Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

Jeong Yeon-shin and his companions, fresh from saving the villagers, swiftly entered Hanjung.

The sight of the black robes adorned with the golden "Hwang" character and the Ipwang token left the checkpoint guards wide-eyed.

The warriors of Ipwang Fortress were meant to traverse the martial world freely.

Naturally, they couldn’t live as ordinary civilians bound to a specific residence. The fortress relied on implicit state support and its role in maintaining public order to sustain its existence.

The Ipwang token, engraved with a golden tree pattern, doubled as a badge of identity and authority.

However, delays at checkpoints were common. The token was a rare and exceptional item in the grander scheme of the martial world.

“We are honored to witness the esteemed warriors of Ipwang Fortress,” one of the guards greeted them.

Hanjung, a major city, was different. The moment they saw the golden insignia, the guards allowed them to pass without hesitation.

Most couldn’t take their eyes off Jeong Yeon-shin, their gazes filled not with suspicion but reverence.

They seemed to understand the authority the robes signified.

“To become the Lord of Ipwang Fortress at such a young age, you must possess talents beyond the comprehension of us ordinary folk. However, you should tread carefully here in Hanjung. This city has long been the Martial Alliance’s stronghold. The Zhuge family has been working behind the scenes for decades, and this gathering was organized under the pretense of Ipwang Fortress’s support,” the gatekeeper advised, his words reflecting his worldly wisdom.

Jeong Yeon-shin thought back to his first mission in Jinpyeong County, Shaanxi Province.

‘The magistrate there dared to underestimate Ipwang Fortress. But Hanjung’s officials are cut from a different cloth.’

He offered a polite fist-palm salute before passing through the city gates. Instantly, the bustling and chaotic atmosphere enveloped him.

“Well-crafted porcelain for sale!”

“Potatoes imported from the Western regions!”

“Come to the Daewun Inn for the finest delicacies under heaven!”

The streets stretched wide on either side of the main road, lined with countless market stalls. The area was teeming with life.

Even at a glance, there were hundreds of people—commoners and martial artists alike—bargaining, trading, or wandering about.

The scene was reminiscent of the vibrant streets of Yangyang, where Ipwang Fortress was located.

It was a significant observation.

“The Martial Alliance’s foundation is impressive,” Tae Yeom-ryong remarked as he walked to Jeong Yeon-shin’s right, his hand lowering the reins of his horse.

“If the city hosting their main headquarters is already this lively, it’s hard to imagine how much more it will grow by feeding on the logistics consumed by the alliance. As Hanjung prospers, the Martial Alliance’s influence will only deepen. Famine is a hell for the destitute, after all. The wealth and food of the world inevitably flow to the most powerful.”

His insight, sharp and worldly, contrasted with his otherwise carefree and irreverent demeanor, a reminder of his upbringing as the heir to a prestigious family.

“Are you speaking to me?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked.

Tae Yeom-ryong quickly turned his head.

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dare be so informal with the Lord. I was merely talking to myself.”

“Mind your conduct.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s tone was indirect yet clear. His reluctance to use flowery language with anyone but commoners had grown noticeably stronger lately.

Hyeon Won-chang chuckled softly, and Namgung Hwa-shin’s lips curved slightly upward.

Only the disciples of the Jeomchang Sect felt out of place, trailing awkwardly behind the conversation. Among them, the Small Sword Queen smiled vacantly, oblivious to the nuances.

The group walked along the main boulevard, which stretched straight from the city gate. Having dismounted, they now led their horses by the reins.

The distinctive attire of Ipwang Fortress caught the attention of passersby, who gradually stopped in their tracks.

Some even ran further inside to alert others.

“There will be plenty of disputes,” Hyeon Won-chang remarked. “The Martial Alliance wouldn’t have invited sects from the Unorthodox Path, so Ipwang Fortress is bound to be a thorn in their side.”

“It’s already tedious. The orthodox sects and their pretentious airs—it’s nauseating to think of the hypocrisy hidden beneath their elaborate facades,” Tae Yeom-ryong muttered, his eyes narrowing in feigned lethargy.

He continued, “But it’s simple, isn’t it? We safely conclude the Sect Establishment Tournament, assert the grandeur of Ipwang Fortress at their little festival... They wouldn’t dare openly harm us, so we just have to watch out for ambushes. And even then, the Alliance might shield us—it’s customary for hosts to ensure the safety of their guests. All we need to worry about is saving face.”

“Saving face is a life-or-death task, you simpleton,” Hyeon Won-chang retorted. “Over a hundred sects are reportedly participating in this Martial Alliance meeting. Countless eyes will be watching our every move.”

Hyeon Won-chang’s bluntness was a stark contrast to his otherwise mild demeanor, a testament to his disdain for Tae Yeom-ryong’s aristocratic airs. As a White-Rank warrior under Ipwang Fortress, he often acted on Jeong Yeon-shin’s behalf to keep Tae Yeom-ryong in check.

