Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 309: Hyeon-won (4)

Salhyup’s black bamboo hat didn’t budge. The wide, slanted brim, reminiscent of a traditional woven hat, remained perfectly still—a testament to his internal turmoil.

Perched quietly on the corner of the bed, he struck an odd figure.

Looking down at him briefly, Hyeon Won-chang smirked.

“I understand. This level of divine power must be unimaginable in the ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) countryside.”

“...This is the most astonishing thing I’ve seen since my household was destroyed.”

He was at a loss for words, his expression caught between disbelief and exasperation.

Salhyup was a man brimming with confidence in all things. He made no effort to hide his astonishment.

In that fleeting moment, as he cast a sidelong glance at Hyeon Won-chang’s hand, a mix of emotions surfaced—shock, bewilderment, and even a faint trace of envy and jealousy.

“What the hell is this? There’s no way you could have grasped the fundamental structure of the technique’s energy flow in such a short time.”

Hah.

Hyeon Won-chang simply laughed. Salhyup’s brows knit together.

“I’ve heard the rumors about an auspicious martial art appearing in Ipwang Fortress. But of all people, you’re the one who’s attained Buddhist power or the Three Pure Forces of Daoism? I’d sooner believe you kept your mouth shut for seven whole days. No, no—scratch that. That’d be as believable as a restless fool like you practicing silence. I simply can’t accept it.”

“Is that really such a harsh thing to say?”

“Your martial arts must be incredible. You’ve certainly reaped the benefits of joining Ipwang Fortress. Meanwhile, your dear senior brother is nothing more than the minor leader of a backwater sect that’s never even roamed the martial world.”

“Well, I won’t argue that my martial arts are incredible. That’s an undeniable fact.”

Hyeon Won-chang curled his lips downward and shifted the conversation.

“But more importantly, didn’t you gather the scattered branches of your clan and establish a proper sect? Gold Execution Sect. I still don’t understand why, despite your achievements, you remain just a minor sect leader. Judging by your accomplishments alone, you’ve surpassed my father.”

“The Gatekeeper Clans of the Heavenly Demon Tomb are not exactly few in number. To be acknowledged as a sect master, I’d have to pass the trials of several core branches. But tell me, if the headquarters of an assassin sect were so easily identifiable, could it still be considered a true assassin’s sect? That scroll you so casually unsealed contained the locations of three branch safehouses and their corresponding recognition codes.”

“I have no interest in that. My restriction, then?”

Hyeon Won-chang swiftly cut him off. At the same time, Salhyup’s exposed mouth curved into an unreadable smile.

“Seon-hwi. You were the last remaining direct descendant. The sect master of the Execution Sect and the head of the Gold Clan must be acknowledged by the branches, lifting their restrictions one by one. Once all trials are passed, they become the sect master.”

“I am Hyeon Won-chang of Ma Gwang-ik. Surely, even you wouldn’t expect me to follow that path.”

“Who knows? Regardless of what the clan elders say, the former clan head considered you his son. Keep that in mind.”

“I never once called him ‘father,’ so what does it matter...?”

With that, Hyeon Won-chang fell silent.

His thoughts, hazy like remnants of a dream, turned toward sensing his comrades' presence. From beyond the inner quarters, a familiar fluctuation of energy was detected.

A martial technique designed to drag his attention away—just as he was about to let go of thoughts of his clan.

***

Gwang-ye-gyeol

It was a divine technique. Not merely in the sense of the one practicing it, but the martial art itself. Even without spiritual energy imbued into it, it was still considered a supreme divine technique.

Much like Mancheon Hwawu, which was revered as an unparalleled secret art.

"Internal energy is the refinement of natural qi, drawn in and tempered within the body. Natural qi exists outside of practitioners, occurring spontaneously without artificial influence. Qi is the force that moves, and the essence of force lies in its application, encompassing all directional functions. As for application... you surely understand already."

This was the introduction to Gwang-ye-gyeol.

Its wording was simple—making it all the more difficult.

It carefully laid out the absolute fundamentals, yet at the same time, it spoke of bizarre internal energy flows as if they were the most natural thing in the world.

As a result, most of Ma Gwang-ik's warriors struggled to master Gwang-ye-gyeol.

The text wavered between consideration and arrogance, its words entangling themselves in a mess of repetition.

But Ma Gwang-ik’s warriors, when out of the Grand Master’s sight, continued their grueling efforts. And even then, none of them were anything less than prodigies—otherwise, it wouldn’t have been possible.

The elite of Ipwang Fortress were already diligent by nature, but training in Gwang-ye-gyeol made their morning technique drills an absolute necessity.

