Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 321: Hyeon Won (16)

On the rooftop of an old pavilion.

Hyeon Won-chang’s mouth slightly parted as he gazed toward the distant city gate.

Boom!

A faint cloud of dust rose, and amidst it stood a boy dusting off his sleeve—at his feet lay an old woman sprawled in a disgraceful heap.

“You heard that, didn’t you? Another one of those Jianghu warriors!”

“Get inside! Lock the doors, hurry!”

Several townspeople gasped and scattered in panic. Taewon had become a blade-ridden wilderness, overrun by masked swordsmen.

The hurried footsteps echoing from all directions suggested that this was far from the first time.

Hyeon Won-chang remained on the rooftop, staring intently at the commotion.

What was that just now?

That wasn’t like his young friend.

The current Bright Wing Lord had a way of humiliating his enemies, even when exchanging just a single blow.

It was why so few martial artists of the Bonseong lineage ever dared to challenge Jeong Yeon-shin for a lesson. And why the Imperial Guard Commandery of Ipwang Fortress had kept such a close and eager eye on him.

They had once persuaded a rising black-robed prodigy to sabotage the Martial Alliance’s grand sect tournament. They claimed that the noble blood of the Magus Clan had no greater purpose than to be wielded for such ends.

Victory had been inevitable.

For nearly a year, Jeong Yeon-shin had been going through a violent storm of growing pains. Yet today, compared to his usual standards, he had taken down an elder assassin—Geum Yeon-sang—with a remarkably simple technique.

His shockwave force and internal energy control—they were unusually restrained.

The outcome itself wasn’t surprising.

His mother’s murderer had been an elder assassin whose only merit within the guild had been seniority. There was no way she had ever cultivated the level of martial arts necessary to stand against the Bright Wing Lord in a duel.

Hyeon Won-chang had assumed that, to Jeong Yeon-shin, an old monster like her would be no more than a monkey in a cage. He probably wouldn’t even bother drawing his sword unless there were ten of them.

And that’s the problem.

Is something wrong with the leader’s body?

The distance made it difficult to discern the details.

If I leave the test now, those viperous old men will pounce on the opportunity to find fault with me...

He needed a resolution.

Right now, the restriction on Hyeon Won-chang’s body was akin to a disease.

The Seven Pillars Sealed Meridian Technique.

From birth, his bloodstream had been altered by consuming an elixir along with his Primordial Bone Wash.

If someone forcibly attempted to release his internal energy, both his qi and life force would scatter.

Even the Mo Yong Clan, who had kidnapped him, had failed to unravel the secret behind this forbidden technique.

—The natural energy within him is already completely saturated. There must be a predetermined method to handle it.

—Hmm. It’s definitely structured with a specific formula in mind. The intricacy of human body studies at this level... Ming Sect truly was a fearsome place.

—A den of monsters. To think they would bestow such techniques even upon their mere gatekeepers.

—For now, the best course would be to refine the family’s Soul-Devouring Technique, making it more accessible for the Young Master to absorb... Oh? The Jin brat is waking up. Let’s examine his pulse.

It was a conversation Hyeon Won-chang had overheard as a child, lying on a sickbed.

Physicians of the Mo Yong Clan.

They studied martial arts like scholars, yet in the blurred vision of the young Jin Seon-hwi, his body pierced by countless acupuncture needles, he could see two figures standing with arms crossed—a Great Rite Sword Master, Mo Yong Gi-hwang, and his young heir.

Shattering the childhood illusions of the noble sects.

The Sun Meridian of the Opium Strain, the cursed lifespan engraved into the Young Lord’s body from birth—these things had been forcibly etched into him later in life.

The unmistakable will of the Ming Sect’s martial lineage—to never leave their enemies anything of value.

It was nothing like Jeong Yeon-shin’s talent for creating qi formulas in an instant.

He needed to obtain the activation formula.

If he wanted to unleash the immense power locked within his body, he had no choice.

“Tch...”

For a while, Hyeon Won-chang could only stare blankly at Jeong Yeon-shin.

Feeling a strange, tingling sensation in his chest.

Geum Yeon-sang... really is dead.

The old elders who had ruled over the Assassins’ Guild by sheer tradition.

The same ones who had turned young Jin Seon-hwi into a wooden puppet.

The same ones who had constantly restrained his older brother, Geum Seon-hwi’s, attempts to act freely.

During the Heavenly Demon Vault Rebellion, countless elders had abandoned Jin Seon-hwi to the clutches of the Mo Yong Clan, retreating to save their own skins.

And yet, they still clung together under the name of a sect, ensuring their own safety.

Claiming that protecting the legacy of the Heavenly Demon was their foremost duty.

