Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 83: Struggle for Supremacy (2)

The radiant glow of Jeong Yeon-shin’s qi within his eyes quickly faded. He exhaled a long breath, a slight opening of his mouth.

A wave of qi rippled outward from his body before disappearing. It felt as though the newly increased energy weighed him down.

“He looks like a seasoned martial artist—if only his face wasn’t so youthful.”

“And it’s no wonder. A body like that? Even here in the Fortress, there are few as refined.”

Several seniors threw out jokes, their tones lighthearted yet filled with genuine admiration. Jeong Yeon-shin was now exuding the bearing of a martial master, regardless of his young age.

“Thank you,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, raising his fists in a formal salute to the seniors.

They had stood watch over him while he cultivated in the Grand Martial Training Ground, guarding him during his breathing exercises. The care and attention they showed him were precious—something he had never received at the Jeong Clan.

“You don’t know how strong you’ve become? That’s understandable,” said Ma Jin, observing his nephew closely.

“The increase in energy is like that. It’s not something you can measure by introspection alone. You must test it in action to fully understand.”

Jeong Yeon-shin allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips before replying, “Are you offering to spar with me?”

His tone had softened, revealing a more comfortable side to him. Jeong Yeon-shin’s demeanor when addressing Ma Jin, his maternal uncle, reflected a growing trust over time.

Ma Jin seemed pleased by his nephew’s gradual openness. “That’s an option, but... let’s pay our respects first. Follow me.”

Ma Jin turned and began walking without further explanation, heading toward the exit of the Grand Martial Training Ground.

Jeong Yeon-shin blinked in mild surprise before turning to the group of martial artists who had watched over him.

“The leader’s guidance right before the mission, huh?”

“One can never receive too much advice.”

“Especially when the opponent is the Namgung Clan. Those braggarts who claim the title of the strongest under heaven.”

“Seomye, come back in one piece.”

The seniors of Ma Gwang-ik bid him farewell with cheerful smiles, their tone as light as though they would see him again the next day.

This was the way of Ipwang Fortress. Missions were heavy with risk, and many who left never returned. Lighthearted farewells masked the weight of their unspoken wishes.

‘It’s their way of hoping you’ll return as naturally as the next day’s sun,’ thought Jeong Yeon-shin.

It was the custom of Ipwang Fortress. He quietly returned their salutes, slinging his travel pack over his shoulder.

“Jeong So-hyeop!”

“Yes, Hyeon Won-so-hyeop?”

Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at Hyeon Won-chang, who approached him with a grin. The young martial artist’s blue hero’s headband fluttered slightly behind him, giving the impression he was the one heading out on the mission.

“This time, finish the duel quickly and come back. If you drag things out again, I might reach Blue Rank before you. You’ll want your peers to witness your promotion, won’t you? Like I would.”

“Hyeon Won-so-hyeop reaching Blue Rank? Isn’t that a bit premature?”

“I’ve been holding back seventy percent of my strength. Jeong So-hyeop, you’d best not dawdle.”

The two exchanged lighthearted jests before parting ways.

Jeong Yeon-shin began walking quietly. The training ground floor, scarred by years of martial practice, felt rough underfoot.

This was the first time he was heading out alone, without any of Ma Gwang-ik’s martial artists accompanying him. They each had their own missions to carry out.

‘The Hwangbo Clan incident was a strained mobilization of forces,’ he thought.

Only upon his return had he learned that the extermination of the Hwangbo Clan had been a difficult decision. It was an operation meant to set an example while also compensating for a shortage of manpower.

The martial world was layered over the vast land of the Central Plains, and Ipwang Fortress stood as a lone bastion, protecting its administrative region.

The Divine Sword Corps Seventeen were strong, but across the Central Plains, their numbers were far too small.

The fortress’s martial artists needed to embody two qualities: alignment with the ideals of maintaining public order and possessing the martial prowess to stand against the strongest in the martial world.

Both traits were rare and difficult to cultivate.

Outsiders strong enough to pass through Ipwang City were often scrutinized by the Fortress Lord, with their temperaments disqualifying many.

‘Ipwang Fortress suppresses the freedom of martial artists,’ Jeong Yeon-shin mused.

