Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 389: Society of Sacred Swords (5)
Sichuan was once the land of Shu—a sovereign kingdom in its own right.
The Imperial Governor and the Provincial Commander held absolute control over the administration, finance, and military of Sichuan.
In essence, they were the rulers of the province—kings in all but name.
Beyond the imperial court in Beijing, they had no reason to humor anyone.
And yet—
“Lord of Bright Wing’s favorite food...?”
What kind of nonsense was this?
The Provincial Commander frowned, about to respond—but then stopped himself.
The Imperial Governor shot him a brief glance and shook his head ever so slightly.
A silent warning.
‘This man...?’
Of course, the Provincial Commander had heard of Lord of Yeouicheon, Bukgung Ah.
It was said she was not someone one could reason with.
A woman who could shatter a cliffside with a single punch—who regarded high-ranking officials as nothing more than roadside boulders.
But then again—
Wasn’t every Great Lord of the Society of Sacred Swords the same?
‘They’re all infamous for their arrogance and love of battle.’
The Provincial Commander studied Lord of Yeouicheon with a sidelong glance.
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“Does he even have a favorite food?”
Her unfiltered muttering was like that of a woman who had never once considered another person’s preferences.
A figure wholly independent of the world.
Her lashes were long, but her piercing blue eyes were impossible to hide.
It was as if lightning itself had been bottled within them.
That flicker of inhumanity was proof of her bloodline, martial prowess, and internal cultivation.
The Provincial Commander subtly clamped his mouth shut.
The realization struck him like a tidal wave.
Thirteen leaders commanded the Society’s martial forces.
This was the most dangerous place in Sichuan.
Across from him, the Imperial Governor exhaled—a long sigh of relief.
“How unfortunate,” he said.
“A person of your stature should naturally be aware.”
A flicker of suspicion crept into Bukgung Ah’s gaze.
For a brief moment, she furrowed her brows, wondering why she was even thinking about this.
“I should naturally know?”
“Of course. Given the nature of such valuable information, you may be reluctant to speak.
After all, Lord of Bright Wing is destined to become the Imperial Sword of the Nation someday.
The moment that happens, the number of sycophants and opportunists swarming around him will be endless.
Only someone as exalted as you—with unparalleled lineage, achievements, and martial prowess—would be worthy of such knowledge.”
“I may have been too greedy in asking.”
The Imperial Governor offered a polite laugh, a model of a high-ranking court official.
A measured voice, a touch of casual charm—a stark contrast to the way he had spoken in the carriage.
“That’s too much flattery.”
Bukgung Ah’s brows lowered.
A look of disgust.
But the Imperial Governor was relieved.
He had avoided the worst reaction possible.
He and the Provincial Commander had already discussed the disbandment of the Society’s Great Lords.
Bukgung Ah had likely overheard everything.
Escaping this situation was the top priority.
‘Of all people, the first one we encounter has to be the most volatile of the Black Three Pillars...
We have no choice but to use her as the bridge to negotiate with the other Great Lords of the Society. This is our only option.’
And if, by chance, he actually learned Lord of Bright Wing’s preferences—all the better.
The Imperial Governor was thinking far ahead.
Convincing the Great Lords to disband was one thing.
But Lord of Bright Wing was a future figure of imperial power.
If he could gain his favor, it would be an unimaginable advantage.
“This isn’t flattery. We officials of Sichuan owe much to the esteemed warriors of Ipwang Fortress.
Even if we occasionally suffer some difficulties due to the Society’s enforcement, it is a burden we must bear—”
“I don’t talk to snakes.”
Bukgung Ah cut him off.
She stepped off the carriage.
And then—
She simply walked forward.
She didn’t vanish into the wind.
She didn’t burst forth with inhuman speed.
She simply walked.
A clear signal—"Follow me."
The Provincial Commander, who had been watching in silence, finally spoke.
“May we bring our soldiers?”
“What?”
“You are far too powerful.
Even the smallest flick of your finger could shake the earth and send us flying.
We fear we may be... intimidated before the conversation even begins.
Surely you understand that a land such as ours must remain at peace...”
Bukgung Ah burst into laughter.
“Do as you please.”
Her answer was utterly indifferent.
The Imperial Soldiers remained silent.