They had seemed like mindless monsters, as if they had all been brainwashed.

Hyeon Won-chang’s perception of the elder assassins had always been this way.

After all, he had been raised in this world since he was too young to know better. And the very foundation of their sect had always been grotesque.

But now...

Even those seemingly untouchable figures—those who had embodied an iron wall of killing intent—were still just people.

They didn’t always die at the hands of some incomprehensibly inhuman figure from the Great Clans.

Sometimes, they died at the hands of someone like Jeong Yeon-shin.

Someone who had sat at the same table as Hyeon Won-chang for years.

Though I suppose I haven’t met many people who weren’t like this...

It was a matter of reality sinking in.

—You think Jianghu warriors avoid underhanded methods?

—That’s what people say. Just yesterday, some martial artists were passing by, saying something about crushing an assassin’s neck.

—Hah. Doesn’t matter if they’re from the righteous path or the demonic one. In the end, they all kill people. Even those so-called ‘great heroes’—most of what they do amounts to murder. So we just need to use our daggers like they use their swords.

—How can you tell? How do I know if my dagger technique is like that or not?

—If someone could turn your past actions into poetry, then it counts. Hmm... How about this? An assassin takes a rich man’s head for a single copper coin—given to him by an orphan whose parents were killed in a raid. The elders wouldn’t like it, but it’d make a fine tale.

His older brother, Geum Seon-hwi, had lived by his own words.

Even after the Heavenly Demon Vault Rebellion, he had devoted himself to an honorable assassin’s path.

He had cut down corrupt officials, martial outcasts, and even certain hypocrites from the righteous sects—without hesitation.

At the place where he had left, a letter remained, detailing the misdeeds of the deceased.

He had devoted his life to it—to changing the perception of the sect.

After escaping from the Mo Yong clan by sheer luck, Hyeon Won-chang wandered the martial world as the sword attendant of a rogue warrior. Even while serving his master’s blade, he occasionally heard the name Salhyeop whispered in passing.

He had witnessed his half-brother’s lonely struggle to reform the sect.

Yet, Hyeon Won-chang had not returned. The events surrounding the Mo Yong clan had left him disillusioned.

It was only in recent days, upon reuniting with Geum Seon-hwi, that he learned of the changes within the Salmun.

His brother had spoken with conviction—saying that the new disciples followed him wholeheartedly.

Only the Council of Elders remained unchanged.

“Our great lineage’s future,” he had said, “will inevitably diverge from their will.”

—If you return, we will seat you as the sect leader. Though your martial arts are not yet at my level, once your restriction is lifted, another path will open. There is still much of the main sect’s martial arts that you have yet to learn. I will dedicate myself to purifying your foundation. ...I will cut down Jukgeom and everything else.

Hyeon Won-chang had dismissed it.

Yet the death of Geum Yeon-sang stirred something within him. The fall of the Elders was truly inevitable.

Swish.

Now, standing before him, the aged men who blocked his path had little time left to live.

“Do not move.”

“The trial is not over. If you take another step, we will consider it null and void.”

Those with silent prayers surrounded Hyeon Won-chang.

Their faces were obscured beneath veils that covered them from the eyes down, making it difficult to read their expressions. Yet, from their wrinkled brows, Hyeon Won-chang could sense an unspoken emotion.

Hostility toward the young successor.

Their long-time comrade had been slain in a single move. The stubborn old men had taken a deep wound to their pride.

“Do not let him rest! Stop him from gathering his energy!”

“We must not allow the Ma Gwang-Ik any time!”

Below, masked elite swordsmen surged toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

Their momentum was overwhelming, leaving deep footprints in the ground and on the walls as they advanced.

It was as if arrows made of flesh were raining down from all directions.

The clash began.

Boom!

A shockwave erupted where Jeong Yeon-shin had stood. It spread in concentric circles, kicking up a cloud of dust that blurred the surroundings.

“This ends here. The trial will resume once the battlefield has settled. If the Mo Yong clan’s techniques are involved, it is only a matter of time before we are exposed.”

“Hmm. The Salmun is withdrawing.”

“Geum Seon-hwi will obey the orders of the Council of Elders.”

The monotonous voices of assassins brushed past Hyeon Won-chang’s ears.

He stared at the elders before him, then slowly spoke, beginning with the phrase he had pondered for a long time:

“The final incantation... does it truly exist? The situation is so absurd that I find myself questioning everything. You dare order a Ma Gwang-Ik master to back down before the Ma Gwang-Ik?”

“...What is the meaning of your question?”

One of the elders met his gaze and responded, his voice parched.

The Great Snow Sword ignored it.