It was a stroke of luck that Gwang-ye-gyeol could be integrated with Ma Gwang-gyeol and Seomye Martial Veins.

Outdoors.

Beneath a towering cliff, in the dim light of an early morning.

The air had grown crisper, gently marking the passage of time. Tae Yeom-ryong, who had been dusting off his hands without much thought, smirked.

In truth, he was the one who had mastered Gwang-ye-gyeol with the greatest ease among Ma Gwang-ik.

“Our Grand Master still doesn’t realize, does he? That he’s crafted a flawless technique so refined, even self-study is effortless.”

His long bangs hung over his face, emphasizing the dark circles under his eyes.

No one would take him for a prodigy at first glance. Yet, despite his sluggish demeanor, his innate presence still carried the air of nobility.

“Well, there’s no denying it’s a divine technique... Haap!”

With a sharp crack, Shin So-bin’s straight punch shattered the air. Shi-hwa Muguk-gwon’s Stonewall Form.

Her silk-like hair and sleeves rippled in sync with the powerful surge of energy.

But Tae Yeom-ryong only spared her a brief glance before continuing his train of thought.

“Such devotion. It’s dizzying, really. Our Grand Master is held in reverence, yet still treated like the youngest sibling... Ma Gwang-ik was once infamous as a den of specters.”

“A scoundrel like you wouldn’t understand familial bonds.”

“Isn’t it strange, though? I’m officially a Blue Rank warrior of Ipwang Fortress, yet why does it still feel like I’m wearing some nameless rag? The hierarchy in Ma Gwang-ik seriously needs reevaluating.”

“No doubt. Just look at Senior Hwangbo’s attitude toward the Grand Master.”

“There must be a hidden technique among Ma Gwang-ik’s exclusive martial arts—Tongue Arts. I must be the only one unaware of it. Wonchang, am I right?”

“Hyeon Won, sir.”

From the shadowed pavilion, Hyeon Won-chang emerged.

Step.

The distinct, near-silent footfalls of an assassin cut through the crisp dawn air.

They had all heard the news. Zhuge Clan’s patriarch had been assassinated, and the entire Sanseo region was in an uproar.

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Now, they were to follow the map drawn on the scroll and face their first trial.

To become Jeong Yeon-shin’s Hoshin Ganggi as warriors of Ma Gwang-ik.

Salhyup, Hyeon Won-chang, Tae Yeom-ryong, Shin So-bin.

They moved as one.

***

People often referred to Sanseo as "Jin" for short. This was because, in ancient times, it had been the land of the Jin Dynasty.

Taiyuan was the provincial capital of Sanseo and the former capital of Jin—a vast metropolis, deeply rooted in history, as the birthplace of civilization and martial arts along the Yellow River.

The land itself was immense.

Mysteries, martial legacies, and the hidden layers of untold history still pulsed within it.

A city of tens of thousands, where countless factions moved in both the light and the shadows, their activities weaving an intricate dance of power.

Thus, when flocks of birds suddenly burst from the distant mountains, no one paid them any heed.

A forest overlooking the enormous city.

Rustle.

A woman, draped in a red cloak, stood atop a high branch, her ebony-black hair cascading down her back.

Her skin was pale—almost ghostly white—and her single red eye shimmered eerily as she gazed downward at an ancient inn nestled within the city.

Chil Sado parted her lips.

"Those people... can I kill them?"

"You still insist on speaking in that eerie tone. Why ask me?"

A voice responded from a nearby thicket. Standing on a floating sword was a figure with stark white hair, radiating an oppressive presence—Baek Seo-goon, the Sword Master.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste, refusing to even glance at Chil Sado.

Her gaze remained fixed on the inn, several hundred meters beyond the city walls.

A smooth, curved smile formed on Chil Sado's lips.

"Because you deserve respect."

That was all she said. She didn't elaborate further.

The leaves, beginning to take on a faint green hue, flickered at their feet.

Baek Seo-goon didn't bother questioning or trying to understand. The realm of the Sa Ma outsiders was a world of lunatics.

Martial artists, each consumed by their own twisted values.

Among them, the true-blooded Scarlet Clan (赤氏) were known among the highest echelons of the martial world as creatures obsessed with Muguk—the pinnacle of martial arts.

No one had been surprised when that girl ascended to the rank of an Apostle. She was simply different from the rest.

Saaah—

A cold wind swept through the forest like a rolling tide, and Baek Seo-goon silently observed the distant entrance of the inn.

"He called himself Taesa, didn’t he?"

Had Jeong Yeon-shin been his enemy, he would have moved to behead him immediately. But if this madness-driven obsession was fixated on Seomye's martial potential, then a bodyguard like this was invaluable.

