Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 398: Hidden in the Shadows (7)

It was a deep forest.

Withered ancient trees stretched out their bony forms, while patches of foliage, still clinging to their green leaves, rustled eerily in the wind.

High above, long trails of smoke rose into the distant sky. Whether they came from kitchen hearths cooking meals or were the final exhalations of a village looted in times of famine was impossible to tell.

Either way, the circumstances were grim. It was likely a segment of Heavenly Net, personally overseen by the master of Yeoryeong.

Villages built deep in the remote mountain wilderness, far from the main roads, were not homes for ordinary folk but served as foundations for some vast, intricate formation—populated not by civilians but by swordsmen.

At its center lay a small, hidden clearing.

The eyes of Singeom Squad Leader Yong Hui-myeong slowly opened.

Ssshhk.

As he rose from the smoothly cleaved rock he had been using as a bed, the violet silk robe draped over him like a blanket naturally slid up to wrap around his shoulders.

The early morning sunlight, clear and crisp, spilled gently over the fabric.

Though he had not bathed properly in days, he remained dignified.

The duty of the Singeom Squad Leader of Ipwang Fortress—one must be supreme in both refinement and martial prowess, throughout the boundless expanse of the martial world. At all times.

“Isn’t the Squad Leader supposed to be immune to heat and cold? If you’re going to use such a precious treasure like that, why not lend it to me instead?”

A young man spoke from a high tree branch, idly swinging his legs. It was Yeon So-ha, the youngest and most promising Blue Rank warrior of the Singeom Squad under the Singeom Division.

Yong Hui-myeong’s lips curled into a precise arc.

“Not a chance. You’re fifty years too early.”

“Fifty years? Do you think any of us will still be alive by then...?”

“We’ll see.”

Suddenly, a drop of blood fell with a soft plop onto the dirt below.

It was Yeon So-ha’s. It had seeped from his arm as he tightened the bandages around his wound.

His blue martial robes, draped over him like tattered rags, were slashed and punctured in multiple places, bearing the marks of countless injuries.

“I knew Mu-ryong Association was insane, but those big-eared bastards from Amya Battlefront are just as vicious. Who the hell laces their arrows with poison?”

Yeon So-ha bit through the bandages with his teeth, speaking in a slurred voice.

“Almost ended up like old Ma Gwang-ik.”

Yong Hui-myeong chuckled.

“You suffered more loss than gain. If you had let your arm take the hit, you could have won favor with Dongchang.”

“And what would I gain from getting on the good side of those gloomy officials? Before we left for this mission, I heard that Lord of the Ma Clan has been amusing himself by screening black-robed eunuchs lately. What good would that do me?”

“You mean the Grand Directorate of Rites. They oversee the imperial warehouse and even the internal trade routes... Their influence is significant. It was the same when I was recognized as a Violet Rank in Beijing. Since you carry that bloodline, it will be the same for you.”

“In fifty years, won’t the Grand Director change three times over? It’s rare for officials to survive long in that rank, whether they’re Han or Ming nobility. The only exception recently has been Myeong-yeo, the eunuch who miraculously rose back to power.”

“No need to worry. This one seems like he’ll last. He has power yet knows how to navigate politics.”

“Hmm... that does make sense.”

Yeon So-ha recalled the tale of the previous Grand Director.

That man had advocated for large-scale military budget cuts to Ipwang Fortress.

The very night he submitted his petition, Singeom Squad Leader Ma Yeon-jeok visited him as an unexpected guest.

By the following morning, the man had been left crippled. The Emperor merely advised the Lord of Ipwang Fortress to keep Tyrannical Chivalry in check. And that was the end of it.

“For the first time in a while, I feel refreshed. My energy is circulating like flowing blood—I think I’m ready to move again.”

“Looks like you’ve finally relaxed. Hold onto your sword tightly.”

Yong Hui-myeong casually plucked a leaf from a nearby tree branch.

Then, rolling it between his index and middle fingers, he fashioned a simple grass flute and slowly brought it to his lips.

He looked as if he were a wanderer enjoying the natural beauty of the mountains.

That was, until the moment he played.

Piiiiik—!

A sudden reverberation echoed along the mountain path ahead.

The undergrowth rippled violently, as if struck by a powerful wind.

In the next instant, a few figures—men and women armed with blades—staggered forward, collapsing with closed eyes.

The dull thud of bodies striking the earth rang out in irregular intervals.

“We’ve been detected.”

“I never expected him to have mastery of sound techniques...!”

“Stay focused! That’s the Singeom Squad Leader!”

