Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 324: Boundless Sky (3)

Yeouicheon Lord Bukgung Ah.

Her sharply defined features were as pale as snow.

Leaning lazily against a chunk of marble debris, her long legs stretched out in front of her, exuding an effortless sense of dominance. The arms she had loosely folded across her chest were just as well-proportioned.

She was born with a body made for combat. Even the air around her knees shimmered faintly with kicking energy, rendering any lower-body techniques meaningless before they even began.

Her surname was Bukgung.

She hailed from the northern territories, a place known for its bold and unrestrained warrior families. It was said her bloodline could be traced back to a noble royal lineage.

She was one of the three most powerful Black Robes in Ipwang Fortress.

She was known for being unable to sleep anywhere in the fortress except Wonpyeong Arena, but that wasn’t considered a particularly strange quirk.

She had plenty of other compulsions—not to mention an absurd level of martial prowess and battlefield achievements.

She was not a humble person.

She carried the self-pride of a northern fortress and the vanity of a warrior king.

She was not the type to examine other people’s martial arts manuals.

For Yeouicheon Lord to be reading Ma Gwang-ik-ju’s technique manual—this was a rare and shocking occurrence in Ipwang Fortress.

It meant something.

Something bigger than just one woman’s curiosity.

The broader situation had to be considered.

Famine had led to widespread rebellion among the martial clans.

The Thirteen Heavens, led by Yeo Ryeong, were rumored to be rallying the scattered forces of the land.

The countless unorthodox sects and mid-tier martial groups forming beneath the Thirteen Heavens.

The Eight Great Families, growing increasingly greedy as they pursued their own interests.

The hundreds of new martial alliances emerging in opposition to Ipwang Fortress, forming their own "Murim Leagues."

And then—the fallen.

The White Robes, Blue Robes, and even some Black Robes of Ipwang Fortress dying alone, surrounded by enemies.

As the chaos of the world dragged on, the robes of Ipwang Fortress grew worn and faded.

Most martial artists saw them as enemies, not allies.

Only a tiny handful of righteous sects—like the Old Nine Gates—even bothered to provide aid.

The fortress was cornered.

The number of rising champions had dwindled to almost nothing.

Yeouicheon Lord and Soyeon Corps Commander studying Yeon-shin’s martial manual...?

Is the situation outside deteriorating that fast? Have things gotten so bad that even the standby Black Robes need to research their junior’s techniques just to reinforce our ranks...?

Ma Se-in swallowed hard again.

His throat clenched with resentment.

The way they so casually mentioned “Heavenly Demon” in reference to his friend, Jeong Yeon-shin, grated on his nerves.

How could they—?

But he had to endure it.

Even if Ipwang Fortress’ great lords worked tirelessly to stabilize the world, their personalities were completely different.

Some were the epitome of justice.

Others were more like butchers, showing kindness only to the common folk while being ruthless to everyone else.

Bukgung Ah leaned toward the latter.

...No, was Yeon-shin the same?

Ma Se-in pushed the intrusive thought aside.

Jeong Yeon-shin was kind, even toward the people of Ipwang Fortress.

He was nothing like the lunatic sitting before him.

“How amusing.”

The words left Yeouicheon Lord Bukgung Ah as she finished the manual.

Her expression was strange.

Though her cheeks were ever so slightly flushed, her brow remained deeply furrowed.

Ma Se-in pressed his hands together in a polite gesture, but he couldn’t fully conceal his displeasure.

Even against one of the Three Great Black Robes, the blood of the Ma Clan refused to be diluted.

Bukgung Ah tilted her head, mocking him with a curled lip.

“I hear Ma Gwang-ik-ju is in Shanxi right now, right? Some of the assassins over there like to play a game—they capture their targets and toss them a copper coin. If they guess heads or tails correctly, they get to live.”

“...?”

“The bastard Seom-ye is not much different from that coin.

An absolute piece of shit.

To the clueless little underlings, he might seem like a mysterious grandmaster, speaking cryptic words beyond their comprehension—

But all he really did was set down three, four, five different paths... and then only gave two of them as actual techniques.

The smart ones could figure out the full martial art, while the dullards would just keep practicing those same two steps over and over.”

Soyeon Corps Commander flinched.

Clack.

Bukgung Ah snapped the book shut and stood up.

Her movement was unnatural.

The principles of “Sky-Stepping” and Aerial Object Manipulation had completely fused into her every action.

For a moment—she hardly looked human.

“Does he think everyone is like him?”

She scoffed, flicking through the manual again.

“Is he telling people to figure out the third step on their own? Is it because he couldn’t go beyond that himself? Or does he just think the dumbasses in this fortress aren’t even worth teaching past that point?”

