I write in bursts—weeks of steady work, then months in which I only manage a few lines. That’s why it takes time before a new volume is finished, especially since I keep setting higher standards for my own quality. I also revisit already published works now and then to iron out smaller or larger mistakes. Because I write spontaneously as a pantser, that can set me back again and again.
A perfect example is the following chapter, which was meant to serve as the introduction to the new Na-Ri volume. But after weeks of work, the chapter was cut entirely. Why? Because it simply doesn’t fit. Not the style, not the mood of my story. It is almost a completely different story. I will introduce the secret order of the Paladins in a different way instead. Still, one or two of you might find this interesting.
Warning: minor spoiler alert! :D
JP!
The Order
A heavy, humid haze hung over Macau’s merchant district. A faint sea breeze carried the stench of the harbor into even the farthest parts of the city. The alleyways were packed with busy Chinese porters, loudly calling vendors, and a few stray sailors. Between warehouses and counting houses, the usual bustle of the afternoon trade held sway.
A sedan chair came to a stop in front of an unremarkable trading office. The bearers set it down carefully, and a portly man of about fifty stepped out. He wore a blue official’s robe decorated with golden pheasants. On his head sat a typically Chinese black bureaucrat’s hat with side flaps. His posture was dignified, yet his expression looked strained.
At that moment, a man of perhaps forty turned into the alley from around the corner. His black hakama was folded impeccably. He carried a scroll in his hand, and from his searching gaze it was clear he was looking for a particular building. His formal brown kimono, marked with subtle family crests, looked as out of place here as the garments of the Chinese court official who had arrived moments earlier. When he noticed the sedan chair and the man standing before it, he stopped as if rooted to the spot.
Suspiciously, the two men stared each other down. After a brief appraisal, the newcomer finally bowed—restrained, formal. As he did, he brought his right hand to his heart. Three fingers touched his chest for a brief moment.
The older man froze. Then he raised his left hand to his right shoulder, as if straightening his clothing. Three times his thumb tapped the fabric.
Both men visibly relaxed, though they continued to watch each other from the corners of their eyes with unmistakable curiosity as they walked together toward the entrance.
A doorman dressed with dignified restraint opened the door for them. The two arrivals handed him their scrolls without a word. He skimmed the documents, then bowed respectfully to them both. With an inviting gesture, he led them in silence along a corridor paneled in dark wood and deeper into the building.
The room they were shown into lay on the ground floor and was sparsely, yet expensively furnished. In the place of honor sat a man of roughly sixty, of European descent, dressed in black silk of the finest quality. Opposite him, in a white hanbok with subtle gray edging, his hair tied into a noble topknot, waited another man who seemed to be about the same age. His lined face carried the calm of a Confucian scholar, yet when he saw the two newcomers, a flicker of surprise passed over his features.
Tension spread through the room.
“Welcome,” said Bear, Grand Master of the Paladin Order—host and superior of the agents he had summoned—breaking the awkward moment in a calm voice. “I understand your surprise well, because you are meeting here for the first time.” He spoke Latin, the universal language of their Order, which every member was required to learn. “You do not know one another, and yet you have all received the same invitation.” He rose with the measured dignity of a man accustomed to making grave decisions. “In this room, we know only our Order names. Dragon”—his gaze shifted to the emperor’s official—“Tiger”—a respectful nod toward the Korean—“and Hawk.” The Japanese man inclined his head almost imperceptibly.
With a curt gesture, their host directed them to a low tea table of dark rosewood. Its surface had been polished until it shone like a mirror, and steaming cups of the most precious Chinese tea were already waiting. Small bowls of candied fruit, almonds in honey, and delicately shaped rice cakes completed the hospitality. With the care of an experienced diplomat, he poured the tea himself.
“The pretexts that brought you here spoke of assessing suitable gifts for your respective courts,” he continued as he distributed the cups. “But as you surely suspected, the true reason for your presence is far more serious.”
The man in the magnificent pheasant robe set down his cup with the precision of a court official. “Shogun Hideyoshi is preparing for war,” he stated.
“And through Korea his path to the Heavenly Kingdom will run,” Bear confirmed, his expression dark. “We know that for certain now.”
Tiger pressed his thin lips into a hard line. “My homeland stands in between—and will become the battlefield.”
The Japanese man stared down into the cup cradled in his calloused hands. They betrayed that he was no mere scribe, and their faint twitching betrayed his inner conflict.
“But that is not the real reason I have ordered you here under such dangerous circumstances.” The Grand Master reached into a chest inlaid with mother-of-pearl and produced three carefully sealed scrolls. “Your realms are experimenting with powers far more dangerous than the greatest army ever to set foot on a battlefield.”
Dragon sampled one of the candied fruits thoughtfully before he replied, his expression revealing an inner struggle. “The spirit-summoners at the imperial court do indeed whisper of necromancy and other forbidden arts. I reported this to you already.”