It was a fact. The fortress stood as a natural adversary to every faction in the martial world. In the grand scheme of the Central Plains, Ipwang Fortress was an outlier.

The fortress wasn’t small. The world was simply too vast. Between the Thirteen Heavens, the Nine Great Sects, and countless mid-tier factions, the Central Plains was a chaotic battleground.

“So that’s why the Namgung Clan accepted the duel invitation so confidently,” Jeong Yeon-shin murmured.

He had arrived at the sealed stone chamber of the Small Martial Training Ground, where Ma Jin awaited him.

“Exactly,” Ma Jin said. “This is nothing like the Hwangbo Clan incident. It’s one-on-one duels from the start, and they’ve prepared enough to know our capabilities. If we face them with only an elite group, the outcome is uncertain. The Namgung are far stronger than the Hwangbo. In the righteous faction, they are the ones most deserving of the title ‘strongest under heaven.’”

“I see...”

“I’ll be leaving for Sichuan soon,” Ma Jin continued. “It’s because of that Thunderbolt Bomb you suffered from. There are rumors that the Tang Clan has secretly resumed production of explosive weapons. The General Administration Office ordered me to investigate.”

“The Tang Clan... I’ve heard the martial world of Sichuan is perilous. Even the masters of Ma Gwang-ik would struggle to survive there. The Tang Clan rivals the Eight Great Clans, and three of the Nine Great Sects, as well as three of the Thirteen Heavens, are based there.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s tone was light, almost casual. He was speaking as a nephew.

It was in the early Ming Dynasty when the Rebellion occurred, and top-tier lightness skill masters fled the imperial court, evading pursuit.

It was a significant humiliation to the Ming Imperial Army, leaving a lasting mark on their pride.

Because of this, the martial artists of Ipwang Fortress—despite being imperial affiliates—performed their duties as if unaffiliated with the court.

The martial world, which bore the burden of failure most heavily, had no qualms about killing Ipwang Fortress warriors. The term “eliminate and destroy” had never been more fitting.

“I understand. But I’m more worried about you,” Ma Jin said, offering a faint smile.

“Me?” Jeong Yeon-shin raised an eyebrow.

“I, the leader of Ma Gwang-ik, survived to reach Black Rank without unnecessary struggles. You, a Blue Rank fledgling, needn’t worry.”

“Unnecessary struggles?”

Jeong Yeon-shin looked briefly at Ma Jin’s groin, recalling the rumor about him losing a testicle while saving Baek Mi-ryeo in his youth. He quickly averted his gaze.

Ma Jin, frowning slightly, pretended not to notice.

“You demonstrated a new palm technique in your duel against the White Qilin,” Ma Jin continued.

“Yes. I’ve been refining it recently.”

Jeong Yeon-shin thought of combining the Demon-Slaying Blue River Palm and Mara’s Roaring Blood Technique. The two conflicting forces produced extraordinary power, but the precision was lacking.

“The Black Ranks who witnessed it probably analyzed your technique in a single glance. The form isn’t refined, is it?”

“...That’s correct.”

“It’s good that you admit it. I’ll offer you advice. What is the foundation of your martial arts?”

“The Jeong Clan’s Donggong,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied without hesitation.

“Exactly. Monk So Shin-seung once compared it to the Shaolin Sect’s Marrow Cleansing Sutra. If the Eighteen Arhats recognize it, then your Donggong is truly a supreme technique. But haven’t you been neglecting its practice recently to focus on increasing your internal energy?”

“Ah...”

Jeong Yeon-shin nodded. In the Jeong Clan, he never neglected the fundamental training.

“It’s a supreme technique,” Jeong Yeon-shin said simply.

“Supreme...?”

Ma Jin paused momentarily before studying him closely.

“Your body’s endurance is far greater than you realize. You can afford to be bold in testing your martial arts. Unlike ordinary internal energy masters, your entire body is finely honed. You need not fear major setbacks like qi deviation.”

Ma Jin continued calmly, “The Shaolin Sect’s seventy-two techniques are all renowned, but their training methods often seem bizarre. Techniques like Burning Sand Palm or Iron Cloth Shirt—they plunge their hands into scalding sand or throw themselves off cliffs. They can train their bodies without fear of injury because their Marrow Cleansing Sutra fortifies them internally.”

