Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

"Now, now, did you just say the Lord is arriving······?"

Heon Wonchang stammered.

Even the face of Wei-Ji Myohwa, who stood beside him, showed signs of agitation.

The shock pierced through the cultivation she had built up at the sacred grounds of Doo, Mount Zhongnan.

"The Lord of Desolate Fortress is personally······."

"It's been quite a long time since the Lord traveled the martial world. Was it around fifteen years ago, after destroying the Dali Kingdom?"

Chung Myung spoke slowly.

In the martial world, fifteen years was long enough for a generation of young masters to change. It meant the divine presence had not been revealed for a long time.

Some of the rising talents who had gained deep internal strength through elixirs tended to underestimate the older generation.

Martial arts evolved with the passage of time.

Disciples of reputable martial lineages feared no peerless techniques from hundreds of years ago.

However, the Lord of Desolate Fortress was a different existence.

"The divine arts that annihilated the royal family of Dali in Yunan······."

Wei-Ji Myohwa murmured while stroking the blade of her sword. The impact was severe, enough to momentarily scatter her concerns about Jung Yeonshin.

Noticing her reaction, Chung Myung gestured toward Heon Wonchang.

"We can't guess how swift the Lord's movement techniques are. It wouldn't be surprising if they've already entered South Zhili. Inform the magistrate to prepare a reception. Also, summon the local head of Huizhou Province. The Lord must be greeted with the dignity of a sovereign."

"Even the provincial head!"

Heon Wonchang exclaimed as he rushed out of the room.

The phrase 'a thousand troops and horses' fell short to describe the descent of this god-like figure.

The provincial head, who governed all of Huizhou Province, was three ranks above the magistrate.

Their status rivaled that of the head of the Namgoong clan. Even so, they would have to bow with utmost respect before the Lord of Desolate Fortress.

After all, she was a king acknowledged by the emperor.

"The Lord is coming. Prepare accordingly."

"······What did you say?"

Heon Wonchang delivered Chung Myung's message to the magistrate, then watched with satisfaction as the man turned pale and panicked.

This magistrate had been closely tied to the Namgoong clan, the local aristocrats of South Zhili.

His lukewarm attitude toward conscription demands from the authorities had completely vanished.

It was when they stepped out of the office.

A middle-aged swordsman clad in blue martial robes stood in the main hall. His gaze, fixed on Heon Wonchang, was anything but ordinary.

Though he didn't appear to be exerting his energy, the waves of force seeping into the air felt unbearably heavy.

'Azure Sky Boundless Sword!'

Heon Wonchang immediately recalled the Namgoong clan's signature technique. Even the man's attire matched that of those wretched nobles.

"You people of Desolate Fortress."

The swordsman with a neatly trimmed black beard spoke.

"You've been scheming absurd things. Gathering martial artists here in South Zhili, disregarding the local aristocrats? How dare you treat us with such disrespect? You're no better than those unruly heretic factions."

"Who are you?"

"They call me Namgoong Wei. You rogue of Desolate Fortress."

Heon Wonchang held his tongue for a moment.

He knew the name well. This was the deputy leader of the famous Azure Sky Sword Heaven Squad.

He was said to be one of the top swordsmen in South Zhili, a master whom even mid-level martial artists would struggle to defeat.

'If I'm not careful, I could lose my head.'

The Namgoong Wei clan was reputed to rank above even the Hwangbo clan.

Given the magistrate's attitude, their ties to the local authorities were undoubtedly formidable.

They likely had the power to kill someone right in the government office and cover it up.

Heon Wonchang carefully opened his mouth.

"You hypocrite. Knowing your clan's disgraceful deeds, how dare you speak of courtesy? How can you utter such heartless words while invoking the teachings of Confucius and the classics? Don't you feel any shame before your deceased parents?"

Years of accumulated anger poured out in his calm tone.

There was a subtle but palpable aura emanating from him.

Namgoong Wei hesitated for a moment.

"What did you say?"

"You are the true heretic here. You stood by and did nothing as a rsing talent was slain in his attempt to subdue demonic cults for the safety of the people. Now, when righteous warriors gather to strike down those cults, you prattle about clan honor while turning a blind eye to your own deeds······"

As Heon Wonchang's words continued, Namgoong Wei's energy rippled more violently.

But Heon Wonchang didn't waver.

"What a pathetic sight."

He finished his words with a look of satisfaction. Namgoong Wei shook his head.

"······Did you think I wouldn't draw my sword just because we're in a government office?"

Wooong.

The sword in his hand began to hum, emitting a deep resonance.

As expected of a renowned swordsman, even the sound of his blade was extraordinary.

Heon Wonchang was about to call for Chung Myung and Wei-Ji Myohwa, infusing energy into his voice.

Thud.

There wasn't even a slicing sound.

With a sudden breeze, Namgoong Wei's head separated from his body.

His head fell to the ground like a leaf, and his body followed soon after.

It was such a fleeting end that it felt unreal.

Since when?

Like a mirage, a ceaseless, gentle breeze swirled around them. It was a peculiarly eerie moment.

Though colorless, the wind seemed to shimmer with faint green hues as it rippled in all directions.

Time froze inside the government office. Amid the silence, a soft transcendence began to sprout.

"The sins of Namgoong…"

A clear voice rang out from above the roof.

"Will be buried along with their vanity."

A hem of clothing, tinged with the color of fresh leaves, fluttered gracefully.

Heon Wonchang was already looking up. His eyes widened as if they might tear apart.

Then, with disciplined movements, he knelt, his body trembling from the overwhelming surge of emotions.

* * *

"You're awake?"

A playful whisper brushed his ears. The presence of profound internal energy was unmistakable. It was the breath of the Seventh Apostle.

Jung Yeonshin immediately opened his eyes. But his senses didn't fully awaken.

Though he could sharpen his energy perception at will, his flow of energy was sluggish.

He understood right away, he had been subdued again.

'She sealed my meridians once more.'

Half of his vision was filled with the Seventh Apostle's face. Her expression was brimming with affection. Desire was also evident.

Jung Yeonshin calmly looked into her crimson eyes and spoke.

"What did you do?"

"I just wanted to preserve your dazzling body. I painted a picture. So that you, the way I see you, can remain in this sect forever."

She smiled and straightened her back.

It was then that Jung Yeonshin noticed the pungent scent of ink and pigments.

Was she skilled in painting? The large sheet of paper she held depicted his entire body.

It wasn't just a portrait. It was an anatomical map.

The eight extraordinary meridians, the intricate network of channels, and the three energy cores. One part particularly stood out—the upper core at the crown of his head, wide open and meticulously detailed.

A medical diagram.

She had infused her energy into his body to observe and recreate its structure.

The Seventh Apostle was a master of internal observation techniques. Scanning his body must have been effortless.

She smirked.

"Who knows? Maybe the sect will create someone who can rival your talent someday."

"······I've heard rumors about strange healers emerging from the Blood Flame Cult. Is this for the regenerative techniques they practice? No wonder righteous physicians fall behind."

"This will be a treasure."

"You sacrifice your own followers. Typical of heretic scum."

Their conversation ran in parallel. It was a bond formed by the law of the martial world—survival of the fittest.

The Seventh Apostle smiled brightly, while Jung Yeonshin remained calm. They were fundamentally misaligned.

He closed his eyes again, focusing his willpower on his lower core.

The Moonlight Harmony Technique, taught by the Lord of Desolate Fortress, was said to be a peerless martial art.

Training to create a new internal art with extremely fast energy accumulation had taken a considerable amount of time.

By carefully studying the incantations, his insights had grown.

That was it. Jung Yeonshin was already familiar with the Ascending to the Peak technique.

'So this is how the Cult leader responded when I mentioned the internal art.'

The moment he returned after receiving a secret manual from the Blood Flame Cult's leader, the incantations of the Demon Roaring Blood Art unfolded in his mind.

He had already begun categorizing the effects the internal art had on energy accumulation.

He could distinguish the incantations affecting the brain right away and promptly excluded them.

"What are you doing······?"

The Seventh Apostle cautiously asked, as if she was still dwelling on the repeated apologies she had offered after her outburst the day before.

Jung Yeonshin paid her no mind and continued practicing the circulation of the Demon Roaring Blood Art.

He followed her wishes, replicating the properties of her blood energy imbued in his body.

'It's done.'

Once the incantations were broken down, the rest happened in an instant.

A new route for internal energy circulation etched itself into his mind.

He now had the means to remove the Seventh Apostle's energy, which held his life in its grasp.

At the same time, he realized something else.

'The regenerative abilities of the blood energy come from energy siphoning.'

The sect leader's words resurfaced—do not tamper with the foundation.

The martial arts of the Blood Flame Cult were two branches of the same path.

Even if he knew the methods, it wasn't something he could openly use outside.

