city was packed with visitors.
Bad, because important people would be gathering. The kind of people who could probably see through my disguise—or worse, decide to start a fight just for fun.
I shelved the name Lu in the back of my mind. As a self-proclaimed gamer who had spent an unhealthy amount of time on RPGs, I knew the importance of remembering significant names. Main quest givers, faction leaders, potential bosses—this Young Master Lu was probably one of those.
The Seven Grand Clans also caught my attention. Sounded like the equivalent of legendary guilds or noble houses. If this were a game, they'd have political power, broken abilities, or both.
But right now, lore wasn't my main concern. Survival was.
I had no idea how things worked here. Cultivators clearly existed, and if Xianxia tropes held true, they operated on something called qi. Me? I didn't feel a single drop of it in my body. Instead, I had mana and my Paladin skills.
The problem? I had no clue how those translated in a world where people flew around on swords and punched mountains in half.
As I mulled over my predicament, a barrel-chested man with the beginnings of a double chin marched to the front of the counter and clapped his hands together. His booming voice silenced the room.
"Brothers and sisters! A most generous gift has been bestowed upon us tonight! Courtesy of none other than Young Master Zhao!"
He gestured dramatically toward the second floor, where an intoxicated young man lounged against a pile of courtesans. His silk robes shimmered under the lantern light, his belt embroidered with golden dragons. He gave a lazy wave, and the inn erupted into cheers.
Within moments, waitresses bustled through the crowd, distributing mugs of ale to every table. One landed in front of me, the liquid inside a murky brown. I lifted it warily and took a cautious sip.
Immediately, my face contorted in disgust.
Holy hells.
It tasted like stale vinegar mixed with a hint of regret. Like someone had left beer out in the sun for a week, then thought, Eh, close enough.
I pinched my nose, forced myself to swallow, then promptly spat the rest back into the mug.
No offense to the locals, but I came from the 21st century. I was used to water filtration and drinks that didn't taste like they had personal vendettas against my taste buds.
Still, I set the mug aside instead of pushing it away. If nothing else, it made a good prop. Blending in was key.
After all, I had no idea how long I'd be stuck in this world.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, considering my situation.
If I'd been something like a World-Ending Lich, I might actually thrive here. Liches and cultivators had one thing in common—an obsession with immortality. But a Paladin? My strength shined in a party, with a solid backline to cover me.
That was the stereotype at least.
Something I've disproved time and time again.
But the reality of it was that being alone could kill me in this world.
Sure, I loved playing solo, and I could hold my own in a one-on-one duel, but I wasn't delusional enough to think I could survive an entire sect coming after me.
I was a PvP guy, not a PvE guy.
I sighed. Overthinking wouldn't get me anywhere. I needed to focus on immediate problems.
Priority One: Money.
I had no clue if my gold coins were usable here. Maybe I could exchange them somewhere. If not, I needed a way to earn local currency.
Fighting in that dueling stage I'd overheard people talking about? Tempting. I was no stranger to arena fights—the concept was familiar enough. There had to be rewards or betting opportunities involved.
But it was risky.
For one, I still had no idea how this world's cultivation system worked. If I showed off something they didn't like or didn't understand, I could get branded as an evil existence. And in Xianxia, that usually meant becoming public enemy number one.
And while Paladins were naturally good-aligned, that wouldn't stop some self-righteous cultivator from trying to exorcise me on principle.
Conclusion: Gather More Intel.
Yeah, jumping into a fight right now wasn't my best move. First, I needed to understand this world's rules, its people, and—most importantly—how much trouble I could get away with before someone tried to murder me.
I exhaled, stood up, and adjusted my Lofty Jade Proposition robes. Time to continue my research elsewhere—
—until I bumped into someone.
"Oh, I'm sor—"
I didn't even get to finish before the other person exploded with righteous indignation.
"DON'T YOU SEE WHO I AM?!"