***
The Imperial Governor and Provincial Commander, leading their elite guards, stepped past the threshold of Sipjeonmun—following Lord of Yeouicheon into the heart of the fallen sect.
A vast and sprawling domain.
The land stretched far and wide, with sparring grounds scattered throughout. The towering tiled rooftops of the halls loomed in the distance—each one grand and imposing, a testament to the extravagant tastes of the late Lord of Sipjeonmun.
Here and there, warriors dressed in white martial robes moved about. Most seemed to belong to the Sichuan branch of Ipwang Fortress.
“The air reeks of blood.”
A military officer whispered as he approached the two high-ranking officials. He could have used transmission arts, but instead, he spoke aloud—to sharpen the caution of his comrades.
“Naturally. You think the former tenants left peacefully?”
Lord of Yeouicheon answered, not even bothering to turn around.
The Governor and Commander swallowed dryly.
The complete annihilation of Sipjeonmun, a sect counted among the Thirteen Heavens, had shaken Sichuan to its core.
They had heard of it.
But seeing it was something else entirely.
A handful of warriors—barely more than a dozen—had toppled three pillars of the heretical martial world.
It was no exaggeration.
“The Great Lords of the Society of Sacred Swords... truly terrifying.”
Anyone with power would find «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» it impossible not to feel threatened by their strength.
Not even the Imperial Court was an exception.
The Imperial Governor organized his thoughts, preparing what he would say once seated.
Above all else—he could not let the Provincial Commander be the first to speak.
He cast a glance toward his companion.
“Watch my flank.”
“Naturally.”
The Provincial Commander tapped his sword hilt lightly as he responded.
He had risen to the highest military office in Sichuan through the imperial martial examinations.
Though he was no match for the warriors of Ipwang Fortress, his martial skills were nothing to scoff at.
If it came to it—he could at least die with dignity.
“Watch my flank closely.”
“......?”
Before the Provincial Commander could ask what he meant, he froze.
There, resting atop a watchtower column, was a strange figure.
A body wrapped head-to-toe in ashen bandages, clad in a jet-black martial robe.
Lean, yet not frail—his sharp silhouette betrayed deadly precision.
And two things were immediately clear.
One—he was a man.
Two—he was one of the Black Lords.
“Lord of Myeongryu...!”
The Governor whispered.
Beside him, the Provincial Commander involuntarily clenched and unclenched his grip on his sword hilt.
The bandaged figure’s head turned downward, gazing directly at them.
“......”
Even with his face covered, his eyes were unseen yet unmistakable—a presence that weighed upon them.
The Governor shuddered.
The air itself felt like it was scraping against his skin.
“He is truly a demon in human flesh...”
Only Lord of Yeouicheon remained unfazed.
“Anything from up top?”
She asked.
A cryptic question.
The bandaged man nodded slowly.
“Got it. Keep up the good work.”
She didn’t even wait for a response before striding forward, her long legs carrying her as if she owned the place.
Her footsteps were followed instantly by the subdued Imperial Guards.
“Is that Lord of Changcheon?”
The Provincial Commander’s voice came as a whisper.
The Governor looked up.
Leaning against the gate of a pavilion stood a man embracing a longsword.
Lithe, his arms were long like an ape’s—yet from his entire being, a razor-sharp aura radiated in countless threads, each like the point of a needle.
The air around him trembled and shimmered—a perpetual mirage of pure sword energy.
He was in deep training.
His posture—distant and aloof—gave the impression that he was waiting for something.
“What is he staring at...?”
The Governor followed his gaze—only to pause mid-motion.
Across from the pavilion, standing atop the opposite roof, was a man with an eerie pallor.
His jet-black martial robe wrapped around him like a bat’s folded wings.
The Imperial Guards, who had been attempting to exert their own aura, suddenly found their presence evaporating into nothing.
Lord of Bloodletting, Shinhyeolgukma.
The Great Lords of Myeongryu and Changcheon were notorious, yes—but at least they were regarded as measured figures.
Shinhyeolgukma was different.
He was a man of absolute silence and shadow—his movements so elusive that his actions in Hainan were whispered even in Beijing’s Forbidden City.
From Shaanxi to Sichuan, from Guangxi to Guangdong—his name was etched in countless tales.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
And every single one...
Was a massacre.
“I will hold my post. Firmly.”
The Provincial Commander removed his hand from his sword hilt completely.
