Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 343: Ranked Competition (4)

Jeong Yeon-shin needed to prepare before setting out.

He ate a lot. Recognizing him immediately with perception rivaling that of the Yullyeong Division Lord, Cheongmyeong, the Azure Serpent Sword, instructed the servants to bring in more cooks.

Thus, the banquet at Ma Gwang-ik’s residence, with Shin Geom Division Vice Lord Ak Su-rim in attendance, began.

The warriors of Ma Gwang-ik, inheritors of Seomye's martial lineage, were well accustomed to the dignified speech and the luminous aura characteristic of the Division Lords.

They were unfamiliar yet welcoming of the matured presence of their lord.

This was home.

And it had to be, for everyone in Ma Gwang-ik.

Upon returning, Jeong Yeon-shin immediately turned his attention to Baek Mi-ryeo. It was inevitable—her older sister had been the fallen Lord of Sunmuryun.

She had lost her kin to the Holy Church’s young sect leader, a figure increasingly regarded as the embodiment of monstrous and divine forces alike.

Just as Baek Mi-ryeo and the warriors of Ma Gwang-ik had filled Jeong Yeon-shin’s solitude, he, too, wished to be her support.

— "Our paths diverged. There is no room for sympathy."

As always, Baek Mi-ryeo remained cold.

As a successor of the Heavenly Demon lineage, a disciple of the One Sword Killing Evil, and a warrior dedicated to the people's welfare, her temperament aligned with that of the warriors of Ipwang Fortress. Each of them was distinct in character, yet they shared a common ethos.

— "Still... if an assignment ever takes you westward, I’d like to go, even if only alone. I must visit the grave at least once."

At that time, Jeong Yeon-shin had simply nodded in silence.

While Ak Su-rim poured him an overflowing cup, which he quietly burned away with Threefold Incineration, his mind was already contemplating the team for his next mission.

‘Hyungnim and Hye-a must be well. The commander who went to Shaolin as well...’

The fabric of his sleeve brushed against the marble tabletop, its texture rough under his fingertips.

As he moved towards the door, he paid no attention to Chilsa-do.

His newly tempered body never went against the will of his martial instincts, but it constantly aroused various sensations and impulses, including hunger. Enduring such things was part of adulthood.

He opened the door and spoke.

"The breath regulation technique should have yielded results."

Rustle.

The response came sluggishly. A deliberate delay. The shifting presence on the bed seemed intentional. Chilsa-do’s mannerisms kept Jeong Yeon-shin lingering in his office longer than he intended.

"Our Taesa only taught you the second phrase, right? I memorized up to that point."

"There were fifteen."

"Looks like I forgot again. Those Simmu-ryeon bastards, aren’t they just the worst?"

Hundreds of them swarming like ants, launching their combined assault.

Her voice was soft and unhurried, but Jeong Yeon-shin had long mastered the ability to discern truth from falsehood in Chilsa-do’s words and actions.

Even with her mastery of disguise, deception, and misdirection, it was the same.

She was lying.

"You’re not a monkey."

"Huh?"

"Don’t move recklessly. The imperial princess you crippled—Ju Yeon-jeong—could have built a formidable faction by now. People like her cannot be judged solely by martial skill."

And it was true. Despite being exiled by her grandfather, she had managed to reemerge.

Among the imperial figures Jeong Yeon-shin had encountered, there was not a single one who wasn’t adept at navigating power.

Even if Ju Yeon-jeong had lost her martial prowess, she should never be dismissed as a mere scarecrow.

He had meant to warn Chilsa-do against catching her attention.

"Then I just won’t be seen, right?"

She responded with a light chuckle.

Jeong Yeon-shin left the room without answering.

It was absurd—both unreliable and reassuring at the same time.

After all, Chilsa-do was an unparalleled master of the Bloodflame Cult’s Divine Phantom Steps.

She had pushed one of the four greatest movement techniques in the world to its absolute limit.