“Is my curiosity strange? All the direct lineage members are dead except for me. When the Cheonma Stronghold Rebellion broke out, I doubt you secured the secret texts related to the direct line. You were likely more concerned with taking another relic of the Cheonma’s legacy—such as the Cheonma Armor, that unparalleled defensive artifact.”

“......”

“Did you deceive my brother, the acting sect leader down there, telling him lies? Delaying his appointment as the sect master under false pretenses? Perhaps neither my half-brother Seon-hwi nor I, as an illegitimate child, meet your expectations.”

Saaaah—BOOM! CRASH!

Amidst the winter wind, shockwaves continued to reverberate.

The elders remained silent. They simply stood there, maintaining their dignity, as if preserving their pride.

Like the passing breeze that brushed against their aged skin—

Hyeon Won-chang nodded as if he had expected this.

“The greatest virtue of an assassin is deception. You elders are truly exemplary disciples of the Salmun.”

“You dare mock us?”

A harsh voice erupted beside him, like the hiss of a wildcat.

Hyeon Won-chang half-opened his eyes in silence.

‘There is no final incantation. Only the secret techniques of the branch families remain...’

The restriction placed upon him was embedded within his body in the form of innate Qi.

If he recklessly tried to release it, he would die. If his luck was particularly wretched, he could collapse and cross the Three Rivers of the Underworld right here and now.

But the situation was urgent. If Jeong Yeon-shin’s recent actions were the result of internal injuries, he would struggle against the Mo Yong clan’s elite swordmasters.

It was the inevitable fate of a black-ranked prodigy who had become a target of all the great factions.

Hyeon Won-chang suddenly felt suffocated.

His lord was living on borrowed time, yet there were so many obstacles blocking his way.

‘Wait... borrowed time?’

Suddenly, a bright flame ignited in his eyes.

He had watched over Jeong Yeon-shin longer than anyone in Ipwang Fortress.

He had always sensed the boy’s innate nature.

In those moments when his silver-white eyes flashed as he created unexpected techniques—

In those battles where he cut a brilliant trajectory with his sword despite the overwhelming odds—

—“Young Master Jeong! You seem to have grown taller!”

—“You look well too, Hyeon Won-hyung.”

He had stood beside a comet that burned away its remaining time. A young star who called him a brotherly figure.

‘To hell with the Salmun.’

Hyeon Won-chang asked himself.

...Did he possess courage and resolve?

Did he have the will to step into the same realm as his sworn brother?

In this moment—

Geum Seon-hwi’s voice within him remained silent.

Vwoooong—

Only his Ipwang Sword, hanging long at his waist, let out a low, resonant cry.

That was enough. Hyeon Won-chang squared his shoulders, hesitating no longer.

The countless lines of incantations flooded his mind, merging into a single, continuous chain.

He sharpened his senses, focusing on the delicate energy control unique to the Light Ascension Technique.

‘Seven Pillar Forbidden Acupuncture Method. Time-Limited Release.’

From within the suffocating encirclement of the elders, soft streams of light began to seep through.

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***

The man, clad in a long white robe, spoke.

"The family head will arrive."

Mo Yong Gi-hwang, the wielder of the Grand Ceremony Sword.

Wearing a mask adorned with an ox's horns, he exuded the aura of a battle-hardened swordsman. Even with his arms crossed, an invisible sword energy flowed from his entire body, cutting countless circular patterns into the ground beneath him.

The young man wearing the Great Sage mask stood slightly apart from him and spoke.

"We must secure it beforehand."

"You speak of the Heavenly Demon Armor while you cannot even handle Ma Gwang-Ik standing before you?"

"You know it's only a matter of time. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to kill the greatest prodigy of Ipwang Fortress."

"You sound certain."

"I already sent the Meteor Sword Formation ahead. I assumed my uncle would not want to face a fatigued Ma Gwang-Ik."

A veil of dust mist spread before them. The sound of clashing swords, of flesh and bone being severed, echoed continuously.

As soon as Mo Yong Myeong-jun faced Jeong Yeon-shin, he instinctively stepped back.

Despite his initial bravado in approaching, the aura in Ma Gwang-Ik's gaze was anything but ordinary.

The courage to withstand the death strike of a supreme master vanished in an instant.

Only after a few breaths did he realize that waiting for the right moment to strike was the correct approach.

That moment was now.

"I will return shortly."

He spoke.

A cold reply followed.

"I will not go."

"I know. My uncle favors my sister."

Mo Yong Myeong-jun chuckled.

His second uncle never saw him as worthy of the family head’s seat.

In his eyes, Mo Yong Su-ran was far more suited to the position, possessing both talent and character.

