Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 421: Exhausted (2)

"Just as a black rank cannot act as a violet, a violet must never lower their rank arbitrarily. You are now someone of dignity. Even if a mission requires disguise, you must never compromise your standing."

"..."

"Or... is it that you don’t trust the other black ranks within your own stronghold? That you insist on maintaining your authority as a Commander?"

His words carried a teasing edge.

Jeong Yeon-shin immediately shook his head.

While his uncle Ma Jin and Tae Yeom-ryong were individuals he had to look after, much like his cousin Jeong Hye, the senior members of the Wonpyeong First Sword Hall were a different matter entirely.

"I was arrogant. I just... didn’t want to fail."

The Mount Hua Oath—the Greatest Martial Gathering in the World.

This was unfamiliar territory. He had never experienced anything like it before.

Not only was he representing Ipwang Fortress, but he was also stepping forward as an absolute master—where even victory would not necessarily mean success.

That was why he had insisted on taking two positions.

He was willing to endure criticism for it.

The fear of failure loomed large.

Ever since he had witnessed the Supreme Sword of Wudang, the pressure had been crushing.

After all, the Mount Hua Oath stemmed from a promise made generations ago through a pact with the Grand Hero.

Jeong Yeon-shin did not want to disgrace his grandfather’s name.

Nor did he want to be the cause of disaster for Ipwang Fortress.

He, more than anyone else, had been the catalyst for activating the Mount Hua Oath.

The cost of failure was far too great—if Ipwang Fortress lost, the great martial sects would gain the right to command violet-ranked masters as they saw fit.

Even if those sects were the Nine Great Clans, it was an unthinkable outcome.

Perhaps seeing through his thoughts, Yong Hui-myeong’s lips curled into a smirk.

"You can afford to be a little more confident."

"..."

"It’s strange, seeing you like this. A seventeen-year-old violet rank... and with your temperament, it wouldn’t be surprising if people started calling you a gentleman. Especially in the Ma Clan."

Even as he felt a tinge of embarrassment, Jeong Yeon-shin could not bring himself to deny it outright.

In all his seventeen long years of life, he had rarely met anyone who was as humble as himself.

Even if it was his commander speaking, that fact remained the same.

There was no solace in being told the obvious.

Seeing Jeong Yeon-shin slightly dejected, Yong Hui-myeong shrugged.

"It’s fine if you lose. If the Nine Clans summon someone, I’ll go instead."

"After all, wasn’t the Oath invoked to rescue me?"

"I owe my life to it. If that means playing a pawn in the martial world for a while, I suppose it’s a fair trade."

With a deliberately serious expression, Yong Hui-myeong continued.

"Now, let me ask again—have you thought about your lineup?"

"There are many candidates, but..."

Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head.

The entry conditions for the Mount Hua Oath were exceptionally strict.

Yong Hui-myeong had earned his qualification due to his inheritance of the Transcendent Sword of Ma Yeon-jeok, which granted him recognition from both Wudang and Mount Hua.

However, when it came to the black ranks, few met the necessary criteria.

Aside from Hahoe Wi-jin, the Lord of the Celestial Forest, who had declared himself a Seomye Mu-maek, there were hardly any.

This was because they each possessed unique, sect-specific supreme techniques.

Upon hearing this, Yong Hui-myeong nodded.

"The Lord of the Celestial Forest... didn’t he return to the fortress with our Vice Commander? He should be easy to summon."

Given that Ho-gwang and Hanam were neighboring regions, his reasoning was sound.

Similarly, Shin Sobin, Hyeonwon Chang, and Tae Yeom-ryong were also likely at the main fortress.

During his time in Sichuan, Jeong Yeon-shin had issued a recall order through the former Lord of the Hwangbo Clan, whom he had befriended during the Battle of the Coiling Dragon Formation.

Sichuan had been too dangerous at the time.

"That settles it. As for the white and blue ranks, you have plenty of options among your Seomye Mu-maek—I’m sure you’ll choose well."

"Forgive my rudeness, Commander, but... may I enter now?"

With an easygoing tone, the door swung open.

It was the voice of Cheongmyeong, the Azure Eye Sword.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s head turned sharply.

He had already sensed several familiar presences lingering beyond the partially open door.

He had left it ajar on purpose.

He had heard that the martial masters of Ma Gwang-ik had returned from patrolling near Beijing.

They had been assisting the Imperial Guards outside the capital due to the unrest caused by mystical beasts.

