Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 368: A Supreme Martial Master (3)
Jeong Yeon-shin walked slowly, pulling the rusted handle of the creaking cart behind him.
The orthodox martial artists trailing in the distance watched with a sense of disbelief.
The sheer pressure rolling in like a natural disaster from beyond the smooth, bronze-hued front gate and immaculate white walls was suffocating.
Whoosh—!
A wave of dust rippled outward, pushed by unseen forces. The thick haze swirled like smoke, shifting violently in the air.
The aura filling the battlefield was unlike anything found elsewhere in the world.
An atmosphere only reserved for the rulers of great sects—the presence of absolute masters.
"Are we really just going to let him walk in?"
"Even if he really is Ma Gwang-ik, he might just disrupt the battlefield rather than help..."
"But he’ll still be far more useful than us."
The junior disciples, filled with anxiety, murmured among themselves.
The expressions of the elders from Mount Qingcheng and Emei were even heavier.
Among them, the Golden Staff Saintess and the Red Cloud Dragon—both naturally attuned to Qi fluctuations—had long since erased the usual composed look from their faces.
Even Ziwei Arhat and Qing Eun Daozhang, revered elders of their sects, were unable to maintain their usual detachment.
Qing Eun Daozhang spoke, his gaze fixed on the black-robed youth as he stepped past the threshold.
"Arhat."
"Hm."
"There are two Lords of the Thirteen Heavens here."
"I know."
The middle-aged bhikkhuni nodded.
Her demeanor remained calm, but her gaze was heavy.
The place that the youth who claimed to be Ma Gwang-ik had just entered was no longer a battlefield.
It was a hellish abyss, teetering on the edge of the underworld itself.
A domain of demonic slaughter.
The overwhelming Qi fluctuations rippling through the estate were anything but ordinary.
Crushing power that belonged only on battlefields of ancient wars.
Malicious energy that made ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ the skin crawl.
The signature auras of Tenfold Gate and Sunmaryeon, thick and churning like an endless tide.
The supreme masters of each faction had arrived in person, leading their elite warriors.
Mount Qingcheng and Emei were old sects. They knew all too well how strong and merciless the two ruling unorthodox factions of Sichuan were.
And the power that had manifested at the Tang Clan today—
Was nothing short of an unstoppable avalanche.
"If our Sect Leaders don’t descend from the mountains...."
Qing Eun Daozhang trailed off.
The Qi currents were so thick and turbulent that they pushed his beard back into his collar.
But what he was suggesting was unrealistic.
The former Sect Leader of Mount Qingcheng, the Crimson Haze Sword Sovereign, had perished in battle against the Master of the Broken Sword Sect.
His sworn brother, who had succeeded him, was too occupied with stabilizing the sect, protecting the secular martial families, and cultivating a successor capable of unifying Azure Cloud Sword Art and Crimson Haze Swordsmanship.
The sect had chosen its future over revenge.
If the Sect Leader were to clash with the Lords of the Thirteen Heavens now and fall, then Mount Qingcheng would lose two consecutive leaders in a single generation.
The power vacuum left behind would destabilize the entire martial world.
No—perhaps even worse—it could ignite an even greater era of chaos.
"Is the Thunderous Buddha still in Yong'an?"
Qing Eun Daozhang transmitted his voice through internal Qi, inquiring about the Sect Leader of Emei.
Ziwei Arhat nodded silently once more.
The Sect Leader of Emei, known as Thunderous Buddha, had left the main temple two weeks ago.
He had been secretly summoned by Sichuan’s Grand Marshal, the Supreme Commander of Military Affairs.
It had been a confidential request, but the reason behind it was obvious.
Sichuan was a fortified basin, isolated from the outside world.
Timely intelligence was scarce, and Ipwang Fortress could not always send reinforcements in time.
The Marshal likely intended to recruit Emei, with its vast network of secular martial families, to act as a substitute for the Ipwang Fortress’ Society of Sacred Swords.
But none of that mattered now.
It wouldn’t help the Tang Clan at this moment.
CRACK! BOOOOM—!
The endless clash of colliding Qi and shattering weapons roared through the battlefield.
Louder than thunder in a silent city.
The common people had long since disappeared.
The battle at the Tang Clan would become legend, a tale that would echo across the martial world for generations to come.
As a veteran martial master, Qing Eun Daozhang was certain of it.
"Sect Uncle! I can feel the Qi of my fellow disciples!"
The tall, youthful Taoist called out urgently.
It was Red Cloud Dragon, the direct disciple of the previous Sect Leader of Mount Qingcheng.
A future pillar of the sect.
"Wait. If you rush in carelessly, you might get caught in the Tang Clan’s mechanical formations. I will go first."
Qing Eun Daozhang declared.
He had scanned the battlefield while speaking to Ziwei Arhat.
In a fortress littered with poisonous traps and mechanized formations, they needed to tread carefully to avoid harming their allies.
