Chapter Forty-Nine: The Paladin Niu Million (Part Two)

Yes, everything had returned to its original state, except for the disgruntled minotaur standing atop the notice board, grumbling incessantly, his head crowned with a name as long and convoluted as a scripture—the newly anointed Child of Divine Favor, the illustrious Minotaur Paladin, Niu Million.

“Niu Million!” Seizing the moment as I saw him descend from the board, his face etched with dejection, I approached and gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, Jeff, you’re here too…” At the sight of me, Niu Million’s spirits seemed to lift a little. His tightly furrowed brow eased, and his voice lost some of its previous gloom. “What a coincidence, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

“That ceremony just now drew almost everyone in the city—if you didn’t bump into me here, that would have been the real surprise,” I replied with a laugh.

My answer seemed to embarrass him. “You saw all that…?” For a fleeting instant—perhaps it was a trick of the light—I thought I saw his thick, leathery minotaur face actually flush red.

“Of course I did! You made quite a commotion. Congratulations on your successful class change—and so soon, too. But I have to ask: since when can a minotaur become a paladin?” My curiosity was genuine.

On the continent of Falwei, due to differences in race and faith, each people was restricted in which professions they could choose or into which classes they could advance. For example, minotaurs and half-orcs worshipped the Earth Mother, believing that the dead did not pass into oblivion but rather were embraced by the Mother, who continued to watch over their descendants. Thus, their races produced shamans, but none could ever become priests of the Supreme God Darimos. Likewise, humans, elves, dwarves, and gnomes could never be shamans. Beyond that, the boisterous and brute minotaurs rarely became mages or rogues, while the stubbornly traditional dwarves and elves would never consider forging pacts with otherworldly demons to become warlocks. Half-orcs, with their naturally gruff and hoarse voices, could never make decent bards. I’d never seen anyone break through these nearly insurmountable barriers and choose a class their race was never meant to have.

Similarly, when advancing, each race faced certain limitations: most had three possible paths, but some had even fewer. Theoretically, minotaurs found it nearly impossible to become paladins.

Therefore, Niu Million’s successful advancement could, in some sense, be regarded as a miracle that transcended the era.

“Oh, please, don’t bring that up again…” To my surprise, at the mention of his new class, Niu Million grew even more disconsolate, shaking his large, horned head as if he wished he could shake it right off.

It turned out that just moments before, Niu Million had concluded a long and perilous journey filled with hazards and unexpected turns.

It had all begun when our minotaur friend decided to travel from Valen Fortress to Moonstream City to seek training in alchemy from the elven apothecary instructor.

He could have simply taken a carriage, but, ever the miser, he was determined to save the few silver coins the fare would cost, and perhaps gather some herbs along the way. So he chose to travel on foot.

Even so, there should have been no problem. The two cities lay close by, and on clear days, you could spot the outline of Moonstream City from the spire of the Valen Fortress temple. The road between was a broad, well-marked stone path—so obvious that even the most scatterbrained traveler couldn’t possibly go astray.

And yet, on this simple, straightforward road, our minotaur friend once again demonstrated his astounding talent for wayward wandering—not only getting lost, but hopelessly so.

Unfolding his magical map, I saw the trail he blazed: boldly cutting through the Uzige Mountains, as if splitting those towering peaks in two, before curving inexplicably around their base and shooting toward a central upland called the Onzek Plateau—a place I’d never even heard of before. If not for Niu Million’s map, I wondered if I’d ever encounter that name in my life.

Fortunately, Niu Million wasn’t entirely foolish. After a grueling trek across the vast Onzek Plateau, braving deadly wasps, cannibal tribesmen with oversized wooden masks, and the malevolent wind demons haunting the meadows, he battled his way through, barely escaping with his life. When confronted by the howling gales and swirling sands of the Windplain Desert, a sudden flash of divine inspiration struck him. His wits, perhaps for the first time, shone clear and sharp as truth itself—

He realized he was lost!

Had he retraced his steps then, he might have reached Moonstream City half a month ago. Alas, when it came to discovering new routes, our minotaur friend possessed an uncanny—if entirely misplaced—gift. Of course, by “gift,” I mean a knack for getting hopelessly off course.

He turned eastward, and, without so much as a border pass, brazenly crossed into the Senturia Plains of the Winston Empire. In a small city called Davo in the heart of the plains, he boarded a boat and drifted down the Dawn River.

By the time he disembarked, the three port cities of the Drenmaya Kingdom were far behind him, and before him stretched the endless Comet Coast. Still oblivious to the fact that he’d already crossed the territories of three nations, he’d arrived in the peninsula kingdom of Montica on the shores of the Comet Sea. No sooner had he reached the docks of Panlin, the port town, than the place was beset by a horde of trolls and ogre bandits. Later, he learned that the area was riddled with outlaw strongholds; every month, the bandits would raid the town. Occasionally, adventurers on anti-bandit quests would rally to the townsfolk’s aid, but Niu Million had no such luck this time—the mercenaries never appeared.