"Let’s see how much our Commander has grown!"

"Do not disrespect a violet-ranked master. He is already taller than you, anyway."

"Beijing’s been in an uproar over Lotus Apparitions."

"Violet rank! Show us the robe! Why are you still wearing black?"

Dressed in azure martial attire, the warriors entered with cheerful clamor.

At their forefront stood two figures.

A one-eyed nobleman, his face adorned with a relaxed smile, and a woman with long, jet-black hair cascading past her sharp eyes.

Though none carried weapons, the aura of seasoned swordsmen radiated from them.

Jeong Yeon-shin took them all in at a glance—Cheongmyeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, and over a dozen azure-ranked martial masters.

Baek Mi-ryeo’s pale lips parted.

"We will escort you to Shaolin."

Her cold voice carried the chill of a winter wind, the kind that soothed battle-worn bodies after relentless training.

A faint smile formed on Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips.

***

Cheongmyeong, Baek Mi-ryeo, and the other martial masters under Ma Gwang-ik relayed the news from Ipwang Fortress.

The Elder of the Council had long since left after entering the Forbidden City.

At the time, the imperial ministers had seemed prepared for a fierce confrontation with him, yet the Elder had, instead, strongly advocated for the dismissal of the current Divine Sword Sect Leader. This had left the high-ranking officials speechless.

So that’s why the Forbidden City was so peaceful.

Jeong Yeon-shin pondered. The delay in his permission to enter had been inconsequential.

He had expected a grueling battle of wits, yet the circumstances had been strangely uneventful. Now, he understood why.

— The Yong Clan is, of course, filth, and the Ma Clan is no different. It is the Jeong Clan alone that blossoms like a lotus in the mud. I trust you.

A single sheet of parchment bore the Elder’s message, written in a single fluid stroke.

According to Cheongmyeong, the Elder had departed after mentioning that he would be preparing for an internal promotion ceremony within the Council.

He had also stated that his body was no longer suited for prolonged stays in foreign lands—an aftermath of the severe internal wounds he had suffered long ago when he lost his martial prowess and innate energy to the Bloodflame Cult Leader.

“Wait just a little longer. They are bringing it from afar. A blade of such rarity cannot be stored carelessly.”

Southern Third Pavilion, the courtyard before the Crown Prince’s Palace.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood before the grand entrance of the ancient palace, the solemn architecture towering above him.

Behind him, Yong Hui-myeong had already departed under the Emperor’s command. Meanwhile, the Crown Prince and Grand Eunuch Sa Lai were seeing him off.

“My son tells me that you have quite the understanding of sword song. May I hear it for myself?”

The Crown Prince added, reminiscing, “There was a time when the cry of the blade was enough to sever one’s sorrows.”

Jeong Yeon-shin shook his head.

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“There are those who should hear it, and those who should not. Your Highness belongs to the latter.”

“And why is that?”

“Because mine is a sword’s requiem—one that severs life itself.”

For a moment, the Crown Prince’s lips curled inward. His expression was difficult to describe, as if he had felt something profound.

“A noble of the Ma Clan has given me counsel,” he mused. “It is just as I suspected after witnessing you earn His Majesty’s favor. Yes... some burdens must be borne.”

“...?”

“I shall remember this favor. We will meet again. The nation... the imperial family... will call upon your strength.”

The Crown Prince’s words carried the chill of the northern winds—a stark, dry cold.

Jeong Yeon-shin responded with a silent bow, his hands clasped in a formal martial salute.

I should watch my words from now on.

Even an offhand remark now carried weight beyond his intention. If he was not careful, he might end up offering insight to an enemy.

“Send my regards to your grandfather.”

Grand Eunuch Sa Lai looked down at him as he spoke.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

A high-ranking official, who had always addressed him with condescension, now spoke with proper decorum.

Jeong Yeon-shin only gave a small nod in response.

He had already received ample compensation from the Forbidden City. Now, he had to seriously consider the selection of his successor for Huashan’s Zhi-Yao.

The Azure.

Tae Yeom-ryong may have been powerful, but he was unreliable. The entirety of Ma Gwang-ik’s forces had already trained in Gwangye Formation for combined assault techniques.

Rather than selecting someone incompetent at a critical moment, sending either Cheongmyeong or Baek Mi-ryeo might be the wiser choice.

“You seem restless. They will arrive soon.”

Sa Lai’s words pulled him from his thoughts.

At that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin felt the gentle yet firm presence of Yeorae, the divine sword, resonating warmly.

