Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 439: The Sun-Setting Banner (1)

High Monk Beomheo.

The abbot of Shaolin declared an early conclusion to the Huashan Summit Martial Duel. The reason was that martial artists who had risen in scattered uprisings near Dengfeng County had begun harming the people.

They were plundering food, water, and livestock—the lifelines of those suffering through the great famine.

Among them, the core members of the Six Kings Gate, who had degenerated into mere brigands, were subdued by Huashan swordsmen, including the Sacred Flame Sword Deity, Yulha Nangnang.

—We only wished to save the six masters of our sect.

Their excuse was brief. The leaders of the Six Kings Gate refused to reveal who had ordered their rebellion or what they had been promised in return.

Some speculated that they had dealings with the Thirteen Heavens of the Unorthodox Factions, such as Taemo Fortress.

To save their grandmasters, who were already on the verge of death, there were hardly any options beyond Rejuvenation Elixirs or the forbidden arts of Reverse Heaven techniques.

A great famine.

Chivalrous warriors were now being tested by an era of chaos.

Would they uphold their banner of righteousness despite starvation, or would they cast aside their pride and honor to fill their bellies and prepare for the future?

Those who responded to the Six Kings Gate’s uprising chose the latter.

They secretly carried out looting across the relatively fertile lands of Henan, only to be dismantled by the immortal masters of the Nine Great Sects.

Not only did Huashan, focused on capturing the Six Kings Gate’s leaders, demonstrate its might, but so did the swords of Emei, Wudang, Qingcheng, and Mount Heaven.

The martial arts of the Nine Great Sects, rarely displayed outside their mountains, proved worthy of the title "Thousand-Year Martial Lineage."

It was a clear revelation to the world that Ipwang Fortress was not the only stronghold protecting the common people.

Some critics debated whether Ipwang Fortress or the Nine Great Sects held greater influence.

The martial world had grown barren in spirit, and the value of righteousness was falling beneath the weight of survival.

It was a competition no one had ever wished for.

“...The abbot of Shaolin has declared an era of clemency?”

“I think your posture wavered just now... No? Well, it was certainly a relief, but neither the eminent monk nor the Buddha statues of the Grand Hall of Shaolin would claim that the killings were entirely due to the Great Lord. After all, even Shaolin is not free from factional disputes. At the center of it all is the abbot himself.”

“A faction?”

“Didn’t the term ‘Purging Demons and Eradicating Evil’ originate from Shaolin? But apparently, there are monks who advocate for a return to pure and compassionate Buddhism. While the eminent monk does not force his disciples to take lives, they say that, in his youth, far more unorthodox martial artists had their heads cracked open by him than corrupt officials were executed by the Grand Patriarch. He was almost excommunicated several times.”

The conversation drifted from inside the carriage surrounded by Ipwang Fortress martial artists.

Seated within its comfortable interior, Jeong Yeon-shin and Shin So-bin continued speaking in hushed voices.

“No person’s temperament could possibly surpass my grandfather’s...”

Jeong Yeon-shin trailed off, but Shin So-bin ignored it and continued.

“He may be recognized as the foremost righteous sect leader now, but I’ve never seen the Grand Patriarch acknowledge someone before.”

“Hm.”

Originally, the newly appointed Lord was lying in a large palanquin, but as soon as he regained consciousness, he ordered a carriage instead.

He had belatedly learned about the Triumphal Procession of Ma Gwang-ik in Yangyang—from none other than his uncle, Ma Jin.

Even if he didn’t want to, he had to nod at his uncle’s additional advice:

"Everyone already knows of your achievements. If you temper them with humility, it will be even greater."

As the newly appointed Great Lord, he could not make excuses by blaming his subordinates.

‘He’ll be joining soon.’

Ma Jin had stayed behind at the Emerald Sword Manor, tasked with discussing future strategies with the leaders of the Nine Great Sects on Yeon-shin’s behalf.

A rare gathering of grandmasters—it required time to determine how they would organize their forces and how much territory they could hold.

The Lord of the Ipwang Ma Clan might lack a bit of virtue, but he was more than qualified to act as the Great Lord’s representative.

Thus, the flow of Jeong Yeon-shin’s time, which should have been divided among many places, now streamed toward a single destination—the land he had long been unable to return to.

His home.

Yangyang.

“......”

Inside the carriage.

Jeong Yeon-shin closed his lips, which had been slightly parted.

The creaking of the carriage wheels occasionally blended with the snorts and neighs of the horses.

Matching the vibrations of the journey, Shin So-bin’s hair swayed gently against her nape.

The first disciple of the Seomye Martial Lineage sat across from him, the corners of her lips slightly raised, as if finding the situation amusing.

Her grandmaster had always favored monks and Daoists, much like a simple countryside boy. Naturally, she expected that High Monk Beomheo’s actions must have shocked him.

But as the Great Lord of Ipwang Fortress, he had to see through the entirety of the martial world.

He had to understand not only the unknown secrets but also matters as plain as common sense.

For Shin So-bin, securing her place as Jeong Yeon-shin’s direct subordinate in the upcoming reorganization was paramount.

Her martial strength was still lacking, so she had to prove her worth as a noble-born strategist.

Even she was uncertain how the new appointments around the Great Lord would be decided.

“My grandfather told me to keep the Shaolin faction matters a secret, but I thought you should know. You’ll be dealing with the Nine Great Sects soon enough.”

“I will?”

“Yes! Now that you’ve seen the high monk’s methods firsthand, one day you might be assigned to capture someone in Henan, and a confrontation could occur. And that’s just one possibility.”

There had even been past clashes between Ma Gwang-ik and the Plum Blossom Sword Masters over how to handle a Huashan ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) disciple who had violated the laws of their sect.

That had been before Jeong Yeon-shin entered Ipwang Fortress.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

As the Great Lord, he was now responsible for making final decisions in such cases—whether through diplomacy or through martial prowess.

Suddenly, he thought of Yulha Nangnang, always smiling.

Would the time come when he had to determine victory and defeat against the immortal masters of the Nine Great Sects?

The world was already in turmoil with the Thirteen Heavens of the Unorthodox Factions and the Northern Tribes.

Swoosh.

Shaking his head slightly, he retrieved a letter from his robes.

A document with the eerie inscription: “For Yeon-shin’s Eyes Only.”

It was a letter from his grandfather, passed to him by Hyeon Won-chang.

He had been too preoccupied with receiving reports from his subordinates to open it until now.

Before dawn, he should read it.

Rustle.

The rough texture of paper accompanied the sight of barely legible brushstrokes.

Activating his Eye Technique, Jeong Yeon-shin read.

[Yeon-shin,

It is your grandfather.

You looked magnificent. I knew that long robe would suit you. I wonder how the emperor appeared to your eyes. One day, we shall speak of it.

I heard from Yongga that you addressed Wudang’s old bastard informally.

I had hoped to one day teach my grandson the Way of Conduct, but I underestimated the innate grandeur within your bones. It is both regrettable and admirable.

You must now understand—there is no one in the martial world above you.

Even the Fortress Lord treats the Great Lords of Ipwang as equals, not subordinates. Who, then, could stand above us?

...

Crush the lawless.

Subdue the chaos before it stirs.

The Great Lord is the setting sun—

The hue that marks the end of this turbulent world.

You are capable.

Also, stay in good health.]

“......”

Jeong Yeon-shin silently rolled up the letter and tucked it back into his robes. Just then, his fingertips brushed against another smaller letter attached to it. When he unfolded it, he found a brief piece of advice written within.

[Yeon-shin, I add one more word out of old concern.

The Lord of the Ipwang Ma Clan, Naraksal, expressed worries about your temperament. I rebuked him, asking who was he to judge, but there is some merit in his words.

A sword recognized across the world does not need to flaunt its sharpness—people will acknowledge it on their own.

To speak cautiously, I cannot fully rest easy knowing that you lack an external maternal lineage to temper your Ma blood.

Cultivate virtue and form many friendships. I hope you will navigate this turbulent martial world wisely.]

Jeong Yeon-shin folded the letter ten times over until it was no bigger than a speck of dust, then slipped it into his robes.

It would have been better left unread.

“I won’t ask what it says.”

Shin So-bin, who had been watching him intently, spoke briefly. However, her expression did not match her words.

Her calves, wrapped in the loose white martial robes, swung slightly as if she were deeply curious.

A small wave of irritation surged in Jeong Yeon-shin, and his face reddened slightly. Due to injuries he had yet to fully control, he felt the faint premonition of inner demon deviation.

Even if his first disciple tried to ask indirectly, he had no intention of answering.

If only I could just eat the fruit...

The day he no longer had to rely on others, the world would witness the three generations of the Ma Clan competing in scholarship and etiquette rather than martial force.

Even setting aside the most important matters, who knew when he would ascend to the position of Divine Sword Division Leader and claim the rewards?

How much longer would it take?

The entirety of the noble families' legacies was still an unfathomable distance away.

Furthermore, Ipwang Fortress was a sect established at the founding of the nation, layered with customs and laws built over centuries.

Jeong Yeon-shin leaned against the back of his seat.

Once he met the Grand Marshal, he would finally understand how close he had come to his goal.

For now, it was enough to reflect once on the fallen Suncheon Lord and the departed Swordsman of Zhongnan.

“...So-bin, I heard Namgung warriors visited the Jeong Household?”

“They did, but they didn’t follow us. It looks like they’ve given up, at least for now.”

Jeong Yeon-shin nodded at Shin So-bin’s carefree response.

The carriage carrying the newly appointed Great Lord back to his home in Ipwang Fortress moved swiftly and peacefully.

***

Dust hung thick in the air.

The ground was riddled with deep craters, as if the land itself was exhaling in exhaustion.

Amidst the smoke, hurried footsteps echoed back and forth.

“We have compiled the relevant information!”

“Report.”

“There are records of thirty-six Bloodflame Cult branches discovered in ruins. Two of them are believed to have been under the jurisdiction of the Sixth Apostle and the Eighth Apostle, but the whereabouts of their leaders remain unknown.”

“...Was this your doing?”

A figure concealed by translucent dust asked.

Their ears were as keen as whetstone-sharpened blades, and they carried both a sword and a bow.

But the question was not directed at a subordinate.

The mysterious noble warrior's voice carried across a hundred paces.

Step.

A long leg landed upon the ruined earth, the hem of a deep crimson robe flowing with it.

Hair that fluttered as if severed from worldly restraints by the reverse wind of Bodily Divinity Circulation.

A black so deep it mirrored the void of a starless night.

Yet the eerily pale, strikingly beautiful face stood out even amidst the dense mist.

An ornate black eyepatch embroidered with golden thread covered one eye, while the exposed pupil burned a vivid crimson.

“How do you know all this?”

The Blood Sovereign inquired.

She was wreathed in transcendental energy.

The mist passed through her body as if she were an illusion, yet despite the fog, the Blood Sovereign’s presence was sharply distinct.

But so too was the presence of the figures facing her.

Their overwhelming aura could not be ignored.

Not a single one of them appeared daunted.

“We are the House of Zhu.”

The leading noble warrior spoke calmly.

A faint smirk played at the corner of the Blood Sovereign’s crimson lips.

“I see... So, you were of the imperial lineage. I came to the right place.”

She continued in a slow, deliberate voice.

“You were difficult to find.”

Her eerie red gaze flickered upward.

There was a fortress.

A great wall loomed over the Blood Sovereign, casting an immense shadow over her body.

A deep, dark brown hue filled the field of vision, its rough texture stretching beyond perception.

It was too vast for the human eye to measure.

It defied the limits of comprehension.

Even its true form was indistinguishable.

It was the Heavenly Tree.

***

Clatter.

The sound of the carriage wheels became more pronounced.

Jeong Yeon-shin and his group had crossed Henan and descended into the land of Hogwang.

The sky, tinged with twilight, gave way to the obsidian curtain of night.

“Hmm...?”

Hyeon Won-chang, who was leading on horseback, furrowed his brows.

Yangyang was just ahead—yet there was no trace of human activity.

Ipwang Fortress, rooted in Yangyang, was known to flourish even more as the world grew chaotic.

Yet the great city, once a beacon of safety, was engulfed in an eerie silence.

Even from a distance, the towering fortress walls showed no sign of sentries.

The masters who had been planning the Triumphal Procession of Ma Gwang-ik grew somber.

“A city doesn’t just die.”

Tae Yeom-ryong muttered.

It was an unthinkable scenario.

Three black-clad returnees had arrived—Ak Su-rim, Hahoe Wi-jin, and Yullyeong Daeju Yun So-yu—each a formidable force in their own right.

And with the addition of the Grand Marshal, a warlord of both strategy and might, there were now four figures at the level of a Great Lord.

This was not a force that could be easily overwhelmed.

“Shall we advance at full strength?”

A Blue Rank master turned toward the carriage to ask.

Below the ridge where they had stopped—

A small disturbance suddenly occurred.

It was subtle, nearly imperceptible to those without keen martial senses.

Amidst the vast, silent city—

A single violet lantern ignited.