Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 381: The World (5)

Rain poured down in fine, steady streams.

It had begun just moments after a thunderous roar shook Unhoe Peak, where the leaders of the great sects had gathered with Ma Gwang-ik.

Shaa—

Two men, both wearing wide-brimmed hats, crouched hidden in a thicket.

Above them, lush green leaves formed a dense canopy. In front of them, the village at the foot of the mountain was clearly visible.

Despite the water pooling at the edges of their hats and dripping down, both men remained calm, their gazes as steady as if the downpour were nothing.

Behind them, Unhoe Peak loomed endlessly into the sky.

"What a disaster. Things are in chaos both atop and below the mountain."

The older man, a swordsman with a sheathed blade at his waist, spoke. His dry voice was quickly swallowed by the rain, making it the perfect location for a discreet conversation without expending internal energy for sound transmission.

"I would have preferred to see the situation above first," the younger man responded with a grin.

Despite the heavy rain, the small brush and notebook in his hands remained completely dry, a clear sign that they were imbued with a faint spiritual aura.

"These days, the true nature of the current Ma Gwang-ik is the hottest topic among those well-versed in Dochalwon—no, in imperial affairs as a whole. Rumor has it that the Commander of the Eastern Depot has been quick to establish ties with him, recognizing his sharp nature. Yet, others speak of him as a mere butcher, no different from common swine in the eyes of the Grand Inspector..."

"He is the descendant of the previous Leader of the Society of Sacred Swords. That alone makes him a man of virtue, does it not?"

"Well... Either way, I never expected to be reporting on Ipwang Fortress’s Black Forces from here. Writing about high-ranking figures makes my fingers itch. But if Unhoe Peak is indeed thrown into turmoil, they'll be coming down soon, won't they?"

The young man twirled his brush between his fingers as he spoke. The older man, who had been replying idly, shook his head.

"Do not forget what happened to Eunuch Myeong-yeo. Acting rashly is dangerous."

"Well... I don’t intend to add my personal opinions to the report. Considering our subject is the grandson of the Tyrant Hero, I will tread carefully."

"The duty of Dochalwon is to report what is seen and only what is seen. If you wish to survive long in the imperial court, stick to the truth. That alone is a privilege we hold. Ma Gwang-ik is a candidate for Ipwang Fortress’s Purple Rank—his appointment is now a matter of national importance. If you get caught up in the wrong matters, no matter how noble your lineage, you may still find yourself dragged to the execution grounds."

"Ah, come now, would I really lose my head over this? Even Eunuch Myeong-yeo was only demoted to Labor Overseer in the end..."

"You are being far too complacent."

"...Excuse me?"

"The Purple Rank is not a mere title. It is a weapon of war, one that the entire nation acknowledges as a supreme, unrestricted force. It is not only Ipwang Fortress and Dochalwon but also the Eastern Depot, the Embroidered Guard, the Five Army Commanders, and even the Chief Censorate that weigh in on such appointments. Do you think the life of a mere Dochalwon recorder holds any significance in such matters? Especially when that Tyrant Hero’s grandson could barge in at any moment?"

"Ah..."

Dochalwon—the Imperial Central Inspection Bureau.

At this moment, the conversation between the Grand Inspector and his recorder remained completely hidden.

Not just because the rain drowned out their voices.

The scrolls tightly wound beside them were enchanted artifacts, and the Grand Inspector was channeling his internal energy into them, further concealing their presence.

Even a master of Perception Dao would have to actively search for them to detect their existence.

The recorder sighed.

"Now that I think about it, this truly is a poisoned chalice. Hardly a way to pass the time... But ignoring the Black Forces when they’re right before us isn’t an option either..."

"Keep your eyes forward. Our job is to observe everything. And from the looks of it, the magistrate of this village isn’t doing his job properly. It’s a serious problem."

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

The Grand Inspector's voice was cold as he gazed down the winding road leading from the village to Unhoe Peak.

Sasaak—

A near-silent movement.

Light footfalls, yet endless in number.

A massive force was moving.

Martial artists of all kinds streamed up the long mountain path.

At a glance, there had to be at least several hundred. Among the rough voices echoing through the rain, there was no sense of order or etiquette.

"The entire Wind Blade Sect is here."

"Isn’t that Cheolshim Shaving Blade over there? I heard he trained under Yeoryeong, I wonder how strong he’s become..."

"I heard high-ranking officials have come to watch too. Best to stay clear of their escorts. No need for unnecessary trouble."

"Just focus on robbing the merchants."

"Wait, isn't that an Ipwang sword? That must mean they’ve killed a White-Robed Swordsman... But where did they..."

"The blade style is different! Don’t make reckless accusations! Just keep quiet and watch!"

The martial artists bickered amongst themselves.

Some clanked as they dragged chained sabers across the ground. Others radiated the solitary aura of a wandering swordsman. Some moved in groups, each step perfectly synchronized, clearly from the same sect.

