Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 323: Boundless Sky (2)

Ipwang Fortress, White Rank.

For the heirs of the Ipwang Ma Clan, it was merely a transitional position. They lived in a different world.

Even if the white robes of the fortress commanded respect in most martial regions, it meant little. It was nothing more than a temporary demotion in status, something to be endured.

To Ma Se-in, that was exactly what it was.

Crunch.

The young noble walked down the path, his sharp, black-and-white eyes unwavering.

Though Ma Se-in's mastery of Harmonious Fire Divine Art was said to be unmatched among his peers, he still had to bow his head to some mid-ranking Blue Rank warriors from the countryside.

Such was the law of the fortress. White Rank was merely an entry-level position in the official hierarchy.

However, his treatment was different. Not only servants but even some senior warriors treated Ma Se-in with deference.

It was a matter of long-standing dedication by the Ipwang Ma Clan—and the reputation of their volatile temper.

“Master Ma, a rare sight. Where are you headed?”

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“A message came from the Wonpyeong Arena.”

Ma Se-in answered briefly. Behind him, a young martial artist in white robes followed closely.

The Blue Rank warrior who had greeted him with a friendly expression hesitated.

The moment Ma Se-in mentioned Wonpyeong Arena, his face stiffened slightly.

“Hasn't that place completely collapsed? I heard it's still under reconstruction...”

“There’s only one place the Returning Lord of Yeouicheon could be, isn't there? He doesn't reside in the Yeouicheon Hall, but rather among the Black Ranks—on the stone seats.”

“...Right, of course. Travel safely.”

With a half-hearted nod, the Blue Rank warrior hurried away, moving with surprising urgency despite his burly frame.

Crunch.

Ma Se-in watched him disappear, then resumed walking.

At the far end of the wide, white-paved road of the fortress lay the half-destroyed Wonpyeong Arena.

Swish.

His escort immediately stepped in line beside him.

Like Ma Se-in, he was also White Rank.

A young man named # Nоvеlight # Ma Woong, who had recently made a name for himself within the fortress. Among the Ipwang Ma Clan, his proficiency in the diluted Jeong Family Dynamic Gong was second only to Ma Se-in’s.

It was said that the wall of his residence bore a painting of an Ojak Bridge woven from crows and magpies, along with a single kite modeled after a hawk.

“Young Master, that senior’s reaction was odd. Could today’s business harm your reputation?”

He spoke cautiously.

Ma Se-in slowly shook his head.

“Anyone would react that way. If they hear I’m going to meet the Lord of Yeouicheon.”

“I’m not well-versed in the rumors of this place. I haven’t been in the fortress long...”

“I know. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“There are many stories about the Lord of Yeouicheon’s temperament. They say that his rare, once-in-a-millennium talent comes with extreme unpredictability... Is that true? Should we be concerned?”

“It’ll be fine. I only caught a glimpse of him a few times when I was a child, from my grandfather’s shoulder... but I haven't done anything wrong. Besides, he’s not the only Black Rank currently residing in the fortress.”

Ma Se-in’s voice was calm.

So was his posture, his tone—everything about him.

A collateral heir, yet directly descended from Ma Gwang-ik, the Bright Wing Lord of this era.

It was widely rumored that after forming ties with Seomye and witnessing the downfall of his mother, Ju Yeon-jeong, his character had deepened.

"Hmm," Ma Woong nodded in understanding, then suddenly spoke up.

“Come to think of it, the stationed forces in the fortress haven’t changed much. Even though Cheonrim Corps and Seonmok Command have both lost contact in Xinjiang.”

“The standing forces are growing stronger. Ever since the Elder Council Head completed his Gold Dust Ritual, there haven’t been any Purple Rank warriors left to guard the fortress. There are also rumors that the Fortress Lord has been absent again. If that’s true, at least three Martial Divisions need to remain here for defense.”

Currently, the Lord of Yeouicheon and the Myeolseom Corps were stationed in the fortress alongside Soyeon Corps to uphold its defenses.

Meanwhile, the whereabouts of Suncheon Ik, Cheonrim Corps, and Seonmok Command remained completely unknown.

It was an issue that was gradually shaking the fortress. One of the biggest disruptions since the Sect Reformation of Ipwang Fortress.

With the vastness of the land, long-term assignments were common.

