Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 288: Lotus (7)

Most of the martial sects in Shanxi had been unable to attend the Murim Alliance Gathering held in Shaanxi.

They weren’t well-informed enough to recognize the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik from Ipwang Fortress, who had arrived under a false identity.

The world was vast, and when one crossed a single city, even the most famous grandmasters could have their rumored descriptions distorted into multiple variations.

Even someone as renowned as Ipwang Divine Spear, Ak Su-rim, was simultaneously rumored in some regions to be either a five-year-old child or a wrinkled old woman.

The Thirteen Heavens of the Evil Path, the Nine Great Sects, the Eight Noble Clans.

Shanxi Province had no sects that had made a great name for themselves.

Despite being as vast as a small country, it was close to being a wasteland in terms of martial prowess. In comparison to the boundless world, that was simply the reality.

A powerful military force ensured that the Daebang Sect could never take root.

The martial artists of Shanxi lived in their own world. Fierce schemes, secret negotiations, covert plundering, and relentless martial training...

They were too busy securing food during famines and expanding their influence.

It was simply the nature of the era. As the rightful lords of fertile lands, they used scarecrows to hold their swords, not to chase away birds, but to drive away people.

And they enjoyed the prestige of noble families. Tasting delicacies during famine, collecting masterpieces of art, and welcoming renowned figures from all fields as guests.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Zzzzzzzzzt—!

An earth-shaking roar swept through the banquet hall.

It made sense that the Blood Ghouls would target the food first.

One could tell from their gaunt faces, their hollow cheeks sunken from hunger, that they had been chased out by something far too overwhelming to resist.

They had heard rumors that the Gongya Clan was hosting a grand banquet—and had launched an attack.

The martial artists, caught off guard, instinctively drew their weapons in alarm. None of them had the presence of mind to spare a thought for the terrified servants.

The Bloodflame Cult’s Star-Absorbing Technique inflicted irreversible internal damage. There was no choice but to immediately circulate their energy with all their might.

The dust rising chaotically from the floor of the banquet hall was proof of their heightened vigilance.

A single bite from those fangs, even for a brief moment, would rob them of the internal energy they had painstakingly cultivated.

Time was something that could never be recovered. Even the minuscule energy refined just days ago through meditation was a treasure to martial artists.

As the honored martial artists took their positions to form a defensive formation, the sect leaders turned to check on their disciples.

A chaotic melee had been expected.

But it ended in a single breath.

“Bosin-kyung...?”

A noble martial artist gripping the hilt of his sword muttered under his breath.

Saaaah—

Something like a comet swept through the banquet hall in a flash, leaving behind a lingering pale afterimage of light.

The Bloodfiend Cult Swordsmen, who had been blocking the path, were obliterated—body and all.

Few could even perceive what had happened.

Was this truly just the aftershock of a single use of light footwork?

It was as if constellations hidden beneath the sun had suddenly revealed themselves in dazzling clarity. Such martial skill was unfathomable in lands plagued by Green Forest Bandits.

Thud, thud.

Chunks of flesh, flung high into the air, belatedly rained down.

Even their blood had evaporated, leaving only scattered fragments of limbs.

Such a scene would have been rare even for those struck by Thunderfire Bombs. The shockwave alone had shattered the Bloodfiend Cult Swordsmen’s Protective Qi, wiping them out entirely.

Movement ceased on all sides. Both the Blood Ghouls charging in and the martial artists fighting back froze in place.

The noble sons, who had been discussing fine paintings moments ago, stole glances at the wandering martial artist among them.

The sect leaders, who had been engrossed in strategies to rule Shanxi, displayed rare expressions of shock beyond their disciples’ comprehension.

Their composure, ingrained by years of noble upbringing, was the only thing keeping their reactions subtle.

Rustle.

The center of the banquet hall, where the Bosin-kyung technique had begun.

A dark sleeve lightly brushed the edge of a table.

Before anyone had noticed, Jeong Yeon-shin had returned to his seat, his fingers breaking the heavy silence as he picked up his wine cup.

He tilted it slightly toward Gui Il-tae, who was standing frozen among the Sanseo Gwi Clan.