Behind the fallen bodies, more warriors emerged.

Instead of fleeing, they unsheathed their weapons.

A series of sharp metallic clashes rang out as blades were drawn.

“He was definitely asleep. Mountain Fog Poison is starting to take effect.”

“So even he is still human.”

“It wasn’t just Mountain Fog Poison, was it? The Lord of Amya Battlefront claimed he hit him with an arrow laced with Seven Steps Soul Severance Powder. Look—there’s a wound on his shoulder.”

“The fortress formations have been falling one after another. He must be exhausted by now.”

They were all experts.

The forest was growing dense with people.

Their numbers swelled.

Ten, twenty... thirty... Each one emerging into sight took up a different combat stance, yet none appeared untrained.

Here and there, the unmistakable intense aura of the Thirteen Heavens’ great factions flared.

Yong Hui-myeong smiled.

“Seven Steps Soul Severance Powder? There’s no way the Tang Clan would give something that precious to a pack of gray-eared rats. You’ve been tricked. Or perhaps the Lord of Taemo Mountain stole it from the Tang Clan’s leader of two years ago and passed it along?”

“...What?”

“The world truly is in decline. That men as crude as you dare to plot the death of the Singeom Squad Leader.”

His gaze slowly swept across the surroundings.

His posture appeared relaxed, but in truth, his senses had dulled, forcing him to rely on visual judgment to assess the ambush.

At some point, Yeon So-ha had already drawn his sword, aiding in stalling for time.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“...Are you sure you’re still the Squad Leader?”

“Hmm?”

“The Elder Council of the fortress—if they’ve decided, then it’s possible.”

“...At my age? I’m still the rear wave of the Yangtze River.”

At that moment.

A sudden arc of light flared from Yong Hui-myeong’s waist.

It was an explosive, instantaneous draw of his sword.

From the single stroke, an unseen force erupted like a cannon blast.

The five warriors who had been charging from three paces ahead were completely obliterated, their bodies bursting apart.

Puhwaak—!

Flesh-laced bone fragments burst violently into the air, scattering alongside the fading radiance of their owners’ protective inner force.

Before the airborne bloodstreaks could settle, a massive tree—easily six feet in diameter—collapsed with a deafening crack. Its base looked as though it had been chewed through by some colossal set of fangs.

It had all happened in an instant.

Leaves belatedly fluttered in all directions, while a flock of startled mountain birds took off into the sky with frantic wingbeats.

The hidden warriors remained frozen in place, their expressions speaking for them: Weren’t they supposed to be on the verge of collapse...?

“We break through.”

“Yes.”

As Yong Hui-myeong and Yeon So-ha exchanged words, a heavy voice rang out from the side.

“There is no need.”

Yong Hui-myeong’s brow twitched.

Turning his gaze, he saw figures materializing like specters from the forest path. There were at least fifty of them.

Every one of them wore yellow martial robes and carried swords at their waists. Their overwhelming presence, blending seamlessly with the barren woodland, was undeniable.

It was not an aura of pure strength or dominance.

It was something more—a madness beyond comprehension. Just sensing it was enough to instill an instinctive recognition of their single-minded obsession.

There was only one group this could be.

Mu-ryong Association.

Those who were utterly consumed by martial arts, who sought no secrecy in their techniques, freely exchanging their sect’s knowledge with others. Their pursuit of absolute martial perfection was unlike that of any other school.

This content is taken from fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm.

The man at the forefront was Namgung’s First Sword—a supreme swordsman known to have sworn brotherhood with the Master of Mu-ryong Association.

He was also the overlord of the countless villages established solely to capture the Singeom Squad Leader.

“You do not seem to be in the best condition. Can you still draw the Dragon Convergence Sword?”

Namgung’s First Sword asked, letting the flowing hem of his blue sleeve trail behind him.

He had not even unsheathed his blade, yet the aura emanating from his scabbard seemed vast enough to fill the sky. A remnant of the ultimate Sovereign Sword Form.

Yong Hui-myeong merely chuckled in response.

“Are you not curious about the command I issued in Sichuan?”

He directed his words toward Yeon So-ha, though his eyes remained on Namgung’s First Sword. A reply came immediately from above.

“How many of our Black-Rank warriors were there? Even if only half gathered, Sichuan must be in ruins by now.”

“Half might not be enough. The Master of Golden Dawn is no ordinary monster. Lord of Sunmaren and Lord of Ten Thousand Battlefronts might be able to handle it if they work together, but...”

“The Squad Leader issued the summon. More must have gathered. Still, seeing the Grandmasters assembled in one place... I can’t help but be curious.”