I blinked as the pudgy, half-drunk young man in front of me turned a shade of red that looked slightly unhealthy. Expensive silk robes. Golden dragon embroidery. The smell of alcohol clinging to him like a second skin. Behind him, his courtesan entourage peeked over the balcony, giggling at the commotion.
The barrel-chested man from before gasped, then dramatically announced, "You fool! This is Young Master Zhao you speak to, peasant!"
Ah. So this was the guy who bought everyone drinks.
Zhao crossed his arms and sneered. "Kowtow, kiss my foot, and beg for forgiveness! Or I shall have you thrown into the city jail!"
I stared at him.
He stared at me.
Oh, for the love of—was this a genre-typical young master situation?!
002 Nice Guy
Back in the good old days of Lost Legends Online, I had my fair share of dealing with annoying fools. From NPCs programmed to act like arrogant young masters to players who thought trolling was an art form, I had seen it all. The ones who blocked dungeon doorways, lured mobs onto unsuspecting parties, or—my personal favorite—spammed trade requests in the middle of boss fights.
So, the question was, how should I handle this situation?
The answer? Smartly.
See, I was a nice guy. Not the kind who expected gratitude for basic decency, but the kind who knew when to keep his cool and not provoke idiots. And the Young Master Zhao standing before me? He was exactly the kind of idiot who needed careful handling.
Also, he was very, very drunk.
"Do you have rocks for eyes, peasant?!" Zhao slurred, his face contorted with exaggerated outrage. "Or did your mother drop you on your head as a child? That would explain a lot, hahaha!"
His courtesans giggled from the balcony above, fanning themselves as if watching a stage play.
"Maybe he's mute?" one teased.
Zhao gasped, as if struck by divine revelation. "Ohhh, that makes so much sense! A dumb, blind, mute beggar who dares walk into my inn?!" He jabbed a finger at my chest—missing by a few inches. "You think those fancy robes make you someone important?!"
I blinked. Technically, I wasn't even wearing my best gear.
He leaned in, breath reeking of stale wine. "You should be licking the dirt off my boots for the privilege of breathing the same air as me!"
Classic.
Still, I kept my expression neutral. I'd seen worse in online chat—this was nothing compared to the time a level 3 newbie accused me of ninja looting a sword I didn't even pick up.
No need to stoop to Zhao's level.
No need to lose my temper.
But that didn't mean I wasn't already calculating my next move.
Zhao was still ranting, words slurring further with each passing second. His face had taken on a distinct reddish hue, his breath practically flammable from all the alcohol.
It was time to end this before he did something regrettable.
I let my expression soften—calm, unreadable. Then, in a voice just friendly enough to throw him off, I inclined my head slightly.
"My sincerest apologies, Young Master Zhao," I said, my tone smooth and measured. "It was never my intention to offend."
The gathered spectators, who had clearly been hoping for a brawl, deflated in disappointment. The courtesans above tilted their heads in confusion. Zhao himself blinked, caught off guard by the lack of resistance.
I wasn't groveling. I wasn't defying him either. Just an expertly placed, neutral apology—frustratingly difficult to escalate.
Then, with casual ease, I placed a hand on Zhao's shoulder, my grip light but deliberate. "It seems the wine has been unkind to you, Young Master," I murmured, shaking my head in mock concern. "Perhaps you should rest. Exhausting yourself before the festival would be unfortunate."
As I spoke, I pulled him in slightly, as if sharing a friendly confidence. And while doing so, I activated one of my less favored skills—
Divine Word: Rest.
A faint golden light shimmered for barely a second before fading—subtle, unnoticed. Zhao's eyelids drooped. His posture wavered. And then—
Thud.
He crumpled to his knees, eyes rolling back as unconsciousness claimed him.
His steward, a round-faced man, let out a strangled gasp. "Young Master Zhao!"
Before Zhao could hit the floor face-first, I caught him by the arm and smoothly handed him over. "The Young Master may have overindulged," I said mildly. "It would be best to see him to a proper bed."
The steward hesitated before nodding quickly. "Y-Yes! Of course! Many thanks, honored guest!"