"They say bandits become a scattered mess once they lose their leader."

"......."

"But Blood Ghouls aren't like that. Their roots aren't in their leader but in their doctrine. If you leave the survivors alone, it'll be a problem. Get moving."

There was now a depth of experience in Jeong Yeon-shin’s words.

His comment, aimed at Gui Il-tae—who had just spoken about "roots"—carried a crisp, undeniable weight.

A wandering martial artist who carried himself with the bearing of a noble heir, yet spoke like a seasoned veteran of countless battles.

Hyeoncheon Sect Lord, Geom Un-bi.

An enigma to anyone who laid eyes on him.

Gui Il-tae, who had the build of a bear but spoke with the cunning of a jackal, silently met his gaze.

His sharp eyes darkened.

He was the heir to a great martial family. Even if his knowledge of the martial world was limited, his ability to judge people was not.

This was no third-rate rogue, the type commonly found in Murim.

A man once thought to be nothing more than a disposable pawn meant to embarrass the Gongya Clan...

Was now standing there, mocking the heir of Sanseo Gwi Clan.

There was no easy way to respond.

Slowly, Gui Il-tae turned around.

He had just recognized an opponent beyond his expectations.

Nothing was to be gained from fighting a warrior of that caliber.

If he acted on impulse, he’d end up like the Bloodfiend Cult Swordsmen, shattered into unrecognizable chunks of flesh.

‘A master capable of standing against our clan lord...’

If Hua Mountain Sect and Blade Specters were the dominant forces in Shaanxi, then Gongya Clan and Sanseo Gwi Clan were the ruling noble families of Shanxi.

Even if the martial disparity between regions was vast, for a sect leader, that level of skill meant absolute supremacy.

If Geom Un-bi’s martial prowess was truly at that level...

It was terrifying.

Especially considering the words Gui Il-tae had spoken earlier—reckless, almost insulting.

Now, he tried to guess why his head was still attached to his body.

There was only one reason that came to mind: status.

As an honored guest of the Gongya Clan, Geom Un-bi couldn’t simply behead a noble heir over a few words.

Sring.

He drew his blade.

There was no choice but to follow the wanderer’s orders.

"The Gongya Clan has found their wings. This is a disaster."

As he advanced toward the remaining Blood Ghouls, Gui Il-tae’s lips pressed into a grim line.

He was the acting lord of the Sanseo Gwi Clan.

This banquet...

Had become far more significant than expected.

***

No Casualties

Despite the chaos of the skirmish, not a single attendant had lost their life.

That was because an unknown wanderer had performed the role of a war-ending weapon.

He had eradicated the enemy vanguard in an instant, shattering their morale. Until the fight was over, he remained seated, his attention fixed solely on ensuring the safety of the commoners.

As if prepared to display his mystical light footwork once more if necessary.

There was a strange obsession flickering in his slightly downturned eyes—he seemed to be unusually concerned about the lives of mere servants.

The way his gaze swept through the hall made that clear.

The noble lords seated in high places? They didn’t even register in his line of sight.

Instead, he appeared deeply invested in the fate of those who, in the grand scheme of Murim, were as insignificant as mayflies.

And yet, he had earned the right to behave this way.

Regardless of any whispers behind his back, Hyeoncheon Sect Lord, Geom Un-bi, had become a major topic among the noble families of Shanxi.

“He must have noble blood like us. Such exceptional talent never emerges from lowly lineages.”

“Just look at his appearance. That alone is proof enough.”

“Even the head of the Gongya Clan seemed somewhat surprised. If he’s a mere wanderer who only recently set foot in this manor... Perhaps we should entice him to join our house with the promise of wealth and influence—”

“A wanderer? He was introduced as the one-in-a-generation master of Hyeoncheon Sect. If you truly wish to recruit him, you should start by fixing that attitude.”

Despite the attack, the banquet did not end in a single day.

Instead, it only grew more extravagant as time passed.

It was practically an event meant to flaunt the Gongya Clan’s newfound strength—after all, they had secured a supremely powerful warrior.

Even the clan head personally invited Jeong Yeon-shin to a private drinking session.

