Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 346: Late but Arriving First (2)

It was an age of chaos.

Accurate information was incredibly rare. When dozens of rumors circulated about an event, the truth often consisted of just a few facts.

Even the portrait of Great Lord Ma Gwang-ik, which was widely distributed throughout the central region of the country, was no exception.

The appearances in the portraits were literally all over the place, and even those few versions were considered less varied than the reputation would suggest.

If high-ranking officials in Ipwang Fortress were caught sharing private information about their personnel, it could lead to reprimands from the government.

‘This feeling...’

Jeong Yeon-shin had looked at twelve different portraits of various appearances, each with a different style of painting. He couldn’t afford to take the documents personally handed to him by Cheongmyeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, Ak Su-rim, and the Grand General lightly.

Their actions had broadened his understanding. He had learned a fair amount of stories related to the person he would soon face.

The details of the opponent’s appearance matched several pieces of the puzzle.

“Interesting. I heard they are about three years younger than me... but they’ve certainly grown.”

Still holding his fishing rod loosely, the figure who had glanced at Jeong Yeon-shin spoke.

The clear enunciation of the words mixed with a harsh tone. The voice sounded like it was being scraped with an unseen rake, instead of the clear resonance it should have.

Their appearance was striking. The heir of the Bloodflame Sect, who was said to have deceived the heavens.

The silver mask that covered just the forehead to the tip of the nose, leaving only the lower face exposed, was a clue.

Even without special engravings or patterns, a faint sheen flowed like waves. It matched the habitual, twisted smile that always seemed present.

Meanwhile, the figure was wrapped entirely in an extravagant white cloak. Long strands of black thread that hung /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ like decoration traced down the edges but didn’t approach too closely.

It was likely the overwhelming aura emanating from the eyes under the mask, glowing with a ghostly light. The white beast-fur scarf wrapped around their neck felt almost like the mane of a mythical dragon.

“Your curses don’t sound like curses.”

The mysterious figure spoke slowly, their lips twitching.

Between their syllables, the cold stillness of the winter riverside felt even more apparent.

The behavior of the figure, whether they were fishing or not, was secondary. An immense presence filled the space around them.

“Is it because of the rare appearance? Your curse sounds almost amusing. It must be because you’re pure-hearted.”

“......”

Jeong Yeon-shin thought silently. He needed to be wary of the other’s perception.

So Cheonmujuk, the Invincible, was widely known across the world as the greatest prodigy.

This was an extraordinary individual who had blocked Jeong Yeon-shin's path with impressive intelligence.

The figure’s attire covered the body, concealing how it was shaped, and adorned with luxurious items that obscured half of the face. There was little information about their martial skills, other than large movements and their energy flow.

Were they a woman or a man?

How much had they trained in martial arts that used the body, aside from the sorcery?

It was hard to pinpoint anything.

The flow of the cloak surrounding their body felt close to the nature of a 法宝 (sacred object). It blocked the flow of energy, preventing anything from being sensed.

‘I can’t engage too easily.’

A feeling unfamiliar to him made its presence known. A keen intuition.

Jeong Yeon-shin engraved the image of a Light Dragon in his mind, the shape of the dragon entwined with the sword he wore on his waist. He was prepared to strike, should the need arise, with the Swallowing Sword, his fastest technique.

‘But I must also be ready to use Ultimate Thunder. I might lose my life before I can strike if I don’t.’

His lips parted.

“So Cheonmujuk... Have you ever crossed paths with the warriors of Ipwang Fortress?”

It was after he asked in a calm tone that a powerful, explosive energy suddenly rose, like wildfire, from all directions.

At least a dozen figures sent their energy waves into the air.

The branches of trees cracked as the air shimmered with intense power.

The one who had sent out the first wave of energy must have been at least as powerful as Three Flowers Gathering Purity, suggesting they wielded a sword at the same level as those at Ipwang Fortress.

At that moment.

Boom—!

Snowflakes that had been falling in slow, heavy patterns were scattered and pushed away by a massive shockwave.

The source of the disturbance was just beside Jeong Yeon-shin. The Seventh Apostle had suddenly revealed their piercingly bright eyes from under their mask and was calmly surveying the surroundings, their posture straight and unwavering.

The crimson energy flowing from their body soaked into the snow, like petals dissolving into the ground.

Soon, words that seemed destined for So Cheonmujuk's subordinates came from the Seventh Apostle’s lips.

“Impertinent.”

He let out a soft sigh.

“The lady is most extraordinary. If we were to unite, the casualties would be heavy.”

“Answer me.”

Jeong Yeon-shin demanded, his face expressionless.

A slight rustling came from the side as someone nervously adjusted their clothing, but at that moment, he was focused on learning the whereabouts of his mentors.