She sneered.

“There’s so many missing principles. Arrogant prick.”

“...Aren’t those words a bit much?”

Ma Se-in mustered the courage to speak, but the only one who truly heard him was the man at his back—Ma Woong.

The Ma Clan bodyguard shifted uncomfortably.

Bukgung Ah turned toward Soyeon Corps Commander instead.

Her dark pupils burned with a mad glint.

“I like it.

The technique is direct—the kind that even idiots can instantly use.

I was getting sick of watching our low-level fighters get beaten to a pulp and die in the field.

With this?

They might actually manage to fart back.

Don’t you think so, Uncle Soyeon?”

“...You called the boy here to examine his Dynamic Technique, didn’t you?”

The commander spoke flatly.

Bukgung Ah replied immediately.

“I’ve already seen it.

He can’t replicate it.”

Her face darkened instantly.

Like a sword being unsheathed.

“That bastard Ma Gwang-ik-ju is absolutely out of his mind when it comes to martial arts.

Just by examining his energy waves, I can see how obsessively meticulous his structuring is.

He didn’t just learn a style—he completely rewrote his own body’s structure with it.

That’s why this /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ brat here suddenly looks like a genius.

His muscles, meridians, everything—it’s been rebuilt from the inside out.

Just looking at his body won’t give me anything useful.”

Her sharp, rambling assessment made Ma Se-in and Ma Woong freeze.

With a lazy flick of her wrist, Bukgung Ah shooed them away.

A silent “Get lost.”

Every inch of her exuded disdain.

“Hwanikbo, my ass.

This footwork could be expanded at least five more steps.

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Might as well make a new school out of it.”

With a fluid motion, she raised her arms overhead.

Her long, black sleeves brushed against her cheek, then cascaded down like waves.

Soyeon Corps Commander Yu Jeong-myeong frowned.

“You’re going off-script.

The plan was to study Ma Gwang-ik-ju’s techniques and pass them down to the fortress fighters, wasn’t it?”

“That was before I read it.

I didn’t know it was this intuitive.

It’d be a waste to just pass it down.

I think I’ll restructure it myself before that bastard Seom-ye comes back.

I should be able to refine it into Hwanik Four Steps.”

Her words were unapologetic.

Yu Jeong-myeong’s blue eyes turned cold.

“That is disrespectful.

The creator is still alive.”

“...Are you stopping me?”

Bukgung Ah’s gaze sharpened dangerously.

And then—

CRACK—!

It happened in an instant.

A sudden storm of force swept through, embedding into the Soyeon Corps Commander's body before violently repelling him.

With a deafening crash, the wall was shattered into dust, a cloud of fine stone particles blooming in the air. The entire event unfolded in the blink of an eye.

Soyeon Corps Commander Yu Jeong-myeong's figure vanished beyond the crumbled wall.

"You damned old man. If we're speaking in military terms, isn't this wartime? Do you even realize how far it is from here to Shanxi? What are you going to do if Tianji Sect's swordsmen scale the walls by tomorrow? I've heard that even those Yeo Ryeong bastards are loitering around Yangyang."

Standing in his place, Yeoui Celestial Lord clenched and unclenched the hand she had raised to her chest.

"Aren't you, me, and Ma Gwang-Ik all bound together as martial siblings under the same sect? If he likes my martial arts, let him take it."

A belated gust swept through, causing her hair to whip about like black silk.

Standing at the entrance of the clearing, Masein saw nothing.

All he could catch in his sight was Bukgung Ah's leg, subtly distorting the space around it.

The first step was shockingly familiar—the way her foot pointed directly forward, the faint ripple of energy around her calf. Every detail was unmistakable.

Hwanikbo...!

Masein’s eyes widened until they felt like they might split apart.

Not long after, a rumor began to spread subtly throughout Iphwang Fortress.

It was said that Annihilation Corps Commander, Yeoui Celestial Lord, and Soyeon Corps Commander had started a wager over a certain movement technique.

The bet was simple—whoever took four steps first would win. The martial art’s completion would ultimately be judged by its original creator.

This was how a new branch was born.

Like a trend, it spread.

Following the martial ethos of decisive battles, this was the second great wave.

Iphwang Fortress was gradually being dyed in Seomye’s shadow—so that the sword of the people would not break.

***

A Sea of Blood and Corpses.

The flatlands surrounding the gorge were stained a deep crimson. Nearly dozens of corpses lay scattered in a broad circle, their lifeless forms testament to the massacre that had taken place.

At the edge of a distant cliff, Jeong Yeon-shin's footsteps crushed the eerie silence left by the dead. Dressed in a plain black robe, his presence was the only sound amid the stillness.

