The Immortal's Guide to Accidental Courtship

Chapter 2: A Duel or a Date?

The tip of the sword thrummed with enough power to level a city block, yet Aetherion’s primary concern remained the cooling grease on his plate of ribs. He stared down the length of the glowing blade, then up at Zinnia’s furious, shimmering silver eyes.

“Look, lady, you’re getting spit on the flower,” Aetherion said, leaning back just an inch. “And for the record, I’m not representing any ‘Ancient Sect.’ I’m representing my stomach. It’s currently in a very delicate negotiation with those pork ribs I just ate, and your screaming isn't helping the process.”

Zinnia’s grip on her hilt tightened, the air around her frost-rimed and jagged. “You mock me? You stand there, dressed in rags that smell of old stone and mildew, and offer me a Soul-Binding Lily? Do you even understand the weight of that gesture? In the eyes of the Empire, you have just issued a formal proposal of marriage to the Sword-Saint.”

“Marriage?” Aetherion blinked, his expression going flat. “I was just trying to be polite. You looked like you were having a miserable time. Usually, when people are grumpy, a bit of scenery helps. Tell you what, if it’s such a big deal, just give it back. I’ll go put it back in the crack I found it in. No harm, no foul.”

He reached out a hand, his fingers twitching toward the white petals.

A collective, horrified gasp echoed through the jade hall. Zinnia recoiled as if he’d tried to slap her.

“Give it back?” she hissed, her voice trembling with an octave of pure, unadulterated outrage. “You would offer the most sacred vow of the Primordial Forest and then… withdraw it? In front of the Five Great Sects? In front of the Imperial Envoys?”

“Yeah? Is that a problem?” Aetherion scratched the back of his head. “I mean, you don’t seem to want it. And I’d hate for a perfectly good flower to go to waste if it’s making you this twitchy. Just hand it over and I’ll be on my way. I think I saw some lemon tarts near the exit.”

“To take it back is to declare me unworthy of the initial gift!” Zinnia shouted, her aura exploding outward. Tables near the front row flipped over, and several disciples were blown backward by the sheer pressure of her indignation. “You are publicly shaming me! First you claim me, then you reject me? Who do you think you are?”

“I’m a guy who’s starting to regret not just eating a granola bar in my cave!” Aetherion retorted, raising his voice to match hers. “Why is everything so complicated with you people? It’s a plant! It grows in dirt! Just take the compliment or don’t!”

“Enough!”

The shout came from the side. A young man in sapphire-blue silk robes, adorned with enough gold embroidery to fund a navy, stepped forward. He carried a rapier with a hilt shaped like a soaring phoenix. His face was a mask of practiced, noble fury.

“Step away from the Lady Saint, you filthy vagabond,” the man commanded, drawing his blade with a theatrical flourish.

Aetherion turned, looking the newcomer up and down. “And you are?”

“Marius Celestine,” the man declared, his chest puffing out. “Heir to the Celestine Duchy and the top-ranked disciple of the Azure Heaven Sword School. I will not stand by while a nameless peasant drags the honor of the Sword-Saint through the mud.”

“Marius, stay out of this,” Zinnia snapped, though she didn't lower her sword from Aetherion’s throat. “This is a matter of… well, I’m not sure what it is yet, but it’s my matter.”

“With all due respect, my Lady, this is a matter for the Empire!” Marius stepped between them, forcing Aetherion to take a step back to avoid being poked by a second sword. “This man has committed an act of supreme insolence. He has used a forbidden relic of the old world to trap you in a social contract, and then had the audacity to suggest you weren't worth the effort! I shall purge this insult with blood.”

Aetherion sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Is the blood thing mandatory? Because I’ve got a really busy afternoon scheduled. I was going to find a nice patch of sun and do absolutely nothing for four hours.”

“Your jests end here!” Marius barked. He turned to the crowd, his voice booming. “Behold! This is what happens when the lower classes forget their place! They think a bit of luck and a stolen flower can buy them a seat at the table of legends!”

“I didn't even want a seat,” Aetherion muttered. “I stood in the buffet line like everyone else.”

“Silence!” Marius turned back to Aetherion, his eyes Narrowing. “Defend yourself, ‘Sect Leader of the Empty Belly.’ Show us this ‘Forbidden Art’ you spoke of. Or die like the dog you are.”

“Look, Marius—can I call you Mary? No? Okay. Look, kid,” Aetherion said, his voice dropping into a tone of genuine exhaustion. “You’ve got a nice suit. You’ve got a shiny sword. Why don’t you go sit down and eat some of those shrimp cocktails the guard was talking about? You’re way too high-strung.”

“Die!” Marius lunged.

