Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 325: Boundless Sky (4)

Silence fell.

With the corpses of the Namgung Young Master’s swordsmen at their backs, the word tribute had been spoken.

And coming from Yeonhwa Nata, it carried undeniable weight.

At this moment, the black-robed noble, carrying nothing but a loosely slung travel bag and a single sword, was the same man who had killed the head of the Zhuge Clan, the one who sought to dominate Shanxi.

With the Daebang Sect now gone, he wielded greater influence over the region than any of its so-called sect masters.

Even the heir to the Killing Gate had to weigh his words carefully in his presence.

No matter how deeply Geum Jon-hwi had won the trust of the common folk in Shanxi, it made no difference.

“...A tribute, you say.”

Salhyup finally spoke, his voice slow and deliberate.

“If anything, we should be offering one to you, Ma Gwang-ikju. That would be the proper course.”

“......?”

“You forged Seon-hwi into a fine hidden sword, did you not? The House of Geum is in your debt—a considerable one, at that.”

Geum Jon-hwi spoke with a lilt of amusement in his voice.

“The burden weighed on me greatly. During the Heavenly Demon’s Rebellion, I was still but a child, powerless to protect Seon-hwi from the scheming of the Mo Yong Clan. All I could do was resent my elders for their failure. But you, Ma Gwang-ikju, took up the task my foolish older brother could not complete. How can I possibly repay such a favor? Were it up to me, I would present you with a family heirloom. There are no blood relatives left who can make use of them anyway.”

His voice carried with it a quiet resonance, pleasant to the ear. His words, flowing smoothly without hesitation, were equally so.

A debt of the House of Geum.

A simple phrase, yet layered with meaning when examined from another perspective.

Ma Gwang-ikju had mentioned tribute in return for raising his right hand. Yet Geum Jon-hwi was implying that they were the ones who owed him instead.

The implication in his tone suggested that Hyeon Won-chang’s roots and identity were more aligned with the Killing Gate than with Ma Gwang-ik.

Was he laying the groundwork to reclaim the Great Snow Sword from Ma Gwang-ik?

If he crosses the line any further, I’ll tell him to draw his blade.

Jeong Yeon-shin studied the man in the black hat.

He had yet to introduce himself, but his identity was already clear. His facial features bore a striking resemblance to Hyeon Won-chang.

That bold, sharply defined jawline—it was as if it had been painted with a single, confident stroke of a brush. The gleam in his eyes beneath the wide-brimmed hat called to mind Namgung Se-jin, the Azure Qilin.

His aura was clear, pristine. Odd, for a man who spent his days taking lives.

As their gazes met, the man in the black hat suddenly smiled.

"Whatever path you choose to take through our Guryun Gate, I will acknowledge it as the correct one. Well, not that we would dare challenge your decision here."

It was an act of great favor, regardless of Hyeon Won-chang’s standing. His casual words about the traditions of their sect spoke volumes.

The goal of the Killing Path—to allow one worthy enough to threaten the Heavenly Demon’s Tomb to dictate the past and future of Guryun Gate.

To those unfamiliar with their doctrine, it was known only in vague terms.

Then, Hyeon Won-chang stepped forward.

"He’s my cousin, though we were separated as children. His courtesy name is Salhyup, and his name is Geum Jon-hwi."

Jeong Yeon-shin gave a slight nod. As expected.

A blood relative of Hyeon Won-chang, a man who carried the air of a great warrior much like Namgung Se-jin.

Just once, he thought.

He hoped that whenever Hyeon Won-chang recalled his family, he would find peace. That it would not be like the Jeong Household.

That was why, at this moment, he wished for the Great Swordsman of Ipwang to resolve whatever lingering grudges remained and return without regret.

“My, how absentminded of me,” Salhyup said with a chuckle, scratching his head in exaggerated embarrassment. "Leaving a distinguished guest standing outside... It’s the first time we’ve opened our gates to an outsider, and yet here I am, hesitating like an ungrateful fool."