"The Grand Ritual Sword pointed this way."

"Y-yes... that's right."

Hyeon Won-chang, tightening the hero’s headband behind his head, stumbled forward in a daze, trailing after him.

The aura of the Great Swordsman of Ipwang Fortress had shifted. It was different from when he had undone the seal of the Forbidden Art. Now, it was back to what it had been before—his usual self, the famed Great Snow Sword.

"Let's take a look. I may not be able to break the formation, but I can at least send a signal."

Hyeon Won-chang stepped over the bodies of the martial scholars and positioned himself against a section of the cliff wall.

His expression was tinged with a strange sentiment, yet his actions were resolute, without hesitation. The sight of him, standing amidst the bodies, his hero’s headband trailing behind him, had an odd sort of harmony to it.

Jeong Yeon-shin took a step back and observed as Hyeon Won-chang pressed against the cliff in a series of deliberate movements, forming an intricate position.

"...Sword... the Sword... Technique... Yi Gi Yu Geom..."

A hoarse voice rasped from behind them. Jeong Yeon-shin didn't turn. He already knew who it was—the last of the Namgung Young Master's swordsmen to have fallen.

Was he delirious? His mutterings carried more horror and disbelief than the flickering life still clinging to him.

"Yeonhwa... Yeonhwa Nata... Ma Gwang-ik... you must... escape..."

The body collapsed with an ominous thud. The final survivor of the massacre died murmuring to himself, his name lost to the wilderness that encased the cliff like a fortress.

Jeong Yeon-shin spared him no glance.

Ma Gwang-ikju was a martial artist. He had long since ceased to see certain enemies as human.

Benevolence was a privilege that allowed the common folk to live as people. But for a man who killed to keep himself from an early grave, it had no place in his world.

"It’s open! Damn, that was fast."

Hyeon Won-chang's voice snapped him back to the present. He lifted his gaze to see the edge of the cliff shifting, peeling open like a doorway.

A mystery even among the strange wonders of Kangho.

With a sound like the creaking of iron hinges, the cliff split apart, and a shadowed passage revealed itself. A damp wind, thick like the air of a cavern, spilled forth from within.

"Good, you survived. I was beginning to worry, with those old fools and their disciples weighing you down..."

A slender figure stood at the entrance. He had been the one to dispel the formation and open the door.

"I’ve been waiting, Seon-hwi."

The man’s silhouette dipped into a graceful, exaggerated bow, his every movement imbued with a noble elegance.

Salhyup, Geum Jon-hwi.

He wore a wide-brimmed black hat, casting a shadow over his face. The long black robe that draped over his back bore an uncanny resemblance to the attire of the high lords of Ipwang Fortress.

There was an ethereal quality to his aura, a presence so elusive he seemed ready to vanish at any moment. In Kangho, he would have been called a "Mysterious Noble Prince" or some other poetic nonsense.

His gaze fell upon Jeong Yeon-shin.

In that instant, a broad smile etched itself across Geum Jon-hwi’s lips.

"At last, we meet properly. Welcome to the true Killing Gate. I have long—"

His words faltered.

The brim of his black hat lifted slightly, revealing his line of sight. He was looking at the mountain of corpses.

All of them had been felled in a single stroke.

Anyone with even the faintest understanding of swordsmanship could tell in an instant.

Some had been severed cleanly from torso to waist, their bodies split into two perfect halves. Others had been cut down mid-swing, their swords still clutched in hands that no longer moved, their necks sliced so neatly that their weapons had embedded themselves into their own torsos. A group of bodies lay in a row, decapitated all at once, their heads sent flying in a single motion.

What kind of swordsmanship could have done this?

Salhyup was at a loss for words.

At least forty.

Not a single one of the fallen lacked a blade. Every corpse in that field had been a master of the sword, warriors at the peak of their skill.

Even for Geum Seon-hwi, who had unlocked the Forbidden Art, such a feat would have been nearly impossible.

And yet, the young noble known as Yeonhwa Nata stood before him, his expression utterly calm.

His sword was clean. His hands bore no trace of blood.

A force beyond reason.

Should I even let him in?

Doubt crept into Salhyup’s mind.

He was the leader of a sect that safeguarded the legacy of the Heavenly Demon.

The Namgung Patriarch and the Lord of Simmuryun, who had been circling like vultures around this place, were mere clouds on the horizon compared to the monster now standing before him.

His gaze kept drifting past Jeong Yeon-shin’s shoulder, back to the blood-soaked land behind him.

"The sect that raised Ma Gwang-ikju’s right hand..."

Yeonhwa Nata finally spoke. His voice was soft, almost coaxing.

"Would make for a fine tribute."