Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 432: Grandmaster (6)

Beneath the deep blue sky stretched a land darkened with shadow. The earth sprawled in all directions like an endless plain, entirely scorched black.

Scattered across the landscape, jet-black flames flickered and swayed. The summer sun, shimmering transparently as it descended, reached the ground and seethed with an obsidian glow.

It was less of a ruin and more akin to a vision of hell itself—a land fit to be called dead.

Amidst it all, a strange voice resonated softly. The cadence resembled that of a restless ghost reciting poetry in a faltering tone.

When ten men gather, one will surely claim kingship.

The dust storms of the plains are the distant howls of warhorses.

A fence built in ten days is but a sandcastle awaiting the high tide.

Is the great tide of time an undeniable providence, or is defying it the test that has been granted?

Black embers danced erratically above the dead earth before vanishing.

“How does it feel to hear it in person?”

A silver-white mask, covering only down to the bridge of the nose, tilted slightly in amusement.

The figure wearing it was draped entirely in a white cloak embroidered with extravagant golden patterns, as ornate as a monarch’s robe. Yet, despite his regal appearance, he was gripping an old man’s throat and lifting him into the air.

“This is the preface to the Heavenly Demon Divine Art you so desperately sought. «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» The mnemonic verse has a certain charm, don’t you think?”

“...I cannot believe it. It... cannot be authentic.”

The old man’s voice, thick with phlegm, rasped as he spoke. Even with his throat seized, his internal breathing remained unbroken.

His black robe, which hung long and loose over his back, bore the words Pure Demon—etched in a vigorous, dragon-like script.

“You foolish old man. Where is there authenticity in the demonic path?”

The masked figure sneered.

“The martial arts of the Ming Cult exist to be reforged in the hands of the successor. Those halfwits who blindly follow the teachings of past generations can never become the Heavenly Demon. That is why you are merely a branch lineage.”

“......”

“And yet, I must admit, I was somewhat surprised. You took the demonic essence of the dead? Wasn’t the grave you desecrated that of the previous Pure Demon Lord? Your own disciple, no less.”

“That is... the way of the demonic path.”

The old man’s eyes turned pitch-black as he spoke.

Sssk.

The masked figure’s head tilted slightly to the side.

It was impossible to tell whether he agreed with the words or dismissed them as meaningless drivel. His very demeanor dripped with mockery.

The masked figure spoke again.

“You certainly put in the effort, and you did grow strong enough to brazenly utter the strongest under heaven... but—”

At that moment, thin veins surfaced over his pale, porcelain-like hand. His grip tightened.

A ragged breath escaped from the old man’s mouth, while the masked figure’s lips curled into a lopsided grin.

“You didn’t expect this outcome, did you?”

Heh... Heh heh...

The old man let out a broken laugh.

“But of course. A mere husk prolonging its existence through restrictive techniques... who could have guessed that such a thing would undo its own seals in a bid to kill me...”

“It was nothing more than a fleeting moment. And now, you’ve locked it away again.”

The old man’s laughter grew darker.

“You are... nothing but a grand mayfly.”

“Such an unrefined metaphor. You’re no good at composing verses, old man.”

The masked figure responded indifferently before suddenly lifting his gaze toward the distance.

Unlike the world below, the sky was clear and bright. Wispy white clouds stretched into long tails, drifting lazily across the heavens.

“They should have begun by now.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“The direction of the Huashan Compact. Depending on the results Seomye produces, my choice will change. The state of the martial world is becoming rather unpredictable.”

“I have no interest in your cryptic nonsense.”

The old man scoffed.

“I hear that boy is another monstrous abomination, much like you. If that is true... then isn’t it laughable that those who will soon die are being hailed as the future of the martial world? That they are praised as the next great wave of the Yangtze? I wonder how the world will react once it learns the truth.”

Perhaps it was a final flicker of resistance. Despite the crushing grip around his throat, the old man’s breathing gradually steadied.

With every syllable he uttered, the ominous presence of a Demonic Grandmaster seeped further into his words.