And just like that, the situation was resolved—no fight, no unnecessary drama, and most importantly, no need to make an enemy of a drunken noble with a fragile ego.
I stepped out of the inn, inhaling deeply as the cool night air replaced the cloying stench of stale ale and self-important entitlement.
Barely a day in this world, and I'd already gotten into a confrontation. Was that a record? If this world followed Lost Legends Online logic, I was probably halfway to triggering a major questline already.
Still, there was no use dwelling on it. Young Master Zhao was dealt with, and I had more pressing matters—like figuring out how to survive in this unfamiliar world.
With that in mind, I strolled through the city, taking in my surroundings.
Despite the late hour, Yellow Dragon City was far from asleep. The streets were alive with subdued energy, like embers glowing softly in the dark. Everywhere, people worked tirelessly, exhaustion hanging from their shoulders like a heavy cloak, yet they pressed on. The festival was tomorrow, after all.
Banners of deep gold and crimson hung from wooden beams, their embroidered calligraphy swirling in elegant strokes—likely blessings for prosperity and fortune. Silk streamers fluttered lazily in the breeze, strung with tiny lanterns that cast a warm glow over the stone-paved streets.
Vendors and craftsmen worked late into the night, setting up their stalls. Some adjusted wooden signboards, their bold ink still fresh, while others carefully arranged colorful trinkets, incense, and embroidered fabrics, hoping to catch the eye of tomorrow's crowds.
From a nearby alley, I overheard an old merchant haggling with a carpenter.
"I don't care if you used the finest lumber from the Western Province, Old Liu! This thing still wobbles!"
"Hah! Wobbles, my foot! That's just the wind! My craftsmanship is flawless! You want to sell your sugar figurines tomorrow or not? Pay up!"
Further ahead, a group of women—tea house workers, maybe—whispered excitedly.
"I heard the governor himself will attend the festival this year."
"Really? And they say Young Master Lu of the Seven Grand Clans will be there too!"
"Oh, imagine if we caught his eye…"
A group of children dashed past me, waving small wooden swords as they re-enacted their favorite heroic tales.
"Tomorrow, I'm going to the dueling stage!" one of them boasted. "I bet the warriors will be so strong!"
"I heard a single strike from a top-tier cultivator can split the ground open!" another added, swinging his toy sword with dramatic flair.
I smirked slightly. Kids and their wild imaginations.
But the more I listened, the more the pieces of this world fell into place. This was a city steeped in tradition, alive with purpose, and brimming with anticipation for the days ahead.
Tomorrow would be a big day.
For the city.
And for me.
I stood atop the highest point in Yellow Dragon City, overlooking the countless motes of light scattered below like fallen stars. Lanterns flickered in the night breeze, tracing the winding streets where merchants and artisans toiled in preparation. From up here, the chaos of the city felt distant—mere echoes carried by the wind.
It was a hell of a view.
But I wasn't here to admire the scenery.
I still had no idea how to exchange my gold for this world's local currency. But at least I didn't need food or sleep. It was one of the perks of being Level 275—the max level in Lost Legends Online. In the game's lore, surpassing Level 250 meant reaching demi-god status, no longer bound by mortal constraints. Rest and sustenance were little more than formalities or mild inconvenience.
At least that's a silver lining.
I wasn't sure how long I could go without eating or sleeping, but for now, it wasn't a priority.
Instead, I focused on something else.
My body.
I flexed my fingers, curling and uncurling them, feeling the raw power thrumming beneath my skin. My movements weren't just enhanced—they were unnaturally refined. It wasn't just strength or speed. It was instinct.
Not mine.
My character's.
I knew how to move, how to fight, how to wield a sword as if it were an extension of my body. Every action was effortless, ingrained like muscle memory I never actually developed.
Was this some kind of simulated instinct carried over from the game? Or was it magic?
Either way, it made me dangerous.
Time to put it to the test.
I took a breath, crouched slightly—
And jumped.
I soared through the air, clearing the rooftop gap with ease. The moment my feet touched down, I rolled smoothly, momentum carrying me into another leap.
