Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 435: A Single Strike

The atmosphere had changed. It was eerily quiet.

While duels between high-ranking martial artists were known to broaden the horizons of other masters, today’s match carried a weight far beyond that.

“......”

The audience, numbering in the hundreds, watched in absolute silence. Only a few whispers stirred here and there. Even the wind moved slowly, as if matching the solemnity of the moment.

The humid air shimmered under the scorching sun, wavering like a mirage.

Amidst the almost sacred tension, only the voices of the two warriors standing on the duel stage rang clearly.

“I knew you would come.”

“I didn’t expect to face you, though. Aren’t you the First Disciple of Jeomchang?”

“I started at the same level as the current Second Disciples. It was only after that the Grandmaster took me under his wing. Since Ipwang Fortress selects its representatives based on merit rather than seniority, there was no need for the main sect to send an older Second Disciple against you. If you’re not confident, I can step down.”

The young woman, seemingly in her early twenties, smiled softly, her gaze warm. Around her waist, a dark-colored sword rested against her sash.

Her presence was extraordinary.

She wore a crimson silk combat robe, and her jet-black hair cascaded down past her waist.

Despite her gentle appearance, an unmistakable sharpness radiated from her entire being, as if she had transformed into a single, flawless sword. Her martial talent was beyond exceptional.

This was So Geomhwi, also known as Chui So-ok.

Jeomchang’s future had stepped onto the battlefield. This was one of the reasons the audience held their breath. Ipwang Fortress’s chances of victory were slim.

“No. In fact, this is even better.”

A sharp inhale—Shin So-bin clenched her fist.

A disciple of Seomye, known as the White Qilin of Yeonhwa Nata. Her white sleeves fluttered without a speck of dust, a testament to her noble lineage.

At the same time, Chui So-ok drew her sword.

Srrng—!

The blade carved a smooth silver arc through the air.

“You’re fighting barehanded? What about your weapon?”

At her question, Shin So-bin merely raised her fists slightly to her waist.

“Shihwa Muguk Fist, Sigyeok Path, Hwanik Step... anything will do.”

“I see. They say you are the true heir to Seomye’s martial lineage. I, on the other hand, was taught the Sa-il Sword Style and the Celestial Sun Divine Step.”

Her response was calm, free of arrogance or hostility.

Chui So-ok then turned slightly, directing her gaze toward one side of the audience.

The absolute masters of the martial world were watching from above.

Their presence was overwhelming. Among them were the heads of five of the Nine Great Sects, the Grand Swordmaster of Wudang, and even the Violet-ranked warriors of Ipwang Fortress.

For the first time, those who had orchestrated the Huashan Gathering had assembled in one place.

A suffocating pressure filled the air, unintentional yet undeniable. The sheer force of their divine martial power radiated like an invisible tidal wave.

To a martial artist’s eyes, these were not mere humans. Meeting their gaze felt as daunting as facing an unscalable mountain.

‘The incarnations of divine martial arts...’

Yet, amidst them, one stood out.

Jeong Yeon-shin.

Despite being barely past his teenage years, he stood among them as their equal. An enigma.

That was why, at this moment, his silent gaze upon Shin So-bin seemed so unusual.

Under the sunlight, his long lashes cast a shadow over his face, his brows drawn together in deep focus.

Chui So-ok had seen such expressions before.

It was the same look aged martial masters had when selecting their successor—their final disciple.

A gaze that carried the weight of one’s legacy, as if preparing to leave behind their greatest mark on the world.

‘Is he engaged to someone from the Ipwang lineage? No... that’s not the look of a man bound by an arranged marriage.’

Chui So-ok shook her head slightly.

If she won, how would his expression change?

She wasn’t particularly eager to see it, but she had no other choice.

She, too, bore the weight of her sect’s honor.

[Begin.]

The solemn voice of the Shaolin Abbot, Grandmaster Beomheo, resounded across the field. His words carried an immeasurable power, reverberating like the toll of a temple bell.

They had already exchanged customary greetings.

Chui So-ok turned back to face her opponent, her eyes widening slightly.

“I’m ready.”

Shin So-bin stretched her limbs and assumed her fist stance.

With a sweeping motion, she drew a half-circle with her foot, shifting into position.

A wave of dust rippled outward at her feet—an omen of Hwanik Step.

Chui So-ok, observing the sight, finally spoke.

“Why aren’t you ranked Blue?”

“For the same reason you chose to face a White-ranked opponent.”

Shin So-bin tilted her head slightly, feigning curiosity.

In truth, the moment she heard of the Huashan Gathering, she had postponed her Blue Rank promotion, despite it already being in progress.

She had done so for victory.

Her grandfather, an elder of Ipwang Fortress, and her mother, the head of the Ipwang lineage, had been shocked and tried to dissuade her.

But to Shin So-bin, their words had been no different from empty prayers.

