Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 407: Transcendent Realm (7)

The eyes of Jin Myeong-jo of the Demonic Blood Extreme Art slowly lifted.

From Jeong Yeon-shin’s perspective, they appeared to be descending—a pair of blood-colored pupils, still smoldering, as though the burst of formless sword energy had left its mark.

His inverted stance also seemed to be part of his unique energy circulation technique, a method to dissipate the heat accumulating in his Upper Dantian.

"It suits you well. You won’t need an extra black robe."

He was referring to the Violet Battle Robe. To Jeong Yeon-shin, those words carried more weight than any praise.

"Senior Jin."

Jeong Yeon-shin brought his hands together in a rare, respectful pugong salute.

"Thanks to you, I survived this ordeal."

"You did well."

"It was all thanks to the Bloodlight Phantom Demon Sword. I was on the verge of death, but it proved invaluable."

His gratitude was sincere.

A match against a Thirteen Heavens Lord, a supreme martial master of the world. His True Energy was depleted, and his internal injuries had only worsened.

Under such conditions, no one could claim a full chance of victory. He could have died.

Jin Myeong-jo, however, seemed to think differently.

"Humility is a flaw when overindulged. Your sword talent was the deciding factor."

"Not at all. Senior’s Bloodlight Phantom Demon Sword is truly worthy of its reputation. There is nothing in this world that can compare to its martial dignity—"

Their conversation continued, carried by low voices exchanging formalities.

Jeong Yeon-shin found himself repeatedly uttering the name of the six-character supreme technique.

The demon’s sword that glimmered with blood in the night sky—it was impossible to describe it more vividly. He began to seriously contemplate the conceptualization of Formless Sword Energy.

"If one forges a sword from pure energy, wouldn’t the loss of True Energy be..."

He was speaking quietly when—

Jin Myeong-jo, who had been silent for a while, suddenly spoke.

"Were you always this talkative?"

"Pardon?"

"...You rarely take care of yourself. Even when you executed Gold Seal Lord, you weren’t in good condition. You must be gravely injured again."

Jeong Yeon-shin inwardly marveled. His insight was astonishing.

"I will stand guard. Begin your energy circulation."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Whoosh—!

The hem of Jin Myeong-jo’s black robe fluttered sharply.

In a single motion, he kicked off the withered trunk multiple times, ascending.

He landed atop the tallest tree in the vicinity—choosing the farthest possible point from Jeong Yeon-shin.

"Once your energy is restored, we will part ways."

A low voice drifted down. Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly.

"Why is that?"

"Hm."

"...?"

"...There is no one among the remaining enemies nearby who can threaten your level of mastery. If we are to dismantle Heavenly Net Formation swiftly, dispersing is the most efficient course of action.

This journey through the martial world is an anomaly. In principle, black-rank warriors do not travel together. It is not a matter of pride—it is the same logic as why the military does not fire two cannons as one.

Having multiple masters capable of casting wide-area ultimate techniques in a single group is a foolish move. It is only natural that we separate and regroup later.

...Unless you have a different opinion?"

His voice was cold yet fluid, descending like a polished blade.

Every word made perfect sense.

For someone usually reserved, Senior Jin was uncharacteristically talkative, but Jeong Yeon-shin could feel an underlying warmth in his reasoning.

A quality rare among battle-hardened warriors.

Even his uncle, Ma Jin, had not shown such consideration when delegating Bright Wing Lord’s duties.

"...I have no objections. Let’s proceed as you suggest."

Once again, Jeong Yeon-shin raised his hands in pugong, but only a cold command to tend to his internal injuries came in response.

If there was anyone more fitting to be the deputy leader of the Singeom Squad, Jeong Yeon-shin could not think of one.

Anyone else would have taken pride in receiving such praise. But Jin Myeong-jo, despite showing consideration for his junior’s recovery, still maintained strict separation between duty and personal matters.

Even after severing the head of a Thirteen Heavens Lord.

"As expected..."

The personnel of the Singeom Squad were not appointed solely by the will of its leader.

And today, Jeong Yeon-shin had learned another valuable lesson.

***

The ground where Jeong Yeon-shin had stood was now empty.

A corner of the battlefield, completely overturned and left desolate.

Amidst the dust, which absorbed the dim glow of the setting sun, a sudden burst of movement disturbed the silence.