“Your insights rival those of Hyeon Won-chang. You seem oddly knowledgeable about the Shaolin Sect...”

“Hyeon Won-chang?”

Ma Jin frowned at Jeong Yeon-shin’s playful jab before shaking his head.

“The point is, don’t hesitate to push the boundaries of your new palm technique. Directly circulate your energy and refine its precision. I know you’re fixated on creating a new inner cultivation technique, but for now, your palm technique will serve you better.”

“You make a good point,” Jeong Yeon-shin admitted, bowing respectfully. “Thank you for the advice. I should leave now.”

“...Very well. The Namgung Clan’s swords are fearsome. Do not lower your guard and sever their necks cleanly.”

The long scar on Ma Jin’s face seemed to twitch slightly, as if betraying a hint of worry.

It was uncharacteristic of a seasoned Black Rank martial artist who had endured the customs of Ipwang Fortress for so long.

“I’ll return safely, Leader,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied, bowing deeply.

He gathered his Ipwang Sword, Bukmyeong Sword, Celestial Silk robe, travel pack, and pouch—his martial tools all secured.

With everything prepared, it was time to depart for the mission.

***

On the road out of the main gates of Ipwang Fortress, Jeong Yeon-shin and Namgung Hwa-shin each led a horse, walking along the highway.

The sight of two young, high-ranking martial artists from Ipwang Fortress naturally drew the attention of passersby, but Jeong Yeon-shin paid it no mind. His thoughts were occupied by the strange circumstances.

“Where have the others gone?” he asked.

“I only heard they were assigned to a mission in another region,” replied Namgung Hwa-shin, shaking his head in confusion.

“That’s odd.”

Originally, the mission’s directives were different. Ma Yeon-jeok, Jeong Yeon-shin’s maternal grandfather, and the Elder Council Leader of Ipwang Fortress were supposed to travel with the delegation. The Divine Sword Corps Leader and her elite guards were meant to join them en route.

‘So until they join us, only two late-stage martial masters will be traveling alone?’

Jeong Yeon-shin found it hard to believe. He had been a target of Blood Flame Cult assassins for some time now, constantly pursued. The fortress’s decision to leave him exposed was strange. Could it be a direct order from the Fortress Lord?

‘Hardship during a journey strengthens one’s martial prowess, but this seems excessive...’

He asked cautiously, “Are the Elder Council Leader and the Lord of Ipwangma Fortress also on a mission?”

“I’m not sure,” Namgung Hwa-shin admitted with a strained smile.

Observing the man’s uncertain expression, Jeong Yeon-shin realized something. Namgung Hwa-shin, like himself, had only recently undergone the Ipwang City trial.

As a junior White Rank martial artist, it was natural that Namgung Hwa-shin lacked detailed knowledge about the inner workings of the fortress. Their positions were more similar than Jeong Yeon-shin had initially thought.

With this in mind, Jeong Yeon-shin heightened his awareness, scanning the surroundings with his qi senses as he spoke. “We should hurry. I’ve made many enemies among the Thirteen Heavens, and delays could jeopardize our timeline.”

“I agree,” Namgung Hwa-shin replied, nodding.

Without another word, the two mounted their horses and spurred them forward.

Galloping under the sweltering early summer sun, the two made swift progress along the main highway. The occasional gust of wind brushed against their faces, carrying the vibrations of their steeds through their bodies.

Namgung Hwa-shin, seemingly in good spirits, commented with a smile, “You ride well.”

“Not as well as you, Namgung So-hyeop,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied.

The first half-hour passed smoothly. The terrain was straightforward. Traveling from Ipwang Fortress in Yangyang to the Nanjili region required following a single, well-trodden relay road.

Perhaps that was why Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly felt an ominous sense of inevitability.

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A faint, crimson-tinged breeze grazed his cheek—a harbinger he recognized all too well.

Ahead, a wave of qi radiated outward, both familiar and unsettling. Though faint and irregular, it bore a sinister refinement.

‘Have they been waiting there all along?’

He narrowed his eyes, gauging the disturbance. ‘Weaker than usual. Their qi feels diluted.’