News of Yeoryeong and the Blade Specters clashing with the Murim Alliance had been relegated to the background.

Around that time, Jeong Yeon-shin received a letter from an attendant.

On the night of the full moon, meet me at Yeongam Pavilion on the western side of the estate.

If you come, you will not regret it.

The brushstrokes exuded confidence.

The writing was bold and fluid, carrying traces of deep internal energy—clearly, the sender’s personality and martial prowess were formidable.

This invitation was different from the countless others Jeong Yeon-shin had received in recent days.

“The paper smells fragrant. It’s used for sending messages to important figures. This is Yomok paper, crafted by Suwol Sect.”

A boy standing casually with his hands clasped behind his back spoke, tilting his upper body slightly.

It was an attempt to be polite—deliberately keeping his posture relaxed, as if making an effort not to glance at the letter’s contents.

Gongya Su.

The second son of the Gongya Clan. Since the events at the banquet, he had taken to visiting the guest quarters frequently.

He was a cheerful youth who openly expressed his admiration, claiming he wanted to call Yeon-shin his older brother.

And yet, whenever his sharp eyes—characteristic of the Gongya bloodline—landed on Yeon-shin, they would soften with an unmistakable sense of reverence.

He bore a striking resemblance to his elder sister, the Great Young Lady of the Gongya Clan, Gongya Jeong.

“The Lord of Suwol Sect assured our clan head that the meeting would be absolutely safe.”

Gongya Jeong, standing beside her younger brother, spoke with a cryptic expression.

“Our clan head granted permission for your attendance. The one extending the invitation has long-standing ties with our family, and their word carries weight.”

Despite having witnessed Hyeoncheon Sect Lord, Geom Un-bi’s overwhelming martial prowess firsthand, she remained composed.

Her posture, as she lowered both hands in a gesture of respect, radiated a firm, unshakable presence—like a sheer cliff standing tall against the winds of time.

Her aura reminded Jeong Yeon-shin of an unscalable precipice.

A warrior who had ground themselves down across an entirely different passage of time—a stone vessel sculpted through ceaseless refinement.

She felt distant. Incomprehensibly so.

Yeon-shin deliberately avoided meeting her gaze.

She was the kind of existence that scraped against the inferiority deeply embedded within him.

In the presence of such a figure, a stone that had yet to roll for countless years felt insignificantly small.

Not even the grandmasters of noble blood had ever stirred this feeling in him before.

Was it because the years were passing, death was drawing closer, and their connection was built upon teaching rather than combat?

“Are there any other competitors I haven't met yet?”

Jeong Yeon-shin asked, lowering his gaze slightly.

“Yes. Shanxi is vast, and not everyone has arrived yet. By the time of the gathering at Yeongam Pavilion, there will be even more.”

“I’ll attend. Let’s go together.”

He answered while recalling the Pureblood Robe.

There were many names that still needed to be added to the Book of the Underworld.

***

The sun was high overhead.

Its radiant light cascaded down as transparently as moonlight, glimmering off the rippling waters of the lake like scattered stars. Against this serene backdrop, an elegant pavilion stood tall, its curved rooflines exuding an air of antiquity.

“Welcome.”

Gui Il-tae of the Sanseo Gwi Clan greeted them with a short cupped-fist salute.

His focus was clearly more on the newly arrived wanderer, Geom Un-bi, than on the Gongya siblings, his formidable rivals.

His sunken eyes gleamed sharply beneath heavy brows, assessing Jeong Yeon-shin with a gaze that was both scrutinizing and calculating.

Yet, his thoughts were meticulously concealed.

‘A wanderer, nothing more. A lowborn.’

Gui Il-tae had appointed himself as their guide. This was not merely a gathering hosted by the Suwol Sect.

Sanseo Gwi Clan had also lent its power. The most esteemed figures in all of Shanxi were in attendance.

This was an opportunity.

An opportunity to put the guest of the Gongya Clan in his place.

In an era where scarcity defined the martial world, strength ruled above all else.

If possible, he would show that the Gongya Clan was not the only option for those seeking shelter. And if the wanderer did not comply—he would be eliminated at the hands of the revered senior master present today.

