Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 451: Den of Demons (4)

The moment the Outer Hall Master of the Great Heaven Gate perished—

A faint white light began seeping from Jeong Yeon-shin’s body.

Shhhhhh—

Like a misty haze, it billowed outward, climbing up the deep crater he had formed before slowly sweeping down the mountain path.

A most peculiar kind of energy wave. The gentle sound of dirt shifting was eerily tranquil.

[That just now... don’t tell me—?]

So Cheonmujuk murmured.

Her dark-blue eyes suddenly glowed with an icy sharpness.

It was a gaze filled with the same piercing insight she had always possessed, even before Jeong Yeon-shin had developed his own Dark Vision.

Now, she no longer concealed her innate perception, a gift bestowed upon her by the heavens.

[Truly fascinating. The fact that you had something like that... and that you consumed it, in your condition, right in front of me.]

She had wiped away the smirk from her lips as she descended before him.

This was no longer a mere illusion.

It was the Ming Cult Leader herself.

She stood tall, her posture flawless. Though her figure remained semi-transparent, and though she was clad in the pristine white robes of a wandering ascetic, the sheer concentration of demonic energy coiled around her spine emanated a presence that could not be ignored.

The greatest prodigy beneath the heavens, Yalu Jin.

[Child.]

Her hair billowed like the black clouds of a stormy night.

It was as if her true self was stirring the very flow of Qi from some distant battlefield.

[Did you overlook the Void Between Forms? A Ming Cult Leader never takes more than two steps in battle.]

Jeong Yeon-shin sat cross-legged at the center of the crater.

Slowly, he parted his lips.

“Try casting it.”

[What?]

“I’ll crush your body to pieces.”

A voice that rumbled from deep within his throat.

His vocal cords scraped against each other as his internal energy surged, making him sound less like a man and more like a lion’s growl.

At the same time, an intensely white aura sparked at the nape of his neck, flashing like lightning.

It was mystic power.

[...You intend to crush my body?]

The Ming Cult Leader’s gaze thinned into slits.

[So you’ve already devised a countermeasure. Have you always had such a technique?]

“.......”

[I’ve been developing a strategy specifically to counter you, Jeong Yeon-shin. Let’s test it soon. I’m quite looking forward to it.]

Her voice was laced with amusement.

Jeong Yeon-shin did not respond.

A faint foreign presence had begun to settle within his body.

He had to withstand the flood of nightmarish whispers clawing at his mind.

It wasn’t even the complete core of an Imoogi—merely a fragment—and yet, it was already whispering inside his skull.

It felt like...

...like a lullaby.

A cradle song he had only ever heard in dreams.

A soft, warm voice wrapping around his consciousness, trying to smother him into unconsciousness.

What the hell is it saying...?

His eyelids felt unbearably heavy.

He was about to collapse.

But in stark contrast, his battered meridians were rapidly regaining their resilience.

Following the Jongga Divine Art, Bright Dharma Wheel Qi flowed freely within him. The divine essence embedded in the technique had grown stronger than ever.

A miraculous regenerative force surged through his body.

At the same time, a commanding presence echoed within his mind.

A voice told him:

"Since you now hold divine energy, you must sleep for an appropriate amount of time. This is how all elixirs work."

Jeong Yeon-shin muttered something he had once heard from Hyeon Won-chang, in the language of the Eastern Regions.

"Eat shit."

‘Mingmen. Dazhui. Tianzhu.’

He accelerated his Qi circulation from the Mingmen Acupoint on his lower back. A burning heat surged up along his lumbar spine.

Then—full-body shockwave.

He tensed the micro-muscles surrounding the Dazhui and Tianzhu Acupoints at the base of his neck.

As a result—

Thump—

The Baihui Acupoint at the crown of his head pulsed like a heartbeat. His boiling blood, now saturated with Qi, began to flow through his entire body.

His mind snapped into clarity.

This was the Great Circulation—a perfect fusion of blood and Qi.

Its flow was overwhelmingly fierce.

‘If I operate Bright Dharma Wheel Qi through the Jongga Divine Art... my meridians will recover within half a Shichen. If I disperse the Great Circulation through my microcapillaries and reconfigure the Qi pathways...’

He crushed the endless tide of drowsiness with sheer innate talent.