And just as no more words were necessary in this moment—

Boom!

The ground beneath her shattered.

She launched forward.

The wind howled.

It was as if her body tore through the air itself.

The distance between them closed in an instant.

Chui So-ok adjusted her grip on her sword, her eyes gleaming—not with hesitation, but with intrigue.

Such reckless momentum.

Was Shin So-bin truly attempting to end this in a single exchange, without even testing the waters?

It made sense. Against the thousand-year-old martial arts of the Nine Sects, prolonging a battle would only work against her.

Seomye’s martial lineage thrived in short, decisive engagements.

‘Because her opponent is me.’

The title “Little Sword Queen” was not something one could earn at her age.

Among the monstrous prodigies such as the Five Phantom Masters, the White Qilin, the Blazing Dragon, the Twin Sword Crows, the Hidden Dragon of Huashan, the Young Lord of Taemo Mountain, and the Fist Dragon of the Yeon Clan, she was still considered one of the finest of her generation.

Shin So-bin had stepped into a battlefield where she did not belong.

Wuuung—

Chui So-ok’s sword hummed.

If it had been a Shaolin monk or a Wudang disciple in her place, they would have fortified their defenses here.

They possessed martial arts more unshakable than the northern fortress walls.

But Jeomchang was different.

Their style was raw and primal.

Born in the lawless lands of Yunnan, surrounded by beastly warriors and warring clans, Jeomchang’s swordsmanship left no room for hesitation.

And yet, they stood among the most revered orthodox sects.

A testament to their unfathomable depth.

‘A short battle? My sect has spent centuries mastering those.’

Chui So-ok leaned back slightly.

Ssshhk.

Her posture became taut, like a bowstring.

The stance of Bow-Body Bullet Shadow.

About ten paces away, Shin So-bin slammed her foot down.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Boom!

A pale energy surged up from Chui So-ok’s lumbar spine, spreading through her shoulder blades.

As shattered stone scattered in all directions, she propelled herself forward.

Fwoooosh—!

Her body shot ahead like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Her acceleration was monstrous—far beyond Shin So-bin’s.

In midair, Chui So-ok extended her sword.

A blade of pure blue energy erupted from its tip, like an explosion of embers.

The Sun-Piercing Sword Qi.

Before Shin So-bin could lower her stance, blood sprayed from her body.

She had been struck.

Her movements sealed by the overwhelming sword energy, she barely managed to chamber her fist at her side.

The impact from her earlier step still reverberated through her core.

‘Shihwa Muguk Fist—True Wall...!’

She twisted her body and threw a punch.

From right to left—an explosive strike aimed at the broadside of the sword that was already mere inches from her face.

Boom!

A heavy vibration surged through her fist, yet Shin So-bin pressed forward undeterred.

The moment her elbow rebounded from the impact, it struck Chui So-ok’s shoulder with full force. A preemptively prepared shockwave.

A circular blast erupted in a hazy flash, sending Chui So-ok’s upper body tilting to the side with a dull thud.

Yet, she didn’t even let out a groan.

Without hesitation, she slid her left palm beneath the sword-wielding right hand—

Ssk.

Her palm pressed against Shin So-bin’s abdomen.

The Jeomchang Sect’s Great Gong Palm Technique instantly unleashed a translucent shockwave.

But Chui So-ok didn’t stop there.

As Shin So-bin was thrown back, she grabbed her wrist and yanked her forward again, reversing her grip on her sword and swinging it toward her neck.

Stopping a fully extended quick-draw sword strike mid-swing was nothing difficult for Jeomchang’s First Disciple.

She intended to bring the blade to Shin So-bin’s throat and end the match then and there.

‘Even in a short duel, my sect holds the advantage...’

Chui So-ok never finished the thought.

In an instant, Shin So-bin’s upper body dropped downward.

Regaining her balance in a split second, she assumed a horse stance.

She wouldn’t be dragged around.

Her arm, still caught in Chui So-ok’s grip, was forcibly wrenched downward with a sickening crack.

Her long, braided black hair whipped upward—

Ssk.

And was severed by Chui So-ok’s sword.

Strands of hair scattered in the air.

A spark flashed in Shin So-bin’s eyes, a muted, colorless lightning.

Time slowed to a crawl.

She thought—This is it.

It had begun as simple curiosity toward a senior’s martial arts. Then, she was drawn in by a desperate, almost frantic sense of urgency.

A subconscious obsession threaded throughout Jeong Yeon-shin’s techniques—swift, relentless, desperate.

She had always sought to understand it.

Her training had been a constant process of dissecting Jeong Yeon-shin’s intent behind each technique.

And by now, those interpretations had become deeply ingrained within her very being.

It was no exaggeration to say that every pressure point in her body had been carved by Jeong Yeon-shin’s martial intent.

A voice echoed in her mind.