It feels natural.
I had never done parkour in my life, yet my body moved with effortless precision, as if it had always known how.
My Dexterity stat was never my highest, I mused, landing on another rooftop. But even then, it was still superhuman.
Jumping across rooftops, I gradually made my way south, where the city's buildings thinned out. After a few minutes, I found myself in a desolate park on the outskirts of Yellow Dragon City. Overgrown stone pathways wound between patches of wild grass, and a few gnarled trees stood like silent sentinels beneath the night sky.
Here, I could test my limits without interruption.
But first—a precaution.
Divine Sense!
I activated Divine Sense, one of my detection skills. In the game, it typically manifested as red dots on the mini-map, highlighting hostiles. The flavor text claimed it was especially potent against celestials, fiends, and undead, sometimes even revealing their intentions.
I closed my eyes, letting the skill expand outward.
…Nothing.
No hostile presence. No lurking assassins. No demonic ambush waiting in the shadows.
Good.
That meant I could begin.
A smirk tugged at my lips as I stretched my limbs, anticipation thrumming through me.
Time to see just how strong I really was.
My appearance in this world had been strange, to say the least. One moment, my Personal Computer exploded, and the next, I was free-falling through the sky. No warning. No dramatic transition. Just a sudden drop from the heavens with a spectacular view of the landscape below and absolutely no control over my descent.
Then came the burning.
It wasn't normal fire, either. No heat, no pain—just a golden blaze engulfing my body like I was some kind of meteor crashing toward the earth. My entire being pulsed with energy, my vision flickering with divine radiance. It should have been terrifying. It should have hurt. But instead, it felt… right.
Like it was supposed to happen.
By the time I hit the ground, I had torn through a thick canopy of trees and left a decent-sized crater in the middle of a forest. The impact had barely fazed me. No broken bones, no injuries—just a faint, lingering warmth from whatever magic had coated me mid-fall.
I had no time to sit there and contemplate my existence, though. The forest was teeming with life, and not the friendly kind. I sensed them before I even saw them—monstrous creatures lurking between the trees, watching, waiting. Their bloodlust was palpable, an almost tangible weight pressing against my senses.
Probably this world's equivalent of dungeon mobs.
My instincts had kicked in immediately. I needed to move. Staying put in the middle of unknown territory while surrounded by hostiles wasn't exactly an ideal scenario. Civilization was my best bet, and I had no intention of getting into unnecessary fights before I understood my own situation. So I had taken off, weaving through the dense foliage with an ease that wasn't entirely mine. My body just… knew how to move. How to balance, how to react, how to adjust.
And I was fast. Faster than I had ever been in the game.
It didn't take long before I caught sight of a dirt road, and from there, I followed the path until I found Yellow Dragon City. No time to test my strength. No time to see just how powerful I had become. Just a mad dash toward civilization while creatures skulked at the edge of my senses, reluctant to give chase but watching all the same.
But now—now, I had time.
I exhaled slowly, letting the night air cool my lungs. The park was quiet, isolated, the perfect place to put my abilities to the test. I flexed my fingers, rolling my shoulders as I scanned my surroundings.
A large boulder sat nestled between two gnarled trees a few meters away. Weathered, solid, probably weighing several tons.
I approached it, placing a hand against its rough surface. It felt real. Solid. Heavy. No game physics here—no conveniently breakable terrain designed for player interaction. Just raw, unyielding stone.
I raised my hand and extended a single finger.
A simple stab. That was all I did.
My fingertip met the rock—and passed through it like it was made of wet clay.
For a split second, I felt resistance. Barely. And then the boulder split apart, a clean, precise hole piercing straight through its center. A heartbeat later, the entire thing cracked, fractures spreading like spiderwebs before it collapsed into a heap of shattered stone.
I stared at it.
Huh.
I hadn't even used a skill. No buffs. No stat enhancements. Just a casual movement, and the rock gave way like it was nothing.
I clenched my fist, feeling the power thrumming beneath my skin.
Yeah. I was strong.