“Given more time, I would’ve gone straight to White Rank after our mission in Sichuan,” Tae Yeom-ryong grumbled.

“At this tournament, I’ll have to make a significant contribution myself. Maybe I’ll achieve something unprecedented in Ipwang Fortress’s history—like advancing two ranks at once. I’ll aim straight for Blue Rank.”

As they conversed, the Martial Alliance headquarters came into view.

It was a fortress unto itself.

The sprawling compound was surrounded by towering walls, reminiscent of those of Ipwang Fortress. Even the moat encircling it bore a striking resemblance.

“It’s almost uncanny. Doesn’t this look far too similar to our fortress?” Hyeon Won-chang muttered.

The bridge leading to the entrance was wide enough to accommodate dozens of people at once. Merchants, porters, and martial artists affiliated with the Martial Alliance moved with measured precision, creating an atmosphere of order and discipline.

“That’s... the Ipwang Fortress...”

A murmur spread through the crowd as their eyes fell on Jeong Yeon-shin.

The black robe with the golden "Hwang" character was unmistakable, especially to those familiar with the Martial Alliance.

The bustling scene came to a halt. The air filled with whispers, their words all too familiar: “Ipwang Fortress,” “Black Robe,” “Seomye,” “White Qilin,” “Tae Yeom-ryong...”

“So, we’ve reached the place where we’ll declare our intentions,” Hyeon Won-chang said with a boisterous laugh.

As the group crossed the bridge, the guards at the entrance stiffened. Only after Hyeon Won-chang stepped forward alongside Jeong Yeon-shin did they straighten their postures.

One of the guards approached them cautiously.

“Where are you from...”

Though unnecessary, he asked the question, perhaps out of formality.

“We’re from Ipwang Fortress. I am Ma Gwang-ik,” Hyeon Won-chang replied.

“...Bring the register,” the guard instructed.

A subordinate quickly approached, carrying a brush dipped in ink and a ledger, likely to record the identities of those entering the headquarters.

“We’ll see you inside,” said one of the Jeomchang disciples with a wink, entering first.

“I am Hyeon Won-chang, a White-Rank warrior under Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress. They call me Ipwang Grand Hero. Here is my token,” Hyeon Won-chang said, presenting his credentials.

One by one, Tae Yeom-ryong and Namgung Hwa-shin also introduced themselves.

Their introductions caused a noticeable stir.

Those who had merely suspected their identities now found their suspicions confirmed. As renowned prodigies of two of the Eight Noble Clans, their presence as swords of Ipwang Fortress drew both intrigue and unease.

“Next...”

The guard hesitated.

A tense silence fell. The identity of the final figure in black robes was clear to all.

Jeong Yeon-shin, Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

A name that had recently risen to prominence, shrouded in both fear and fascination.

Among those well-versed in martial affairs, the mere mention of Ipwang Fortress’s black-clad warriors was enough to instill unease.

To them, Jeong Yeon-shin embodied an anomaly—a lone figure capable of wielding the might of an entire legion.

He was a walking taboo in the orthodox martial world.

This young lord had played a decisive role in bringing the might of Ipwang Fortress against the Hwangbo Clan and had even directly clashed with the Namgung family’s direct lineage in life-or-death battles.

Now, he stood at the gates of the Martial Alliance, a key player in the very alliances and conflicts that had given rise to this historic gathering.

“...”

The bridge over the moat fell silent.

Hwooook—Thud.

A young man dressed in a green scholar’s robe descended gracefully, positioning himself between the warriors of Ipwang Fortress and the gate guards.

He held a fan reinforced with steel ribs, its presence complemented by the dignified air of a learned gentleman.

Sleek.

Turning to face Jeong Yeon-shin, he gripped the fan in reverse and offered a respectful fist-palm salute.

“I am Zhuge Hyeon. I deeply apologize for the sudden challenge, but I have long admired your reputation, Lord. I humbly request a duel with the Ma Gwang-ik Lord.”

His words thickened the silence, drawing the attention of every passerby.

No longer were people casting cautious glances at the Ipwang warriors; instead, they stopped entirely, eager to witness a potentially historic moment.

“Well, that’s unexpected. He wasn’t usually this kind of person...” Tae Yeom-ryong murmured. It seemed he was already acquainted with Zhuge Hyeon through his former status as the Young Master of the Hwangbo Clan.

“Here?” Jeong Yeon-shin asked quietly.

He could feel Zhuge Hyeon’s gaze lingering on his waist, particularly the Northern Bright Sword resting at his side.

Heightened sensitivity from his upper dantian allowed him to sense the probing intensity in Zhuge Hyeon’s eyes, infused with a peculiar energy.