The real issue was the black-robed youth who had entered without hesitation.
No matter how strong he was, that was reckless.
"If he gets ambushed by the Lords of the Thirteen Heavens in the middle of those formations... he could already be a dead man."
He could only hope the youth survived.
Qing Eun Daozhang stepped forward, gripping the hilt of his sword.
But Red Cloud Dragon followed.
"I can’t just sit back and do nothing."
"Stop right there."
"He didn’t seem like a madman to me. And his martial skills... they seemed extraordinary."
"What are you saying?"
"He’ll create an opening in the battlefield, one way or another. I will focus on evacuating my fellow disciples and the Tang Clan’s forces."
Glancing at Ziwei Arhat and the Golden Staff Saintess, who were already heading toward the Tang Clan’s gate, Red Cloud Dragon spoke decisively.
Unlike the Taoist master-disciple pair, the two bhikkhunis showed no hesitation—
Their monk robes, though slightly tattered, flowed elegantly as they walked.
It was the dignity of the Nine Sects.
Mount Qingcheng and Emei had been connected for centuries.
Red Cloud Dragon and the Golden Staff Saintess had sparred countless times, thoroughly understanding each other’s techniques.
They once believed themselves to be the strongest of their generation.
Until they met Peng Yeol-ran, the Northern Spear King of the Peng Clan, and suffered crushing defeats.
"I’ll avoid direct combat as much as possible. Sect Uncle, coordinate with the black-robed youth."
Red Cloud Dragon spoke in a hushed tone.
Qing Eun Daozhang remained silent for a moment.
Only the chaotic noise of battle filled the space between them.
He no longer tried to persuade his disciple.
He merely lowered his head in resignation.
"Master... he has grown well, hasn’t he?"
Rustle.
The situation was clear.
The battlefield, the formations, and the Lords of the Thirteen Heavens waiting within.
The odds of survival were slim.
Yet they walked in regardless.
The hesitating noble disciples of Sichuan’s martial clans were left behind, unable to follow.
"Do not use Crimson Haze Swordsmanship."
"I know. Azure Cloud Swordplay is better in this chaos."
"Evacuate the Tang Clan’s non-combatants first. The disciples can come after."
"Understood."
Qing Eun Daozhang.
Red Cloud Dragon.
Ziwei Arhat.
Golden Staff Saintess.
Four masters stepped forward, crossing the gate of the Tang Clan—
And beheld the massacre laid before them.
A vast courtyard littered with corpses.
It was clear that each had died at different times.
An old man whose lower half had melted away from exposure to Bone-Dissolving Powder, a man with a completely blackened abdomen, his eyes wide open in frozen terror, and a boy convulsing violently even in death.
“Wandering Demon Elder...?”
At the sight of the boy, Cheong swallowed a small, shaky breath.
A true demonic cultivator—one who had mastered Extreme Yang Child Arts, allowing him to maintain a youthful appearance while committing atrocities. His internal meridians were utterly shattered.
A path of freshly deceased bodies stretched ahead, and at the very beginning of it lay the Wandering Demon Elder.
The members of the Nine Sects shifted their gaze forward.
At the end of the path, a dilapidated cart stood at an angle, and beyond it, a young man in black robes faced a middle-aged man clad in white combat armor.
The situation seemed incredibly precarious.
The black-robed youth emitted not even the slightest trace of Qi flow.
Perhaps he had reached the level where he had achieved complete Reversed Qi Suppression, concealing his power deep within. However, his opponent was a being who stood so high above even such martial mastery that he could look down upon it as insignificant.
A man observing Jeong Yeon-shin with an intrigued gaze.
His build was enormous. One of his ears had been hacked off as if by a blade, yet rather than being a disfigurement, it exuded the aura of a war-hardened, undefeated general.
Fwoooosh—
A terrifying pressure radiated from his entire being, engraving dozens of concentric circles into the ground around him. It was as if he was clad in an invisible storm, using it as armor.
And yet, his eyes had a strangely benevolent look. They were as large as a bull’s, though they gleamed an ominous, pitch-black light.
The corpses of Tang Clan martial artists sprawled in wide arcs around him, serving as grim proof of his overwhelming might.
This was the Lord of the Ten Gates.
A peerless grandmaster who had once returned from the northern front carrying the heads of over ten thousand Beast Clansmen.
A legendary figure capable of wielding all eighteen weapon types as if they were extensions of his own body. Even the greatest orthodox martial artists feared engaging him in prolonged combat.
Even the sect leaders of Qingcheng and Emei were rumored to avoid confronting him.
“You call yourself Lord Ma Guang-ik, yet you’ve dragged along the stray dogs and bald monks of the Nine Sects?”
The Lord of the Ten Gates spoke, his voice as composed as his gentle-looking gaze.
There was no sign of carelessness in his posture. His eyes, as deep as the abyss, carefully scrutinized every inch of Jeong Yeon-shin’s form.