—Stop chasing me.

—Damn time.

At that moment, the ultimate essence of compression-based combat settled onto her heel.

Hwanik Step.

She did not lift her foot—only slammed her heel down once more.

Crackle!

The resulting wave of footwork energy burst from the ground, tearing through the formless shockwave surrounding Chui So-ok and dispersing the blue sword energy.

“......!”

Chui So-ok’s Jeomchang sword faltered, barely pressing against Shin So-bin’s collarbone.

Above her, Chui So-ok had adjusted her grip in an astonishing display of skill, clasping the base of her sword instead of the hilt—

And brought it down in a devastating strike.

Her eyes widened.

The power behind her sword had dissipated.

At the same time, Shin So-bin’s fist—coiled behind her waist—launched forward.

Dozens of rippling waves trailed her strike, etching themselves into the air.

Zzzzzzzzt—!

The atmosphere trembled.

Her fist shattered layer upon layer of invisible internal energy and slammed into Chui So-ok’s side.

Dust exploded beneath them.

Chui So-ok coughed up blood.

Now, the two of them were locked together, almost embracing.

A metallic clang rang out as Chui So-ok’s sword slipped from her grasp and fell to the duel stage.

“What... technique is this?”

“Shihwa Muguk Fist—Fist Blossom. The third form.”

A few spectators swallowed audibly.

Shin So-bin let her left arm dangle limply—it was completely dislocated.

“I thought I was going to win.”

She muttered softly.

Chui So-ok, whose hand was pressed against the death point on Shin So-bin’s nape, let out a quiet chuckle.

“That ‘Fist Blossom’ technique... it incorporates weighted impact. If you had used more force, my dantian might have shattered.”

“Well, that’s...”

“Let’s call it a draw. I can barely stand anymore... No need for anyone to die, right?”

The two slowly stepped back.

Both looked utterly wrecked.

Shin So-bin, having endured the full force of Sun-Piercing Sword Qi and willingly breaking her own arm, was in a miserable state.

Chui So-ok, having suffered an internal injury so severe that she had coughed up blood, fared no better.

Her right arm—the one that had wielded her sword—was trembling violently.

From the grand stage above, the Shaolin Abbot Beomheo gazed at them with his lone eye and finally spoke.

[In honor of the wise decision of these two practitioners, I declare this duel a draw.]

With those words, the first match between two major factions was officially concluded.

Only after the voice of Grandmaster Beomheo faded did the arena erupt in thunderous cheers.

The audience marveled at the strength and spirit of the two young prodigies—at the divine martial arts they had displayed.

Haa...

Shin So-bin exhaled heavily and looked up.

Her gaze locked with Jeong Yeon-shin’s, who sat in the VIP section.

Her master wore an expression that was well worth seeing.

To most, he would appear calm, composed—fitting of a Violet-ranked warrior of Ipwang Fortress.

But to the senior masters of Ma Gwang-ik, the slightest shifts in his expression revealed his true thoughts.

Right now, there was a hint of somberness.

Shin So-bin lifted a few strands of her now short-cropped hair.

“...Does it suit me?”

“It finally matches Close-Combat White Rank.”

A short reply.

Beside Jeong Yeon-shin, Go Geomjin, the Grand Swordmaster, smirked.

Nearby, the Lady of Yulha Nangnang also smiled faintly.

They had both trained disciples before.

Elsewhere, slightly apart from them—

An elderly woman with a sword nodded approvingly at Chui So-ok’s efforts.

The wrinkled face of Sword Queen Geum Seon-hwi was as serene as a still lake.

Even though the expected victory had slipped away, she remained unfazed.

“......”

In the silence that followed—

The Sword Immortal of the Yunnan Mountains quietly awaited his turn.

***

It was now Ipwang Fortress’s turn to send out a Blue Rank warrior.

Out came Blazing Dragon, Tae Yeom-ryong.

His opponent was Lee Cheong, the Pure Yang Sword, a First Disciple nearly ten years older than Chui So-ok. Once, he had dominated the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering south of the Yangtze River.

He was also known for mastering all seven initial forms of the Sa-il Sword Style.

Tae Yeom-ryong won.

Using the Shihwa Muguk Palm—Flame River, he practically incinerated his opponent and the stage along with him.

Both sword and robes were reduced to ashes.

A massive scorched mark remained on the ground, resembling nothing more than a careless brushstroke across the battlefield.

“If I’d carved my name into it, that would’ve been something to see.”

Not yet, though. Tae Yeom-ryong brushed his fingers across the shadow of his eyes as he stepped off the stage.

“What a shame. This blue-rank status doesn’t feel like enough to contain my skill.”

“I’ll be praying for your Black Rank ascension. I have no doubt you’ll achieve it.”

The one who spoke was Namgung Hwa-shin, seated among the elite warriors of Ipwang Fortress.