With a theatrical sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the entrance of the cavern.

“Welcome to Owol Killing Gate—the successor of the House of Geum’s Killing Gate.”

***

They had walked a long way down. It must have taken about half a shichen.

Darkness surrounded them. Not a single point of light broke through the suffocating black, yet a distant breeze, cool and damp, hinted at an opening somewhere ahead.

Jeong Yeon-shin walked shoulder to shoulder with Hyeon Won-chang, following Salhyup’s lead. This was the pulse of the assassins.

A sect like theirs could not exist without enemies. It made sense that their stronghold lay deep within such a place.

“Great Swordsman, when you entered through the main gates, you had company, didn’t you? I believe I saw two others—a young man and woman.”

The brief echo of Hyeon Won-chang’s voice reverberated through the tunnel.

Jeong Yeon-shin responded at a measured pace, his pupils glowing blue with the Sight of Heaven’s Law.

With his entire body radiating an invisible current of qi, he reconstructed the flow of energy in his vision, sweeping through the damp cavern walls in fine detail.

“When the Young Master of the Mo Yong Clan attacked, they were thrown aside. I saw them retreat elsewhere...”

“So you weren’t particularly close to them? Then might I ask their identities?”

“She must be the daughter of the Supreme Lord of the Profound Martial Union. The Sovereign Blade of the Vermilion Crown, Gun Yulin.”

Salhyup, Geum Jon-hwi, spoke from ahead of them.

Perhaps unsettled by the blue light reflecting off his back from Ma Gwang-ikju’s gaze, his trapezius muscles twitched slightly beneath his robe, though he refrained from turning around.

Then, a startled exclamation from Hyeon Won-chang burst through the tunnel.

“The Supreme Lord of the Profound Martial Union’s daughter?!”

Even as his voice rang through the cavern, Salhyup’s tone flowed like a melody, unfazed.

“Certain. Unlike the doddering elders, this brother of yours collects and memorizes facial sketches. Unlike those blind fools who failed to recognize Yeonhwa Nata despite his reputation echoing through Shanxi, my sect’s intelligence is second only to the Beggar’s Sect and Hao Wen. It’s a shame, really. So much talent wasted by martial artists too intoxicated with their own strength. The old men who died outside are no different.”

“Great Swordsman, have you been poisoned or something? Silver needles! Where are my silver needles...?”

As the sound of him rummaging through his garments filled the air, Salhyup’s voice softened.

He stepped forward and, without another word, pushed open the stone door before them.

“We’ve arrived.”

Gu-gu-gung—

A beam of torchlight cut through the vertical slit, illuminating a massive underground plaza.

The space, hidden deep within the caverns, was vast enough to serve as a martial training hall.

The air was thick with the scent of ink and stone.

It was an unusual sight.

Rows upon rows of stone desks filled the underground expanse, their surfaces shimmering with a translucent flow of qi that never seemed to settle. Cloaked figures, dressed in black robes, sat straight-backed, writing feverishly as though they were the clerks of the Ipwang Province’s administration.

Overhead, whispers from unseen voices poured down like a ceaseless chant of scripture.

Not a single one of them acknowledged the new arrivals. Their focus on their work was so complete that they almost seemed possessed.

“Imperial City, Beijing: The Grand Procession... Three Grandmasters of the Imperial Court have set out with a force of ten thousand troops. Rumors claim the Emperor himself has devised a new martial art to challenge the Martial God of the Northern Frontier...”

“Sichuan Province: The Lord of Jinshi Gate has issued a life-and-death duel against the Master of the Tang Clan. The wager involves the secret technique of Ten Thousand Blossoms Rain and the Heaven-Cleaving Dragon Strike (飜天斬龍式)...”

“The Lord of Shunma Fortress was slain by the Young Hierarch of the Ming Cult. It is said that fire descended upon the battlefield during their thousand-strike exchange. The Invincible Demon of the North, «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» Yelu Jin, has declared from the heart of Shunma Fortress that his dark arts are the closest technique to that of the First Heavenly Demon. The remnants of the Ming Cult may soon absorb the entire fortress. Reports indicate that a strange phenomenon has left many unable to leave Xinjiang. This sect will refrain from further speculation until more information arrives...”

Are they using Thousand-Mile Clairaudience Techniques (千里地廳術) combined with Hundred-League Sound Transmission (百里傳音)?

It was as if they were witnessing a segment of an intricately woven intelligence network in real time.

Martial artists with proficiency in communication techniques must have been stationed across vast distances, acting as human relays in place of messenger pigeons or swift riders.

Only a force on par with the Beggar’s Sect would be capable of maintaining such a system, yet the pulses of transmitted qi descending from the cavern ceiling were a testament to the Killing Gate’s power.

To the uninitiated, this might have seemed like an utterly transcendent spectacle.

But Jeong Yeon-shin was more astonished by something else entirely. His brows furrowed on instinct.

The first bits of news they had heard upon entering were all unsettling. Two of them directly concerned him.

The duel between Jinshi Gate’s Lord and the Tang Clan’s Master was enough to shake the martial world, but the battle between Shunma Fortress and the Ming Cult was even greater.

“The Young Hierarch of the Ming Cult is still alive?”

It had been a long time since Shunchun Yi, Tianlin Da, and Sun Mokryeong set out for Xinjiang.

Had the rumors diverged?

China’s vast expanse was enough to distort even the most reliable intelligence. Information seldom arrived on time or in full accuracy.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

This was the same reason there were still so many martial artists unaware of Ma Gwang-ikju Jeong Yeon-shin’s face. Even when messages did arrive, they were often filled with inaccuracies.

It was likely the same for the reports on the Three Martial Divisions’ completed mission.

If the Fortress Lord’s death came first, the subsequent news of the Young Hierarch being slain by the three leaders could still be en route. Jeong Yeon-shin wanted to believe that.

“It’ll be fine.”

Hyeon Won-chang clapped his shoulder reassuringly.

Jeong Yeon-shin nodded in silence.

Then, his gaze landed on a vast wall.

Beyond the scholars of the Killing Gate, transcribing their incoming intelligence, was a towering stone surface marked by a long, jagged streak.

No, upon closer inspection, it was a stone pillar.

The marred wall had been meticulously extracted and affixed there, seemingly as a relic.

Only a martial artist would consider going through such an effort.

A sword scar...?

A flicker of light crossed Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes.

“One of my disciples has gone to retrieve the Young Master of the Huangbo Clan and the heir of Ipwang’s Divine Clan. They should arrive soon. With the few proper elders left in our sect... Oh?”

With a casual step, Salhyup approached, a peculiar note of surprise escaping him.

“For a swordsman of your caliber, I suppose it is worth staring at. To us, however, it is nothing but an unforgettable disgrace.”

“A disgrace?”

“It is the sword scar of the Mo Yong Clan’s Lord. The mark that shattered the Heavenly Demon’s Tomb over a decade ago...”

For once, Salhyup’s ever-buoyant demeanor faltered. Even a man who sought pleasure in all things could not treat the sect’s enmity lightly.

“Our elders have spent decades meditating in front of it, trying to decipher its secrets, only to turn into empty shells. Their stubborn pride left it untouched. Once I become sect leader, I plan to destroy it in an instant...”

Jeong Yeon-shin wasn’t listening anymore.

He stood there, staring at the three-zhang-long sword scar. Salhyup’s voice faded into the background.

His eyes, gleaming blue with Heaven’s Sight, traced the rough surface.

The cold wind whispering through the cavern floor accompanied his words.

“...The grip was loose.”

“What did you say?”

“But if the grip was weak, how could the strike have been strong enough to be called a ‘Falling Star’...?”

At that moment—

Boom! Boom! BOOOOM!

A deafening roar erupted.

It was as if a meteor had struck.

Dust and stone cascaded from the cavern walls, filling the air with a thick, white haze.