If she truly concealed herself, only a few of the most perceptive warriors among the Black Ranks could possibly find her.

‘No matter what happens...’

Even if something did go wrong, Jeong Yeon-shin’s accumulated achievements, martial prowess, and rightful claims would be more than enough to handle it.

He had not forgotten the sight of his grandfather speaking of "uniqueness" in the presence of imperial blood.

Even the gratitude he expressed toward his grandson had been as dignified as the man himself.

"Be safe."

With Chilsa-do’s farewell behind him, Jeong Yeon-shin stepped out of the residence.

Beyond matters of debt and gratitude, he contemplated how he should handle her.

***

Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent as he listened to the report. The world's martial landscape had changed drastically during his absence, shifting like the tides of an unsteady sea.

Inside the Grand Overseer’s Hall.

“The Namgung Clan’s First Sword has been seen moving alongside the Young Lord of Yeo Ryeong,” a well-groomed scholar reported. “There are also rumors that the Lord of Amya Battlefront made contact with them in Namjigye, just after completing his recuperation. This coincides with the moment the Peng Clan requested aid from the Singeom Danju.”

Sitting at the cracked round table was Grand Overseer Im Jin-myeong.

Jeong Yeon-shin took in the explanation without interruption. There was much he needed to learn about the shifting political and martial climate to secure the safety of Ipwang Fortress.

He finally spoke.

“...Weren’t the two members of the Thirteen Heavens already defeated by the Danju’s Yonghwan Sword? If the Lord of Amya Battlefront has risen from his sickbed, we must also consider the possibility that the Lord of Muryeong might have recovered as well.”

“The Namgung Clan’s First Sword and the Lord of Muryeong leading the vanguard together... a more dreadful scenario is hard to imagine,” the Grand Overseer admitted. “However, the Lord of Amya Battlefront is rumored to possess a secret technique, a hidden art of his fading noble lineage. Meanwhile, the Lord of Muryeong is nothing but a lunatic who has only his martial prowess to rely on. That arrogant madman would have no reason to share such techniques—at least, not with the Lord of Amya Battlefront.”

He shook his head before continuing.

“The unorthodox and demonic factions have never truly worked together.”

“And yet, here they are, taking advantage of the famine.”

“...There’s little choice,” the Grand Overseer admitted bitterly. “The minor sects, and even some of the larger factions, have begun outright rebellion. The world is closer to chaos than ever before. You wouldn’t have seen it firsthand, having just returned from Shanxi near the northern capital, but things are different elsewhere. At this point, all we can rely on is the judgment and strength of Lord Yong.”

Jeong Yeon-shin said nothing.

“While the people starve to death or fall to raiders, the royal court sends its envoys, leaving us uncertain of where to place our priorities.”

The Grand Overseer’s words carried a tone of frustration. Jeong Yeon-shin recalled the man whose sword he had crushed beneath his foot. The legitimate heir of Prince Gongmyeong, a distant relative of the current Emperor—he went by the name Sword Prince Ju Cheol.

“What business does the royal court have with us?”

“They want us to handle the northern front—the lands ruled by the Yojok and the Divine Possessed.”

“Didn’t the Three Grand Martial Masters of the Imperial Family receive direct orders from His Majesty to march out?”

“They did, and yet, it is not an unreasonable request. Recently, fertile lands have fallen under their control... and the northern territories are vast, after all.”

Manpower was lacking, and the situation surrounding the fortress was far from ideal.

Despite appearing to celebrate with endless banquets, Ipwang Fortress was simply trying to boost morale. The so-called festivities at Hwanik Pavilion were little more than desperate measures by the martial elites to keep spirits high.

Jeong Yeon-shin glanced up at the broken ceiling, where sunlight filtered through the cracks.

“Enough Black Rank warriors have gathered, haven’t they?” he said at last. “The assignments should be distributed quickly.”

He had no intention of staying in the fortress for long.