It wasn’t unusual for a single mission to last over a year.

In the Myungryu Division, which specialized in intelligence, there were even Blue Rank warriors who hadn’t set foot in the fortress in twenty years.

Only Ma Gwang-ik, who recently became the youngest Black Rank, was an exception.

However, the Great Lord’s divine beasts failing to return to the fortress for such an extended period—that was a different matter altogether.

Death in action.

That was how Ipwang Fortress, with its military nature, would classify it.

"Has anything like this ever happened since the founding of the nation? Could there be some unknown demonic force in Xinjiang?"

“Who knows... The Command Bureau must be struggling. Sending reinforcements would be like pouring water into a bottomless pit. It’s not like the fortress has surplus Purple Ranks to spare.”

“If two reinforcements aren’t enough, we should send three more... No, even that won’t be an easy decision.”

“This isn’t some gambling match of Mahjong. High-ranking Black Ranks don’t move lightly, and if things go wrong, we could lose five or six Black Ranks in Xinjiang. You think that’s an ordinary risk?”

The Ipwang Fortress Command Bureau devoted immense effort to managing the movements of its Black Ranks.

In any major conflict, a transcendent-level master was treated like a divine being. But no matter where they were stationed, their chances of willingly becoming one of the Seventeen Guardian Swords of the fortress were slim to none.

Even capturing the Fortress Lord’s favor was a problem in itself.

Ma Woong’s shoulders sagged slightly. He, too, was a warrior of Ipwang Fortress.

“There really isn’t a clear solution. No wonder the martial world scum often look down on the fortress. To those without loyalty, we must look like some massive beast, shackled in place.”

“Forget about how lowly men see us. As far as fortress defense goes, sending out two forces on the level of Black Rank’s Three Strongholds would be the better choice. The Command Bureau will make the decision soon.”

As they walked, the surrounding brush parted before them. The view gradually widened.

The dynamic between master and subordinate remained formally bound by rank, yet there was an unusual air of ease between them.

Before long, they reached their destination.

“What do you think he wants?” Ma Woong asked. “The Lord of Yeouicheon.”

“We’re about to find out,” Ma Se-in replied.

With that, their field of vision completely opened.

Before them stretched a training ground reserved for the most esteemed figures.

No weapon racks. No excessive adornments. Just an enormous, empty field.

In fact, the ruins beside it—where short-statured artisans moved ceaselessly—stood out far more.

That heap of rubble was once the Wonpyeong Arena.

But despite its desolation, this empty space carried an authority almost equal to the Grand Assembly Hall.

It was one of the rare places where Black Rank warriors tested their skills against each other.

Under the fortress’s strict laws, comrades were strictly forbidden from drawing blades against one another. This place, however, was the only exception.

Upon stepping into the Black Rank Training Grounds, the two members of the Ipwang Ma Clan fell silent.

They were not alone.

There were guests.

A young man and a young woman.

“......”

Neither looked to be past their mid-twenties, yet both wore jet-black robes flowing all the way to their feet.

Were they about to duel?

Standing at the center of the clearing, they faced one another in complete silence.

The sheer tension in the air stifled any sound.

Ma Se-in swallowed quietly.

‘The Commander of Soyeon Corps and the Lord of Yeouicheon...’

The man was none other than the Soyeon Corps Commander, famed for his mastery of Spirit Phantom Step.

A martial artist with ears as keen as a sword’s tip.

With his distinct sharp features and composed expression, he was the very image of an aristocratic lineage. His body radiated an exceptionally refined qi, his fitted black robes accentuating his solid build.

“You’re here.”

The Soyeon Corps Commander gave Ma Se-in a brief glance before speaking.

“Shall we begin?”

The black-robed woman standing across from him crossed her arms and smirked.

“You mean, showing your hand? Doesn’t it embarrass you to hoard everything only to have it taken away?”

Her jet-black battle robe was extravagantly designed.

The lower hem split into multiple sharp trails, resembling ceremonial garb.

Yet the way the fabric rippled in the air, like flickering flames, hinted at an unceasing flow of internal energy.

Her long, loose-fitting black trousers were clearly tailored for footwork-based combat.

The Lord of Yeouicheon.

Northern Fang of the Dragon Fist—Bukgung Ah.

