Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 305: Softened Nezha (4)

The grain fields were dying.

Boom!

Amidst the dazzling sunlight scattering over the white snow, flashes of crimson and ashen light clashed and dispersed in an erratic rhythm.

Amid the shattered remnants of sword energy, the snowy ground constantly overturned.

These were supreme masters, extending their movements far. The moment they were repelled dozens of feet away by the recoil, they instantly clashed again in an endless cycle.

The shadowy palms of Bloodshadow Rakshasa Hand intertwined with the Dual Sword Energy of the Eight Illusions Divine Art, creating a chaotic web of strikes between blade and hand.

Zzzeong—!

Sparks scattered across the black eyepatch embroidered with golden silk.

It happened the moment she grasped the entire sword body with her pale hand.

The gusting sword energy stormed forward, violently tossing her hair back, while the divine sword she had seized pressed steadily toward her chest.

“I heard the Bloodflame Cult Leader twisted the teachings of Buddha into something monstrous. Your palm techniques are just the same.”

The wielder of the floating sword spoke from beyond its hilt.

He was tall, his limbs long. An unmistakable swordsman of impeccable stature.

The hem of his ashen robe stretched all the way to his feet, and the short-cropped, gray-white hair on the nape of his neck stood out with its striking color.

Time had not left its mark on his face—it was beautiful. Yet, his sharp and fierce expression made his features feel completely detached from his surroundings.

She stared coldly at the left hand of Chil Sado.

Unlike her other hand, which had blocked the blade, this one bore no trace of energy reinforcement.

Yet Baek Seo-goon, the Youngcheon Sword Demon, did not let his guard down, even with his sword floating freely. The martial arts of the Bloodflame Cult were unpredictable—there was no telling when some grotesque technique would surface.

But there was another reason he was speaking.

As the Sword Lord of the Unorthodox Path, he knew the power of provocation all too well.

"Bloodshadow Rakshasa Hand. For something named after a Rakshasa, it lacks depth. It resembles a bloodthirsty ghoul more than a guardian of Buddhist law."

Rumble—

The floating sword trembled. The force pushing forward and the power holding it in place clashed in a tense equilibrium. The snow beneath them billowed in a constant, hazy mist.

Chil Sado's lips curled slightly.

“Your understanding of the martial world seems pretty shallow. True Bloodline Arts don’t involve vampirism.”

“The blood fiends under your command are nothing but lowly beasts.”

“That’s why I’m getting rid of them. Those pesky Shanxi insects are almost all dead. Maybe I’ll head to Henan next. Or Xinjiang, who knows?”

“Madwoman.”

“Are you sure I’m the crazy one? You’re the one who launched the first attack out of nowhere. Seems like you don’t want a peaceful death.”

“The prattle of an underling has its merits.”

“No, no, maybe I should call you Grandmother instead? How much older are you than Ipwang Divine Spear?”

“Young whelp, you know nothing of respect. I can see how you were raised. That lack of refinement shows in your martial arts as well.”

Screeeech—!

The screeching friction of steel grew louder. It came from the sword still gripped in Chil Sado’s hand.

Even with her internal energy and defensive techniques reinforcing her, there was a limit to how long she could contain this transcendent sword technique.

Blood began to drip from her fingers as they clutched the blade.

“If anything happens to my Taesa while I’m here playing with you...”

Was it the pain? Chil Sado’s laughter deepened, and the madness on her lips darkened as well.

“If my Taesa, who hasn’t even lived half your years, dies here... I will pour every suffering in existence into your body.”

Her voice was deranged. She whispered venomously.

“I will fill your veins with needles and sever each of your meridians, strand by strand. I’ll make every fiber of your muscles scream in pain. And before I move on to shattering your bones piece by piece, I’ll turn you into a Blood Fiend so you can regenerate. You will never be allowed to die.”

The murderous intent lacing her voice was suffocating. The uncontrolled surges of energy flickering at the edge of her lips radiated pure hostility.

Yet the piercing gleam in Baek Seo-goon's eyes remained sharp—black lightning flashing within them.