“Even the heavens do not permit your existence, yet you truly believe you can become the Heavenly Demon? Especially when you are nothing more than a living corpse yourself.”

“Isn’t it you who is the corpse?”

“Watching you now, I can already see what madness that child of Ipwang Fortress will one day unleash. A pity I will not live to witness it. The higher one climbs, the more reluctant one becomes to part with life.”

“A mere appetizer for a meal is running its mouth at length.”

The masked figure smirked. “Though, you did say one thing correctly. There was one truth in your words.”

At some point, dark currents had begun winding like tendrils up the masked figure’s smooth hand.

Conversely, the old man’s body was withering as if it had been drained dry. His skin cracked apart, flaking into dust, while the light in his eyes faded into empty darkness.

“Yes.”

The Invincible So Cheonmu, Lord of the Ming Cult, whispered into the old man’s ear.

By then, his fingers were wrapped in black energy, silk-like in its eerie smoothness.

“I am the Seomye after death.”

Crunch—

The old man’s neck caved in with a sickening snap.

***

The sound of measured footsteps echoed through the quiet surroundings.

A young man with striking features walked along the path, a single sword hanging at his waist.

The hem of his robe, as black as ebony, swayed gently in sync with his firm stride.

Namgung Hwa-shin, White Qilin of Ipwang Fortress.

It was within the vast estate.

Those who passed by him paused momentarily.

Some among the middle-aged men and women, who might well have grown children of their own, abandoned propriety and turned to glance back at him.

A few even spoke to him before he could walk past completely, their voices tinged with warmth.

“Prince Namgung, I trust you are well today?”

“Yes, Lady Ho.”

“You remember my name? My sect will soon have a duel with Jeomchang. May I ask for a few words of encouragement?”

“I wish you victory.”

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

His manner was imbued with the dignity befitting one of noble lineage.

Ever since he was granted the Black Rank and temporarily appointed as the Lord of Suncheon Ik-ju, some martial artists had begun to regard him as the rightful heir of the Namgung Clan.

Fourteen days had passed since the duel between Ipwang Fortress and the Peng Family.

Dozens of duels had taken place. That was how many sects were participating.

In the meantime, Ipwang Fortress had fought two more matches.

Their opponents were Haeinmun of the Southern Sea and Shandong’s Ak Family. The Whites, Blues, and Blacks had fought a total of eight times, and Ipwang Fortress had claimed victory in seven.

Only Ma Woong, a White-Rank warrior, had suffered a single defeat against Ak Ye-rim of the Ak Family.

The most brilliant moment of that duel had been the single exchange between the Ak Family’s lord and the newly appointed Violet-Rank.

Yeonhwa Nata Seomye had participated in two duels in total, and not once had he suffered a setback.

As the Huashan Compact progressed, he was increasingly being regarded as an insurmountable wall among his peers.

In Jade Sword Arena, where hundreds of renowned martial artists had gathered, a new epithet was already beginning to circulate.

Meanwhile, Naraksal Ma Jin had successively defeated the greatest fist master of Haeinmun and Ak In-un, the Lion Capture Spear, who was considered the next master spear-user of the Ak Family.

Only after facing the Lion Capture Spear did he finally draw the sword on his back. As soon as the duel ended, he secluded himself in his quarters—to meditate, regulate his breathing, and recover his energy.

—Brat, you understand what the new Violet-Rank’s Heart’s Ultimate Qilin means for you. A technique that does not suit you will never surpass the Three Elements Sword you’ve mastered.

The words Ma Jin had left for Namgung Hwa-shin.

A warning not to force himself to learn something against his nature. Jeong Yeon-shin, too, had said nothing to him about it.

The only thing he did was push extra side dishes onto Namgung Hwa-shin’s plate during breakfast with their comrades.

"You’re an inch shorter than me now, so you need to eat more."

Cheong An Sword had commented that this was something all young warriors under Ma Gwang-ik had experienced.

And now—

Clatter.

Namgung Hwa-shin opened the heavy door to the inner chamber of a grand pavilion and stepped across the threshold.

“Ah, so you’ve come.”

Had she been treating the internal injuries left by Ma Jin?