“Those eyes...”

Among the countless martial arts in the world, there existed Eye Arts—martial disciplines that trained one’s vision.

A well-honed Eye Art could elevate perception beyond the limits of conventional martial prowess, enhancing dynamic vision to extraordinary levels.

“Something about this feels off.”

Zhuge Hyeon, the Fan Dragon.

Victory wasn’t his objective. It wasn’t so much that he dared hope for triumph as much as it felt like he had a hidden agenda, a larger plan at play.

This wasn’t a one-off skirmish but a deliberate move in a broader strategy.

Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly, considering the situation. He’d barely set foot in the Martial Alliance grounds, and already he was entangled in a ploy.

It wasn’t far removed from the sensation he’d felt when dealing with Ju Yeon-jeong of the Ipwang Ma Clan.

“I’ll allow it—just for a few exchanges,” Jeong Yeon-shin said, accepting the challenge.

A faint smile played across Zhuge Hyeon’s lips, subtle and enigmatic.

“I am honored,” he replied.

An impromptu dueling space quickly formed atop the wide bridge spanning the moat.

In mere moments, word of the duel spread. Crowds from the streets of Hanjung and even within the Martial Alliance headquarters gathered around.

Onlookers buzzed with curiosity as they surrounded the two figures.

“So Ipwang Fortress really does bring upheaval wherever it goes!”

“To think the Fan Dragon himself would request a duel. But isn’t he being too polite? His opponent is just a boy who hasn’t even come of age.”

The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.

“Keep your mouth shut. You clearly have no idea what that black longcoat signifies. If you truly understood, you’d never dare say such a thing.”

“We’re about to witness the swordsmanship of the Lord of Ipwang Fortress himself... What a fortunate day!”

As the two faced each other in silence, the duel began without warning.

Hwoo!

Zhuge Hyeon advanced with a single step, his movement light yet laden with profound meaning.

Dust scattered from the gap between his foot and the ground, swirling upward as visible currents of energy spiraled up his legs like a whirlwind.

The step led seamlessly into his first strike.

The steel fan snapped open with a resounding crack and swept horizontally through the air.

Ordinary steel-ribbed fans were often wielded like clubs, but the Zhuge family’s fan techniques were entirely different.

Each rib of the fan seemed to carry its own energy, creating miniature whirlwinds between the folds.

“Interesting.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips curved faintly into a smile as Zhuge Hyeon executed his opening move.

The hem of his black robe fluttered upward as he leapt lightly into the air, as though stepping onto an invisible platform.

The boy’s leather shoe landed squarely atop the steel ribs of Zhuge Hyeon’s fan.

Tuk.

His hands clasped behind his back, he stood still, his sword unsheathed.

The peculiar nature of Zhuge Hyeon’s gaze had not escaped him, nor had the details of the mission explained by Ak Su-rim.

Whatever the Martial Alliance’s schemes, his objective was simple: to humiliate them.

“Wind Spirit Technique.”

Jeong Yeon-shin activated the body movement technique he had recently devised.

Emitting subtle currents of energy throughout his body, he hovered atop the fan like a feather, weightless and unyielding.

It felt like riding a cloud, a sensation both exhilarating and new.

As Zhuge Hyeon moved the fan and redirected its energy, Jeong Yeon-shin adjusted the microcurrents in his body, shifting his center of gravity with each moment. This allowed him to glide through the air in perfect harmony with the fan’s motions.

“What... is this...!”

Zhuge Hyeon’s composed expression cracked, his sharp brows knitting in disbelief.

“...”

The crowd, which had been buzzing with anticipation, fell silent.

Someone murmured, “A single reed crossing the river.”

The phrase evoked the legend of Bodhidharma crossing the Yangtze River atop a reed, a feat of unmatched martial artistry.

If Zhuge Hyeon’s fan was likened to the rippling waves of the Yangtze, Jeong Yeon-shin seemed to embody the reed itself.

“Ma Gwang-ik Lord! What are you doing...!”

The shout came from a middle-aged martial artist, a mid-rank expert from the Shandong Yue Clan, who could no longer contain himself.

“The rising star of the Martial Alliance challenged me to a duel...”

The boy’s posture exuded calm arrogance as he stood at the very edge of the fan, gazing down impassively.

“...and I am delivering a lesson.”

Jeong Yeon-shin’s tone was not mocking; it was a straightforward statement of fact.

To him, the clash of meticulously cultivated martial arts was more than a contest—it was an opportunity to explore and savor the intent, history, and ingenuity within each technique.

Finally, he stepped down from the fan, choosing the most opportune moment—just before the Yue Clan martial artist could thrust his spear.

As if stealing the man’s momentum, Jeong Yeon-shin dismounted with unhurried ease, releasing his clasped hands. At that moment, he appeared no different from an ordinary boy his age.

