Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

The day before the party was to leave, Xuzhou was exceptionally bright.

The spring sunlight was so bright that it vividly settled on Jung Yeonshin's thick eyebrows.

They had just returned from the government office, where they delivered messages to several seniors.

Updates were sent to Chung Myung and other seniors scattered across South Zhili. It was something they could do as officials of Desolate Fortress.

The magistrate showed concern, saying it would take time for the messages to reach their destinations.

They also considered sending dispatches to the main group in Shandong Province, but skipping an entire province meant speed could not be expected.

'It can't be helped.'

Leaving the government office behind, Jung Yeonshin faced another dilemma, Heon Wonchang's difficulty in moving.

He had sustained internal injuries. It wasn't a simple matter to put him on a jolting carriage or horse.

'How should I take him?'

Jung Yeonshin repeatedly pondered the question as he returned to the guest room. On the bed lay Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior, his eyes slightly open.

Before Jung Yeonshin could even close the door, Heon Wonchang shifted slightly. Their eyes met, and he grinned.

"This is hell."

"I'm worried about the Sacred Warrior's condition."

Jung Yeonshin responded with a playful tone.

Heon Wonchang's grin widened further, as if he never tired of hearing his title.

Many commoners peered into the inn, hoping to catch a glimpse of Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior, Heon Wonchang.

"I've become a burden."

"Master Sword Dragon is waiting."

"Hmm? Lady Wei-Ji?"

Jung Yeonshin recounted the conversation he had with her.

Heon Wonchang's face twisted immediately, almost painfully so.

"Your heart is as vast as the ocean, Young Hero Jung. It's deeply touching! But don't do this. Do you think the Blood Flame Cult would wage war against the Eight Great Clans without sending their envoys? Didn't we already witness the prowess of the Seventh Apostlelast time?"

"I took one of her eyes."

Jung Yeonshin answered calmly, leaning against the wall.

He carefully handled the Beiming Sword and the Desolate Sword, speaking slowly.

"It's enough for me to lend a hand. The masters of the Namgoong Clan won't sit idly by."

They exchanged a few more words.

'There's no reason not to do it.'

Jung Yeonshin had already made up his mind, it was a way to earn merit while protecting his comrade's martial skills.

Heon Wonchang couldn't overcome Jung Yeonshin's stubbornness.

Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior was, after all, a seasoned master of Radiant Demon Arts.

Despite his frail appearance, his instincts for battle were razor-sharp.

The longer they argued, the more aware he became of Jung Yeonshin's growing urgency.

"I owe my life to you and now, as a martial artist, I am indebted as well."

Heon Wonchang briefly closed and reopened his eyes, his expression unusually serious.

"Then, this is your dilemma, how to transport a half-dead man like me to Huizhou."

"······It's said we have about two weeks, but returning from Huizhou to Xuzhou won't leave us much time."

"Don't worry about that!"

Despite his injuries, Heon Wonchang's voice remained powerful. He chuckled and said,

"Martial artists suffering from internal instability are vulnerable to shocks. It's because long years of training fixate their energy flow, and maintaining their usual circulation only worsens their condition, oblivious to their battered bodies."

"Then?"

"My family has a secret art called the Turtle Breath Technique. It's no ordinary method. It stabilizes the internal meridians by solidifying the energy flow, providing remarkable endurance, it's a hidden technique from assassins. It keeps the body steady even after a long time."

He spoke of his family's secret art and mentioned assassins in the same breath.

'Turtle Breath Technique?'

It was said to be an assassin's martial art that slowed breathing and heartbeat while concealing energy flow through internal cultivation.

It was even displayed in the martial archives of Desolate Fortress among stealth techniques.

An assassin's secret technique, Jung Yeonshin repeated the thought.

It was absurd for assassins to form clans.

However, it wasn't impossible for retired assassins to wash their hands of bloodshed and leave Jianghu.

Since this was the first time Heon Wonchang had mentioned his family, Jung Yeonshin simply nodded without revealing his thoughts.

Heon Wonchang seemed to relax slightly as he continued,

"Just bury me anywhere with an air hole. Carriage jolts will be nothing. Don't worry about me, focus on your martial pursuits."

"If the injured can hide safely... and there's no issue with transport, that's truly reassuring."