Lying diagonally on the bed, Peng Family’s Inhu, Peng Ya sneered as she looked at him.

“So... they sent someone of appropriate rank, I suppose? Then again, it’s only natural. The Violet-Rank wouldn’t personally lower himself to come here.”

Self-mockery laced her tone. Namgung Hwa-shin responded with calm composure.

“You are correct. I have come as an envoy.”

“I know. Just take a seat.”

Peng Ya gestured with her chin, still lying down, toward a sandalwood chair beside the bed.

Namgung Hwa-shin moved it forward, then swept the dust from the wooden backrest with a delicate wave of palm energy before sitting down.

“Quite the neat freak, aren’t you? People call you the most flawless warrior, but maybe it’s because you’re so meticulous about everything. Well... as an illegitimate son striving for recognition from your main family, I suppose you had no choice.”

This time, she laughed outright, her words steeped in mockery. Yet Namgung Hwa-shin ignored her taunts, speaking directly and without unnecessary embellishment.

“You must have already received notice. Tell me how the Peng Family has decided to respond to the demands of the main fortress. Full cooperation in all future missions, the transfer of the northern Zhili branch’s land, supply of internal injury medicine, oversight of civilian affairs in northern Zhili and Shandong, and reporting on progress every Mid-Autumn Festival... and everything else.”

“I was already speechless about it. Are you telling me all of this came from Yeonhwa Nata’s mind? No, more importantly, is it even acceptable for such major decisions to be made here? With an organization as massive as yours, I would expect you to be slow in your movements. I heard that in your fortress, decisions are made by the strongest in the General Command Bureau.”

“The will of the Violet-Rank is the will of the main fortress.”

“......”

Peng Ya closed her mouth.

The sharp gaze of the Peng Family’s warrior trembled slightly. It was the expression of someone experiencing overwhelming astonishment.

She had spoken earlier about differences in rank, yet only now did she truly feel the gulf between the Violet-Rank of Ipwang Fortress and her own status as the acting lord of the Peng Family.

“So if we refuse, you’ll exterminate us outright. Of course, we expected to pay a price, but to pressure the main family this much, so close to Beijing... What, do you plan to launch a grand campaign to hunt down the northern demons at some point? Even if you mobilized the Nine Sects and sent two Violet-Rank warriors, you’d still be short-handed against the masters of the nomadic tribes.”

“I know nothing of such matters. Sign your name at the bottom of the document you received and return it.”

“You know nothing, and you have no interest. Might as well have sent Yang Guifei. Ah, but that scoundrel is just a Blue-Rank nobody, so he wouldn’t have been suited for this.”

Peng Ya muttered to herself as she rummaged through the shelves within reach. The leaders of the Peng Family had already finished deliberations regarding the decree disguised as a proposal from Ipwang Fortress. All that remained was signing the document.

At that moment—

[I inquire of the Peng Family. Is White Qilin Namgung Hwa-shin present? I can sense the energy of the Grand Expansive Divine Art.]

A deep, resonant voice rang out, as if it intended to fill the entire Jade Sword Arena through sheer force.

It was a transmission imbued with the vast energy reserves of an aged master from an esteemed family. For a brief moment, the shelf that Peng Ya had touched trembled, and a faint rattling echoed.

"The pressure... it’s the Imperial Sword Form...?"

She turned her head in irritation, raising a single eyebrow.

She immediately understood the reason for the disturbance.

She had ordered that no visitors be allowed while the envoy from Ipwang Fortress was present, but the intruder had prioritized his own business over the Peng Family’s dignity.

“Is it Elder Namgung? That old turtle...?”

Clatter.

While Peng Ya spat out her expletives, Namgung Hwa-shin stepped out of the room.

Beyond the door he had swung open—

Among the Peng Family warriors, frozen in place with their hands hovering over their weapons, an elderly man in blue robes had already reached the pavilion and was stroking his beard.

It was an utterly surreal sight. The warriors of an elite family had been bound by sheer force of presence.

It was as if an invisible palace had unfolded, rendering the Peng Family’s warriors into nothing more than subjects.