But just how strong?
003 Sword Dance
I began with careful experiments.
First, my speed.
The ancient tree stood to my left, the ruined fountain ahead. I focused, tensed my muscles, and moved. The world blurred—stone cracked beneath my step, wind howled past my ears. When I stopped, the tree was behind me.
Too fast. My balance wavered for an instant.
Again.
I adjusted, grounding myself before vanishing from one spot to the next. This time, I accounted for momentum, slowing just before I stopped. Much better. My breath remained steady, but my mind reeled.
So this is what peak Paladin Agility feels like.
Next, strength.
I clenched my fist and struck forward—not at anything, just through the air. A sharp crack split the silence as the force rippled outward. The shockwave stirred the dust at my feet.
No need for further tests. That alone proved it.
For balance, I moved through a series of steps—a twisting leap, a controlled flip, landing lightly atop a narrow wooden post. My body obeyed every command with precision, each motion flowing seamlessly into the next. It was as if years of discipline had been carved into my very bones.
I exhaled slowly. This power—it wasn't just mine yet. My instincts lagged behind my abilities. A single misstep could mean disaster.
I had to be careful.
Finally, the real test.
I reached into my Item Box and withdrew a blade that was neither ornate nor gaudy, yet any true warrior would recognize its worth in an instant.
Silver Steel.
A legendary longsword, unassuming in its simplicity. No glowing runes, no excessive embellishments. Just a weapon honed to perfection, its edge keen enough to bite through mythril.
The moment I gripped its hilt, a familiar sensation welled up inside me—an urge, a hunger. My body demanded release, to swing, to cut, to test the full extent of my strength.
But I restrained myself.
I was too close to the city. If this world's cultivators could sense energy fluctuations the way they did in the stories… Well, there was no need to invite trouble. Not yet.
Instead, I focused on control.
One hand tightened around the hilt. Normally, a weapon of this size required both hands, but my Monkey Grip passive allowed me to wield it effortlessly in one. I swung in a slow arc, feeling the weight, testing my range. The blade whispered through the air, its balance impeccable.
I smiled faintly.
With slow, deliberate movements, I swung the blade.
And suddenly—
The sword sang. A whisper through the air, smooth as flowing water, sharp as winter's first frost. My body moved on instinct, each strike precise, each step effortless, as if these motions had been carved into my very soul.
It was too natural.
With every swing, memories surged forth.
My breath hitched. My grip tightened. A shiver crawled up my spine—not from exertion, but from something deeper. A bone-deep wrongness.
I wasn't just recalling these movements.
I was reliving them.
A young warrior, clutching a crude iron sword, accepting his first quest.
A terrified rookie, facing down his first goblin.
A battle-worn survivor, hands trembling as he made his first kill.
The joy of his first class advancement. The agony of countless deaths and resurrections.
The thrill of battle. The weight of loss.
And then—
I saw him.
Not from my own eyes, but from afar. A figure clad in silver and steel, standing tall amidst bloodied fields and shattered dungeons.
David_69.
My game character.
A max-level Paladin, forged through endless battles, sharpened by war. A warrior who had upheld his oath until the bitter end.
For a single, terrifying moment, I wasn't just remembering.
I was him.
The world spun. My vision blurred. The weight of years—of victories and deaths, of battles fought and quests completed—threatened to swallow me whole.
No.
I ripped myself back.
I staggered, breath ragged, Silver Steel digging into the ground as I used it to steady myself. The memories clung to me, lingering like ghosts.
That wasn't nostalgia. That wasn't just a flashback.
That was something else.
Something deeper.
I exhaled slowly, forcing my mind to steady.
This wasn't a game.
And that?
That was the scariest part of all.
A bitter chuckle slipped past my lips. Strange and bizarre phenomena? Check. Unexplainable memories surfacing from nowhere? Check. A creeping sense that reality itself might be a fever dream? Double check.
If this were a game, I'd expect a flashing quest marker in my vision, urging me to "Uncover the Secrets of Your Transmigration!" or some other cryptic nonsense.