The sheer variety was staggering.

Jinor Nighhardt.

Tenfold Gate.

Sunmaren.

And on top of that, all the minor factions aligned with them.

Rumor had it that even the warriors who had bowed to Yeoryeong and the Master of the Severing Sword Sect had entered Sichuan.

The recorder, looking exasperated, dipped his head slightly.

"Unorthodox sects, wandering mercenaries, outlaws... The entire underworld, from the Thirteen Heavens down, and even leeches looking to profit off the chaos, are all here. This really is an era of turmoil."

"They plan to wipe out the righteous sects the moment they descend from Unhoe Peak. This is a Heaven’s Net formation—the Three Major Forces of the Thirteen Heavens have taken the lead. To them, Ma Gwang-ik, the leaders of Qingcheng and Emei, are nothing more than massive prey."

"With those numbers... Even a grandmaster from Shaolin, fully mastering Reversing Tendons Sutra, would be drowned by the sheer tide. The only thing that could handle this is dozens of Embroidered Guard units or the Imperial Army itself..."

"And how do you expect that to happen? The Imperial Army is already struggling to contain the northern barbarians. The garrison troops of each province barely manage to uphold basic security."

The Grand Inspector gazed toward the tail end of the procession.

"Let’s just hope the magistrate here sent a timely report to Ipwang Fortress. No matter how secretive martial sects may be, with numbers like this, someone should have noticed."

"And how many magistrates haven’t already taken gold from Yeoryeong’s faction? With their necks literally under the blade, how many do you think had the courage to refuse?"

"......."

"...With a force of that size... even two or three of the Seventeenth Commanders of the Society of Sacred Swords would struggle to handle them. If they aren’t completely wiped out, they should consider themselves lucky."

The Recorder spoke, his voice heavy. The Grand Inspector did not respond immediately.

As famine continues, corrupt officials multiply—that is the way of the world.

The same applies to the martial realm. When the world prospers, the righteous sects flourish.

But when the people starve, a hero offering a meal to the common folk pales in comparison to the gleaming, bloodstained blades of the unorthodox sects.

It is no surprise that many of the wavering factions, who had never strictly distinguished between righteous and unorthodox, had begun lowering their heads to the Thirteen Heavens.

"...By the time they return, I will have exhausted all my internal energy. We need to find a place to hide."

The Grand Inspector finally spoke.

The warriors of Ipwang Fortress, renowned for their superior supply chains.

The imperial officials, rare yet possessing enchanted artifacts.

Both were prime targets for plundering.

And in these times, murder without consequence had become the norm.

"The open fields will be far too dangerous. We should head into that village and rent a house. A pouch of salt should be enough to secure lodging for ten days."

The Recorder suggested.

The Grand Inspector let out a sigh.

"And what makes you think the unorthodox sects won’t come crashing in?"

"Their priority is facing Ma Gwang-ik and the Nine Great Sects. The village will remain where it is—there’s no reason for them to waste energy looting it before the battle.

And if there are fools who can’t even think that far ahead, we can deal with them ourselves."

"...You’re not wrong."

Just as the two men began to move—

"Master! Get a hold of yourself!"

A distant cry rang out from behind them.

It carried the weight of a powerful force, comparable to the energy exuded by the horde of unorthodox sect members that had just passed.

The Grand Inspector and the Recorder froze in place.

"Ma Gwang-ik is not here! You can open your eyes now!"

"Your words sound strange, Lord Bonggong. It’s as if the esteemed Master of the Myriad Illness Sect is... afraid of Ma Gwang-ik? Losing once is nothing—one simply needs to seek vengeance!"

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"To awaken the True Art of Dormant Breath, you must do this! Your blood must surge all the way to Baihui Acupoint! I step away to command the subordinates for just a moment, and now this calamity has befallen us! Grand General! Grand General!"

The Recorder felt a shiver crawl up his spine at those words.

True Art of Dormant Breath.

A technique that slows breathing, heartbeat, and even internal energy flow to near non-existence. Originally, it was not an assassin’s art.

It was born on the battlefields of war between nations.

A method for defeated generals to survive.

By using the True Art of Dormant Breath beneath piles of corpses, they could convincingly play dead and escape.

And now, the Master of the Tenfold Gate, the Myriad Illness Lord, had been defeated by Ma Gwang-ik—and survived by feigning death.

"Master! You may rest easy now! The terrifying Ma Gwang-ik is not here! It is only our sect’s warriors! You are no coward, are you? There is no fearsome Infinite Cataclysm Hand waiting in your nightmares, only the warmth of my hand!"

"Gah...!"

The sound of someone gasping for air echoed through the clearing. The harsh inhale and exhale were unmistakable to the Dochalwon officials who listened.

There was no doubt who it belonged to.

"The Master of the Tenfold Gate...!"