“While weapon techniques are important, you must first master body movement,” he said calmly.

A brief silence followed, the crowd mesmerized by the overwhelming spectacle.

Everyone—commoners and martial artists alike, regardless of age or gender—gawked at the black-robed boy, their expressions a mix of awe and disbelief.

“To think I’ve chosen the right genius. Truly, wise advice,” Tae Yeom-ryong declared, breaking the silence with applause.

His sycophantic tone was unmistakable, though the sentiment seemed genuine enough.

“You can’t cover incompetence with flattery. That’s the behavior of a sycophant,” Jeong Yeon-shin replied coldly.

“....”

Turning to the gate guards, he commanded, “Take us inside. Show the way.”

“Y-yes, follow me,” the lead guard stammered, stepping forward with a dazed expression.

Zhuge Hyeon remained rooted in place, unmoving, while the Shandong Yue Clan warrior hesitated, unwilling to risk further interaction with the Lord of Ipwang Fortress.

The guards ushered away the crowd, though many continued to steal glances at the departing group.

The black, blue, white, and unmarked robes of the Ipwang warriors gradually faded into the grand entrance of the Martial Alliance headquarters.

Even as they were herded away, onlookers could not take their eyes off the retreating figures.

Summer lingered, but its end was inevitable.

The season of autumn had arrived.

Crimson leaves fell gently above, the wind weaving through them like the brushstrokes of a serene painter, a fitting backdrop to the silent, formidable power of the Ma Gwang-ik Lord.

***

The Martial Alliance leadership had deliberately sent Zhuge Hyeon, a rising star, for the duel. Victory or defeat was irrelevant.

No one had seriously entertained the possibility of Zhuge Hyeon's triumph. The primary purpose was to test how accurately the traces they had extracted from the body of Cheonggirin Namgung Se-jin aligned with actual techniques.

On a smaller scale, it was an opportunity to analyze Ma Gwang-ik Lord Seomye’s martial arts. Ultimately, the goal was to reverse-engineer the swordsmanship of the Sword Corps Captain of Ipwang Fortress.

The Martial Alliance gathering was filled with keen-eyed individuals.

The Zhuge family’s Eye Arts had long been renowned for their sophistication, often deployed alongside their masterful formations.

The Mo Yong family was no less formidable. Their mastery stemmed from Eye Arts derived from the traces of the Ming Sect, discovered in an unnamed Heavenly Demon’s tomb.

“He didn’t even draw his sword?”

A middle-aged man with dark, piercing eyes muttered to himself.

This was Zhuge Cheon (諸葛玔), the Fengshui Illusionist and leader of the Hyuncheon Unit of the Zhuge family.

With both the Martial Alliance Leader and the Zhuge Family Head absent, overseeing the reconstruction of the Sword Corps Captain’s techniques, Zhuge Cheon sat in their stead as the acting Grand Marshal of the Alliance.

“Lord, Ma Gwang-ik Lord of Ipwang Fortress requests an audience,” a finely tuned voice announced from beyond an ornate curtain.

It was the voice of a servant personally trained by the Zhuge family. Zhuge Cheon immediately spoke.

“Let him in.”

As he granted entry, his hand moved.

He picked up a few go stones from the armrest of his chair and scattered them across the room. The air grew heavy in an instant.

The move activated one of the Zhuge family’s greatest arts, known for rivaling the Bloodflame Cult’s formations.

The Whirling Wind Barrier Formation (重風蔓壁陣) was in place, installed when the Martial Alliance Headquarters was first constructed to safeguard the central hall.

Externally, it created an impenetrable wall, while internally, it summoned razor-sharp wind blades—a formation at the peak of mystical arts.

The faint silhouette of black leather shoes could be seen beneath the curtain. At that moment, the servant and Ma Gwang-ik Lord Seomye would have encountered the barrier.

How many in the martial world had ever experienced an invisible wall that blocked physical movement? Such formations were rare, even among the elite.

To break through it required far more than brute force. A typical martial artist wouldn’t even grasp its mechanisms.

A skilled mystic was an equalizer, creating zones of inviolability even against supreme masters.

“Overt hostility would be unwise, but...” Zhuge Cheon mused.

There were many ways to gauge a person’s character, but in Zhuge Cheon’s experience, few were as effective as provoking their temper.

At least, that was how it worked in the martial world. The Sect Establishment Tournament, a central feature of the Martial Alliance gathering, was a long-term event.

Understanding the temperament of the young Ma Gwang-ik Lord and exploiting any weaknesses could yield significant results.

Martial techniques drew strength from the practitioner’s mental state. Qi merely served as a medium to materialize the principles of one’s martial arts.

Disrupting Ma Gwang-ik Lord Seomye’s focus would have multiple benefits: