Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

One year ago, the mistress of the Thirteen Heavens, Yeoryeongju, gave her successor an order.

"Study the martial world thoroughly. The world is vast."

It was part of a grand plan in motion.

The young Yeoryeongju, her successor, received the familiar command with newfound seriousness.

Her master often embedded profound intentions within seemingly casual remarks. Those unable to grasp her true meaning were not kept close. After all, five people had previously held the position of Yeoryeongju before her.

While tirelessly working toward the grand scheme of rebuilding the fallen Ipwang Fortress, it was only fitting to begin by observing the imperial sword.

That was how she came to learn about Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin, starting from the life-and-death duel between Ipwang Fortress and the Namgung Clan.

His achievements were astounding—not because he won the duel, but because he earned the respect of such a formidable adversary.

Namgung Se-jin, the Blue Qilin, was regarded by many young masters of the Daebang Sect as their competitor in the world of martial excellence. Among the heroic figures vying for supremacy, Se-jin stood out with his reputation and innate talent. The name "Hwan-gang" was a legacy that none of his rivals could hope to obtain while alive.

The actions of the Seventh Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult toward Seomye also stirred jealousy among the young martial artists of the demonic factions.

It all began when she orchestrated the abduction of Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin, leading to the confrontation between Ipwang Fortress and the Namgung Clan.

Yet Jeong Yeon-shin returned unscathed, stronger than ever. Even their movements afterward showed moments of overlap.

"She has always been a person to watch. As a martial artist, she achieved perfection far too early and carries the purest bloodline within the Bloodflame Cult. Born with a True Blood constitution, she stands above all in blood arts and is said to rival even the greatest grandmasters. Her interaction with Seomye...”

"Just keep it in mind. There’s nothing we can do about it right now."

The young Yeoryeongju received these reports with detachment.

"The Lord of Ipwang Fortress personally appeared to annihilate the main base of the Bloodflame Cult. If we act recklessly and provoke her now, her attention might turn toward us. It’s not the right time. The fall of the fortress lord and the decline of Cheonhamok are inevitable. There’s no need to provoke a deity poised to ascend. Focus on Xinjiang rather than Yangyang. Pay attention to the young sect master."

"I will follow your command."

The age of Ipwang Fortress’s domination over the martial world had arrived.

Outlaws could no longer breathe freely. Wisdom gained from literature and texts was valued as highly as martial skills.

Yeoryeong valued both equally, excelling in schemes and stratagems. The young Yeoryeongju inherited this disposition.

Was it arrogance that comes naturally to those who wield both pen and sword? Or was it reluctance to observe someone who existed outside the established order of the martial world?

Even after witnessing the downfall of her predecessors, she disregarded Seomye’s exceptional qualities. The Blue Qilin and the Seventh Apostle? Were they not merely remnants of declining sects?

The martial world’s sky was vast, filled with countless comets. The rise of a new star was not an uncommon event.

She delayed her master’s task with an attitude unbecoming of her station, only to indulge in the fascinating stories about Seomye after he donned his black robes.

She remained a bystander. As a small master of the Thirteen Heavens’ demonic factions, she didn’t want to reveal her narrow-mindedness. She intended to deal with Seomye leisurely.

"The imperial court’s new sword cannot be allowed to grow so strong. We must root it out entirely."

And now, here she stood.

Kwaaaaahhh!

The shadowy Yeoryeong secret technique, the Dark Motion Beyond Time, splintered a single moment into dozens of fragments.

The fleeting time it took for an image to register in the mind was all it allowed.

Before she could fully process what she was seeing, Ma Gwang-ik, the Lord of Suwang Sect, severed the right arm of the sect leader’s guardian and instantly cleaved the upper half of another protector guarding Yeoryeongju.

A blinding white storm erupted on the snowy plain, scattering sunlight. The shockwave, cutting through flesh, was nothing short of monstrous.

Seomye Jeong Yeon-shin.

His presence filled the young Yeoryeongju’s vision, growing larger with alarming speed.

Was it because this moment felt so fleeting? The sight of his black robes stretching out like lightning left a striking impression.

A colossal lotus of lightning enveloped his form, shimmering with a pale hue. To any observer, it seemed almost supernatural, beyond mortal comprehension.

Seomye didn’t bother looking back to confirm the outcome of his strikes.

He didn’t need to. The guardians of Yeoryeong, renowned for their martial prowess, had failed to fulfill their role as the sect’s ultimate weapon.

She glanced toward her Yeoryeongju but collapsed before their gazes could meet. Death came instantly. Their eyes never connected.

The young Yeoryeongju felt a sudden doubt.

"How many top-tier martial artists could this man face alone, even among those of Ipwang Fortress?"

And then she asked herself:

"Did I call him a mere sprout? Was I speaking of him...?"

Could anyone defeat the Ghostly White God of the Sword, Gui Baek-shin, with just one strike from the Phantom Sword?

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

Could anyone challenge the supreme demon of Shaanxi, assuming they both wielded opposing energies?

Impossible. Such skill belonged to a mistake of heaven, granted to only the rarest few.

She hadn’t even realized the depth of her envy and jealousy until now.

