Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 328: Grandfather and Grandson (1)

The sound of footsteps echoed. A short, sharp noise.

A man with a noticeably strong physique descended onto the mountain peak.

The overwhelming momentum that had brought him down like a thunderbolt was nowhere to be seen. He had absorbed the shock of his landing with his internal energy, dissipating it effortlessly.

As his pink robe fluttered widely, the man stepped forward with an unhurried, casual gait, as if he were merely out for a stroll.

Step.

The silence he carried took on a tangible form, spreading downward like an unseen swamp, seeping into the hills below.

At the foot of the slope connected to the {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} peak.

The aftershock of his landing surged in the form of a fierce wind. Blood, flesh, and shattered bone mixed with broken stones, tumbling down further and further.

Few remained alive among the martial forces.

Even the horses, unable to muster even a whimper, let out only sporadic hoofbeats that struck the ground. The clatter of hooves rang hollow in the air.

Mounted warriors, gripping their swords in one hand and reins in the other, remained silent.

Dozens of faces, once fierce and resolute, had lost all trace of their former expressions. They were the very picture of shock. The phrase "pale with fright" had never been more fitting. A wholly different look had settled on their faces.

Their sword formation had collapsed, and their charge had halted. It was inevitable.

Their comrades had been slaughtered beside them. The fact that they were still alive at this moment was nothing short of divine luck.

Such devastation was not something that the Thirteen Heavens should have experienced. It was an utterly unreal sight.

“......”

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The silence forced upon them was suffocating. None among the mounted warriors could open their mouths.

All except for one.

At the front of the formation, a lone figure sat tall in his saddle.

"Who are you?"

The Lord of the Martial Alliance. The Supreme Warlord, Duke Gunwi.

His cloak, made of pure white fur, whipped violently in the wind. He hovered just an inch above the ground, supported by the force of his supreme martial arts.

Even as the ground beneath him sank in a perfect circle with a dull, resounding noise, his body remained floating, high and untouchable.

Rumble—

The earth trembled. The reaction was not from the uninvited guest’s attack, but rather from the sheer force of Duke Gunwi’s aura. The ground caved in beneath him the moment it met his overwhelming energy.

The impact did not stop at a single tremor. It was said that the peak manifestation of the Martial Alliance’s supreme technique, the Shining Void Art, could cause even landslides.

His presence alone was monstrous. His fury surged alongside an explosion of inner energy, the sheer intensity of which could bring a warrior’s thoughts to life as reality.

And yet, he did not strike without reason. A man worthy of the title of the Supreme Warlord of the martial world did not act without securing certain victory.

Even when faced with an unforeseen intruder, the Lord of the Martial Alliance remained the same. He always observed first.

As the remaining forces of the Martial Alliance slowly exhaled their held breaths, their leader spoke once more.

"I asked for your name."

His demand carried weight. He was not merely trying to recognize an unfamiliar face.

It made sense.

Even among the greatest masters of the martial world, the names of the sect leaders were nothing more than fleeting whispers among idle gossips. Rarely did they personally meet.

Each was already too consumed with their own training and the affairs of their sects, and the martial world itself was vast. If decades had passed since the changing of a sect’s leadership, it was even more likely that they had never met at all.

The man in the pink robe finally opened his mouth.

"The way you speak, child, is amusing."

He directed these words at none other than the Lord of the Martial Alliance himself.

"Wait there."

It was a shocking response. His words and actions both defied convention. The rage that had crackled around him as he descended had dissipated the moment he waved his hand. Now, he did not even glance at his supposed opponent.

His gaze had already turned toward the open space at the summit.

It was a glimpse into his natural disposition. His priorities were clear, unwavering. To some, he would seem stubborn beyond reason, even arrogant.

But then—

"Yeonshin."

His voice softened.

"You have made remarkable progress. Your qi is now as refined as tempered steel. No doubt it’s the result of your own secret techniques. I am truly curious."

"How do you know...?"

Jung Yeonshin blinked once, standing at the crest of the slope.

Even with the Grandmaster of the Holy Radiance Sword Army, Mo Yong Jung-rak, standing beside him, gripping his sword, he could not help but react.

Perhaps the brief lapse in tension was to blame. Or perhaps it was because Mo Yong Jung-rak himself was displaying an equally unusual reaction.

Like Duke Gunwi, the leader of the Mo Yong Clan—who had been recognized as a supreme martial master in his middle years—was staring down at the intruder, silent and still.

The aged youth paid it no mind.

"I heard the rumors that that bastard Jegal’s head was taken by your blade. When I saw the records of his words and deeds, my blood boiled with rage. But when I read the part about you, I found solace in those pages for many nights. I am glad you are unharmed. In my old age, I have been granted a fortune beyond measure."

His voice, young yet seasoned with age, carried warmth.

But it was directed solely at Ma Gwang-ik.

Unlike when he addressed the Lord of the Martial Alliance, his words now were filled with profound kindness. He spoke as if recounting an old tale to a beloved grandson.

‘Ah.’

Ma Gwang-ik, who had never once wavered even before the Grandmaster of the Holy Radiance Sword Army, now found himself momentarily speechless. His lips parted slightly, then closed again. In the end, he simply adjusted his grip on the Northern Darkness Sword.

The Imperial City often reminded him of his solitude. It forced him to realize that he was not truly alone. As a child, when he had known only isolation, he had not even understood what it meant to be lonely.

And now, unbidden, the thought of a certain household surfaced in his mind. It was not the Jeong household. Nor was it the Ma Clan’s estate. It was somewhere else entirely.

At this moment, there were not many things he could bring himself to say.

The words that finally formed in his throat, once spoken, emerged in his usual calm and composed voice.

"...Have you been well all this time?"

"Of course. And you are the same as ever. That, too, is my own failing..."

His words carried two meanings. He acknowledged both how much stronger Ma Gwang-ik had become and how little he had changed in his way of carrying himself.

It was an embarrassing remark. Even for Ma Gwang-ik, it was difficult to accept such words. If anything, they only awakened his storm-like temper.

Jung Yeonshin did not wish to see his grandfather wear such a regretful expression. No peer of his would have wanted to, either.

So he changed the subject. Focusing on Mo Yong Jung-rak and Duke Gunwi. This land, which had become one of the most perilous places in the world.

"I must face the Grandmaster of the Holy Radiance Sword Army. Even if I cannot cut him down..."

"Do as you will."

Ma Yeon-jeok, hands clasped behind his back, nodded. His usually sharp features softened into a gentle smile.

"You are destined for far greater places."

His grandfather spoke, with Mo Yong Jung-rak and Duke Gunwi standing above and below him.

At the same time, Jung Yeonshin’s eyelids lowered slightly.

A strange sensation swept over him. The vast wilderness was shifting, transforming into the marble training grounds of the Imperial City.

Even without hearing it, he understood his grandfather’s intentions.

There would be no better opportunity than this. His grandfather would be watching, so he should focus solely on sharpening his martial prowess.

The realization echoed in his heart.

At that moment, their energies resonated.

A brilliant light—

A gust of wind brushed past his feet. The air against his skin felt different than before.

There was a slightly lukewarm sensation. Amidst the pale gray dust, hints of spring flickered in and out, making it feel as though winter was truly at its end.

Down the slope below, the mounted masters alongside the Lord of the Heartless Martial Sect looked up toward the peak.

At the summit, standing motionless in the open space, was the Hundred-Three Swordsman, Liaodong’s Greatest Warrior, Mo Yong Jung-rak.

At the center of it all, Ma Yeon-jeok had brought everything to a standstill.

Hoo-uk.

Suddenly, the late-winter sandstorm settled.

What could have been the battlefield of the martial world was now transforming into something else—a stage for a duel.

A strange standoff took hold. The Military Emperor, the Marquis of Martial Authority, remained silent, his gaze fixed only on the intruder. The elite riders of the Heartless Martial Sect dismounted and lined up behind their master.

The sound of boots stepping over the remains of their comrades was the only movement. If given the order, they would march forward into death without hesitation. Such was the presence of the Thirteen Heavens, a sect feared across the martial world.

Step.

Jung Yeon-shin turned to face Mo Yong Jung-rak. The sound of his footsteps scraping against the scattered stones no longer felt bleak.

“Who are you?”

The absolute swordsman of the Mo Yong Clan asked, standing with his back straight.

The Lord of the Holy Radiant Blade Army.

A man said to be both a monster of strength and a ghost among gods.

The dark blue radiance flickering in his eyes was proof of his insight.

With only a few exchanged words, he had already seen through Ma Yeon-jeok’s nature. The unusual way this newly arrived man spoke—it was strangely natural.