This was unlike before. The Grandmasters {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} who had vanished during the assassination mission against the Young Lord of the Ming Cult had all been warriors who had exchanged blades with him in the past.

Fellow disciples.

The name So Cheonmujuk Yalu Jin echoed in his mind, urging his impatience.

“As you heard, excluding those stationed to guard the fortress, we must choose between two major assignments—North or Ming Cult. No one among the Black Rank is willing to take the northern front. Everyone thinks as you do. The royal court’s grain stores mean little compared to our comrades.”

“I heard there was to be a contest. When multiple Grandmasters wish to claim the same mission.”

“Yes. A general agreement has already been reached, though I doubt Sword Prince Ju will be pleased.”

“There will be no duels.”

“Of course not. Not everyone possesses your mastery of short-term decisive combat. We cannot afford to waste time on drawn-out duels over assignments. It will be settled quickly. The moment you and Vice Lord Ak depart, they will finalize their decision.”

Jeong Yeon-shin understood what was being implied. Not all conflicts among the Grandmasters were settled through battle.

He recalled the sight of Hahoe Wi-jin being struck down by his own grandfather.

A curiosity arose—what method would they use this time?

Just then.

“This scroll... It must be an assignment report.”

The Grand Overseer suddenly unfurled the parchment on the round table. The discussion had been strictly procedural, leaving little room for acknowledgment of Ma Gwang-ik’s achievements.

A warrior who had earned great merit should be treated accordingly.

“The reports from Shinchang and Geukma alone were fascinating enough. I wonder how Grandmaster Jeong’s perspective will differ... Let’s see...”

Scholars handling the documents of the martial world often developed similar habits—scanning the contents at a glance, seeking any urgent details that might determine life or death.

The Grand Overseer’s eyes widened as he reached the end of the text.

At the same time, someone knocked on the door.

From the footsteps, Jeong Yeon-shin could tell it was one of the scholars of the Grand Overseer’s Hall. When asked, the messenger reported that someone from the textile shop had arrived.

Ordinary tailors concerned themselves only with buying and selling fabric. However, the textile shop owner near Ipwang Fortress was different—he was a martial artist who had mastered thread weaving techniques through his refined hand skills. Some even claimed he was a master of the Swift Gold Spinning Technique.

“Seems like your custom outfit has arrived. I’ll head down first.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke calmly.

The Grand Overseer, frozen in place, was best left alone. The young warrior descended to the first floor, where he found a freshly folded black robe waiting for him.

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He slipped it over his shoulders, immediately sensing that it suited his heightened perspective. The golden character for wilderness (荒), now embroidered across his back, seemed longer—just like his own hair.

As his fingers brushed over the rough gold-threaded character, the tailor, a battle-hardened craftsman with the face of a seasoned warrior, carefully observed his reaction.

“You requested larger embroidery upon your promotion... Doesn’t it match your renown now?”

Jeong Yeon-shin had been about to speak but simply nodded once instead.

His movements were now swift enough to evade Hyeon Won-chang’s hands, but there was no time to have a new robe made before his departure.

He only hoped that this would be the last black robe he would ever wear.

***

Central Training Grounds of Ipwang Fortress.

The sky was an unbroken expanse of deep blue, pine needles tinged with green drifting gently down from above. The breeze carried the breath of spring, light and soft as it brushed against the skin.

The selection process for the Grandmasters’ contest had moved at an astonishing pace.

The rank of Black held more prestige than most government positions, yet the entire procedure had been completed within a single day.

Despite the fortress’s vast grounds, word had spread quickly, drawing a restless crowd. In these turbulent times, few events of this scale took place.

Encircling the massive combat stage, over a hundred figures murmured in anticipation. Even though only the fortress’s official martial artists were allowed entry, the gathering was substantial.

"Is that really Ma Gwang-ik’s Lord?"

"You heard correctly."

"That can’t be possible."

