Alfir
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001 The Wrong Genre
🕑 Added 2025-02-19 02:50:55 +0000 UTCThe 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?!