If given a little more time, Mo Yong Jung-rak would be able to deduce Ma Yeon-jeok’s true identity. The same was true for the Lord of the Heartless Martial Sect.

"Was there ever such a man in Yibuhang Fortress?" The Lord of the Mo Yong Clan twisted his sword in his hand and asked with casual ease. "Aside from that mutt from the Divine Sword Corps, I mean."

There was no tension in his tone, as if he were simply making conversation.

Perhaps it was just in his nature. Despite being at a clear disadvantage in this three-sided standoff, he appeared relaxed even while standing alone. That was the mark of a true master among the noble families of the martial world.

Jung Yeon-shin did not respond. Instead, he simply felt the fully heated pulse of the Northern Light Sword in his grip.

‘It feels like the first time.’

Until now, Ma Kwang-ik-ju had never had the luxury of ease.

He had constantly found himself in unfavorable circumstances.

Ever since he had stepped onto the Black Path, he had carried the burden of a sect leader’s responsibility. He had fought only against opponents far older and stronger, all while having to consider his comrades' safety.

Fate had demanded it of him. His sect’s Sharp Edged Martial Doctrine had forced him to seek the quickest, most decisive fights.

But now, that was no longer the case.

This was different. Completely different.

This was a real battle, yet he felt at ease.

His opponent was no spent force like the Lord of the Zhegai Clan, nor a distracted master. And yet, Jung Yeon-shin felt a calm air surrounding him.

The Lord of the Thirteen Heavens, standing at the bottom of the slope, was no longer an enemy in his eyes—only a spectator.

Even in the face of the Lord of the Mo Yong Clan, his mind was untroubled.

“A surprising fortune,” Mo Yong Jung-rak remarked.

“I came to claim Body Protecting Energy, but I’ll sharpen my sword techniques as well.”

“What?”

“I’d be better off cutting you down quickly and moving on to him. Come, step forward.”

His words treated Jung Yeon-shin as nothing more than a stepping stone.

There were no martial masters who were not obsessed with their craft, and the absolute rulers of the martial world were no exception.

He knew Jung Yeon-shin was weaker than him, yet he still wished to cross blades.

Absolute confidence in survival.

It was the arrogance of those who had transcended all limits. It was evident even in his voice.

“I do not have the time to entertain a child for long. Make your first move using the same technique you used to slay Zhegai Cheonsang.”

“Are you stronger than the Lord of the Zhegai Clan?”

Jung Yeon-shin loosened his grip slightly on his sword.

Mo Yong Jung-rak smirked.

“What’s the point in discussing the martial prowess of a man who died a coiled dragon? In the end, he never ruled the Shanxi Region. From the start, he tried to make Sword Saint into an emperor, playing the part of Zhuge Liang, yet he never even managed to uncoil his fangs before you killed him. Even though he had Aga Chang’s Countermeasure Technique in his grasp.”

Wooong.

The sword Mo Yong Jung-rak lifted in one hand shimmered white. It was as if he had draped the distant starlight over his blade like a brocade. An overwhelming aura rippled outward.

“The battles of the martial world are as fleeting as war itself. Someone who killed Zhegai Cheonsang through luck and group combat shouldn’t let it get to their head.”

And then, his blade blurred.

Finally, he made his move.

The Meteor Sword of the Mo Yong Clan transformed into a pillar of fading light. Instantly, the surrounding air rippled like a translucent blue wave.

The sword strike was unbearably fast.

It was time for proof.

This moment would declare to the world that he was not just a mere upstart, but the closest thing to the Master of the Divine Sword Corps himself.

Wooooong—

In Jung Yeon-shin’s mind, a dragon of radiant light ascended, clutching a fan between its jaws.

A forbidden divine art.

Heavenly Dragon’s Blossom.

A formless ripple surged wildly from his upper dantian. The sword light of Mo Yong Jung-rak, which had dominated the vast land of Liaodong, flickered within his vision.

The spirit of Lotus Manifestation ignored it entirely, stepping calmly into the domain of light.

A divine dragon shot down the mountain slope like a streak of light.

The profound energy of Baihui Point scraped the air violently, resonating with the divine essence of his upper dantian, and in an instant, it became a conduit for power—thundering like a bolt of lightning as it struck Ma Yeon-jeok’s crown.

CRAAAAASH!

With an explosive roar, an unfathomable shockwave erupted.