Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 366: A Supreme Martial Master (1)

Jeong Yeon-shin opened his mouth.

"Stop right there."

His voice, naturally imbued with the resonance of Lingering Radiance Qi, brushed through the thicket.

Though spoken softly, it spread far and wide. The chirping of the nearby insects fell silent in an instant.

Even in a state where some Qi regulation was necessary, his presence did not diminish. Compared to the Breath of the Flood Dragon, his opponents were nothing.

"...!"

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The martial artists who had been rushing toward Jeong Yeon-shin faltered.

"Damn it!"

"I told you! Something felt off!"

Yet not a single one of them stopped running.

Instead, they pushed their light movement techniques even harder. The spiritual resonance embedded within his Radiance Qi seemed to bear down on them.

They had recognized the difference in power. Just as the younger Jeong Yeon-shin had once felt an impenetrable wall when facing his uncle and the other division leaders of the Society of Sacred Swords, these men now felt the same.

'The scent of oil on their weapons... They've been moving through cities.'

They were worth interrogating.

Just as Jeong Yeon-shin's fingers twitched—

Martial artists, who had been in pursuit of the fugitives from a distance, rapidly closed in.

A Taoist holding a sword and a Buddhist nun carrying an iron staff—both radiated an aura of deep, just energy. They had already been closing the distance on their targets.

"Damn it! These persistent bastards...!"

"Scatter!"

The five martial masters, who had moments ago tried to use Jeong Yeon-shin as a hostage to escape their predicament, didn't hesitate.

The instant they saw the black robes embroidered with the character ‘Hwang’, they abruptly changed course at a right angle.

They were quick-witted. To have survived this long in the fringes of the martial world, they had to be.

Their instincts surpassed those of most skilled warriors, and that was what had kept them alive.

They called themselves The Five Sentinels of Vengeance.

Once warriors who had honed their skills in Sichuan, they had banded together in the famine-stricken martial world to ensure their own survival.

They had crushed the skulls of so-called righteous warriors who grew complacent, reveling in their wealth. And when competing against others in the underworld, they had ensured they always held the advantage.

The Five Sentinels were strong. They were well-coordinated.

They were skilled enough to escape before mid-tier warriors of the orthodox sects could close in on them.

They had even maimed and crippled several White Rank warriors of the Ipwang Fortress Sichuan branch and a few rising stars in the past.

So when they suddenly changed direction, it was an unexpected boon for their pursuers.

There was no longer a need to waste energy chasing down men who were already doomed.

"Master! Over there...!"

"Lady Ziwei Arhat, please, do not show them mercy...!"

Scattered voices rang out from below the hill.

Their words carried faith—filled with the distinctive, resolute vigor of young disciples from a renowned orthodox sect.

With that, the middle-aged Taoist and bhikkhuni pushed off the ground.

Hwooong!

A cloud of dust exploded from ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) the Taoist’s heel as he surged forward.

The Inscribed Flowing Gale—a movement technique of the Mount Qingcheng Sect.

Despite its inherent grace, his body pierced through space at breakneck speed, leaving a long, swirling trail of dust in his wake.

The bhikkhuni, wielding the iron staff, kept pace beside him, unaffected by the Taoist’s speed.

Her technique, Great Silent Buddha’s Shadow, was a renowned skill of the Emei Sect.

A darkened silhouette flickered behind her as she moved, generating an overwhelming force that propelled her forward.

In mere moments, the two warriors had closed the distance.

The overwhelming Qi pressure they radiated sent the Five Sentinels sprawling to the ground.

Saaaak—!

A chilling sound tore through the air, and dozens of strands of hair were sent flying.

The blade wind had swept past where their necks had been.

It was a single strike from the Taoist’s sword.

"You insane bastard...!"

"Typical Mount Qingcheng fanatic!"

"You crazy Taoist bastard! What happened to your sect’s teachings about sparing lives?!"

The Five Sentinels scrambled away, shouting curses.

But their words held no real weight.

Destroy demons, uphold righteousness.

These were the guiding principles of the Nine Great Orthodox Sects.

Aside from Shaolin, not one of them showed mercy to heretics and criminals. Their so-called compassion extended only to common folk.

The Five Sentinels knew this all too well.

They were simply buying time to regain their breath.

BOOM!