[I ask for your understanding. This is something many must witness.]

The man’s dignified words rang with authority. A single old sword hung at his waist, and his body was draped in deep-blue silk, exuding an inborn nobility.

Azure Sword Lord, Namgung Mu-hak.

A direct descendant of the martial aristocracy that ruled Southern Zhili.

Once the commander of the Infinite Sky Sword Division, the elite force of his clan, he now served as the de facto leader of the reclusive Namgung Clan.

Namgung Hwa-shin, gazing at him in silence, slowly brought both hands together in a respectful gesture. It was the manner of greeting one gave to an outsider, not to kin.

“Elder.”

“Call me Grandfather. There is much I must say to you.”

Namgung Mu-hak’s voice deepened.

At the same time, his presence grew heavier.

With a sharp crack, the ground beneath them fractured, and a faint, dome-like force field enveloped the surroundings. Peng Ya, who had been about to step over the threshold to confront him, suddenly hesitated.

She had not yet fully recovered from her internal injuries—stepping into the Imperial Sword Form’s domain in her current state would be dangerous.

“I heard that Ipwang Fortress’s next opponent has been decided—it will be Jeomchang Sect, led by the Sword Empress. I have something to offer you. A way to avoid recklessly burdening yourself with the perilous Sun-Slaying Sword Technique.”

The Elder of the Namgung Clan stood alone, exuding a presence within the Peng Family’s domain that was almost untouchable.

Namgung Hwa-shin’s gaze wavered ever so slightly.

He slowly opened his mouth.

“...My superior is present at the Jade Sword Arena. Even if you have business with me, it is proper to inform the Violet-Rank of the main fortress first. I will not listen.”

“This is a matter of the family. It has nothing to do with Namgung Hwa-shin of Ipwang Fortress. You need not concern yourself with your superior.”

With every word, his presence intensified. Tiny grains of sand and fragments of stone began to rise into the air.

The Namgung Clan, having retreated into seclusion after losing the majority of its direct lineage, had finally returned to the martial world. As one of the greatest noble sects, restoring its prestige was the priority—hence, the overwhelming display of authority.

Moreover, it was clear that Namgung Mu-hak intended to make a spectacle of this event.

Despite belonging to a righteous faction, he disregarded the opinions of others. It was a reflection of the desperation of a noble family on the verge of extinction—as relentless as a military campaign.

“......”

Namgung Hwa-shin’s expression grew heavy.

He slowly moved his hand toward his waist, where his Ipwang Sword had rested since the day he joined the main fortress.

“Do not draw it. Just listen.”

Namgung Mu-hak gave a curt warning, raising a hand behind him.

One of the ten blue-robed swordsmen who had accompanied the elder immediately responded.

A middle-aged man, carrying a cloth-wrapped bundle on his back—he was the very swordsman who had trained Namgung Hwa-shin in the Silent Sword for over a decade.

“I know you are not one for greed. But this is different. Even you will find this satisfying.”

His voice was low.

At that moment, a sound like the tearing of a massive scroll echoed through the air.

“Hm...?!”

Namgung Mu-hak, who had been standing with unshakable composure, wavered slightly. At the same time, the gathered warriors instinctively snapped their heads upward.

The translucent force field was fracturing.

It happened in an instant.

Through the cracks, dozens of streaks of sword energy slashed downward like a sudden storm, forcing the masters of the Namgung Clan to their knees in scattered formation.

Even Namgung Mu-hak was not spared. Stifled groans filled the air from all directions.

Step.

A polished leather shoe touched the ground.

Against the setting sun, a lone figure stood, hand resting on the hilt of a sword.

A colossal aura of sword energy billowed from him like waves.

The glow of the twilight seemed to dye the hem of his crimson robe with a faint shade of blue, casting his silhouette over Namgung Hwa-shin.

“Elder Namgung.”

The figure who had descended, tearing through the Imperial Sword Form’s domain, finally spoke.

It was a bizarre thing.

Even though he had addressed the elder with proper formality, the word old man seemed to echo throughout the chamber.

His gaze lowered toward the elder’s thick, white hair.

“State your business.”