"Of course! This Desolate Fortress' Sacred Warrior will not be anyone's burden!"

Heon Wonchang laughed heartily but then coughed, seemingly bringing up blood.

Jung Yeonshin shook his head, leaned off the wall, and stepped out of the room.

He borrowed a fine horse and carriage from the government office and explained the situation to Wei-Ji Myohwa.

Hearing about the Turtle Breath Technique, her expression darkened. As the heir of one of the righteous Nine Great Sects, she wouldn't easily accept assassin techniques.

"······You two are heroes. I'll cover the rear."

Fortunately, Wei-Ji Myohwa was broad-minded—a great hero who didn't judge people by their martial arts.

Jung Yeonshin expressed his gratitude with a martial bow.

Thus, the two heroes and one half-dead man set out on their journey.

The distance from Xuzhou to Huizhou wasn't short. It spanned from the northern to the southern ends of South Zhili.

This time, they encountered many bandits.

They weren't part of the Green Forest Bandits of Jianghu. Famine had driven commoners to take up farming tools as weapons to harm others.

Moreover, disasters weren't limited to famine.

Perhaps due to the Blood Flame Cult's uprising, the closer they drew to Huizhou, the more bandits appeared.

"What else do the heretics feed on? They only sink their teeth into the flesh of commoners."

Surprisingly, it was Wei-Ji Myohwa who spoke. Her eyes turned sharp whenever the Blood Flame Cult was mentioned.

The shared journey had drawn them slightly closer.

If the bandits didn't attempt to kill, they were driven away with mere intimidation. At last, they reached their destination.

"We've arrived."

Wei-Ji Myohwa spoke. The two had just buried Heon Wonchang in the nearby earth.

They had no choice but to expect a fierce battle.

Jung Yeonshin gazed beyond the guards at the entrance to the valley.

It was the border between Jinan and Huizhou—known as Clear Night Valley.

The occasional clashes of sword energy from afar hinted at the scale of the fight.

"You."

Men approached them. All five had red hair.

Their identity was clear even from a distance.

One stepped forward, a bald man with a square jaw.

The energy emanating from him pressed against Jung Yeonshin's skin. He appeared to be an elite cultist just short of reaching the level of the Blood Master Swordsmen.

His martial prowess could easily be mistaken for that of a master swordsman.

The man spoke.

"You two look far from ordinary. Pulling such fine horses and a carriage, leave everything here and turn back."

A well-made carriage was considered a luxury item.

It was easy for anyone to assume they carried plenty of travel funds. So did the bandits they had met along the way.

However, the Blood Flame Cult members stopped ten paces away.

They didn't come any closer. They kept their distance meticulously.

'As expected, they're from the Thirteen Heavens Sect.'

Jung Yeonshin thought to himself.

The man had a sharp sense. He must have felt something from Jung Yeonshin and Wei-Ji Myohwa.

Some of the bandits they encountered earlier were different. They had recklessly approached, hoping to take advantage of Wei-Ji Myohwa, only to end up sprawled on the ground.

"Rough yellow... no, blue...?"

Another man, who was stepping aside, muttered. He had keen eyes.

Then, their tongues loosened.

"Blue robes from Desolate Fortress? At that age?"

"Must be born of some prestigious family. Probably raised on elixirs. Watch out for sudden, single strikes. His energy alone could be monstrous. If we're careless, we die."

"That's all there is to it. We'll just overwhelm him with technique. What a fine prey we have here."

They began chattering among themselves.

This was the true nature of the Blood Flame Cult. They prioritized the internal energy they could absorb over their own lives.

Looking at Jung Yeonshin's appearance, they jumped to conclusions.

'They don't know me.'

A glimmer of insight flashed in Jung Yeonshin's eyes. He seemed to have discovered a weakness in the Blood Flame Cult.

They were ordinary cultists, not Blood Master Swordsmen.

Worker ants. Far more numerous than the elites.

It was said that sects of fanatics like theirs had strict chains of command.

Orders from above were carried out below. No freedom.

Information didn't flow easily among them.

The men began striding forward. One even used light footwork to sprint ahead.

As if whoever caught them first would claim the prize.

Wei-Ji Myohwa stepped forward. The moment her palm struck the lead man's solar plexus, a surge of energy rippled outward.

Boom!