“...Taesa?”

His brows furrowed. The Dual Sword Energy halted in place.

“Are you referring to Seomye?”

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It was after he had seen the Leader of the Eight Noble Clans attacking Jeong Yeon-shin.

The situation was urgent. It no longer mattered what misunderstandings there were or what motives lay hidden.

What mattered was that precious time was being wasted in this meaningless exchange.

The more they continued trading blows, the clearer the conclusion became—they needed to move first.

There was no more room for debate.

Baek Seo-goon barely concealed his words.

“...I am that child's... wet nurse.”

“...What?”

And just like that—

A most peculiar alliance was formed.

Baek Seo-goon soared through the sky atop his sword, while Chil Sado kicked off the ground at a blinding speed, both keeping a wary eye on each other.

They raced straight toward the Gongya Manor, their destination mere moments away.

By the time they arrived, the air was eerily silent.

The first thing they confirmed was the absence of any lingering clashes of energy.

Then, they saw it—Zhuge Gaju’s protective formation had vanished without a trace.

Finally, they ascended high into the air—just in time to witness a headless corpse.

A body clad in pure white silk, untouched by any who dared approach.

“...That Zhuge bastard is dead. How?”

“My Taesa must have done it. Like a dazzling cluster of stars.”

“...Not you.”

Baek Seo-goon cast a sidelong glance. Beneath her feet, the sword hummed, as if restraining itself from striking.

Chil Sado was descending slowly, her crimson Pureblood Robe billowing with both arms spread wide.

A hushed prayer, drenched in rapture, seeped from her small, upturned head.

She drifted downward toward the battlefield, gazing at Seomye, who was locked in a standoff with some arrogant noble lounging in a sedan chair. The way she moved was not unlike a sly, predatory bat—elegant features notwithstanding.

Ipwang Fortress has many enemies.

If the Seventh Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult truly intended to protect Seomye, it was best to let her be. But she would have to be watched. For a long time.

Baek Seo-goon's eyes darkened for an instant.

“A long time, huh.”

Perhaps it was a meaningless thought.

She was the Sword Lord of Simmuryun. She could not follow Seomye forever.

She had just crushed the Grand Prince of Simmuryun, who had been throwing flirtatious glances her way, and the longer she stayed out, the deeper the sect leader’s fury would become.

“What must I do to earn that child’s recognition?”

She was the same as Zhuge Gaju. She knew herself. As an unorthodox swordswoman and master of the blade, her temperament was twisted beyond repair.

Her pride as Henan’s Sword Lord would never allow her to accept her past mistakes.

She wanted the favor of someone who resembled Jeong Ban-ak, yet was far more aloof. Someone who would elevate the standing of the once-disputed Baek Seo-goon beyond its past.

At the very least, she had gained a reason to stand at the forefront. Now, she had to finish her business abroad quickly.

***

Meanwhile, an event of grave importance unfolded—completely unrelated to the matter of Zhuge Gaju.

In the realm of governance, an official of Rank One was not simply someone who arrived at a place—they descended upon it.

A Deputy Grand Marshal overseeing military affairs was an entity akin to a god, one not easily granted an audience.

Absolute masters were military assets akin to northern legions, and as such, they inevitably drew the scrutiny of the highest-ranking officials.

“We come from the Office of the Five Armies Commander-in-Chief. This is the procession of the Deputy Grand Marshal.”

Step.

Four swordsmen, clad in blue court robes, carried a sedan chair into the war-torn ruins of Ipwang Fortress, coming face-to-face with its highest-ranking masters, who were barely standing.

There were two men and two women, and none of them were anything less than formidable warriors.

Even in the presence of the Black Enforcers of the Divine Sword Corps, who radiated a suffocating aura, they stood with unshaken composure.

“You must have heard the announcement already.”

The man who seemed to be their leader—the one in the blue robe—finally spoke.

“I assume you were simply too busy to pay heed.”

“Huh?”

Ak Su-rim, who had been watching them with evident distaste, shifted her weight onto one leg.

“Our Seomye must have lost his grip. As you can see, we’ve just been through a battle. Zhuge Gaju, who had completed his formation array, was the opponent. I’d say it’s quite the accomplishment that he managed to kill him while still breathing. Something the Changwae couldn’t even dream of.”

She flicked her gaze toward the sedan chair.

Imperial Secret Police was the collective term for the Eastern Depot and the Embroidered Guard—the imperial secret police and military enforcers.

Shhhhh—

A dry wind swept across the desolate battlefield, carrying the lingering traces of the battle into the distance.

Deputy Grand Marshal Jiang Cuihui leaned against the backrest of his sedan, which was decorated with silver inlays.

The brim of his black court hat cast a shadow over his face. Over his formal robes, he wore a fur-lined coat—an unconventional but fitting choice for a man of his striking appearance.

Perhaps he was of mixed Han and Mongol descent, for his slightly pointed ears left an impression of sharpness.

He was the third most revered figure in the Office of the Five Armies Commander-in-Chief, overseeing the empire’s military power.

A Rank One official, one who looked down on even the most renowned generals.

His direct superiors were none other than the Left and Right Commanders-in-Chief, both of Highest Rank One.

“......”

He cast a sidelong glance at the severed head of Zhuge Gaju.

The sight of the decapitated corpse made it difficult to associate the man with the transcendence of an absolute master.

Even seeing it with his own eyes, it was hard to believe.

It was a damn shame.

Zhuge Tianshang may have been a lunatic among martial artists, but he had never laid a hand on civilians. The reason was obvious.

It was to ensure that the military did not turn against him, just as the Ipwang Fortress had.

“I knew he was a rare breed of bastard from the start. The intelligence reports from the Dongchang were invaluable.”

And yet, there had been a reason he was welcomed to Shanxi.

Using poison to fight poison.

Ipwang Fortress was strong, but its influence did not extend throughout all of Zhongyuan. Zhuge Gaju had been a useful tool to control the marauding martial artists of Shanxi, whose mere existence was a headache for the government.

Martial artists are nuisances. Even in times of peace, they tarnish the authority of imperial soldiers.

Jiang Cuihui felt his blood boil.

“How dare they.”

The moment he sensed Zhuge Gaju’s life force flicker, he had immediately ordered his men to move.

But the blade had already fallen.

Even the declaration of his arrival—of the third highest authority in military governance—had not deterred them.

This was unacceptable.

It did not matter if they were the masters of Ipwang Fortress.

Those who upheld the law of the empire could not be allowed to treat a highest-ranking official with such blatant disregard.

They should have awaited his judgment before executing their sentence.

Jiang Cuihui turned his gaze downward from the sedan chair.

“......”

His fury abated.

For he had locked eyes with a youth whose noble bearing could have belonged to a member of the imperial family.

No, not a boy. A swordsman standing on the precipice between youth and adulthood.

Jiang Cuihui was no provincial official.

He was directly connected to Beijing’s central political sphere, privy to the fastest and most accurate intelligence in the empire.

That meant he had naturally kept up with the Divine Sword Corps’ Seventeenth Lord, down to his facial structure and affiliations.

The personal records of Ipwang Fortress’ Black Enforcers were classified as state secrets.

Even the imperial family ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) and the Changwae were among the few with access, making it exceedingly difficult to learn their personal connections.

“Ma Gwang-ik’s Seomye. The one favored by the Crown Prince.”

A direct disciple of the Master of Ipwang Fortress. The Crown Prince’s sworn brother.

The same one who had removed the eunuch Myeong-yeo from his position without lifting a finger.

Arrogant. Unrestrained.

A man who, the moment he ascended to the Black Ranks, had beheaded a Zhifu Daein.

And, as it turned out, he was of Ipwang Ma Clan lineage.

Everything made sense.

“A descendant of the Peerless Tyrant. The one who killed Zhuge Gaju.”

He was now the closest thing to Ipwang Fortress’ Purple Rank.

In the government office, this was an absolute rank referred to as Yama. There was no one to replace him.

Since the absolute masters among the imperial family could not leave the Forbidden City, he effectively held a position of supreme authority, acknowledged by the empire itself.