Jung Yeonshin was already considering escape.

He slowly opened his mouth.

"Your martial art."

"Hm? Hm?"

"I'm refining the Demon Roaring Blood Art first. Are you really okay with me adapting it to suit myself? It's the martial art of all the Apostles."

"Ah!"

The Seventh Apostle's face brightened with pure delight. She nodded repeatedly.

"The others—those so-called top masters—have their ridiculous pride! They won't even bother to learn it! But you just have to look at me! The leader will only focus on the Blood Summoning Art!"

She then handed him a neatly folded bundle. It was red.

Judging by its thickness and shape, it was a crimson robe, just like the ones she often wore.

"This is the Pure Blood Robe. It's woven with our sect's techniques and celestial silkworm threads. Ordinary blades can't even scratch it."

"······This is a treasure."

"Yes. Even within the sect, there are only a few of these. Only Apostles can receive them."

He had already been stripped of his Desolate Fortress robe. Jung Yeonshin looked down at the bundle before speaking.

"Let's go for a walk."

"Are you still attached to the Desolate Fortress?"

The Seventh Apostle tilted her head slightly, but Jung Yeonshin did not answer.

He had observed the formation the previous day and devised a plan.

He needed to wander around and infuse energy into various objects.

The Seventh Apostle seemed to interpret his silence in her own way. Her face displayed a series of emotions.

Perhaps it was because of what he said about refining the Demon Roaring Blood Art, but there was a mix of barely restrained anger and possessiveness.

There even seemed to be a trace of regret.

'It's not for my sake. It's her own desire.'

It was an emotion Jung Yeonshin had no reason to dwell on.

It must have been pity stemming from her perspective as a Blood Flame Cult member.

He shook his head internally and opened the door wide.

The voice that had been grating at his ears since midday suddenly grew louder.

"······Thus, the new Grand Master has descended upon our sect! Your locks of hair will be equal to those of the other Apostles! Hence, we shall cast the blade of judgment upon the wicked heretics of Beijing and the hypocritical rogues!"

"That's the son of the Third Apostle. His name is Go Jonghak."

The Seventh Apostle spoke with an odd tone.

The surroundings were filled with red. There must have been at least several hundred Blood Flame Cult members.

A man standing on a platform at the village center was delivering an impassioned speech. He suddenly turned his head, and his gaze locked with Jung Yeonshin's.

A smirk twisted across the man's lips.

"There! There he is! He has shown us his noble face!"

At Go Jonghak's gesture, countless eyes turned toward him. Even The Seventh Apostle turned and smiled softly.

Go Jonghak's voice rang out, filled with energy.

"He shall lead our sect to Beijing! Behold him! The Grand Master's miracles shall transform our sect! I humbly beseech you, Grand Master, show a miracle to these wretched souls bound by flame and blood!"

The "miracle" he spoke of seemed to refer to altering the Blood Summoning Art's incantations.

But the timing made no sense.

It had only been a day since Jung Yeonshin regained consciousness and spent a night at the main hall.

'Even the sect leader didn't expect immediate results.'

Go Jonghak was said to be the son of the Third Apostle, who had tested Jung Yeonshin's internal energy barrier.

It was clear now that political struggles existed even within this heretical sect.

The man was trying to publicly disgrace him, leveraging the reputation he already held.

So even these madmen were bound by human schemes.

Based on what The Seventh Apostle had said earlier in the leader's hall, Jung Yeonshin knew the Third Apostle and his son aimed to claim the rank of vice-leader.

The thirst for power, emerging through the madness of blood energy, felt eerily familiar.

Jung Yeonshin shook out the bundle in his hands.

The bright red robe unfolded and fluttered like a flag.

He silently draped the robe over himself.

With a few small movements, the Pure Blood Robe covered his body and billowed like flowing blood.

"······."

The crowd fell silent, and so did Go Jonghak.

Jung Yeonshin's appearance was strikingly strange.

Wooong.

Perhaps it was the circulation of the Demon Roaring Blood Art, stripped of its madness.

Though the energy clearly carried the aura of blood arts, it exuded an eerie atmosphere unique to the Blood Flame Cult.

Some of the cultists murmured. Words such as leader, Grand Master, Apostle, and Pure Blood floated around.

His energy stirred the air.

The black strands of his hair swayed against the crimson robe draped over his shoulders.

At this moment, he appeared no different from the legitimate successor of the Blood Flame Cult's martial lineage.

"Show them a miracle?"

He asked.