Her name meant ‘fang’—a word some critics claimed suited her far better than her famed title.

“The Ma Clan’s little cub.”

Bukgung Ah’s voice rang out.

“Stay right where you are.”

It was a command from the Lord of Yeouicheon.

Ma Se-in made an effort to keep his skepticism hidden.

He knew plenty about the monster standing before him.

The greatest prodigy of Ipwang Fortress.

At least, that was the common belief—until Ma Gwang-ik-ju came knocking at the fortress gates.

She had donned the Black Robes at an exceptionally young age.

It hadn’t taken long before she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Lord of Myeolseom Corps and the Ipwang Divine Spear, counted among the most formidable warriors of their era.

It was common for her to clash with Ak Su-rim at Wonpyeong Arena, yet even after calling the elder a grandmother, the only thing that ever got broken was the meeting hall.

“Don’t go giving out orders so freely,” Soyeon Corps Commander Yu Jeong-myeong said quietly.

His noble lineage granted him a striking presence, making his reprimand sound like the solemn decree of a celestial god.

Ma Woong, standing behind Ma Se-in, shifted uneasily.

Bukgung Ah’s pale cheek dimpled slightly.

“Looks like Uncle Yu still has a lot to learn.”

With a lazy smirk, she crossed her arms and flicked her index finger.

“Since when do equal-rank lords give each other orders? Isn’t this place made for solving exactly this kind of issue? You were a step too slow last time. Should we go again?”

The Lord of Yeouicheon.

Dragon Fist—Bukgung Ah.

In terms of age, she was closer to the younger generation. And so was the way she taunted her opponents.

Among high-level warriors, duels varied in nature—some lasted seven days and nights, while others ended in a single decisive strike.

It depended on the type of martial arts, combat experience, personality, the specific techniques chosen in the moment, the terrain, even the weather—every factor played a role.

That was why single-exchange battles were so common among top martial artists.

Soyeon Corps Commander Yu Jeong-myeong was a man of deep composure.

He didn’t let himself get dragged into Bukgung Ah’s battle-crazed way of speaking.

“Weren’t you summoned to bolster the fortress’ strength? If you want cooperation from subordinates, learn to treat them properly.”

“Why would I need cooperation? I can just watch.”

With that, there was a faint rustling sound—a book flew out of her robes and into the air.

A seamless display of aerial object control.

The dozens of fluttering pages spread open like wings, hovering between the two lords.

The cover bore the words [Hwanikbo]—Illusory Footwork.

“This is a footwork technique.”

Bukgung Ah gave a brief nod, and—

Fwwoosh!

A large chunk of marble suddenly shot out from the ruins, embedding itself into the training ground with a heavy thud.

It formed a crude stone seat.

Her control over energy was completely free and effortless.

Before Ma Se-in could fully process what he had just witnessed, Bukgung Ah casually dropped onto the makeshift seat, crossing her legs.

She glanced over him with mild curiosity.

“You’re of the Dynamic School. I’ll deal with you later.”

A hint of anticipation flickered in her dark, stormy eyes.

“I’ve always been curious about the little treasure that Uncle Soyeon carries around like a sacred relic.”

The [Hwanikbo] manual drifted toward her.

It was an otherworldly sight—a phenomenon far beyond normal human ability.

The Ipwang Ma Clan warriors remained silent.

Even Soyeon Corps Commander stood still for a moment, gazing at the book in her hands with undisguised regret.

Bukgung Ah silently skimmed through the manual.

Her black pupils, like polished obsidian, reflected the light of condensed energy.

“Set the pillars over there!”

“They’re going to get destroyed again! Stop practicing here, you’re wasting internal energy!”

For a while, the only sound was the voices of the short-statured artisans, working tirelessly to rebuild the Wonpyeong Arena.

But Bukgung Ah’s reading didn’t take long.

Suddenly, she lifted her head from the book, her brows slightly furrowed.

“This was... meant to be read?”

“...Excuse me?”

Ma Se-in answered absentmindedly, still trying to grasp the situation—only to flinch at his own words.

Bukgung Ah ignored him.

She had turned her gaze toward the direction of Ma Gwang-ik’s Hall.

“...What kind of personality does the author of this have?”

She scowled slightly.

“Don’t tell me the Heavenly Demon’s Dominion Step has made its way into the fortress.”