"He must have undergone rebirth by shedding his mortal frame."

All eyes converged on a single figure.

A young man, carrying a sword with a handle crushed into an odd shape.

His body was woven with fluid, tempered muscle, yet his face was gaunt. A strange contradiction, making it near impossible to find traces of the boy he once was—save for the brilliant gleam in his sunlit eyes.

"He’s lost so much weight. I wonder how he’d look if he regained his former features."

"How strong has he become?"

"Is that really... the same adorable—"

"Shut your mouth, you idiot."

Even among the warriors of Ipwang Fortress, the reactions varied.

Some expressed disbelief, others admiration. To witness such a drastic transformation at his age—rebirth by shedding one’s mortal frame—was nothing short of a mystery.

Among the murmurs, more perceptive assessments emerged.

"Singeom Vice Lord, Yeouicheon Lord, Blood Renewal Grandmaster, Yullyeong Grandmaster, Myeongryu Grandmaster, and Ma Gwang-ik’s Lord... an impressive lineup."

"The Proxy of Suncheon Lord is here as well."

"They say the contest will be decided through Body Projection Technique."

"Good thing the One-Strike Swordmaster fell, I suppose. We owe thanks to the Yeouicheon Lord."

"If it’s through Body Projection, wouldn’t the Myeongryu Grandmaster have the advantage? How many are competing?"

"The Blood Renewal Grandmaster’s Body Projection shouldn’t be that far behind."

"They have different specialties. Few have ever survived witnessing the Phantom Body Movement of Divine Blood Demon. And this time, he even crossed blades with the Master of Ruined Swords. He endured nineteen of his techniques—"

"Five hundred nineteen."

A calm, deliberate voice cut through the chatter.

The white-robed warriors, deep in conversation, turned in alarm.

Ma Gwang-ik’s Lord—Seomye—had already passed behind them.

Jeong Yeon-shin ascended the stage.

Two figures were already waiting. They stood forming a triangular stance.

The reason why high-ranking Black-level warriors were gathered in full view, appearing like street performers rather than distinguished masters, was simple.

These were turbulent times for the martial world. The warriors of Ipwang Fortress had become targets, and morale needed reinforcement. By showcasing the Grandmasters’ sheer strength, confidence could be restored.

‘So Hwanik Pavilion has become a trend...’

Jeong Yeon-shin cast a brief glance at the tall, black-robed woman dusting off her feet to the side.

Yeouicheon Lord, Bukgung Ah.

Considering the nature of this contest, her limbs suddenly seemed far more dangerous.

"Hmm?"

Their gazes met.

A faint glint of blue flickered in Bukgung Ah’s eyes.

"You nearly gouged my eyes out earlier. And now, you fail to recognize original lineage while spouting about Hwanik Pavilion."

"Senior Bukgung’s Hwanik Pavilion Technique is nothing to be dismissed."

Jeong Yeon-shin answered evenly.

Bukgung Ah’s lips curled into a smirk.

"A branch is just a branch. Not that original lineage is weak, but my Hwanik Death Step won’t be overwhelmed by your techniques. Though, for now, I do have a few steps ahead of you."

Creaaak—

She pulled both elbows back, and a heavy force rippled from her back muscles—clearly an unnatural fusion of separate techniques.

A shockwave spread across the stage.

"You called it a Death Step?"

"There’s plenty of room for refinement. Your footwork is too elusive."

"Death Step..."

Jeong Yeon-shin murmured.

Bukgung Ah glanced at him before stepping forward.

"Your little brat has finally grown up. Let’s see how far you’ve come. Someone has to leave by midnight."

"Agreed."

For the first time in a long while, Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips curved into a clear, sharp grin.

Step.

A contest where one's form would shift through the Body Projection Technique.

Beneath the brilliant, shattered sunlight, he took his first step forward—aware of Bukgung Ah’s unwavering gaze locked onto the Meteor Sword at his waist.