“Our mudang—our shamans—also study forbidden writings on how the Unclean might be made to serve,” Tiger said quietly, crumbling one of the rice cakes between his fingers. “I passed that on to the Order.”
Hawk seemed, for a moment, as if he meant to speak as well, but then he remained silent. Only his fingers moved nervously around the rim of his tea bowl.
“And Hideyoshi is having the possibility examined—using Japan’s demons for his purposes, despite his well-known fear of mystical forces.” Bear gave the faintest nod toward the Japanese man, then looked back to the others. “If this war escalates—if desperation tempts your rulers to seek help from the enemies of mankind, the enemies of our Order—then we have failed.”
He rose and walked to the narrow window that overlooked the busy scene in the alley. His voice dropped into a dark whisper. “Imagine it: undead armies marching through the rice fields. Mountain spirits fighting side by side with samurai. Ancient dragons rising from the depths of the Yellow Sea. That would no longer be a war between realms, but the end of the natural order itself. And that is precisely what each of us has sworn—at the risk of our lives, and under all circumstances—to prevent.”
“But it will never come to that,” Dragon protested, though he sounded anything but convinced.
“Will it not?” The Grand Master turned slowly and fixed each of his guests with a penetrating stare. “Your exalted emperor is already consulting his most secret court magicians. Korean shamans are performing rites that have been forbidden for centuries. And you, Hawk”—his gaze bored into the Japanese man—“you intercepted the confidential inquiries sent by the military planners to the mountain monks.”
With barely concealed disgust, the Japanese man nodded tersely. “The strategic planning…” He visibly struggled for words, torn between loyalties. “…does, in fact, not rule out unconventional reinforcements.”
An uncomfortable silence spread across the room like a shroud. Only the soft clink of porcelain could be heard as Tiger set his cup down with trembling hands. Then, all at once, the sound of church bells from the small cathedral drowned out the murmur of the afternoon market. The pealing made the guests flinch. In the street, the faithful headed into the church. Silence held the room for as long as the bells rang.
“Our rules do not require you to betray your rightful rulers,” Bear said. During the ringing he had bowed his head briefly and prayed in silence; now he spoke with a voice that conveyed both understanding and relentless resolve. “Continue to serve them with the loyalty your honor demands. Fight for your countries, if fate wills it. But prevent them—by any means—from walking these forbidden paths. Delay the unholy rites. Hide the most dangerous texts. Distract their advisers from the most dreadful experiments.”
With ceremonial slowness, he handed each guest one of the sealed scrolls. “These are your precise instructions. Study them carefully, and then destroy them.”
The three men rose as if on a silent command and bowed deeply to their Grand Master. After a brief moment they straightened to leave—and suddenly, an awkward confusion arose: who was to exit the room first?
Tiger was clearly the oldest of the three and, by the Order’s internal rules, should have had precedence. But Dragon represented the mightiest and most influential realm in the known world. The Korean scholar recognized the diplomatic dilemma at once. With the elegance of an experienced courtier, he stepped back respectfully and indicated the side door with a polite motion of his hand.
The imperial official bowed gratefully for this gesture of respect and left the room first. Tiger followed after an appropriate moment of deference. The samurai waited noticeably longer before turning toward the main entrance that led to the busy street.
Left behind was the Grand Master alone, his expression heavy with worry.
Good day everyone,
I’d like to introduce myself briefly. I publish here under the author name Jens Paschmann (a pseudonym), primarily for reasons of privacy—not everyone around me needs to know what I write. My texts are adult literature and, depending on the topic, they may sometimes rub people the wrong way. If you’re open to that: welcome.
I was born in 1967 in West Germany, where I still live today, so English is a foreign language for me. I write my stories in German first, completely without AI. However, I do use AI for research and proofreading, because it is difficult to find suitable human beta readers who are both competent and have the time to correct my mistakes. Afterwards, the finished texts are translated into English using AI tools. So if you notice errors, please tell me—because mistakes can creep in at every one of these steps. Even though I read my translations once more myself, my language skills are nowhere near sufficient to keep up with a native speaker.
Professionally, I work in gastronomy, far from the literary world. I wrote my first story at the age of nine, wrote newspaper articles at sixteen, and later published stories in magazines—but only as an amateur, without earning any meaningful income from it. Those stories were mostly short stories. That changed during the pandemic. During lockdown I became so bored that an idea for a short story turned into an entire thriller series, which I published chapter by chapter on a website similar to SOL. Reader feedback motivated me to keep writing the series even after I was fully back at work. Unfortunately, the site was later shut down.
I do think it’s a shame when my stories—into which I have poured a great deal of my life’s energy—disappear without a trace. So I decided to publish them worldwide for free. On the sites so far, my stories have indeed found fans, but politics and technology are playing nasty tricks on us authors. Stricter censorship in many countries, AI panic with checks and the rigid rejection of texts, merely on suspicion that an AI might have written them, has led me to look for a new platform. Maybe SOL will be my new home.
And yes, I do like it when other people enjoy my stories. Have fun with my imagination!
JP