The bhikkhuni’s iron staff gave them no such chance.

Unlike the wooden staves used by non-combatant monks, the staffs wielded by the martial monks of the Emei Sect were forged from iron, capable of holding an infinite amount of Qi.

Each time her staff slammed into the ground, the earth trembled like an earthquake.

Boom! Boom! BOOM!

"Amitabha! Amitabha!"

Her battle mantra rang out like a war cry as her crimson robes billowed with violent force.

The countless shadows of the iron staff descended, and explosions of dust shot into the air.

The Five Sentinels’ internal Qi defenses, tempered and reinforced over the years, cracked like stone shattering under pressure.

The Mount Qingcheng Taoist, who had initially struck with his sword, now stood motionless.

But his hand blurred whenever a Sentinel tried to roll away, and each time, a wave of blue sword light surged like drifting clouds, rupturing blood vessels with pinpoint precision.

The Emei Sect and Mount Qingcheng Sect—two of Sichuan’s Nine Great Orthodox Sects.

They were on another level.

One by one, the Sentinels collapsed, groaning.

None had been outright killed, but all five had their arms crushed and legs pierced through. Their muscles and meridians were destroyed.

‘The Thousand-Sleeve Demon-Subduing Staff of the Emei Sect and the Azure Cloud Sword Technique of the Mount Qingcheng Sect...’

Jeong Yeon-shin stood ten paces away, watching the scene with an indifferent gaze.

His family estate was located in Xinyahyeon, Henan Province. He had grown up surrounded by Shaolin’s towering reputation.

Even as a child, he had harbored a vague admiration for Shaolin’s warrior monks.

Perhaps because he had always been alone.

Swinging branches in solitude, imagining that the great martial sages of old stood before him—figures like Bodhidharma or Zhang Sanfeng.

Enlightened and all-knowing.

Now, here stood a bhikkhuni, smashing men into the dirt with an iron staff.

And a Taoist, slicing at human flesh without hesitation.

He had never imagined this.

‘There must be a reason...?’

It felt somewhat unpleasant—like a cherished memory now marred by the imprint of a staff.

And then—

The bhikkhuni and the Taoist, who had been examining the barely conscious Five Sentinels of Vengeance, lifted their heads.

Their gazes turned toward Jeong Yeon-shin.

Swish.

The moment their eyes met, they slowly brought their hands together in a formal greeting.

Despite the significant difference in age, they were the first to offer a mudra and fist salute. It was a stark contrast to the relentless precision of their previous attacks—an elegant and composed demeanor.

"I am Ziwei. I hail from Emei."

"I am Qing Eun Zhen... My apologies for not greeting you sooner, given the urgency of the situation."

Their introductions were brief.

Ziwei Arhat and Qing Eun Daozhang—renowned masters of the Nine Orthodox Sects. Their names were known even within the Ipwang Fortress stronghold, which meant they must be well-versed in the power dynamics of Sichuan’s martial world.

"May I ask your name?" Qing Eun Daozhang, the middle-aged Taoist with thick brows, inquired. "I have not heard of anyone like you among the division leaders of Ipwang Fortress."

He trailed off.

Ziwei Arhat, who seemed to be around his age, simply stared at Jeong Yeon-shin without expression.

"......"

The mountain breeze swept through the silence.

Jeong Yeon-shin carefully weighed his words. Should he reveal his identity?

After all, the authority of Ipwang Fortress’ commanders often came from the mystique of the unknown.

‘Veteran masters of the Nine Sects...’

Though their expressions remained calm, they were not entirely at ease.

Their breathing—still long and deliberate—showed they had yet to fully lower their guard.

Strangely, it was Jeong Yeon-shin who felt more on edge.

And then—

"Ah! We caught them! These wretched fiends!"

"As expected of you, Master!"

"Look at the ground—Azure Cloud Sword Technique’s cuts... We’re lucky to witness such skill firsthand."

"What technique did Arhat Ziwei use?"

"Thousand-Sleeve Demon-Subduing Staff."

"Ah, of course. Look at those spiral-shaped imprints. The force must have been immense."

"Impossible to mimic, but even harder to counter..."

The junior disciples of the two masters arrived, about a dozen in number.

Among them were monks and Taoists in robes, as well as young martial aristocrats clad in silk, likely scions of Sichuan’s noble martial families.