Even as he moved, he was already beginning to refine the spiritual essence of the Imoogi.

He staggered to his feet.

And in that moment—his movements exuded raw, predatory killing intent.

The air around him was heating up.

[...Madman.]

The Ming Cult Leader’s voice rang like a whisper of admiration.

Step.

Climbing out of the crater, Jeong Yeon-shin began walking.

Not up the mountain path.

Not toward the forest.

But straight toward the city—toward the distant silhouette of Yeomcheon Pavilion in Hangzhou.

His steps were calm, almost like those of a drunken man.

The only difference—

Every pebble that his foot brushed against was reduced to dust.

[I don’t understand.]

So Cheonmujuk watched, baffled.

[You’re choosing to walk into your own death...?]

She trailed behind him, floating lazily as if she were lounging in an imaginary throne, her legs crossed, her head tilted, following Jeong Yeon-shin’s back.

***

The Master of the Great Heaven Gate, So Mucheon, sat in silence within the grand banquet hall.

Reflected in his eyes was the boundless meeting of water and sky. A vast, unbroken landscape.

Perched atop the twenty-four-story pavilion, he gazed down upon a view granted only to those at the absolute pinnacle of Hangzhou.

"Damn it."

He was seated atop the roof of Yeomcheon Pavilion, a masterpiece crafted by the renowned artisans of the Iron Clan—a place where only the most influential figures of Hangzhou dared to set foot.

So Mucheon cursed inwardly but maintained a composed, dignified expression, carefully scanning his surroundings.

The very people who made his life a living hell were leisurely drinking.

A massive man, veins bulging on his hands, pulsing with deep-blue internal energy.

A woman with a sword strapped to her back, drinking straight from a bottle, her presence exuding deadly precision.

A lean youth, barely keeping his eyes open, nodding off as if burdened by the weight of all things.

"Dragon Force Sword Demon, Drunken Sword Tiger, Hidden Sword Absolute."

The Five Central Swordsmen of the Heavens.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

Just seeing one of them in a lifetime would be considered rare, yet three of them sat here, drinking together.

Were they planning to bring war to the Nine Orthodox Sects? The mere thought was enough to make So Mucheon’s spine turn to ice.

He had tried countless times to shut out his awareness, but every time he saw them clinking cups, he could not help but shudder.

"Damn it. Damn it all..."

So Mucheon was born in Hangzhou.

A city of recluses, pleasure-seekers, and eccentric martial artists—he had grown up watching bloodshed unfold in the alleys. It was inevitable, having been born into a land where countless power struggles overlapped.

His dream, however, was simple.

He wanted to drink in the daylight, shouting drunkenly in the streets.

More specifically, he wanted to make a scene and be dragged to prison by the city guards.

Without being trampled underfoot by the black-clad gangsters who ruled the streets.

Without being crushed by the so-called noble martial artists who saw commoners as less than insects.

That was why he had learned Qi-Dominating Aura Art—a third-rate technique meant to create the illusion of power, a mere tool for intimidation.

It was the best martial art he could obtain.

So Mucheon had wanted a peaceful Hangzhou, where no one dared draw their blades lightly. He wished for a world where blood did not have to be spilled.

That singular desire led him to achieve enlightenment beyond all expectations.

One day, as he devoted himself to his training, something bloomed within his tiny Dantian.

A phenomenon whispered of in legend—

If it is infused into a sword, it creates a Divine Blade.

If it is infused into martial arts, it amplifies /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ power and energy flow beyond limits. frёewebηovel.cѳm

He had become a warrior possessing divine essence.

With the sheer intimidation of his presence, he had subjugated Hangzhou.

Blademasters who mistook him for an undefeatable grandmaster had submitted without a fight, voluntarily surrendering their swords. His imposing stature and convincing speech had done the rest.

He spoke slowly.

"You’ve gathered me here, yet all you do is drink?"

("If you have no business with me, let me leave.")

His words and intentions were completely at odds.

So Mucheon had crawled his way up from the black alleys of Hangzhou.

He knew that even if you bow your head, you must never let them step on your neck—to be underestimated too much meant losing everything.

A massive man poured liquor into So Mucheon’s cup.

"Why so stiff?" The man's deep voice rumbled. "Do you not realize that Hangzhou runs because of you? No one here means you any harm. So drink up—I admire your steady presence."