“I shall take my leave.”

As he flicked his fingers, the distorted summer air rippled once.

A silver gleam flickered in the distant sky before a long, slender blade streaked toward him.

Swish!

The sword’s descent ripped through the air with a deafening howl.

It was the Divine Sword, Yeorae.

Without so much as blinking, Jeong Yeon-shin caught it in a single motion.

The blade settled into his grasp, radiating a warmth that wrapped around his palm.

Without hesitation, he slid Yeorae into the sheath at his hip, standing tall in the heart of the imperial palace.

“......”

Yet, no one spoke a word about what they had just witnessed.

Not even as Jeong Yeon-shin turned his back on the golden tide of resplendent rooftops.

Rustle.

Adjusting the weight of the large satchel slung over one shoulder, he secured its strap with one arm.

The burden pressed firmly against his left shoulder, whispering to him in hushed tones.

It was time to return to the martial world.

***

The midsummer heat scorched the desolate forest.

The brittle, withered branches rustled against one another as the humid wind stirred them. That was why the air of this land carried a yellow hue.

Shin Ya-hyeon, Jeong Household’s rear mountain, Hanam-seong.

On a gentle hill stood more than a dozen graves, lined up in neat rows.

It was a place that had recently struck fear into the hearts of the villagers of Shin Ya-hyeon.

Rumors spread that a gang of black-path thugs, who had neither feared the Orthodox Sect nor Shaolin, had established a third-rate unorthodox sect upon the ruins of the Jeong Household—only to be completely annihilated by an unrivaled beauty with an eyepatch.

Yet, these were not the graves of those outlaws.

These were the graves of the Jeong Household’s kin—a family of landlords.

The Scarlet-Clad Witch had raised a mound for Ma Yeon-sang, turning it into a tomb as grand as a royal mausoleum before vanishing.

She had encircled the burial site with a three-layered brick wall.

And yet, the Jeong Household Patriarch’s grave, standing just beside it, had only been minimally tended to, with a simple clearing of the overgrowth.

“This won’t do, Lord Namgung. We must step back for now...”

“So Geomhwi, please understand. Whether it is a private ancestral ritual or a Buddhist memorial service, we must oversee it all.”

At the foot of Ma Yeon-sang’s tomb, three factions stood at a tense standoff.

Not a single one of them was ordinary.

Even in these troubled times, when most struggled to maintain a presentable appearance, these individuals were immaculately groomed, their complexions unblemished. Their martial robes shimmered with the distinct luster of fine silk.

Among them, one man stood out.

A young man with stark white skin clad in a jet-black long robe. His sharp jawline was as refined as the edge of a sword, and his obsidian eyes were unwavering, embodying the dignity of a righteous warrior.

His appearance and aura suited the word noble.

Black Robes of Ipwang Fortress.

White Qilin, Namgung Hwa-shin.

Behind him stood a young noble with rugged features and another composed youth.

Blue-Clad Warrior, Ma Se-in.

White-Clad Warrior, Ma Woong.

None present were unaware that Ma Se-in was the Young Lord of the Ipwang Ma Clan.

These three men represented Ipwang Fortress.

“Just let them do it. What’s the problem with us merely observing?”

Since they stood before a grave, Ma Se-in maintained a formal posture as he spoke in a calm tone. It suited his recent title—The Gentleman of the Ma Clan.

However, the dozen figures facing him were also renowned across the martial world.

They were from Dian Cang Sect, the sect that claimed their swordsmanship could pierce the sun.

A branch of the Nine Sects.

“It is not the act of watching that is the issue, but the fact that those who accompanied you seem ready to break into open conflict at any moment.”

Even the disciples of Dian Cang Sect maintained impeccable courtesy.

They had completely restrained their imposing martial auras so as not to harm the land beneath their feet. With their refined appearances and disciplined manner, they appeared more like scholars than warriors.

At the forefront of their group stood a striking figure—a woman carrying a pitch-black sword.

She wore a crimson silk martial robe, her long jet-black hair cascading down her back.

Though she had meticulously suppressed her aura, the sharpness of her spirit could not be fully concealed.

Small Sword Queen, Chui So-ok.

Her large eyes had a gentle downward tilt at the corners, lending her a kind appearance. Yet, no one around her underestimated her.

So Geomhwi urged the representatives of Ipwang Fortress to step back.

“Regardless of the others, I have come with goodwill. Will you let the memorial period pass in vain?”