“Is there any way to confirm?”

“No chance. The distance alone is impossible.”

Namgung’s First Sword, who had been observing their conversation in silence, slowly spoke.

“Enough with your meditation. You do not have much time left, Lord Yong.”

“...You noticed.”

Yong Hui-myeong let out a wry smile. He should have mastered a more advanced Pupil Technique when he had the chance.

At some point, the Transcendent Sword in his hand had begun to hum.

Unlike its master’s demeanor, its eerie glow cast a chilling light over the nearby grass.

Namgung’s First Sword’s gaze swept across the scattered body ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) parts on the ground. The supreme swordsman’s field of vision was astonishingly vast.

“Your swordsmanship has dulled.”

He continued in a quiet tone.

“The Master of Mu-ryong Association has left seclusion. He is coming here as we speak.”

Yeon So-ha drew in a sharp breath, while Yong Hui-myeong lazily twirled his sword.

“Now? It must have hurt when I cut him last time.”

“It is bad news for you, no doubt. But as a martial artist, I bring you some good news as well.”

“What good is good news when bad news overshadows it?”

“The Black-Rank warriors of Ipwang Fortress gathered in Sichuan and made their move. That young Seomye of Ma Gwang-ik’s lineage managed to defeat three Lords of the Thirteen Heavens in succession—Lord of Ten Thousand Battlefronts, Lord of Sunmaren, and Master of Golden Dawn. Yeoryeong’s master is currently verifying the claims.”

A quiet wind swept through the forest path.

The dry leaves drifting down from the air made more noise than the warriors standing at a deadlock.

Namgung’s First Sword spoke without a care for how it might affect his men’s morale, deepening the silence between the opposing forces.

***

Jeong Yeon-shin headed north with his senior warriors.

It was after he had informed the two Sect Masters of the Nine Schools that he intended to invoke The Mount Hua Pact.

The ruined stronghold of Amya Battlefront had been abandoned in Guizhou, fully exposed to the world.

Countless figures had swarmed to the site, yet the Black-Rank warriors departed without concern.

Jeong Yeon-shin was accompanied by the Young Master of Amya Battlefront, a captive whose connection to the Dread Vulture and Spirit Resonance served as a tracking link to the true Battlefront Master.

Time passed.

Days and nights cycled, and the formation of his party changed several times. The Black-Rank warriors had scattered beyond his perception, leaving Jeong Yeon-shin and his prisoner at the center.

Throughout the journey, Jeong Yeon-shin barely spoke to the Young Master.

When it was time to eat, he handed him dried meat.

At night, he slept for no more than half an hour before immediately setting out again, his steps moving with Lightness Technique.

The Dread Vulture was soaring ahead of them. There was no time to waste.

“Lord Ma Gwang-ik, let us rest for a moment. Even a royal heir should not be treated so harshly.”

“Do not stop. Watching you move is a lesson in itself.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke.

One who was not recognized as a true noble by the world could never become the Singeom Squad Leader.

A nobleman found wisdom in all things under heaven.

Even a grub might seem slow, yet it never stops moving. The Young Master of Amya Battlefront was the same.

‘If I want my internal techniques to remain stable even in supreme battles, I must engrave such things into my mind.’

Like all supreme martial artists, Jeong Yeon-shin’s understanding of martial arts never ceased to evolve.

“......”

The Young Master of Amya Battlefront fell silent.

A supreme genius, revered across the martial world, had just said that he was learning from watching him.

A warrior was still a warrior.

A shiver ran down the young master's spine—a feeling close to awe.

‘What madness... to feel such a thing for a mortal enemy.’

He forcibly suppressed the emotions rising within him.

His neat brows twitched slightly.

Just then, Jeong Yeon-shin looked up at the sky.

The Dread Vulture, which had been soaring steadily, suddenly let out a sharp cry and ceased moving forward. Something was blocking its path.

Powerful waves of energy were emanating from up ahead.

Screeng.

Jeong Yeon-shin drew Thunderclap of the Divine Blade.

At that moment, the dense foliage ahead rustled.

A disheveled young man poked his head out from behind the leaves.

“...Again? But this one isn’t just any ordinary fighter.”

The stranger flicked his fingers against his own nose and scanned Jeong Yeon-shin from head to toe.

His attitude was peculiar—somewhat apprehensive, yet strangely nonchalant.

“A noble swordsman has come to add another strike. Quite the commotion from afar. Which sect do you belong to? Mu-ryong Association? Amya Battlefront?”

His words were nonsensical.

But it seemed he had come to the right place.