One of the two figures who had been observing the duel between supreme martial masters from afar—Yeon So-ha of Singgeom Squad—threw a punch into the air.

“Wow, wow...! The First Sword of Namgung is dead! I never thought he’d actually win! The whole martial world will be in an uproar once this spreads...!”

It was an action that came after a long silence. He had just witnessed the deadly duel between Jeong Yeon-shin and Namgung Mu-jin.

Even a moderately skilled warrior would still see the lingering echoes of those absolute masters flickering before their eyes.

Even if those fleeting impressions couldn't be grasped, one had to internalize what they had just witnessed.

“Tsk, celebrating too much in front of a corpse is a bit...”

Yong Hui-myeong shook his head.

Shaa—

The wind carried their voices as it rolled Namgung Mu-jin’s severed head across the ground.

The residual force of the supreme martial masters' techniques still lingered as a swirling vortex of air, forming faint dust storms in the aftermath.

The young prodigy of Ipwang Fortress, Yeon So-ha, could not hide his excitement.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“They say he’s a master of swift duels... But unlike Hero Yong, he doesn’t fight endlessly for seven days and nights. At least, he's not obsessed to that degree.”

“As you know, this Fengliu Lord has a talent for making enemies into companions and enjoying martial arts as a form of artistry—”

“Let’s not dress it up. Calling it ‘Fengliu’ is a bit much. If Lord Jeong hears that, we’re doomed. They say even the Dragon Coil Sword, hailed as one of the greatest supreme martial treasures, was deliberately designed to be flashy just to toy with people.”

“...Hmm.”

“But what was that technique earlier? The one Bright Wing Lord used to suppress Phantom Night Lord’s Saweolilro? It felt similar to the Sovereign’s Sword Form.”

“I think it was something he picked up while recovering at Thousand Lord’s Gate. They called # Nоvеlight # it Extreme Kirin Form. But after seeing today’s match, it’s clear that Seomye holds the true legacy.”

Yong Hui-myeong glanced at Namgung Mu-jin’s headless corpse, arms crossed.

Yeon So-ha, rolling his eyes in thought, suddenly let out a short exclamation.

“Ah, Blue Qilin...”

“...Anyway, he must be tracking down Phantom Night Lord by now, right? They say the masters of Ming Tribe can use the natural energy of the forest to enhance their lightness techniques. Will he be able to catch him?”

“Who knows. The distance between them is already significant. But whether he catches him immediately or not doesn’t really matter.”

With a casual tone, Yong Hui-myeong continued speaking as faint dust drifted around his feet like scattered leaves.

“Expecting more would be greedy. Seomye needs to rest for a moment, too.”

“That’s true. He’s been struggling all the way from Sichuan just to save one irresponsible commander.”

“...Your words are crossing the line. First, you call me an old, frayed rope, then a ‘Hero Yong’—”

“Come on, I was joking, joking.”

Yeon So-ha shrugged and waved his hand dismissively.

“More importantly, are you properly focusing on energy circulation? If you get ambushed by some random thug here, it would be a disgrace. I’m completely drained, you know.”

“Don’t worry. Seomye’s Great Circulatory Technique is astounding. Give him an hour, and he’ll be an unrivaled force again.”

[An hour?!]

A deep, resounding voice suddenly echoed in all directions.

By now, the sky had grown dark, the night completely swallowing the last light of day.

[What kind of body does he even have?! After enduring so much poison, after withstanding countless blades...!]

The air itself seemed to vibrate.

The sheer density of the Qi Wave exuded by Six Harmonies War Saint was overwhelming. The illusion of the sky trembling filled their vision.

Step. Step.

A massive shadow strode forward, silhouetted against the remnants of twilight.

Each step was heavy and deliberate.

And at his side, he was dragging a young boy by the nape of his neck.

.......

The towering figure halted, fixing his gaze on a particular spot—where Namgung Mu-jin’s severed head lay.

A thick, heavy breath escaped his lips.

His internal breath was so deep that the exhaled mist swirled the dust beneath him.

Yeon So-ha’s face turned pale.

“Muryong Lord...?”

[You truly are remarkable! I never expected the Ancient Sword of Wudang to descend from the mountain...!]

The giant stopped in his tracks and lifted the boy by both shoulders.

It did not appear as if he had taken him as a hostage.