“I am aware that there is no special connection between your sect and Ipwang’s Ma Gwang-ik faction. I merely wish to prevent unnecessary conflict.”

Namgung Hwa-shin offered a polite fist salute. Even in that simple gesture, there was an undeniable refinement—his conduct was the epitome of an orthodox chivalrous swordsman.

At that moment, laughter broke the air.

“How bold of you.”

“Truly. You’ve avoided facing us all this time.”

A new group ascended the hill, trailing behind the forces of Ipwang Fortress and Dian Cang Sect.

Five men and women, each wearing a blue hero’s headband—a fashion ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) currently popular in Namjikrye.

They were not from the Namgung Clan.

Wherever a dominant sect ruled a region, there were always subordinate factions that benefited from its influence.

These Hero’s Headband Fighters were once prominent martial aristocrats closely tied to the Namgung Clan.

One of them bowed respectfully toward So Geomhwi, their fist salute radiating nothing but deference.

“We are ashamed of our disgraceful state. Please grant us time. There are unresolved matters with the direct line of the Namgung Clan.”

At the grave of Ma Gwang-ik’s mother, they ignored the delegation from Ipwang Fortress and directed their respects elsewhere.

Beside So Geomhwi stood an elderly woman.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Draped in rough robes, she used a long sword as a cane, both hands resting atop its pommel.

Her gaze swept across the hill.

Whoosh—

The breath of all present caught in their throats.

Like a silent sword wind, an unseen tempest swept through the surroundings.

No one dared respond.

Even White Qilin in black robes lowered his head slightly in acknowledgment of her martial presence and cultivation.

“...If this is an internal dispute of Namjikrye, it is not my place to interfere.”

A voice, aged yet resolute, drifted from her lips.

The faces of the Hero’s Headband Fighters brightened.

They immediately turned to Namgung Hwa-shin, lifting their heads.

One among them finally spoke.

“You must already know our purpose. Namjikrye is in chaos. Bandits run rampant, unorthodox sects parade as martial clans, and street thugs disrupt the very order of the city. All because there is no longer a direct heir to the Namgung Clan. Ipwang Fortress wiped them out.”

“...Yet the Elder of the Namgung Clan remains.”

“He is insufficient. A relic of the past. Neither our sect nor the other martial clans of Namjikrye can entrust the future to him. That is why you are needed. Return to the Namgung Clan.”

Namgung Hwa-shin remained silent for a moment before speaking slowly.

“As long as I am not cast out, I will not leave Ipwang Fortress of my own accord. If Namjikrye’s troubles stem from an uprising of the demonic sects, then I will fulfill my duty and bring order.”

“We knew you would say that!”

Another scoffed.

“Did I not tell you? This halfwit, who never even inherited the Monarch’s Sword Style, feels no responsibility for Namjikrye! He has likely never even seen the crimson jewel embedded in the Ethereal Sword!”

“A mere bastard’s limits...”

The warriors of Namjikrye sighed. Some even spoke of Azure Qilin, saying that had he lived, the martial world of Namjikrye would have remained whole.

Namgung Hwa-shin remained silent.

He was not one to act rashly. Unless it was an obvious injustice, he would not spill blood.

His elder brother, Azure Qilin, had taught him that humility was the essence of true martial mastery.

That was why, even during Ipwang Fortress’ entrance trial, he had admitted defeat to a young boy without hesitation.

Now was no different.

He merely waited, hoping those before him would exhaust themselves and withdraw.

At that moment—

Boom!

A sound like thunder rumbled from the distance.

It swelled rapidly, a suffocating roar, before descending into the very heart of the three assembled factions in the form of a hazy bolt of lightning.

A sword struck the earth.

A red gem gleamed from its hilt.

Namgung Hwa-shin muttered in disbelief.

“...The Ethereal Sword?”

The impact was not great, but a tempest erupted, pressing down upon the warriors of Namjikrye and forcing them to their knees.

The ground split with a resounding crack.

“What... is this...?!”

“Soaring Sword Art... Supreme Azure Qilin?”

Just then—

Beside So Geomhwi, the elderly woman opened her eyes once more.

The moment So Geomhwi instinctively gripped her blade, the old woman’s hand gently pressed down upon her arm.

“This one... is not your opponent.”

And then—

Rustle—

From the clear sky, a single figure descended.

A young man.

His long, ebony hair rippled like waves of black jade.

The brilliant sunlight spilled over his robes, dyeing them in hues of dusk.