His movement was a blur—a masterclass in speed and precision. The rapier hummed, cutting through the air like a streak of blue lightning. To the onlookers, it was a killing blow, a strike that no unarmored man could possibly survive.

Aetherion didn't move. He didn't draw a weapon. He didn't even drop his empty plate.

Instead, his nose began to twitch.

The scent of the Soul-Binding Lily, held just inches away by Zinnia, was potent. It was a concentrated, ancient pollen that hadn't touched the air of the mortal realm in centuries. And Aetherion, having lived in a sterile, dusty cave for a very long time, had developed a very specific, very sensitive set of sinuses.

“I… I…” Aetherion’s eyes watered.

“Too late for pleas!” Marius roared, his blade inches from Aetherion’s chest.

“I—ACHOO!”

The sneeze wasn't just a sneeze. It was the involuntary release of a man who had forgotten how to regulate his internal energy while asleep for an age. It was a pressurized burst of pure, primordial essence, expelled with the force of a collapsing star.

The shockwave hit Marius head-on.

The young noble didn't even have time to scream. The blue lightning of his sword was instantly snuffed out. His expensive silk robes shredded like tissue paper in a hurricane. He was lifted off his feet and launched backward, soaring over the long banquet tables, over the heads of the shocked elders, and slamming directly into a massive jade pillar at the far end of the hall.

The pillar cracked. Marius slumped to the floor, unconscious, his hair standing on end and his phoenix-hilt sword bent into the shape of a pretzel.

Silence returned to the Silver Moon Pavilion, heavier than before.

Aetherion rubbed his nose with his sleeve, sniffing loudly. “Ugh. Sorry. Those flowers really kick up the allergies. You okay, Mary?”

Zinnia stood frozen. Her sword was still raised, but it was shaking. She looked at the crater in the jade pillar, then back at the man who was currently checking his sleeve for snot.

She hadn't felt a technique. There was no chant, no mudra, no flow of spiritual qi that she recognized. It was just… raw, terrifying power.

“You…” she whispered. “You just defeated the scion of the Celestine House with… with a sneeze?”

“It was a big sneeze,” Aetherion defended himself. “I’ve been breathing cave dust for decades. My lungs are like bellows. Is he dead? I hope he’s not dead. That would be a lot of paperwork.”

The High Elder of the Silver Moon Sect, a man who looked like a walking raisin, stood up from the head table. His voice was trembling as he pointed a finger at Aetherion.

“The Duel of Intent!” the Elder croaked. “It has been witnessed! The challenge was issued, and the interloper has been struck down! By the laws of the Ancient Accord, the claim stands!”

Aetherion looked around. “The what stands? What are you talking about, Raisin-Man?”

Zinnia lowered her sword, her face flushing a deep, brilliant crimson. She looked at the Soul-Binding Lily in her hand, then tucked it carefully into her sash. The icy, untouchable Sword-Saint suddenly looked like a very confused, very overwhelmed young woman.

“The law is clear,” Zinnia said, her voice barely audible over the murmurs of the crowd. “You offered the Lily. A challenger attempted to stop the union, claiming I was being insulted. You defeated him. In the eyes of the Empire and the Heavens, you have proven your worth and your resolve.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Aetherion said, waving his hands frantically. “Proven my resolve? I sneezed! That’s not resolve, that’s a biological reaction!”

“It doesn't matter,” Zinnia said, stepping closer. The oppressive aura she’d been projecting was gone, replaced by a strange, sharp intensity. “You didn't back down. You didn't flee. And you clearly possess a power that dwarfs the masters of this age. If I reject you now, I would be defying the very laws of cultivation and honor that I have sworn to uphold.”

She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and turned to face the entire banquet hall.

“Listen well!” Zinnia shouted. “The challenge of Marius Celestine has been answered! This man—this… Aetherion of the Empty Belly—has claimed his right through strength and tradition! As of this moment, the betrothal is officially recognized by the Silver Moon Sect and the Empire!”

Aetherion dropped his plate. It shattered on the floor, the sound echoing in the stillness.

“Recognized?” Aetherion gaped at her. “Hold on! I just wanted a snack! I’m not ready for a relationship! I don't even have a house! I live in a grotto that’s currently being toured by a kid named Timmy!”

Zinnia leaned in, her silver eyes locking onto his. A small, almost imperceptible smirk played at the corners of her lips—the first sign of genuine emotion he’d seen from her.

“Then I suppose you’ll be moving into the Saint’s Palace,” she whispered. “Don’t worry. The buffet there is much better than this one.”

Aetherion groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I should have stayed under the rock. I definitely should have stayed under the rock.”