"He was once a Grand General in the military... The gaze of a man who honed himself on the battlefield."
Jeong Yeon-shin exhaled slowly and silently. The Lord of the Ten Gates’ gaze was like a sharpened arrowhead, his presence akin to cold steel scraping across one’s flesh.
From the Tang Clan’s gates to this very spot, fifteen men had died by his hands.
With nothing but Everchanging Flowing Strikes and Weighted Palm Suppression, he had dispatched them one by one while walking directly toward the Lord of the Ten Gates.
Bones and flesh shattered along the path, blood spraying like mist.
Call them heretical overlords or masters of the demonic path, but in the end, they were no more than bandits leeching off the common folk. It was best to start by dealing with their leader.
A battlefield teeming with famous masters.
It didn’t take long for the onlookers, who had initially regarded him as some lunatic, to shift their gazes.
The black-robed youth, standing before the Lord of the Ten Gates, pulling along a worn-down cart, seemed like a character pulled straight from the most bizarre stories of the martial world.
The battlefield had fallen into a lull.
Jeong Yeon-shin slowly parted his lips, his gaze locked onto the Lord of the Ten Gates.
“Leave.”
“Hm?”
“The Tang Clan will be in mourning for the next ten days.”
“...An amusing one, aren’t you? Walking to your death with such words.”
The Lord of the Ten Gates’ lips curled slightly. The way his cheekbones sank as he smirked was elegant—like that of a scholar equally versed in both martial and literary pursuits.
“The Golden Seals Lord is furious over your betrayal. It would be far wiser to die here by my hand.”
“...Amusing?”
Jeong Yeon-shin didn’t respond to the latter part of the statement, only repeating the word in question. The Lord of the Ten Gates, still smiling faintly, tilted his chin downward slightly.
“Yes, your words are rather amusing, aren’t they?”
“Aren’t you from the military? Speaking of funerals in such a flippant manner... Did you even memorize the teachings of Confucius and the Four Books?”
“......”
It wasn’t mockery. It was a genuine question—one that an educated warrior of Ipwang Fortress might have pondered.
“Your late parents wouldn’t have raised you this way.”
Jeong Yeon-shin was genuinely curious.
He had never met his mother, yet he had created Jeong Family Martial Arts in her honor, ensuring that her bloodline was not wasted. Why, then, did the martial artists of this world willingly stain the honor of their own ancestors?
A heavy silence fell upon the battlefield.
The Lord of the Ten Gates remained silent for a moment.
“How dare you!”
The sudden clash of metal rang out, accompanied by an enraged bellow.
It came from Jeong Yeon-shin’s flank.
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A middle-aged warrior clad in thick iron armor charged forward, shaking the ground beneath him.
"That man is Engraved Scarlet Star, Zheng Qiu-kun!"
From the distant gates, Zekun Long of Qingcheng Sect shouted loudly.
He was announcing the man’s identity—an unspoken warning to dodge the first strike at all costs.
Engraved Scarlet Star, Zheng Qiu-kun.
Though Ten Gates Sect had lost several of their greatest warriors to Shadow Lord Seomye, this man had been newly appointed as their vanguard under the Lord of the Ten Gates’ tutelage.
He had slaughtered numerous disciples of the Tang Clan and Nine Sects, leaving not even corpses behind.
Boom!
The ground split apart at terrifying speed. The sheer weight behind his movement was monstrous—his Lightness Technique was nothing short of an earth-shattering stampede.
A martial artist who had fused military combat techniques with the ruthless efficiency of the Ten Gates Sect.
His silver armor glowed brilliant white, his Qi shimmering under the sunlight like a comet.
Loyalty-Devouring Sky Art.
A technique that tore enemies to pieces upon impact—a terrifying force on battlefields and large-scale skirmishes alike.
His charge, executed in a perfectly aligned formation, was akin to a catapulted siege weapon. No martial sect would dare take such an attack head-on.
"Star?"
Jeong Yeon-shin internally repeated the latter half of his title, glancing at the Lord of the Ten Gates.
A faint twitch in the man's forearm muscles—a minute shift that signaled his readiness to intervene at the first opportunity.
Not for the sake of martial honor, but to preserve his faction’s strength.
Jeong Yeon-shin did nothing.
He did not move.
The thunderous cracks of shattered earth grew closer, and finally, as Engraved Scarlet Star hurtled toward him, his face twisted in vicious bloodlust—
SPLAAAAT!
A sickening burst of flesh and metal erupted.
Chunks of iron armor and mangled muscle flew in all directions, accompanied by an explosion of blood mist.
The ground beneath them collapsed into a crater, and Engraved Scarlet Star’s remains were obliterated—leaving nothing but fragments in the air.
Amidst the carnage, standing motionless in the wreckage, Jeong Yeon-shin was bathed in a faint silver glow.
The cart remained untouched behind him.
Scattered droplets of blood rained down, but none could stain his jet-black robes.