He was Dragon Force Sword Demon of Heavenly Extreme Sect.

An absolute monster of martial prowess.

South of the Yangtze, his power was comparable to the Grand Duke of the Celestial Forest.

So Mucheon did not know his real name.

The swordsmen of Heavenly Extreme Sect did not use personal names.

They were only addressed by titles—or by their designated numbers.

Dragon Force Sword Demon was Number Three.

Across from them, the long-limbed woman and the frail-looking youth conversed.

Drunken Sword Tiger and Hidden Sword Absolute.

They, too, were part of the Five Central Swordsmen.

It was as if the world itself had shrunk, containing only the five of them.

"What do you think happened to Shinhwang?"

"You mean the Annihilation Blade Master? If he’s still alive, he probably lost at least an arm or a leg. The Lord would’ve noticed him."

"That’s unfortunate. You can’t reattach a head."

"Can you reattach an arm?"

"I’ve heard of a divine doctor here in Hangzhou. The old man’s got a terrible temper, but his medical skills and Qi restoration are unparalleled. Even the imperial family is searching for him."

"Then why don’t we just bring him into our sect...?"

"The Lord commanded us to respect him. Said his acupuncture is sharper than our swords."

"Doesn’t matter. Word is, he only treats who he wants."

So Mucheon had no idea why they had summoned him here, only to sit around drinking.

"Crazy bastards."

He thought to himself.

The swordsmen of Heavenly Extreme Sect were rumored to refine their sword arts with their lives on the line.

"Outsider Master... Mu Jin should never have trusted them."

When Taemosan Fortress first stepped foot in Hangzhou, So Mucheon had intended to immediately inform the Nine Great Clans and other major sects.

If not for the Outsider Master of Great Heaven Gate stopping him, he truly would have.

Back then, he had no idea.

That his own subordinate—a high-ranking officer within the sect—had betrayed him and sided with Taemosan Fortress.

It was already too late.

"The Dark Heaven Emperor."

That dreaded title was only bestowed upon those whose martial arts were immeasurable and whose methods were unfathomable.

If the Lord of Taemosan Fortress had perfected some great ritual, then Hangzhou was already doomed.

Rumor had it that it was "Tiger Dragon Invocation."

A forbidden technique—one that called down a dragon.

One of the chaotic entities that had disrupted the founding era of the empire.

They planned to use Hangzhou’s strong geomantic energy to summon it and ignite a rebellion.

The Dark Heaven Emperor, Cho Ryeol, was a man whose martial arts could reshape the world.

"Damn it. Damn it all!"

So Mucheon clenched his fists beneath the table.

And then—

The surroundings darkened.

A black mist billowed, curling around the pavilion’s peak like a cloud.

It was a sight like a dream.

From within the haze, the vague silhouette of a person appeared—then vanished.

The top-ranked swordsmen of Heavenly Extreme Sect halted, mid-drink.

"The host should not keep his guests waiting so long."

Dragon Force Sword Demon murmured.

A voice, smooth and composed, answered.

["My apologies. My father left me some duties to fulfill."]

The voices overlapped, each carrying different tones and pitches. It was as if multiple grandmasters had unleashed their full power simultaneously.

So Mucheon flinched.

‘The Dark Black Divine Hand, Chu Pae-gwang...!’

The Young Lord of Taemosan Fortress. The true ruler of Hangzhou.

He had never seen his face.

It was always hidden beneath that black mist.

According to the idle remarks of the Celestial Five Swordsmen of Cheon’gukmun, the pitch-black cloud surrounding Chu Pae-gwang was a defensive aura, woven through martial sorcery.

Even the keenest perception techniques of high-level masters struggled to penetrate its depths.

[Ah.]

The enormous black mist rippled.

[I see that the Lord of Daetian Gate is here as well. My deepest apologies.]

The Young Lord spoke with courtesy. Judging by his tone, he might have even clasped his hands in a martial salute within that black mist.

So Mucheon did not feel particularly honored.

He remembered those who had been utterly consumed by that black fog, leaving not even their corpses behind. He needed to escape this gathering of monstrous entities as soon as possible.

“My faction has faithfully responded to your request. A thousand sheets of Guihuang Paper will arrive shortly.”