Beyond Shinhyeolgukma, past the pavilion, stood more of the Black Lords—all of them, like Lord of Changcheon, staring in the same direction.
But the Imperial Soldiers could no longer focus on that.
This place was a den of demons.
If they wanted to survive, they had to pretend they saw nothing.
***
The morning light seeped through the paper windows, its soft glow scattering across the room.
Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly opened his eyes.
For a moment, the bed beneath him—which had supported his body so gently—felt oddly foreign.
“A martial force has arrived. Around thirty men.”
His voice was calm yet certain.
He could sense the uniform flow of internal energy, characteristic of trained soldiers. Their discipline radiated through the doorway, their qi forming straight, well-honed lines—optimized for battle formations and coordinated combat techniques.
They were formidable.
Beside him, Ak Su-rim sat lounging on a chair, her head buried in a book.
She barely nodded, acknowledging his words.
“They’ve trained in Bomyeong Heart Arts. Got word about them while you were sleeping.”
“Imperial soldiers?”
“Yeah.”
Her response was halfhearted.
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced at her.
She made no effort to move her legs, which were propped up on the edge of the bed.
Her demeanor was utterly nonchalant—to the point of carelessness. Her toes twitched, as if she were subconsciously practicing footwork while lost in thought.
“So that’s how they’ve woven it together... Yeryeong really does have all sorts of strange esoteric arts...”
She muttered to herself.
Apparently, she had been poring over a copy of the Compendium of Annihilated Evil Clans—acquired from Heavenly Gold Vault after a painstaking process.
Since starting his recovery, Jeong Yeon-shin had not seen any of the other Great Lords.
The only trace of their presence was the medicine and elixirs left in his hands—a silent testament to their care.
Since arriving at Sipjeonmun, no one had come to visit.
He finally spoke.
“They’re all cavalry, mounted on warhorses. If they were sent from the imperial court, I can already guess their purpose. Given their numbers, the one leading them must hold a high position.”
Ak Su-rim barely reacted.
“Position? Please. That brat from Bukgung alone already outranks them. That idiot’s northern royalty, you know?”
“But aren’t you leading this delegation, Senior Ak?”
“Hah. There’s no hierarchy among the Black Lords. I only organize things at the One Sword Hall, otherwise, it would be chaos. But...”
She paused, her forehead rising slightly over the edge of the book.
“How’s your body? Can you move yet?”
“Yes. I’ve recovered well. I expected a longer convalescence, but...”
It was thanks to the bundles of medicine the other Great Lords had left him.
Their effects were nothing short of miraculous.
Without even knowing their proper dosage or method of intake, all he had to do was circulate Jeong Family's Internal Arts continuously—and his internal injuries healed on their own.
The wounds on his skin, like etched scars from countless blades, were meaningless.
They did not hinder his internal flow nor his movements.
“Is that so...?”
Ak Su-rim’s tone shifted.
Her eyes slowly rose over the book, scanning him from head to toe—measuring his condition.
“Exactly how recovered are we talking?”
“I can fully exert Radiant Wheel Qi at peak intensity.”
“So you’re completely fine...”
“Yes. We should discuss our next move. Given our current assembly, what impact are we having on the world’s balance of power?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
At that instant—a formless veil enclosed the room.
A qi-sealing barrier had erupted from Ak Su-rim’s body.
How long had she suppressed her words?
The careful way she folded her book and slipped it into her robe was eerily restrained—but her expression had shifted as if she had been struck by lightning.
“First—before any of that—I have questions! A lot of questions! Starting with—how the hell did you fight Lord of Golden Dawn?!”
—Oi! Hey! What the hell?! Why?!
A deep, stately voice rang out.
The instant Ak Su-rim’s barrier was raised, it was shattered.
Jeong Yeon-shin barely had time to react before he found himself surrounded by shadows draped in black robes.
Then—
—WHOOOOM!
The sheer force of their arrival sent shockwaves through every wall in the room.
The ground trembled as the vibrations tore up through the floorboards and rushed toward the ceiling.
A storm of dust erupted, filling the entire space with a murky haze.
“Any Black Lord who arrived with idle purpose, cease immediately.”
The voice of Lord of Annihilation rang out.
“Lord of Iron Helm has spoken of the world’s balance.”
The air fell silent.