Hell, for all I knew, this was a simulation. Maybe I was just a collection of numbers and code.
Maybe I was never real in the first place.
I shook my head. No use chasing shadows.
With a final breath, I dismissed the thoughts and returned Silver Steel to my Item Box.
There were still experiments to run.
The Item Box worked. That was a win.
But how far could I push gamer mechanics in this world?
Time to find out.
Next test: Fast Travel.
I stood still, focused, and willed myself to teleport. Anywhere.
Nothing.
Next: World Map.
I concentrated, imagining a translucent map appearing in my vision.
Still nothing.
Mini-map?
Nada.
World Chat?
I muttered under my breath, "/global Hello? Anyone?"
Silence.
…Okay. Premium Shop?
I dramatically raised my hand. "Open Premium Shop!"
Nothing. No glowing UI. No limited-time deals. No overpriced weapon skins.
Truly, I was in hell.
I let out a slow breath. So much for buying my way out of trouble.
It was painfully clear that gamer logic wasn't on my side. No system messages, no convenient level-ups, no tutorials to guide me through cultivation like some overpowered protagonist.
I was on my own.
So much for easy mode.
What was I even supposed to do in this world?
There had to be a reason why I was here, right?
Since my other gamer perks were useless, I returned to the one thing that actually worked.
The Item Box.
It stored weapons and equipment. But could I weaponize it?
Time for the Minecraft test.
I knelt down, pressed my hand against the ground, and tried to shove raw earth into my inventory.
Nothing.
Damn. That would've been fun.
Still, through trial and error, I confirmed three key limitations:
I could store anything—as long as it wasn't alive. No tossing enemies into the void.The object had to be something I could lift with one or two hands. No pocketing buildings or stealing mountains for fun.There were no visual cues. No glowing effects, no flashy light, nothing.That last part? Very important.
It meant my Item Box was invisible to others.
I grinned as possibilities flooded my mind.
Hidden weapons appearing out of nowhere.
A dagger materializing in my hand mid-fight.
A healing potion summoned mid-swing, making me look invincible.
An explosive flask hurled at an enemy's face with zero warning.
Hah. You ain't ready for me yet, cultivators.
I spent the next few hours pushing my limits, testing theories, adjusting my tactics. I didn't have a clear path forward, but one thing was certain—
Even if I couldn't rely on gamer mechanics, I could rely on creativity.
And if there was one thing Paladins excelled at—
It was adapting to survive.
I was tempted to test my flashier skills.
Divine Smite? Would it translate into this world?
Holy Wrath? Would it still incinerate low-level wraiths when they got too close?
Sanctuary? Could I just declare myself untouchable and walk away from all my problems?
But even I knew when to quit while I was ahead.
Especially when I suddenly had a visitor.
I sensed her before I saw her.
A ripple in the air. The faint hum of power, touching at the edge of my perception.
And then—moonlight glinting off pristine robes.
She descended gracefully, sword floating beneath her feet, posture rigid with authority. Even without speaking, she radiated a presence that screamed: "Do not test me unless you enjoy pain."
She looked young—early twenties, maybe. But given cultivator lifespans, she could have been fifty for all I knew.
Great. My first real encounter with a local, and it had to be a city enforcer.
I knew the type.
"State your name," she said, voice crisp, no-nonsense.
I hesitated. My full username from Lost Legends Online was David_69, but there was no way I was introducing myself like that.
"…David," I said simply.
She frowned, as if tasting the name on her tongue. Then, after a pause—
"Dei Wu? Dei Vu?" she tested, completely butchering the pronunciation. "Da Wei?"
I blinked.
That wasn't even close.
Had she misheard me? With her cultivation, she could probably get it right if she really tried. But then, I caught my reflection in her polished pauldron.
Dark hair. Strong features. Clothes that, while foreign, could pass as something a wandering cultivator might wear.
I looked the part of a native.
Probably better this way.
I smirked. Might as well lean into it.
"Da Wei," I said, recalling an old meme.