That would be acceptable.

After all, the Gongya Clan was a righteous sect. They preferred to uphold their prestige through duels, not large-scale sect wars.

But Shanxi? It had begun bribing government officials, exploiting the famine for its own gain.

‘A nameless man who crawled through the dirt will never survive against a master who cultivated his martial arts beneath the heavens.’

Gui Il-tae had no doubts about the senior master’s strength. Nor did he doubt Geom Un-bi’s inherent lowliness.

He was rational—but he held firm to his sense of superiority.

That was how the eldest son of the Gwi family, raised among former northern battlefield generals, had always lived.

Gui Il-tae smiled smoothly, his rugged features bearing the semblance of a bear.

“The surname Geom. Since it never existed before, it should be easy to establish your own family line. I misspoke last time.”

“For a mistake, you sure said a lot.”

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

Jeong Yeon-shin, who had been walking behind them, asked curiously before nodding to himself.

“Ah, I see. A bandit's mistake isn't just tripping over an axe. It’s swinging it carelessly and cutting down innocent travelers.”

“Hrm...”

Gui Il-tae had no retort.

Behind him, Gongya Su chuckled, and his sister, Gongya Jeong, made no attempt to stop him.

As the group arrived at the pavilion, they saw that many had already gathered.

Not a single person present was without noble lineage.

A dozen or so men and women, each armed with an assortment of weapons, all bore the blood of high-ranking families.

“Look over there. That’s why the eldest son of the Gwi family personally greeted them.”

“He never acts like this. It must be because of that man. His appearance certainly lives up to the rumors... but is his martial prowess truly the same?”

“Quiet. Un Dae-hyeop is here. Don’t speak so carelessly and disturb the senior master’s ears.”

The banquet buzzed with whispers.

Yet, it was not rowdy. Their conversations were hushed, nearly reverent murmurs.

The same noble sons and daughters who had paid no attention to Jeong Yeon-shin at the previous banquet were now behaving with utmost caution.

The reason was clear.

At the highest seat in the pavilion—

A woman sat sprawled across the table, one knee resting atop its surface.

The first thing that stood out was her arms—muscles chiseled in sharp relief, from the triangular deltoids down to her forearms.

Her rough, calloused hand gripped a wine bottle carelessly, the veins along her arms throbbing with restrained power.

Her hair, disheveled and hanging over her shoulders, gleamed not with oil, but with raw, surging internal energy.

A sleeveless, ash-gray martial robe suited her perfectly.

The moment her head lifted, her gaze met Jeong Yeon-shin’s.

Both were startled.

Each had been suppressing their Qi—hiding within the depths of the Half-Step Return to Origin Realm.

“...The First Fist of the Eon Clan.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips barely moved.

The supreme martial artist who had mastered techniques that could unravel Seomye’s martial foundation.

The beloved consort of Zhuge Clan’s Patriarch.

The Fist Lord, Eon Hwayeon.

‘This is bad.’

Jeong Yeon-shin’s instincts sharpened.

The First Fist of the Eon Clan was no longer alone.

A peerless sorcerer now accompanied her—a duo known as an invincible pair.

A direct confrontation meant death.

And then—

“You crazy—”

Her brows furrowed violently.

In an instant, her fearsome gaze locked onto Gui Il-tae.

The subtle smirk on his face froze.

A tidal wave of Qi erupted from Eon Hwayeon’s body.

“Do you even understand who you just brought here?! You pathetic fool! You absolute moron!”

Wooong!

The very air warped from the force of her presence.

“L-Lord Fist! Please—!”

Gui Il-tae barely managed to stammer before—

A wine bottle sliced through the air like a divine lightning bolt.

CRACK!

It exploded against his forehead.

His protective Qi shattered upon impact.

The sheer shockwave of the blow sent tremors through the pavilion’s pillars, shaking them as if a thunderclap had struck.

Gui Il-tae collapsed, sprawled out, utterly defenseless.

Jeong Yeon-shin looked down at Eon Hwayeon.

“Your martial arts have improved.”

His hand idly brushed against his sword hilt.

His voice carried a tone of absolute authority—as if gazing down from above.