The current heir, however, was more fitting for the path of the Dark Sword.

Mo Yong Myeong-jun did not care. He stepped into the dust.

A shadow stood still, shoulders slightly slumped. It was impossible to estimate the number of corpses lying around.

The men who had ambushed Ma Gwang-Ik were swordsmen personally trained by Mo Yong Myeong-jun.

"Yeonhwa Nata! The ignorant fools of Shanxi call you the reincarnation of the Lotus Prince!"

He shouted.

"Yet you struggle against my mere subordinates’ swords! The so-called sharpness of the lotus petals, rumored to be enough to sever the head of the Zhuge Family’s Lord, will never reach me!"

“...Come here."

A quiet voice rang out.

Mo Yong Myeong-jun's shoulders flinched slightly.

At the same time, his feet stomped against the ground as if to erase his momentary hesitation.

"The smell of blood is thick—so you didn't even bother to raise a Qi barrier! My family head has long known about this! He said that Ma Gwang-Ik's defensive Qi is mediocre compared to his swordsmanship! If you have strength left, come to me!"

A significant amount of time had passed since the initial clash.

His uncle, who had grown distant from him due to certain events, would not offer any assistance.

If the heir died here, it would be convenient—allowing him to push Mo Yong Su-ran into the seat of power. Mo Yong Gi-hwang was the most cunning, hypocritical noble of all—one who valued honor above all else.

Mo Yong Myeong-jun was determined to wear down Ma Gwang-Ik's stamina. If he could cut off his head personally, all the better.

Then—

Tadadak.

From a distant wall, an unusual presence came rushing toward them. It was incredibly small.

A squirrel.

Its smooth, brown fur fluttered as it leapt from wall to wall, carrying a small wooden box strapped to its back.

A faint, pure fragrance spread through the air.

"A Shaolin spirit beast...? Known for tracking..."

Mo Yong Myeong-jun's eyebrows shot up.

The fight had gone on for too long. It was no surprise that an unexpected factor had come into play.

"That thing! Catch it! That must not fall into Ma Gwang-Ik's hands!"

Huaaaah!

At his command, a dozen figures dashed forward.

All were armed swordsmen. The battle with Ma Gwang-Ik had reached a temporary lull, but at the moment the order was given, they tore through the air with terrifying speed.

The wind slashed past his ears, sharp and relentless.

"Swordsmen! Show your true strength!"

Mo Yong Myeong-jun’s command was a direct provocation.

The masked swordsmen responded.

"This fight is dragging on! Isn't it getting boring?"

"Is this really Yeonhwa Nata standing before us?"

"They say the current Ma Gwang-Ik has a violent temper—his hands certainly prove the rumors true!"

Mo Yong Myeong-jun’s lips curled into a grin.

"You must have come seeking the Heavenly Demon Armor. But clearly, you have nothing right now. No defensive Qi, not even power fitting for the name Yeonhwa Nata..."

Suddenly, Mo Yong Myeong-jun’s vision turned white.

A dry beam of light blinded his sight, preventing him from seeing the elongated shadow extending toward him.

It moved without a sound—slicing across Mo Yong Myeong-jun’s throat.

Seogeok.

The presence that had suddenly stepped beside him was terrifyingly hollow.

It was, simply, pure fear.

"Mo Yong Heir, you hasten your death with your foolish words."

A lighthearted voice spoke right beside him.

Mo Yong Myeong-jun opened his mouth, but only silent /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ gasps escaped. He tried to lower his gaze, but he could not see the fine, crimson line forming across his throat.

"Ma Gwang-Ik's defensive Qi, indeed."

The shadow of a grim reaper, his forehead wrapped with a Hero’s Band, whispered.

With a flick of his sword, the Light Ascension Technique's Qi scattered in a pale haze.

At the same time, Mo Yong Myeong-jun’s head tumbled to the ground.

Beyond him, those who had reached out their swords to cut down the squirrel collapsed—their heads severed, rolling lifelessly.

And in that moment—

Within the swirling dust—

The eyes of Jeong Yeon-shin met those of the approaching squirrel.

They were familiar.

The mystical squirrel, with a swift motion of its small claws, cut the string around its waist.

The wooden box strapped to its back flew through the air.

Drawn by a sudden force.

The sight alone was enough to stop the advancing swordsmen in their tracks.

The box landed in Jeong Yeon-shin’s grasp.

Tak.

His five bloodstained fingers brushed over the wooden texture.

A small sound, yet it swallowed the silence whole.

Ma Gwang-Ik had received his supplies.

"Look at Yeonhwa Nata."

The chilling voice of the Great Hero of Ipwang echoed.