"A proper greeting, then," she continued. "I am an official enforcer of Yellow Dragon City. My name is Liang Na."
She produced a silver plaque, a clear mark of her authority.
I kept my face neutral.
Close enough.
She studied me, her sharp eyes flickering with suspicion.
"Your affiliation?"
I froze. A second too long.
Was traveler the right answer? Cultivators had sects, clans, or sworn brotherhoods. Saying the wrong thing could mean getting labeled a rogue—or worse, an outlaw.
I forced an easy smile. "Just a traveler."
Her gaze sharpened.
"A traveling cultivator?"
I hesitated for the briefest of moments.
Technically? No.
I was a Paladin. A holy warrior with divine magic. A knight of righteousness. A lawful good tank.
But in a world of qi, dao, and flying sword nonsense?
Yeah, that wasn't going to translate well.
So I nodded. "You could say that."
She gave me a slow, assessing look.
"I see."
I resisted the urge to sigh in relief.
She hadn't immediately called me a fraud—that was a good sign. She must have been watching me for a while, gauging my actions. My Divine Sense hadn't picked her up, either because she was beyond its range… or because she had no hostile intent.
Either way, I was now on the radar of an official enforcer.
Which meant my next moves had to be very, very careful.
I crossed my arms, tilting my head slightly. "So… is there a problem?"
Liang Na's expression didn't change. "No problem. Just a warning."
Warnings were never good.
I frowned. "A warning for what, exactly?"
She exhaled through her nose—already tired of this conversation.
"You used a spell on a civilian."
Oh.
Ohhh.
So that little Divine Word: Rest trick I pulled on Young Master Zhao earlier did catch someone's attention. Unfortunate. I was hoping to avoid trouble.
"…I wouldn't really call it a spell," I muttered, scratching my cheek. "More like… a harmless suggestion."
Liang Na stared at me, unimpressed. "A suggestion that rendered someone unconscious."
"Harmlessly unconscious," I clarified. "And, if I may add, peacefully unconscious."
For the briefest moment, I swore I saw the corner of her mouth twitch.
But her tone remained level. "Regardless, do not use spells on civilians in the future."
Noted.
I gave a slow nod. "Duly warned."
She cupped her fist in a polite but practiced gesture. "I hope I haven't troubled you, Young Master."
Politeness? Or a subtle test?
I returned the gesture. "It's fine."
"Young Master Da," she said again, still sticking with her earlier misinterpretation. "It is acceptable to use spells or martial arts within city grounds only for self-defense—or if no civilians are harmed. Do you understand?"
I sighed internally.
Guess I'm Da Wei now.
"I trust I'm not in any trouble, then?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
She let out a slow breath. "No. You handled the incident in the inn well enough."
Her voice carried a certain… weariness.
"Many cultivators from esteemed clans or sects visit Yellow Dragon City this time of year to indulge in mortal festivities. It is…" She exhaled. "Exhausting dealing with them."
That made sense.
A bunch of privileged, superpowered rich kids descending on the city for a festival? It was a recipe for chaos.
"So… I take it Young Master Zhao is one of those troublemakers?" I guessed.
Liang Na's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Among many others," she admitted. "Though, he is considered more civilian than important scion."
Huh. So he wasn't even a big deal.
She must have assumed I was just another Young Master out enjoying the mortal world. But since I had resolved the situation amiably—instead of, say, smiting Zhao into a fine paste—I had somehow landed in her good books.
Interesting.
A thought occurred to me.
Feigning mild offense, I asked, "Why do you think I'm a Young Master?"
I made sure to inject just the right amount of youthful arrogance into my tone—like I actually cared.
Liang Na's gaze sharpened.
"A junior in cultivation," she said coolly, "should know where he stands."
Ah.
That was a warning.
A very subtle, but very real warning.
I schooled my expression immediately and gave a slight bow.
"I see. My apologies."
She gave a slow nod, satisfied.
Lesson learned—tread carefully.
I wasn't in trouble yet, but I had definitely landed on someone's radar.