[Good. Now, I ask that you seal the city gates. With your presence, you can completely isolate the front of Hangzhou.]

So Mucheon was aghast. These men truly intended to commit treason.

Blocking the gates of a city as vast as Hangzhou? That was not a decision to be made lightly.

“...Are you not afraid of Ipwang Fortress?”

[The Divine Sword Sect’s masters will not regroup. They are far too entangled with imperial politics.]

“The imperial army may rise against you. This is treason...!”

[Why should we fear a military force focused on the northern borders? Besides, all we need is a few days. We do not intend to wage a prolonged siege in Hangzhou.]

His response was unbearably composed, as if he relished this conversation.

Chu Ryeol’s belatedly recognized heir.

So Mucheon felt a sense of futility. Despite inheriting the bloodline of the Dark Heaven Emperor, he had surpassed even the leader of the Tri-Arts Seats, a man personally trained by the fortress lord, to take the position of Young Lord.

Refusal meant death.

The Celestial Five Swordsmen of Cheon’gukmun were watching So Mucheon with amused eyes.

Then, a voice interrupted.

“Is your father here?”

A woman’s voice.

It did not belong to anyone in the hall.

So Mucheon’s head snapped backward in alarm.

A figure was rising from the deepening twilight, as if it had emerged from the very ground.

A woman draped in a flowing pale pink robe over a pristine white martial uniform idly stroked the hilt of the sword at her waist.

Her sudden manifestation was almost divine. The word nangnang—a Daoist deity—instantly came to mind.

At that moment, the black mist surrounding Chu Pae-gwang violently trembled.

[...Yulha Nangnang, how reckless of you...]

“Deliver a message to your father. If he does not stop what he is doing immediately, he will face retribution.”

Yulha Nangnang rested her wrist on the hilt of her sword, radiating an effortless confidence.

“A monster... out of nowhere...!”

The presence of the Mount Hua Sect’s head was overwhelming.

Before anyone realized it, three elite swordsmen of Cheon’gukmun had positioned themselves around her, blades already half-drawn.

But none of them took a step back.

Three of the Celestial Five Swordsmen, along with the Young Lord of Taemosan Fortress.

A joint attack against Yulha Nangnang was worth considering. There was no room for retreat in this place.

The air wavered in distorted currents.

Without lifting their swords, the three Celestial Swordsmen of Cheon’gukmun had unleashed their sword force. The roof of the grand hall rumbled ominously.

Yulha Nangnang smirked.

“You dare try?”

[I anticipated the orthodox sects’ interference.]

A faint rustle.

Sheets of paper floated out of the black mist and landed on the table.

Each bore a single character: Plum, Forest, Dao... symbols of Mount Hua, Shaolin, and Wudang.

Among them was another character: Wasteland. It was a marking often used in military operations to designate a target.

[Truthfully, I had hoped for this. The orthodox sects, who claim to uphold order while feasting on the inner cores of all manner of monstrous beings... And of course, the ever-irritating Ipwang Fortress. I wanted their strongest warriors to gather in Hangzhou. No matter who comes, they will all meet their end.]

Yulha Nangnang did not respond. She merely tightened her grip on her sword hilt.

The sky darkened.

Beneath the grand hall, a subtle red glow began to rise.

[......!]

The greatest sword prodigy of the Nine Great Sects.

The youngest sect leader in history.

Yet, the voice of the Young Lord of Taemosan Fortress remained as smooth as ever.

[Honored guests of Cheon’gukmun, you must form the sword formation. Do not give her a chance to unleash the Violet Divine Art. In the meantime, I shall...]

The four sheets of paper—Plum, Forest, Dao, Wasteland—floated above the table and began to tear apart one by one.

Without even touching them, an invisible force shredded them with eerie precision.

To So Mucheon, this was a gathering of nothing but monsters.

[I shall lend my strength to the Howling Dragon Formation.]

Kuu-guung—!

A sudden tremor erupted beneath their feet.

For a moment, it was subtle.

But in the blink of an eye, it escalated into a violent quake, shaking the entire hall as if thunder had struck.

All the warriors wore expressions of confusion.

───!

A luminous figure, made of pure light, erupted from the ground like a blinding white lightning bolt.

It tore through the floor in an instant and cleaved the Young Lord’s black mist apart with a single, vertical stroke.