A testament to the resilience of the Thirteen Heavens.

Not just talent, but an entirely different innate lifeforce—the essence of a born survivor.

Those who reached the peak of the unorthodox sects had endured countless hellish trials, mastering the art of survival itself.

The Recorder sharply turned toward the Grand Inspector.

"This is a disaster, isn’t it?! If the Master of the Tenfold Gate just left Unhoe Peak and now takes command of the unorthodox forces...!"

"It is indeed a disaster."

The Grand Inspector gave a short reply. But his gaze had drifted past the Recorder’s shoulder, staring blankly into the distance.

"Are you even listening?! I’m saying—"

"The world has gathered here."

"...What?"

"Dongchang claims the Leader of the Society of Sacred Swords has finally committed treason..."

Rumble—!

A sudden gust of wind.

It lasted only a moment.

It came from the distant sky, yet its pressure was overwhelming, brushing against the Recorder’s scalp like a great weight descending from above.

As if dozens of colossal typhoons had merged into one.

The Recorder came from a renowned aristocratic lineage in Beijing and had trained in Dochalwon’s secret sight techniques from a young age.

As he instinctively lifted his gaze—

He saw streaks of black, comet-like trails slashing through the heavens.

Far away.

Leaping across mountain ranges, moving as if stepping upon the clouds themselves.

Though still distant, they would arrive soon.

"This is bad."

The Grand Inspector murmured.

"...What?"

*"This peak must not become a battlefield for the martial world. Whether it is Ma Gwang-ik or the leaders of the righteous sects, at least one of them must descend.

The common folk on the mountain will be caught in the storm."*

His words were almost a mutter to himself.

"But ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) who would dare step into a Heaven’s Net formation, facing three grandmasters alone?"

And then—

From the center of the village where they had been watching—

Spat! Zzeooooooong—!

Two figures materialized, warping into existence.

In the middle of an open space, surrounded by village houses.

For an instant, between those two silhouettes—

Hundreds of streaks of light flashed and faded.

Each of those light beams was so intensely condensed with power that rather than spilling outward, their residual force was compressed into shockwaves, sending thundering vibrations through the ground.

The once silent village—

A child, who had quietly snuck out to play on a swing, stopped mid-motion, mouth agape.

A young Daoist, clad in robes and long-eared, gritted his teeth, standing in front of the child protectively.

Azure Wall Sword Lord, Qingshu Zhenren.

He was the Leader of Qingcheng Sect.

He had been chasing the Master of the Sunmaren, but upon sensing the approach of the Master of the Golden Dawn Sect, he had no choice but to descend here.

"Master of the Golden Dawn Sect! Move to another location!"

A petite woman tilted her head slightly, as if wondering why.

"Step aside. There is a divine artifact buried beneath your feet."

Her voice was clear and resplendent—a tone that mocked the young Leader of Qingcheng like he was a mere fledgling.

Saaaah—

Her black hair, cut just above the nape, swayed slowly even amidst the Sword Lord’s relentless attacks.

The small jade gourd in her hand, meeting the air pressure of his sword techniques, released a faint, sweet aroma of liquor.

Only her right hand moved, blurred in motion.

Her delicate shoulders rose and fell to a silent rhythm, as if moving to the beat of a melody.

An aura of transcendence—the difference in strength was clear.

Even as he shielded the child behind him, Qingshu Zhenren was already on the verge of collapse.

The blue and red streaks of his sword aura flickered violently.

And then—

With a deafening crash, his sword light shattered apart.

Hwaaaah—!

As he stumbled backward, coughing up blood, the Master of the Golden Dawn Sect lifted her hand—ready to drive the edge of her palm into his crown.

But just before the blow landed, she abruptly twisted her waist to the side.

Like a village girl peering past an elder, catching a glimpse of something intriguing beyond them.

She parted her lips slightly.

"Hello."

"......."

"I was at the peak. On my way up."

The Master of the Golden Dawn Sect slowly lowered her arm.

Her long, orange sleeves dragged lightly against the ground.

Step.

A youth, a supreme beauty, walked forward—his sword glimmering in the fractured sunlight.

His black robes billowed as he passed the swing the child had been sitting on.

And from that very moment—

The air itself began to compress.

The space around him twisted in ways visible to the naked eye.

"Uh...?"

The child, who had been lying on the ground behind the swing, suddenly floated weightlessly, drifting away.

A gentle yet immense force of wind was radiating from the youth’s presence alone.

Among the villagers who had stayed behind, those with sense hurriedly grabbed their children and fled.

Saaaak—

Jeong Yeon-shin lightly flicked the Heavenly Thunder Divine Sword once.

"Enjoyed the duel?"

The Master of the Golden Dawn Sect asked blankly.

Her tone was strange—as if she were indulging in a game.

Like a ritual offering, waiting to be made before a coiling dragon formation.

"Execution."

Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice was quiet.