The realization struck her with the same intensity as the gleaming sword light racing toward her.

Unstoppable. His youthful, breathtakingly beautiful face vanished almost instantly beneath the flowing black sleeves as he swung his sword with casual ease. The piercing blue blade filled her vision like a lightning strike.

Phwoosh—!

***

Snowflakes danced along the ridge.

Dry pine needles carried by the biting winter wind collided, then scattered. The crisp sound of winter resonated clearly across the snowy slopes of the mountain ridge.

The battle had ceased. Two masters, formidable enough to be considered among the elites of Ipwang Fortress, lay defeated.

A supreme swordsman lay motionless, face buried in the snow.

This was the end for one of the figures who had greatly contributed to the young Yeoryeongju’s rise to prominence. It was a bitterly cold death.

Not far away, Suwang Sect Master Wеi Se-hyuk clutched the empty, bloodied stump of his right shoulder, eyes rolled back.

His entire body had stiffened before death claimed him. The shockwave of Ma Gwang-ik’s sword strike had exacerbated his mortal wounds. It seemed the unbearable pain had snapped the last thread of his life.

And then, the young Yeoryeongju collapsed to the ground.

“Heh... hah...”

The delicate silk robes of the noble figure had been sliced diagonally, a mark left by a lightning-quick sword strike.

From the chillingly precise trajectory of the blade, blood oozed forth. A grievous, irreversible wound. The sword path connected this world to the netherworld, bridging the three crossings of the River of the Dead.

After coughing up blood, the young Yeoryeongju managed to force out a few words.

“Why... didn’t you finish it in one strike...?”

“Thousand-Year He Shou Wu.”

Jeong Yeon-shin answered calmly.

The thunderous flower of Final Lightning that had surrounded his body had now dissipated. He could no longer sustain it with his current capabilities.

Now, he had to endure the searing pain coursing through his body as it constricted his blood vessels and tore at his veins.

It hurts.

But he showed no sign of it. His enemies still lingered, scattered across the snowy expanse. Even a facade of composure was a necessity.

“Speak. Where is it?” Jeong Yeon-shin demanded.

“Heh... even if I die here... you can’t withstand the wrath of the Blade Specter Lord. Even if you escape this mountain alive... our mistress will avenge me. This whole ordeal... was on my master’s orders.”

“Thank you.”

“...!”

Jeong Yeon-shin paid no mind to the stunned expression on the young Yeoryeongju’s face. As soon as he sensed the faint, mysterious energy emanating from his opponent’s chest, he seized them by the throat and hoisted them up.

He had been preparing to activate his Vision-Seeking Technique at close range. The energy flow became visible to him in an instant.

“Incredible... you’re no ordinary monster...” The young Yeoryeongju let out a bitter laugh before continuing.

“Taking it is only the beginning. In the martial world, keeping it will be far harder. I hear even the Mount Hua Sect Leader has set out... With the Mount Hua Sword Hermit bedridden, I doubt they’ll let you claim the spiritual herb so easily.”

“Isn’t there more than one root? My traveling companion mentioned that the spirit herb is connected through its veins.”

“...”

At the mention of the herbalist Jang Sun-il, who had been quietly trailing behind them, a slight flinch was visible. Jeong Yeon-shin paid no attention. He slowly raised his sword and spoke with a measured tone.

“It’s rare to see someone so generous, gifting both poison and the antidote. Truly, you’re more magnanimous than the heavens.”

“You... have a way of turning words to mockery. Just... end it.”

The young Yeoryeongju twisted their lips into a bitter smile.

A hollow sound rang out.

Thwack.

The Northern Bright Sword pierced through their torso, embedding itself into the snow beneath them.

The martial prowess of Ipwang Fortress’s warriors was said to rival that of elite military forces, and Jeong Yeon-shin was no exception. There would be no mercy for the minor master of the Thirteen Heavens who had tried to exploit his niece’s life.

Blood seeped from the wound, staining the snow red.

The faint sound of melting snow reached the ears of the surrounding martial artists. The young Yeoryeongju’s soft laughter accompanied it.

“Ma Gwang-ik... You’re no mere sprout. You’re... a divine spirit herb.”

“What?”

“And in the martial world, spirit herbs that grow too tall are often...”

Before they could finish, Jeong Yeon-shin twisted the blade, pulling it free from their abdomen.

A great groan escaped their lips as the last of their strength drained away. They could only gasp for air, their breath rattling weakly.

With a dry chuckle, they muttered to themselves, My jealousy truly knows no bounds.

Crunch.

Jeong Yeon-shin turned away without a word, only after confirming the life had left their body.

He shook the Northern Bright Sword with a swift motion.

Splatter.

A straight line of blood sprayed onto the snow. Some of the Suwang Sect and Thirteen Heavens martial artists, startled, instinctively took steps back.

It was unbecoming of warriors who had long lorded over their territories with power.

Perhaps the Final Lightning had left that much of an impression. Even the White Path martial artists lingering on the ridge seemed reluctant to make a move.

Not that he could spare them any attention. Every swing of his blade exacted a heavy toll.

The pain was like hundreds of needles stabbing into his arm. Enduring this stinging agony left no room for others in his field of view. He could only maintain the facade of strength as he moved forward.

“Let’s go.”

He directed his words toward Jang Sun-il and the Bukgung siblings standing in the distance.

This time, their reactions were reversed. The expressions of the ice palace nobles were quite different from Jang Sun-il’s.

The dazed herbalist boy couldn’t match their intense, striking features, which revealed profound emotion—almost a sense of awe.

“Please visit the ice palace someday.”

“The Palace Lord will surely restrain her icy temper.”

The four of them walked in silence.

No one dared to follow.

For a time, only the sound of crunching snow echoed. White footprints stretched behind them, accompanied by a serene, eerie quiet.

***

The ripple of spiritual power shattered the formation, allowing them to escape. Behind him, the Bukgung siblings let out astonished gasps.

The short reprieve they had gained did not last long.

As the transparent veil of the barrier dissipated, chaos unfolded once more. The sound of powerful energy clashes echoed relentlessly.

Snow fell from the branches of tall cypress and pine trees, shaken loose by the violent impacts.

The battle sparked by the rumor of the Thousand-Year He Shou Wu was nearing its climax.

"Run! Get out of here!"

"Escaping is the only choice! That’s something we can’t fight!"

"It’s the Fourth Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult!"

Amid the hundreds of presences scattered like weeds across the snowy terrain, one particularly menacing energy surged and swayed violently.

The speed was terrifying. A massive wave of power, like a giant bat, surged forward with rapid undulation.

It tore through the steep mountain slopes as though they were level ground, moving so swiftly that it seemed to fly. Its trajectory was aimed directly at Jeong Yeon-shin and his group.

Nearly a straight line, the precision was unnerving—evidence of extreme sensory refinement.

The scent of death lingered in the air. The Fourth Apostle claimed dozens of lives with each stride, never slowing their relentless advance.

The Fourth Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult. Such mastery was to be expected, yet that was precisely the problem. In his current condition, Jeong Yeon-shin couldn’t be certain of victory.

"Step aside," Jeong Yeon-shin ordered, his gaze steady and calm.

He glanced toward the opposite hill. That’s where they’d emerge—it was a life-or-death decision.

"And," he added, speaking again without waiting for his companions’ responses. With a quick motion, he gestured toward his satchel.

Whrrrrr—

The air trembled as the energy of Mancheon Hwawu flared in his hand. The books within his satchel shot into the air, their pages fluttering wildly as they hovered around him.

Herbalist Jang Sun-il stood agape. The sight of the books spinning and shimmering with energy around Jeong Yeon-shin was both mystical and unsettling.

"Sun-il, didn’t you say your family’s enemy was a faction of the Demonic Path? Take one book. It might help. But not the spirit herb."

"Huh, wh-what...?"

Before Jang Sun-il could fully process what was happening, a thunderous shockwave erupted from the opposite hill.

Boom!

It was the recoil from someone executing a supreme movement technique. A figure clad in crimson robes soared through the air like a flying bird of prey. He was a man with jet-black hair, as dark as ebony.

"You’ve come at last," Jeong Yeon-shin muttered.

The man’s blood-red eyes gleamed ominously as they scanned the group. His arms dripped with blood, leaving crimson droplets on the snow below.

His entire body radiated overwhelming energy. A translucent vortex surrounded him, streaked with flashes of blood-red currents. He exuded the aura of someone capable of anything.

Indeed, he had slaughtered dozens on his way up.

Even the elite black-clad masters of Ipwang Fortress would have had to take utmost caution against him. After all, he was the Fourth Apostle of the Bloodflame Cult—an opponent that demanded every bit of preparation.

"Not bad, but it’s still not enough! The pyromancer must die!"

The Apostle grinned maliciously as he hovered midair, his gaze fixed on Jeong Yeon-shin. His smile, revealing sharp teeth, was filled with sinister delight, as though he could strike at any moment without hesitation.

"Taesa, you’re being hunted by someone impersonating the Cult Leader’s authority. If you don’t come with me..."

It happened then.

Whummm—

The sky darkened, and red light rose from the ground.

As if in a dream, the sky and earth met. At their center was the Apostle’s waist. It resembled a horizon.

A faintly glowing boundary stretched out, tinged with the hues of a crimson sunset. For the first time, shock appeared on the Apostle’s face.

"...Za-Ha Divine Art?"

In an instant, his body was cleaved in two.

Splatter!

Blood sprayed into the air like flower petals, a grotesque yet strangely elegant sight. The scene was surreal and dreamlike.

Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t bother to confirm the Apostle’s demise. Instead, his attention shifted to the faint scent of plum blossoms that had silently approached his side.

It was the aura of Yulha Nangnang, the Sword God of the Mount Hua Sect and Master of the Sacred Flower Sword. Her clear, serene presence resonated in his ear as she murmured softly.

"...‘Preliminary Draft of the Total Destruction of the Demonic Path,’ authored by Seomye. A section on the Apostles of the Thirteen Heavens...?"

Without turning his head, Jeong Yeon-shin already knew what she was looking at. It must have been the table of contents from one of the books floating around him. It listed six entries: