Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 444: The Sun-Setting Banner (6)

Even the seemingly serene Rider’s Blade Stance could become a deadly combat posture in the hands of Ipwang Fortress’s Violet Lord.

Though Jeong Yeon-shin stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his divine sword hovered beside him, floating in midair. The sheer force emanating from it shook the ground, sending violent tremors up to the very peak of the pavilion.

Dust rose from the shattered roof tiles, cascading around him like mist.

Hoo...

Behind the silver mask, So Cheonmujuk’s eyes curved into crescent moons.

"I heard the rumors about Mount Hua, but you’ve grown even stronger since then."

There was no attempt to conceal admiration in the remark.

At the same time, the masked cult master casually extended his free hand—the opposite of the one holding Baek Mi-ryeo’s throat—in a placating gesture. A motion that, while appearing playful, revealed not the slightest vulnerability.

As expected of a supreme master of demonic arts, one who had refined their techniques to the level of transcendence.

So Cheonmujuk’s lips parted slightly.

"Wouldn’t it be better if you just stayed put?"

"......."

"This Baek Mi-ryeo was mine to begin with. It’s about time I did with her as I please."

A cryptic statement.

So Cheonmujuk and Baek Mi-ryeo.

Jeong Yeon-shin did not know what grudge or history lay between them.

Was the cult master trying to eliminate her as a fellow successor of demonic techniques?

Or perhaps, just as Jeong Yeon-shin cherished the Seomye martial lineage, the last remaining heir of the Ming Cult had decided to take Baek Mi-ryeo as his successor. Either possibility was plausible.

His comrades in Ma Gwang-ik's Division rarely spoke about their burdens.

Even Cheongmyeong and Hyeon Won-chang had only shared brief words after their sects became battlegrounds.

As for Baek Mi-ryeo, she had never once revealed her true thoughts to him, aside from the single fact that she practiced Heavenly Demon Divine Art.

None of them wished to burden their leader further.

In that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly realized something.

All this time, he had simply received the care and attention of his comrades, the youngest of Ma Gwang-ik's Division, without truly understanding their struggles.

Even now, wearing the Violet Robe, that had not changed.

It was a painful realization.

"You should let go."

He spoke without any real intent, merely watching his opponent in silence.

While activating Heavenly Sight, he ignored So Cheonmujuk’s outward form and instead observed the flow of qi, glowing blue as it drifted around them.

Few warriors in the world were truly flawless.

Even now, the only person who came to mind was the Fortress Lord of Ipwang. Even the seemingly invincible Emperor of Jianling had faltered in his breathing when Jeong Yeon-shin had debated the true nature of virtue.

There was no reason the leader of the Ming Cult would be an exception.

"It’s a sect matter. Well, not that I expect you to stay quiet and listen."

So Cheonmujuk smirked, his lips curling at an angle as his usual rough voice spilled out.

His tone carried a peculiar resonance, as if his vocal cords were infused with pure qi, making it impossible to discern his gender, true intentions, or the rhythm of his internal breathing.

"But still."

He tilted his head slightly.

"How did you notice? My Silent Star Shroud has even escaped the perceptive eyes of the Lord of Heaven’s Extreme Sect..."

Silent Star Shroud.

A secret art passed down solely to the cult leaders of the Ming Cult.

It was a supreme concealment technique, capable of masking even the most explosive bursts of qi. A perfect fusion of offense and defense.

"Had the distance been shorter, would it have been different?"

In truth, Jeong Yeon-shin had not sensed So Cheonmujuk’s presence at all—until he had channeled his awareness through the Celestial Tree’s trunk.

A terrifying thought. But there was no need to let it show.

He simply continued to stare at the cult master, silently.

If even the slightest opening appeared in his speech, Jeong Yeon-shin would cut him down.

So Cheonmujuk grinned.

"You have a remarkable gaze. It’s so terrifying, I can’t just stand still."

Before the words even finished—

Whirl.

A rippling distortion flickered around So Cheonmujuk’s body, as if space itself was trembling.

It was the prelude to a martial sorcery technique.

At the same moment, Jeong Yeon-shin’s divine sword, Yeorei, streaked through the air in a perfectly straight line.

Kiieeeeng—!

The blade shot straight through So Cheonmujuk’s shoulder...

And passed right through.

It had not pierced his protective aura or his flesh. It was as if it had stabbed a mirage.

The sheer force of the sword technique sent it tearing through the distant walls, vanishing far beyond.

The Ming Cult Master, So Cheonmujuk.

At this moment, his entire figure was fading, along with Baek Mi-ryeo, who had turned her gaze toward Jeong Yeon-shin in desperation.

It was clear they were about to disappear.

A phenomenon beyond even the realms of the Violet Rank.

The Ming Cult’s True Successor of the Heavenly Demon wielded sorcery so naturally, it was no wonder people called them demons, rather than mere mortals.

"Spatial Void Transference."

So Cheonmujuk shrugged.

"It surpasses Displacement Phantom Step. I burned through countless arcane treasures and resources to infiltrate Ipwang Fortress—do {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} you think I wouldn’t come prepared? After all, even so-called supreme experts in this field must sacrifice their own lifeforce just to attempt..."

FWOOSH—!

A ferocious gust tore through his words.

Jeong Yeon-shin had already surged forward, both hands reaching out.

A translucent spiral of qi swirled between his palms, grinding into the ground with devastating force.

The entire pavilion shook violently. Yet, his focus remained solely on So Cheonmujuk.

Fwooooosh!

His hands passed clean through the cult master’s shoulders.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s eyes narrowed.

It was as if he had struck a ghost.

The peak of mysticism.

As he locked eyes with So Cheonmujuk, he saw amusement flicker in the cult master’s gaze.

"Transference."

The lips beneath the silver mask moved.

"Void. I move where I wish."

Boom!

Jeong Yeon-shin, having propelled himself forward with Hwan-gang’s Supreme Flow, landed right on the spot So Cheonmujuk had been standing.

For a brief instant, their figures overlapped as if they were one.

Now, So Cheonmujuk had completely lost his physical form.

A surreal sight.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

"As it defies the laws of heaven, even a master of this technique can only use it twice in a lifetime," So Cheonmujuk mused. "But I never intended to fight you. Under this vast sky, you’re the only one who can truly understand me—so why should we exchange blows?"

And then—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Three figures landed around them.

Two black robes and a scholar’s attire.

Yun So-yu.

Hahoe Wi-jin.

And the Grand Commander, Im Jin-myeong, gripping a long brush.

Ak Su-rim had been patrolling the city and was absent, but few in the martial world could face even these three and remain standing.

So Cheonmujuk glanced around and let out a chuckle.

"Terrifying. No wonder I came prepared with an escape plan."

"Spatial Void Transference...?"

Im Jin-myeong murmured, his eyes wide.

Hahoe Wi-jin and Yun So-yu’s expressions grew grim.

Still intertwined with the cult master’s fading figure, Jeong Yeon-shin muttered coldly.

"Let go. And leave her behind."

"Don’t worry about Baek Mi-ryeo. She’ll be treated with due courtesy. But if you insist on facing me..."

The last trace of So Cheonmujuk’s voice lingered in the air.

"Come find me in Shinjiang."

Ssssh—

In that instant, Jeong Yeon-shin's gaze locked onto Baek Mi-ryeo, who was dissipating into mist alongside So Cheonmujuk.

Her unwavering, jet-black eyes spoke to him, just as they always had.

This was no different from the countless warriors of Ipwang Fortress who had met their end while on duty.

A Violet Lord of the fortress was meant to consider the greater picture, not personal attachments.

Jeong Yeon-shin understood Baek Mi-ryeo’s intent without needing words.

But he could not accept it.

He took a step back, locking eyes with his opponent. So Cheonmujuk, whose form had already begun to blur, still wore that ever-present smirk.

"It was nice seeing you again. You don’t look like you’re in great shape—don’t waste your strength on pointless struggles. Just remember Shinjiang."

Swish.

Suddenly, Jeong Yeon-shin reached out and placed his palm over So Cheonmujuk’s silver mask.

The motion left behind a lingering afterimage, ghostly palmprints imprinted in the air, glowing with a faint white radiance.

“...I know my face is rather striking, but it’s still too soon for you to see it.”

Laughter tinged So Cheonmujuk’s fading voice. Even his tone was beginning to dissolve.

"Unless you can wield a sword like the Lord of Heaven’s Extreme Sect, there’s no way you could..."

Crack—

His words stopped mid-sentence.

"...!"

A fracture spread across the silver mask.

At the same time, the space behind it cracked, revealing a brief glimpse of a distant marketplace.

Demon-Slaying Radiance. frёewebηovel.cѳm

At this moment, pure martial prowess had shattered part of the cult master’s sorcery.

So Cheonmujuk’s smirk twisted into a bizarre mix of shock and admiration.

But Jeong Yeon-shin paid no attention to his opponent’s face.

This Spatial Void Transference—the same technique that So Cheonmujuk had stolen from a fleeting existence like himself—was not something that should have been halted by Demon-Slaying Radiance.

The depth of skill was simply too different.

"Daecheon Gate."

His eyes fixed on a single signboard visible through the cracked space.

Hangzhou’s Daecheon Gate.

A sect that had once claimed dominion over Hangzhou with boastful martial arts. He had heard of it from his senior warriors long ago.

This was not Shinjiang.

It was Hangzhou.