The boy’s robes, embroidered with swords and cranes, were loosely crumpled—then, in the blink of an eye, his entire body was torn apart.

Pwahhak—!

He was split cleanly in two.

And at that very moment, the boy’s body vanished completely.

Only a transparent shockwave erupted in his place.

Yeon So-ha’s hand, which had unconsciously grasped his sword hilt, trembled ever so slightly.

Lord of Muryong, one of the Thirteen Heavens.

His very existence was a taboo in the martial world.

The one who became the master of Great Sects, yet rejected the lineage of master and disciple.

A man who had mastered a hundred divine arts from countless sects, yet was so rarely mentioned even when discussing the strongest warriors in the world.

“All this... just because I defeated Wonyoungshin of the Ancient Sword?”

Yong Hui-myeong smirked with feigned boldness.

“Well, it seems these brutes are throwing quite the feast. Was getting beaten by me such an unbearable humiliation?”

[You sure talk big.]

Muryong Lord burst into laughter.

[Recite the nine precepts of the Dragon Coil Sword. I’ll give you half an hour.]

His words and actions were unconventional—nearly heretical.

At that moment—

Muryong Lord suddenly fell silent.

At the same time, a soft thud echoed.

A severed head rolled onto the ground, tumbling a few times before stopping next to Namgung Mu-jin’s lifeless head.

Long ears, faded white hair, a deathly pale face.

It was the head of Phantom Night Lord.

Step.

A young man, draping a Violet Battle Robe over his shoulders, descended beside Singeom Squad Leader.

He was not alone.

The sound of footsteps had not come from him alone.

Eleven figures emerged from the fading twilight, walking straight toward them.

They carried no discernible Qi, but the banners draped over their shoulders fluttered wildly, dyed a faint shade of crimson.

Yong Hui-myeong narrowed his eyes as he stood before them.

“These bastards...?”

A total of twelve figures had arrived simultaneously.

It was clear they had put aside their concern for their leader’s safety.

After all, every black-rank warrior of Ipwang Fortress was nothing short of a martial arts fanatic. These so-called seniors had likely bombarded Seomye with endless questions about today’s battle instead of ensuring his well-being.

Their silence now—knowing their guilt—was shameless beyond belief.

At that moment—

Jeong Yeon-shin stepped forward.

His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword. His presence at the vanguard was natural, like a wall standing before them.

No one stopped him.

[You have stepped where you should not have.]

Muryong Lord’s figure wavered slightly. Yong Hui-myeong gestured toward him with a nod.

“At least take the body, if nothing else. I mean Namgung Mu-jin.”

[The body?]

“There’s already a rightful owner for the head.”

[...We will meet again.]

And with that, he vanished.

The Sovereign’s Evasive Technique—a movement skill so extreme, so unnatural, that no one even considered giving chase.

“Shall I go after him?”

Jeong Yeon-shin asked quietly. His intent was clear—he truly meant to hunt down Muryong Lord and return with his head.

Behind him stood eleven black-rank warriors.

What could possibly be impossible?

For a moment, Yong Hui-myeong let out a hearty laugh.

Then, he patted Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder before turning away. Yet, the Violet Battle Robe wrapped around the young man’s shoulders didn’t even budge. Only Yong Hui-myeong’s own hand felt awkward.

He shook his head slightly.

“If he had stood his ground, perhaps. But how do you chase a fleeing man? You don’t even have Saweolilro to use. Either way, just taking the head of the First Sword of Namgung is already astonishing. Muryong Lord has lost a great deal of face today.”

Yong Hui-myeong dusted off his sleeves and spoke.

Then—

The Singeom Squad Leader slowly lifted his gaze, locking eyes with each of the assembled warriors.

From Ak Su-rim and Hahoe Wi-jin, to Tian Zhu-jin, Wei Ji-geuk, Jin Myeong-jo, and finally, Jeong Yeon-shin—twelve formidable figures stood in place.

At this moment, upon the desolate, ochre-colored battlefield, the largest gathering of supreme martial masters in history had formed.

A profound silence fell over them.

The setting sun receded like ripples upon water, retreating into the distance.

“Singeom Squad.”

Yong Hui-myeong smiled.

That single declaration was all it took.

For a long moment, the masters of Singeom Squad remained silent.

And the world beyond Ipwang Fortress—the martial realm that surrounded them—fell into stillness beneath the night sky, now stained with starlight.