Pursued by bandits for nearly a full day and night, he crossed three mountains and forded three rivers, finally plunging in desperation into a rainforest called “Greenleaf Forest.” According to Niu Million, the forest teemed with perilous plants, enormous man-eating vines, and the deadly “Crimson Devourers” slithering everywhere, ready to swarm anyone careless enough to let down their guard. Fortunately, his skills at fleeing danger were as formidable as his talent for getting lost, allowing him to survive the ordeal.

In the depths of Greenleaf Forest, Niu Million discovered a cave woven from vines and branches. It was deep, and our “brave” minotaur warrior hadn’t dared explore its far reaches, only pacing near the entrance. As he was about to leave, two towering “Branch Strikers” appeared at the cave mouth. Instinctively, he ducked into the shadows, only to misstep and fall into a dark, cold tree hollow.

“That tree hollow was really well hidden. It was right there, but at first glance you’d never notice it…” Niu Million animatedly described. “…Even if I went back now, I doubt I could find the exact spot again.”

Find the exact spot? I eyed him skeptically. If a man could get lost on a broad, straight road, I doubted he could pinpoint any “exact spot” in a forest.

“You don’t need to find the hollow—just show me where Greenleaf Forest is on this map,” I said evenly.

“About…here, I think,” he replied after a moment’s hesitation, pointing with utter confidence to a spot on the map.

Just as I expected, he completely ignored the label for “Greenleaf Forest” and pointed resolutely to the Sacred Fox Highlands in the northwest. The two locations occupied almost opposite corners of the map; it would take at least half a year, on foot, to travel from one to the other—if not longer.

“Uh… right. I see… Please, go on,” I said, rendered speechless by his grasp of geography.

In that tree hollow Niu Million had stumbled upon, he found an old and feeble gnome paladin. By the time Niu Million arrived, the gnome was bedridden, coughing blood, with only a strange device whirring ceaselessly by his bedside.

This aged paladin’s name was Von Garrett. To see him now, pale and dying, no one would guess he had once fought in the great war against the Endlord two centuries ago, or that he’d held a high military rank. He told Niu Million that, even after the war’s end, he’d felt no sense of closure—only a deep sense of foreboding. While the rest of the continent celebrated liberty, sovereignty, and new life, Sir Von Garrett had come here, using his gnomish hands to install arcane devices at the border of the Withered Lands, designed to monitor fluctuations in magical space. He had kept solitary vigil, ever fearful that the Withered Lands—and the Endlord with his minions—might slip through the currents of time and space to invade this world once more.

The old knight’s fears were not unfounded. Days ago, his device had detected a violent surge in magical elements—something vast and dreadful was stirring, hammering at the walls of reality, struggling to break through into this plane. The magnitude of magical power was as if a star was about to fall from the heavens. All evidence pointed to a single conclusion: the Withered Lands were moving toward their plane, and the Endlord, “Heartbane” Darenthil, had returned!

And at this very moment, Sir Von Garrett’s life was flickering out. Stricken and helpless, he was unable to act. Niu Million’s unexpected arrival offered a final hope for his lifelong vigil—a chance to pass on the data he’d gathered to the Paladin Instructor in Reed City.

Luckily, the gnome paladin’s outpost contained a magic portal leading directly to Reed City. For Niu Million, who was nearly mad from wandering, and for the continent of Falwei, now facing a looming crisis, this portal was a lifeline—had he been left to travel on his own, the Endlord would have conquered the world before Niu Million ever found Reed City.

The rest you already know. Transported to Reed City, Niu Million delivered Sir Von Garrett’s letters to the Paladin Instructor without delay. His deed, for the Starry Knights, for Drenmaya, and for the entire continent of Falwei, was an immeasurable contribution. No words or riches could sufficiently praise or reward his actions.

Or rather, those miserly officials never intended to reward him with a single copper coin.

Thus, to “commend his kindness in aiding a senior knight and his broad-mindedness in swiftly reporting a grave danger,” the Starry Knights made an exception, inducting this minotaur as a paladin and broadcasting his achievements across the continent. Yet the honor came so suddenly, our minotaur friend was wholly unprepared:

“It’s not fair! I only wanted to become a berserker, never a paladin! Paladins have weak attacks, they’re slow, and in teams I have to keep healing people. They call it a warrior branch, but it’s really a half-healer class! Damn it, damn it, damn it, I really have become a ‘milk cow’ now…”