“Great Lord Ma Gwang-ik... Truly has courage. Such a figure could walk around with the mighty Yellow Character in broad daylight. Recently, the martial artists in Ipwang Fortress have become quite the prey among the martial world. Especially in Sacheon these days.”

The Seventh Apostle rose from their seat.

So Cheonmujuk threw the bamboo fishing rod aside carelessly and muttered under their breath.

“Fishing is about catching time, they say, but no fish is biting today. Such a frustrating thing.”

“Prey?”

Jeong Yeon-shin asked. The Seventh Apostle gave a vague nod.

“You might not know this in Ho Gwang, but it’s the way things are. The martial artists in Ipwang Fortress are well-fed, and their martial skills are considered quite valuable. They don’t worry about consequences. In times like these, you’re the most active ones.”

“You have to protect the people, handle solo missions, and leave your subordinates in neglect,” said the Seventh Apostle.

“Of course, they’re still reapers to the third-rate sects. But for the masters who feared Ipwang Fortress’ retribution, it was better to break the law than starve in a time of famine. Better to take what they want, whether it’s plundering civilians or killing the martial artists of Ipwang Fortress who come after them.”

The martial artists of Ipwang Fortress had vanished from the world.

It wasn’t just Suncheon Lord and Heavenly Sage. There were many instances of disappearance that had become commonplace. The lower-ranking martial artists, those who had been dressed in Ipwang Fortress colors, were often never heard from again.

Jeong Yeon-shin had heard these rumors from the moment he entered the martial world.

In Sacheon Province, Ma Gwang-ik had lost several of his comrades, but even after Ma Gwang-ik became Great Lord, the rumors of martial artists dying in Ipwang Fortress never stopped. He had always been with them.

“People are always swept along by the tides of their times. Isn’t that the same for Ipwang Fortress?”

A spark of light flashed in the Seventh Apostle’s dark eyes, seemingly seeing through Jeong Yeon-shin's inner thoughts.

“What you want to hear, perhaps, is nothing of consequence. There are countless exceptional martial artists wandering the world, it would be hard to count even a handful of them. Some of them may have met their end somewhere.”

“Not you?”

“Well... I’m one of those exceptional martial artists, but... surely you’re not believing the rumors spread by Yeoryeongju, right?”

Those figures were skilled at sowing discord between the martial world and Ipwang Fortress. The Seventh Apostle gave Jeong Yeon-shin a quick glance, then spoke again with a relaxed posture.

“You’re not the type to believe in those rumors. After all, martial artists should always test each other first. I truly hate pain, though...”

For a moment, the stillness of the snowy plains seemed to carry a heavy weight. Jeong Yeon-shin felt an invisible pressure on his shoulders.

The figures from the Bloodflame Sect who had shown violent reactions earlier remained hidden, not making a move even as they neared confrontation.

There was no hidden meaning. He was certain of the meaning of the title Invincible attached to the opponent’s name. It was a title backed by absolute certainty. Just as the martial artists of Ma Gwang-ik showed their trust in Jeong Yeon-shin.

“Shall we exchange a few moves? Your energy feels unsettling, but the true intention of a martial artist always shines through in the release.”

A dark flame flickered under the mask of the Seventh Apostle, with no sign of preemptive movements or sound.

From the thick cloak wrapped around their body came an overwhelming force.

It was a natural occurrence. They could not trust each other’s loyalty from the start.

Jeong Yeon-shin released his stored energy technique inherited from Great Lord Bo Hyeol, his feet firmly planted, as a white lotus blossomed under his feet.

Great Lord Ma Gwang-ik’s technique, Hwan-gang, Ultimate Thunder—from the first strike, he held nothing back. This was a necessary opponent.

***

The surroundings were nothing but ruins. Among the smoke that rushed in as if carried by a typhoon, there were countless corpses.

This was a place where the fate of the martial world would be decided. It could be called the highest level of the martial world.

"Iphwang Fortress is doomed."

The voice was calm and measured. A man wrapped in black cloth from head to toe spoke. Beneath his conical hat, the black beard on his chin moved slowly.

"The grand trap, composed of all the great factions of the world, will make it so. Only the lesser factions will manage to escape."

"Are you speaking sense?"

The response came from a man standing just ten paces away.

He appeared like a scholar, dressed in a deep purple robe resembling that of a Confucian scholar.

Around him, many enemies glared, yet none dared approach the man, who seemed too strong to challenge.

Beside him, a youthful warrior clad in blue armor furrowed his brows, standing as his only ally. Yet, even so, none of the enemies dared act recklessly.

The man in black cloth with a conical hat—the Lord of Yeoryeong—stood before them, exuding an air of great leisure.

"You should never have trusted the Balgals. Even after suffering so, your sense of righteousness remains intact, Young Ga. Those of the Shingeom Sect, who will return to the fortress of Anpyeongsan as corpses, will never close their eyes to their grievances."