From atop his horse, he spoke, “Namgung So-hyeop.”

“You’ve sensed it as well?” Namgung Hwa-shin asked.

“Yes. It’s blood-based qi.”

“Not just some ordinary Blood Sword practitioner, though.”

“A heretic,” Jeong Yeon-shin confirmed.

“From the Blood Flame Cult?”

“Likely one of the Seven Apostles.”

“I’ve heard of them. You’ve encountered them before, haven’t you?”

“I didn’t know you had a sense of humor, Namgung So-hyeop.”

“I’m human, after all. But their qi feels odd—too weak for an Apostle.”

“If they’ve weakened, it’s an opportunity. If their strength is genuine, it’s already too late. They’ll overtake us with their lightness skills.”

“And if we fight together?” Namgung Hwa-shin asked.

“I can’t say. Our best hope would be to fight loudly and draw the attention of senior martial artists from the fortress.”

Jeong Yeon-shin was honest. He had consumed a high-grade spiritual pill recently, and his strength had increased. Yet in the world of martial masters, even the smallest gap could be decisive. He remained cautious.

Victory was uncertain.

‘Still, if their noticeably weakened qi is genuine...’

Abruptly, Jeong Yeon-shin leapt from his horse, gaining an elevated vantage point. His perspective widened as Namgung Hwa-shin followed suit, his movement a seamless display of lightness skill. From the forest ahead, the figure of their pursuer emerged.

Clad in flowing red robes, the figure's jet-black hair fell down their back, save for a single, glaring crimson eye.

Their form hadn’t changed much, though their hair was slightly longer. But their condition was strikingly different. Dark blood stained their lips, painting a grim and unsettling image.

Despite the regenerative properties of blood-based martial arts, it seemed they hadn’t fully healed from internal injuries.

“The Blood Flame Cult’s main sect was destroyed,” Jeong Yeon-shin said calmly, landing on the ground and raising a small cloud of dust.

Standing ten paces away, the Apostle stared back, her uneven breathing betraying her instability.

“What are you doing all the way out here, in Yangyang?”

“...You weren’t home,” the Apostle said softly, her lips parting to reveal a faint smile that bordered on pitiable.

Her crimson eye glinted under the flickering sunlight, the wind sweeping her raven-black hair.

“So I came to find you,” she whispered, the red glow in her remaining eye burning brighter.

“And your appearance?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked flatly, unmoved by her demeanor.

“Are you worried about me?” she said with a wider smile, her red-stained lips curling upward. Her attention never wavered, even as Namgung Hwa-shin stood nearby.

“Your Black Ranks... they have such rough hands,” she murmured, her voice breaking momentarily.

Her qi was unstable, her internal energy misaligned. She had likely been wounded by one of the fortress’s senior martial artists during the destruction of the Blood Flame Cult’s base.

Then, with an unsettling grin, she stepped forward. “I’ve found you, and that’s enough. Come here.”

Her movements were shaky, betraying the depth of her injuries. She reached out, stepping unsteadily toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

Jeong Yeon-shin raised a hand, signaling Namgung Hwa-shin to hold back. Fortunately, Namgung Hwa-shin trusted him enough to comply.

‘Something’s wrong,’ Jeong Yeon-shin thought as he scrutinized her expression and the fluctuations of her qi.

Her breath brushed against his neck as she closed the distance.

Then, with a delicate motion, she wrapped her arms around him. Her bloodied robes brushed against his, and he could feel her trembling frame.

“Take me back,” she whispered into his ear. Her voice was soft, almost tender, but laced with something darker. “Make a divine art for me—your own little Apostle. My tiny cult leader.”

Her words tickled his ear, sending a chill down his spine. Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t respond immediately, his mind racing.

‘If this works on her, it will work on the Namgung Clan’s direct line as well,’ he thought coldly.

Finally, he spoke, his tone calm and steady. “Your ‘tiny cult leader’...”

As he uttered those words, a strange ripple of qi began to emanate from his right hand. His newly developed palm technique surged to life.

It all happened in an instant. The earth beneath his feet quivered as golden light rippled outward, reflecting the sunlight in shimmering waves.

“...No longer exists,” he finished, his words punctuated by an explosive roar.