Baek Seo-goon had long since decided not to shatter Seomye’s shield.

After all, the Sword Master of Hunan would soon have to return to Sim Mu-ryeon.

"Why aren’t you leaving?"

"What?"

"Some insignificant nobodies just followed my precious Taesa inside."

"A Ma Gwang-ik Master from Ipwang Fortress appearing alongside me wouldn’t be a good look. And what about you? Lurking in the shadows like a petty thief, stalking Seomye."

"Taesa doesn’t like me."

Her voice wavered slightly, as if murmuring to herself.

It wasn't hesitation or fear—rather, it was the tone of a child reciting martial theory before elders, uncertain if they were saying it correctly.

Baek Seo-goon let out an exasperated sigh at the pitiful sight of her small, downcast head, but he didn’t voice his thoughts.

Who could truly understand a Blood Fiend obsessed with martial arts from birth?

For a while, the two simply stood there.

Until, suddenly, a colossal shadow loomed over them.

Whoosh—!

The sunlight vanished from the forest.

There had been no warning. No qi fluctuations.

It was as if a pillar of thunder had crashed down from a clear sky.

A presence so massive it could only be described as absolute—a force so completely contained that its sheer lack of energy itself became overwhelming.

A being known as Supreme War Emperor, had finally appeared to reclaim his one and only right hand.

With an aura so eerily transparent, it sent shivers down the spine.

"An unexpected gathering. What brings you here?"

Just before a voice, seemingly dredged up from the depths of the earth, could reverberate through the air, Jeong Yeon-shin could be seen inside the distant inn, practicing Sword Control Arts against a group of martial artists.

If he was to carve his way through the treacherous martial world with a wounded body, he would need an entirely different set of skills.

A Ruined Manor

Three figures landed atop an old tiled wall.

Before them lay a vast estate with a grand main hall, annex buildings, an outhouse, and a small well—an expanse of land divided into separate quarters. The site was eerily empty, having seen little human presence since the recent catastrophe.

It was the very place that had withstood the clash between Zhuge Clan’s patriarch and Flame Lotus Manifestation (Yeonhwa Nata).

It was said that when masters of the highest caliber fought, even nature itself bore the scars.

The Gongya Clan.

The air was desolate. Even the insects had fallen silent.

Though the midday sun shone brightly overhead, there was an unmistakable chill in the atmosphere, one that harmonized far too well with the ruins before them.

One of the three figures, a swordsman clad in jet-black robes, finally spoke.

"The Grand Snow Sword of Ma Gwang-ik is said to always follow its master. If Ma Gwang-ik's leader was here, then unless an extremely rare exception occurred, the sword should have manifested here as well. Search for it."

"Master, Ma Gwang-ik’s Seomye seems to have surpassed our expectations. This could be a significant variable."

"The Zhuge patriarch’s assassination is gradually proving to be fact. However, Ma Gwang-ik’s martial prowess has already been demonstrated in the Murim Alliance’s Gae Pa Daejeon tournament. Even if his growth has been extraordinary, there’s no way he could have faced Zhuge Cheonsang’s Resurrected Dragon Style and walked away unscathed. He must be severely injured."

"Understood. I shall obey."

They moved with elegance befitting their noble upbringing. Even as the two swordsmen shifted their footing to launch themselves forward, their refined movements bore the dignity of an aristocratic martial lineage.

As the profound energy of Noble Body Fortification Technique rippled through their robes, forming long, elegant folds—

"I sensed the foul energy of the Mo Yong Clan, so I decided to take a look."

A voice, exuding raw and unrestrained power, tore through the air.

"What the—!"

The three swordsmen spun around in shock at the sudden presence.

And there, they saw a man.

For a moment, it was as if his existence had been branded onto their retinas like a searing afterimage.

His figure was burned into their sight—not because of intent, but because his presence was simply impossible to ignore.

"Who... are you?"

The middle-aged swordsman in black hesitated, scrutinizing the intruder.

His jet-black hair was cut short in a rough, unkempt manner. His facial features were strikingly sharp, his frame exuding a suffocating, ironclad solidity.

His entire being gave the impression of a massive fortress—a presence so overwhelming that it couldn’t be measured through mere internal energy.

The transcendence emanating from him was completely unfiltered, rolling off him in waves.

"I am ignorant of the ways of this world. Speak. Only about Seomye."

His tone was that of a young man.

Yet his words carried the weight of someone ancient.

Step.

Above the rough leather shoes he wore—

The long hem of his robe shimmered with a faint, rosy hue.