Dust exploded in all directions. The shockwave clawed at the rocks as it swirled.

The ones charging together were sent flying like rag dolls.

It was the aftermath of Zhongnan Sect's Azure Cloud Heaven Force Palm.

Jung Yeonshin dashed forward, cutting through the shockwaves.

He realized immediately that the Namgoong Clan was already locked in battle with the Blood Flame Cult nearby.

Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed one man's face, a bald-headed cultist who seemed closest to the level of a Blood Master Swordsman.

"Ugh!"

Recently, the only feature that could hint at Jung Yeonshin's age was his face.

His body, forged by the Jung Family's Dynamic Arts, had matured rapidly in recent times.

It was already close to that of a full-grown man.

His fingers were long enough to grip the cultist's entire face.

Using internal energy, he could carry a grown man's head like that while running.

Boom!

A storm erupted beneath his feet.

As the ground was pushed back, he felt the force clearly surging from the muscles along his thighs.

It began.

Boom!

Jung Yeonshin sprinted, dragging the man by his face.

The scenery of the canyon ahead blurred into hundreds of streaks.

Whooosh!

The wind swept fiercely against his ears.

To make an impression with visible achievements, it had to be spectacular. He'd thought about this for a long time.

While generating a storm with his light footwork, Jung Yeonshin drew his sword.

The sunlight gleamed silver along the rippling patterns of the blade.

The descent into the battlefield happened in an instant.

The canyon below was as vast as a plain.

Hundreds swarmed, flaunting their martial prowess.

The fierce exchange of techniques turned the area into something resembling the military might of thousands.

But he paid no mind. Jung Yeonshin leaped down and flung the man he had been holding.

Boom!

"What, what the hell?"

"Who is that?"

His robe, trimmed in blue, carried the noble air of a distinguished lineage. It fluttered like a divine garment.

Whooosh!

By then, the Beiming Sword was already singing as it left its sheath.

The Blood Flame Cultists, who had tormented him for so long, began spitting blood and collapsing.

Boom!

He deliberately slammed into the ground.

The dust cloud that rose was shredded by the force of the shockwave.

After landing, Jung Yeonshin charged forward again.

Following the path carved by his Beiming Sword, the battlefield's flow twisted in an instant.

It was as if an invisible storm had formed around him, leaving people strewn across the ground.

Most died immediately.

It wasn't a level of strength expected of someone at his martial rank.

Fortunately, the sword techniques he had refined earlier avoided harming any of Namgoong Clan's fighters.

He cut straight through the battlefield.

In mere moments, he reached a position where Namgoong Clan's leaders were visible.

A gentle-faced, extraordinarily handsome man, a lively, tanned woman, and several elderly figures radiating overwhelming presence looked on with varied expressions.

That's when it happened.

"Radiant Demon Squad's Lightning Genius. So, you managed to return."

"Despite the good-natured look on your face, you've brought along some strange martial arts."

When he turned, he saw familiar faces smirking.

Blood Master Swordsmen.

One with sleek black hair and the other with red hair, both radiating formidable energy.

Jung Yeonshin stared at them silently.

The scene was burned into his memory.

He could never forget the moment he first fled for his life.

Their mocking expressions made sense.

They were the ones who had thrown thunder bombs at him during the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering.

Each carried madness in their eyes.

They didn't care how many ordinary cultists died.

"Did you think siding with the Namgoong Clan would make a difference?"

One of them spoke, silently revealing a thunder bomb in his hand.

The martial artists nearby flinched noticeably.

When the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering collapsed, Jung Yeonshin, too, had been like them in Huizhou's Lotus Pavilion.

Step.

This time, it was different.

Jung Yeonshin didn't stop moving forward.

He didn't need to look back to know.

The Namgoong Clan's top masters were watching him.

Slowly, he parted his lips.

"You bastards, you need to understand this."

As he sheathed the Beiming Sword, he smoothly drew the Desolate Sword.

The transition between putting away one sword and drawing the other flowed seamlessly.

Anyone could see it, it was the poise of a true master.

The Desolate Sword's blade gleamed under the sunlight as it emerged.

He adjusted his grip once.

The cold sensation turned blistering hot in an instant.

"You threw the first strike. That makes you the traitors. I bear no guilt."

Jung Yeonshin spoke calmly.