The Poppy of Ma Gwang-ik, who had been watching from the sidelines, cast a peculiar gaze upon the younger brother of a fallen friend.

If Great Snow Sword had said such words, it would have surely been sarcasm.

But Namgung Hwa-shin was incapable of joking.

Meanwhile, beneath the duel stage, Ma Jin stood face to face with a middle-aged swordsman.

On one side—Naraksal of Ipwang Fortress.

On the other—Gwanwol Divine Sword of Jeomchang.

Below their respective sect leaders, these were the highest-caliber warriors from each faction, true titans among grandmasters.

Tae Yeom-ryong glanced at Namgung Hwa-shin.

“I am still learning. It is not yet time.”

Namgung Hwa-shin’s face no longer held a shadow of doubt.

Even as the Namgung family’s elders watched him from across the stage, he remained utterly composed.

At that moment, a deafening crash erupted from the duel stage.

Naraksal and Gwanwol Divine Sword had exchanged a single strike.

Somewhere amidst the dust and shrapnel—

Naraksal’s dark artificial hand rolled across the ground, severed.

At the same time, Gwanwol Divine Sword’s arm dangled limp at his side, his sword lost.

The two warriors bowed to each other and exited the stage.

Grandmaster Beomheo of Shaolin declared it a draw.

The audience’s excitement reached its peak.

And yet, there were no cheers.

Despite the searing intensity of the atmosphere, silence swallowed every sound.

Until, eventually, nothing remained but stillness.

“......”

When had she stepped onto the stage?

Somehow, standing at the center of the battlefield was a lone woman.

A sword dangled from her grasp, its entire blade gleaming with an immaculate white light.

The massive duel stage, large enough to hold hundreds, suddenly felt full—as if her mere presence had consumed all the space.

The Sword Queen.

But she was not in the form of an old woman.

She looked even younger than Little Sword Queen, Chui So-ok—a breathtaking beauty, her long, obsidian hair flowing behind her like polished ebony.

By the sheer force of her supreme martial prowess, she had restored her youth in an instant.

A transcendent aura, both unyielding and divine, radiated from her entire being.

She parted her lips slowly.

“I am Geum Seon-hwi of Jeomchang.”

“...And I am Jeong Yeon-shin of Ipwang Fortress.”

Somehow, the newly ascended Violet Rank warrior now stood before her.

Under the dazzling noonday sun, his crimson battle robes billowed like a sunset brought early.

“...You resemble him.”

“My maternal grandfather?”

At his words, the Sword Queen gave a slight nod.

“A man who once stormed through the martial world with reckless abandon, just as you do. I always thought I would meet him again someday.”

“He is not as he once was, but he is still well.”

“Some ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) memories are best left as memories. I have no desire to see him in his old age.”

The Sword Queen shook her head faintly. Then, she gestured toward him with her chin.

“Let’s begin.”

Jeong Yeon-shin studied her for a moment—then finally spoke, drawing his sword with one hand.

“May I strike at full force?”

“I am always ready.”

“...Then.”

That was the last word spoken.

The duel between supreme masters began—abruptly, without warning.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s body vanished from its spot.

And in the next instant—

The vast duel stage split cleanly in half.

A single streak of light had carved through it, tearing it apart in the blink of an eye.

Before the audience could even blink—

Like a bolt of lightning—

Jeong Yeon-shin’s Singeom Yeorae thrust forward, his sword streaking as if it had transcended space and time itself.

The strike collided with the Sword Queen’s blade.

There was no sound.

“......!”

For a fleeting moment, the surface of her sword cracked—

Then, like ripples on a lake struck by a pebble, invisible shockwaves spread outward.

A violent force hurled her backward.

A deafening shockwave erupted in all directions, sending the Sword Queen flying as if she had been struck by artillery fire.

BOOOOOOOOM—!

Only then did the delayed roar of destruction sweep through the arena.

Amidst the fragments of the shattered stage—

Both warriors had vanished.

For the first time in history, this technique had been revealed.

Sky Cascade.

With a single thrust of the sword—

The night sky flows like a river.

“That is...!”

The Grand Swordmaster and the leaders of the Nine Sects paled.

A day that had begun in silence had now exploded into chaos.

They had no time to even fully process their shock at Jeong Yeon-shin’s swordsmanship—

Because at that moment—

They felt something.

Above them, floating in midair in a seated meditation posture—

Was the Shaolin Abbot, Beomheo.

Simultaneously, the Grand Swordmaster, Lady Yulha Nangnang, Baek Yaksa-tae, and Cheongsu Jin-in all twisted their bodies instinctively, reacting in an instant.

And then—

A voice shattered the sky.

“Pathetic antics.”

From atop the grand stage—

“You are stealing away my grandson’s time.”

The words crashed through the air like a god’s decree.

And then—

A deep pink shadow cast itself over the ground.