Behind the Lord of Yeoryeong stood a middle-aged swordsman with long, blue sleeves, blocking their retreat.

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The overwhelming aura from his white sword filled the air like a translucent mountain, making it impossible for any movement to go unnoticed. His sword, the Imperial Sword, radiated the presence of a ruler.

"Leader, let the martial world go."

It was the leader of the Namgung Sect, the number one swordsman of the faction.

It wasn't just them. The enemies of the Shingeom Sect, positioned twenty li away, were fully aware of the deadly arrows of the shadowy warriors targeting them.

The Lord of Yeoryeong spoke again.

"The grand trap that will defeat the seventeen masters of the Shingeom Sect will soon be completed. The annihilation of your Shingeom Sect will mark the beginning of the downfall. The Great Lords sent to the west from Iphwang Fortress, Shingang, Cheonghae, and Sichuan, they too, more than five, will meet their end."

It seemed as though she was casually discussing the deaths of those already fallen. The Lord of Yeoryeong, the one who would be counted as the first to claim the title of the god of the martial world, spoke without haste or emotion.

The smile on the Shingeom Leader’s lips grew wider.

He had endured situations like this countless times, seeing free martial artists, as wild as those granted the power of the gods, wreak havoc for ages. He had borne the harsh winds of conflict since he had inherited the high-ranking status passed down by the late General Ma Yeonjeok.

"These fools are provoking me," he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, a collection of writing materials flew up from a pouch lying at his feet. The technique of controlling the void, a masterful skill. Brushes, ink, inkstone, and seventeen sheets of paper began to dance in midair.

"What are you up to?"

The enemies hesitated, knowing that the Shingeom Leader had not yet drawn his signature weapon, the Dragon's Return Sword.

He had indeed administered poison, but not enough to cripple him entirely—he still had time to buy.

"Leader?" The young blue-clad warrior, standing loyally beside him, looked up in question. The Shingeom Leader broke into a hearty laugh.

"I suppose I won’t remain a righteous swordsman after all. Check the contents. My senses have grown dull. If the last page isn't written, you can just copy it out."

The young warrior followed his orders and confirmed the contents of the letter, turning his shoulder sharply.

"Is it true?" he asked, eyes wide.

"Should I really write it like this? Seventeen pages? The Great Lords, gathering the sparrows, could it be that this was their plan all along?"

"Are you asking me if I’m out of my mind?" The Shingeom Leader asked with a sly grin.

"No, but really?" the loyal servant questioned again.

The Shingeom Leader chuckled softly.

"The old councilors will finally agree on something. They’ll try to strip us of our titles, but what can we do? We've overheard their plans."

"Is that the end of it? What about the common people?"

"...That’s a burden I must carry. As the Leader, I believe it's better for us to fall together than to perish individually."

His tone was gravely serious.

And yet, that was all.

The Shingeom Leader made no further alterations to his orders.

With a flourish, he gestured, sending the seventeen pieces of paper fluttering into the air. They were then bound to the legs of an eagle and a flock of sparrows, soaring toward the sky.

The enemies, encircling the area, couldn’t even touch the papers as they were torn apart by the sheer force of the aura emitted by the Shingeom Leader’s radiant sword.

By the time the rainbow-colored blade emitted its terrifying energy, he had already launched a tremendous force into the air.

"Go."

The seventeen papers, marked with the seals of Iphwang Fortress, fluttered through the sky until they scattered far and wide.

The Lord of Yeoryeong and the Namgung Sect's Number One swordsman did not intervene. They could tell the attack was inevitable due to the Shingeom Leader’s advanced skills.

"What did it say?" the Shingeom Leader asked, glancing at the Lord of Yeoryeong.

"I have a rough idea," she replied slowly, nodding.

"But can you handle it? The royal family will not sit idly by after what you've done."

"Did you feel a chill down your spine? You martial world folks thought we would only suffer, didn't you?"

No response came.

The Shingeom Leader reached out and grabbed a single letter remaining in the air. As he touched it, a plume of smoke emanated from his fingers.

The letter burned away in an instant, and the letters, which could shake the entire world, faded away, leaving behind a scribbled handwriting.

[To the esteemed individuals:

Apologies for the inconvenience in such busy times. I understand everyone's distress. I don’t know how many of you will see this letter, but as I pray to the heavens, I shall cut to the chase...

The Shingeom Leader commands.

Whatever damage may be done by the martial world’s miscreants, disregard it for now. The Iphwang Fortress Shingeom Sect will now secure its own safety. If those like us come together, I will show you what happens.

Upon reading this, all my black-clad warriors are to halt their current missions and gather at the Ten-Direction Temple in Sichuan.

Seventeen.

All of you.]