A city where the Nine Sects, Heaven’s Extreme Sect, and the Great Mother Mountain Fortress might soon clash.

“...Wait. I’m coming."

The words left Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips in a low, lion-like growl.

So Cheonmujuk gave no response.

He simply watched Jeong Yeon-shin in silence, his gaze lingering until his form had completely vanished.

Even then, Jeong Yeon-shin did not blink.

His eyes remained fixed on Baek Mi-ryeo’s face.

And even after she, too, had disappeared, he did not avert his gaze.

Hahoe Wi-jin, Yun So-yu, and Im Jin-myeong hesitated to speak.

They had never before witnessed an event where they were utterly powerless to intervene.

But there was no mistaking it—the invincible cult master, So Cheonmujuk, had been forced to break his own mask and fail his grand escape.

The once-flawless Ming Cult’s supreme arts had shown their first imperfection.

Now that Ipwang Fortress had lost one of its precious Blue Rank warriors to So Cheonmujuk—

Who was truly the greatest genius of this era?

It was a question that would stir the entire martial world.

Perhaps soon, the First Seat of the Five Supreme Arts would finally be decided.

But.

"Hangzhou was meant to be handled by the Nine Sects. Even the Bright King himself lingers in the fortress like some inspector... If we follow Sir Jeong’s will and march, who will fill the void left behind?"

While Im Jin-myeong’s expression darkened in concern—

"......."

Jeong Yeon-shin stood, staring silently into the sky.

The place where his mentor—or perhaps his sister—had once been.

Slowly.

His demeanor began to shift.

It was no longer the face of a man suppressing his urgency behind a mask of composure.

A new presence stirred within the young warrior clad in the Violet Robe.

An emotion he had never once fully embraced during his journey through the martial world.

Suddenly, the surroundings dimmed.

An unseen force momentarily blotted out the sunlight.

"Murderous intent...!"

Yun So-yu’s eyes widened.

***

A group of warriors galloped across the plains.

It looked like a funeral procession—one carrying a massive coffin on a carriage, thundering across the dirt roads.

A thick cloud of dust trailed behind them.

"Young Master, we must stop here! Many among us have exhausted their energy!"

"Run with your strength. There isn’t a single weakling among us. If Lord Gongson failed to hold back the Three Dao Thrones, we will soon be face-to-face with the Immortals of Great Mother Mountain Fortress."

"I understand that, but we desperately need supplies! If we encounter a pursuit force in this state, our entire sect will be annihilated! You must realize that you are the only surviving heir of the Zhuge Clan."

"If you wish to live, keep running."

"Do you think Yangyang or Ipwang Fortress will take us in? We’re dragging an avalanche behind us—"

The scholar-like girl holding the reins hesitated.

Meanwhile, the black-haired youth beside her, wrapped in sky-blue silk, urged his steed forward without pause.

Zhuge Clan’s Young Master.

Zhuge Cheong-ah remained silent at her subordinate’s words.

Lord Gongson had managed to hold back two of the Three Dao Thrones, but his chances of victory were slim.

The sorcerers of Great Mother Mountain Fortress were stronger together than apart.

Their techniques formed symbiotic arrays, each spell amplifying the others.

If two of them were present, they could manifest natural disasters beyond human capability.

These were the same sorcerers who had once annihilated the Hwangbo Family.

Lord Gongson was likely dead.

The boy riding beside Zhuge Cheong-ah, the Young Master of the Gongson Clan, seemed to share the same grim realization.

His grip tightened around the sword once wielded by Seomye, the Flower-Wielding Phantom.

"......."

Zhuge Cheong-ah glanced behind her.

At the coffin they were transporting.

It had to be protected.

The balance of the righteous martial world hinged on its safekeeping.

They had to take it through Yangyang and into Hangzhou.

But...

She cast her gaze beyond the carriage.

Something loomed in the distance.

Pale.

Blindingly white.

It looked like a storm of ice and hail—completely unnatural for the waning summer season.

A fusion of nature and sorcery.

"We’ve been caught!"

One of her guards shouted, his voice trembling.

She could not blame him.

The Zhuge Clan never engaged in battles they could not win.

To be hunted down like prey was a completely foreign experience.

Especially when the pursuers were Great Mother Mountain Fortress—one of the Thirteen Heavens.

"Stop! Form a defensive formation!"

Zhuge Cheong-ah yanked the reins of her horse and shouted.

BOOM!

A single silver spear slammed into the earth beside them.

A massive tremor rippled outward, shaking the very ground like an earthquake.

The banner attached to its shaft flapped violently in the wind.

Six bold characters, unmistakable in their presence.

Divine Sword Corps. Divine Sword Squad.

Several warriors instinctively read the inscription aloud.

Their voices, thick with disbelief, carried through the swirling dust.

Two words.

Divine Sword.