On the other hand, countless individuals in Beijing coveted the position of Deputy Grand Marshal.

"The Pacifying Hero of the past... left Eunuch Sarye paralyzed."

After a heated argument with the head of the Eastern Depot, Western Depot, and Grand Internal Surveillance Bureau, he had struck like lightning.

Yet the matter was swiftly buried. Those who dared to even whisper about it were dragged away by the Eastern Depot. With the emperor's tacit approval, it was covered up.

From then on, the Pacifying Hero was regarded not only as a government official but also as a demon god. Deputy Grand Marshal Jiang Cuihui had once caught a glimpse of Ma Yeon-jeok's face. It was utterly terrifying.

This was a world where martial arts ran rampant.

A military official of Senior First Rank had to be an elite master, having opened all three dantian points.

A series of thoughts flashed through his mind like lightning, flowing through the upper dantian using the Five Elements Rebinding Divine Mind Technique.

"Logically, I should punish them all. His Majesty despises flattery."

The Deputy Grand Marshal was unquestionably superior to the Black Ranks of Ipwang Fortress.

In terms of both authority and rank, his position could easily be counted among the top ten in the imperial bureaucracy.

It was also a matter of pride for Jiang Cuihui, built over years of service.

Having lived his life for the people, he had nothing to feel guilty about.

Jiang Cuihui looked down at Ma Gwang-ik with a heavy gaze, pondering how to handle him.

As he stared, the recent rumors about the Pacifying Hero surfaced in his mind.

This was a moment of crucial decision.

Then—

"I greet the Deputy Grand Marshal."

Jeong Yeon-shin calmly raised his fists in salute, gripping his sword upside-down in one hand. He had just emerged from an intense battle.

The lingering exhilaration from the fight had not yet subsided, making him momentarily neglect his posture.

Jiang Cuihui's shoulders twitched slightly, a gesture filled with authority.

The watching noble families murmured among themselves.

"The greatest martial prodigy in a hundred years, isn't he? That young lord of the Bright Sect couldn't have reached this level. He looks like a war god riding a lotus flower. The underlings weren't exaggerating."

"War god on a lotus?"

"It's a reference to Buddhist mythology. Prince Nezha, the Battle God, is said to have appeared atop a lotus. He just killed Zhuge Clan's patriarch—no title would be an exaggeration."

"Are you mad?! Keep your voice down! This is Senior First Rank we’re talking about! Calling him a prince... and with that look on his face already..."

"Did he just give a sword salute to a government official? They say he enjoys provoking people..."

"There may be few in the martial world who can stop the War God on a Lotus now... but the government is different. That etiquette may be fitting for a martial artist, but for the highest-ranking military official..."

As discussions about Ma Gwang-ik and the Deputy Grand Marshal of the Five Army Command unfolded, Jiang Cuihui silently observed.

'These noble fools. They'll be dead soon enough.'

His face hardened in irritation as he stepped down from his sedan chair. The celestial silk of his official robe rustled lightly against a tree, a sound that invited silence.

"My name is Jiang Cuihui. I serve as Deputy Grand Marshal."

His voice was slow, imbued with the weariness of a Senior First Rank official.

Ma Gwang-ik lowered his fists.

"Ipwang Fortress, Jeong Yeon-shin."

A strange tension stretched across the air.

The power struggle between Ipwang Fortress and the military was no recent matter.

Anyone with a shred of knowledge understood it well.

In this moment, every pause between words seemed to carve itself into the atmosphere.

"I know. Of course, I do."

Jiang Cuihui nodded lightly, his voice carrying a formal tone. He had already made up his mind.

"You don't quite have the face of a war god, but those limbs of yours are long enough to make you a proper swordsman. You were born for it. How old are you?"

"My age, you mean?"

"Would I be asking about the Ipwang Divine Spear's age instead? I don't have time for nonsense."

"Seventeen...."

"Well done!"

The Deputy Grand Marshal raised his hand and placed it firmly on Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder.

"The true Divine Sword of the nation is right here!"