Some halted upon seeing Jeong Yeon-shin, others were mesmerized by the traces of their masters' techniques, while a few glared at the battered Five Sentinels, still bleeding on the ground.

A young Taoist man and a female bhikkhuni hurried to stand behind Ziwei Arhat and Qing Eun Daozhang.

Both radiated intangible yet overwhelming Qi, marking them as elite disciples.

"Master, since we’ve caught them, we should return immediately. These thugs... Aren’t they mercenaries bought by the Thirteen Heavens? They might be tainted with Poison Incense."

The young Taoist spoke sharply, his eyes brimming with focused intensity.

He referred to Qing Eun Daozhang as Master, implying that he was a high-ranking disciple of Mount Qingcheng Sect.

The young bhikkhuni beside him nodded deeply, shadows cast beneath her high cheekbones.

"This is hardly the first time we've seen this pattern. They ambush martial artists from Ipwang Fortress and the White Path Sects, then retreat into uninhabited mountains."

Ziwei Arhat, standing before her, cut in.

"Sipjeon Gate, Golden Serpent Sect, Sunmaryeon... Even the Phantom Blade Cult and Yeoryeong Sect must be involved. Which faction do you think these men belong to?"

"With So Cheonmujuk gone, Sunmaryeon’s new Warlord has taken the throne. This could be a lure to entrap the masters of Emei and Mount Qingcheng. They need to prove something."

The young bhikkhuni, speaking at length, added—

"If the two of you engaged them directly, the new Sunmaryeon Lord might appear in person. After all, they recently lost Blade Fist Demon Do Gwon-ma and Sunmaryeon Divine Beast to Ma Gwang-ik."

Even amidst their grave discussion, neither Ziwei Arhat nor Qing Eun Daozhang took their eyes off Jeong Yeon-shin.

A wariness toward a formidable opponent.

Not all masters of the Nine Orthodox Sects welcomed the Ipwang Fortress.

Many of their sects originated as offshoots of orthodox factions persecuted by the imperial court, and conflicts between Ipwang Fortress and the Nine Sects were not uncommon.

Jeong Yeon-shin had learned this from Ma Jin when he inherited Ma Gwang-ik’s position.

"The reason we clashed with the Plum Blossom Sword Masters? Some so-called ‘righteous warriors’ started butchering villagers—turns out they were affiliated with Mount Hua’s secular branch.

When we tried to arrest them for questioning, those self-righteous fools from Mount Hua came storming in, spewing nonsense about handling their own affairs."

Before Jeong Yeon-shin had even joined Ipwang Fortress, Ma Gwang-ik had already clashed with the Plum Blossom Sword Masters of Mount Hua Sect.

Mount Hua had its own sense of justice, but Ma Gwang-ik, known as the Butcher of the Abyss, had no patience for martial aristocrats who shielded criminals under the guise of righteousness.

‘Would they even believe me if I revealed my identity?’

Jeong Yeon-shin pondered.

The Lord of Ipwang Fortress was a central figure in the martial world.

High-ranking members of the Nine Sects were bound to recognize his distinctive traits.

And as the youngest Black Rank warrior, known as the Phantom Lord of the Central Plains, he was even more notorious.

"Why do you hesitate to speak, when the character Hwang is inscribed on your shoulder?"

"If the inscription is golden, then you're the direct disciple of the previous Lord of Ipwang Fortress. Among the Society of Sacred Swords' division leaders, the only one fitting that description is Phantom Lord Seomye—and I heard he’s a seventeen-year-old boy."

Qing Eun Daozhang and his disciple spoke.

The top martial artists of the orthodox world were well-informed.

Extracting anything useful from them would not be easy.

"Surely, you’re not pretending to be the Phantom Lord...?"

The young bhikkhuni’s words barely registered.

To Jeong Yeon-shin, courtesy and formality came first.

They had offered him a formal greeting, so he raised his hands in return.

Rustle.

Yet, midway through his fist salute, he hesitated.

Because he could not see them as monks or Taoists.

The scenes from earlier flickered before his eyes—

They had acted righteously, but their methods had been brutal.

No grace. No refinement.

"I am the Lord of Ipwang Fortress."

His hands, once raised in a formal greeting, lowered with cold finality.