Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 388: Society of Sacred Swords (4)
Finally.
The Great Lords of the Society of Sacred Swords had gathered.
Standing atop a hill littered with countless corpses and shattered weapons, they faced each other in silence. The only sound was the heavy fluttering of their sleeves in the wind. Not a single enemy remained alive.
It was an overwhelming sight.
The crowds stationed along the mountains surrounding Cloudveil Peak kept their mouths shut. The sheer gravity of what lay before them left them speechless.
Those dressed in silk robes or carrying weapons—people with even a basic understanding of the martial world—stood frozen, unwilling to move even a fingertip.
Only the truly ignorant whispered among themselves, their faces drained of color.
“The Golden Dawn Lord’s head has been severed...!”
“Is that true?”
“How could a phoenix that has spread its wings be felled by mere humans...?”
Three major factions had been all but annihilated. Ten War Gate and Golden Dawn Sect would never rise again, and the elite Sunmaryeon martial artists had been reduced to corpses.
It was as if all unorthodox sects in Sichuan had vanished overnight.
This was not just an immediate shift in the balance of power—it would reshape the entire martial world.
Everyone stood frozen, holding their breath.
Meanwhile.
On a hill where no one else could tread.
A girl, crouched atop a slanted spear, finally spoke.
The crimson tips of her short hair swayed slightly over her small shoulders, as if the tension had only just begun to dissipate.
“See? I told you not to force your way in.”
She glanced around and then turned to Jeong Yeon-shin.
“Seomye, they were trying to smear your achievements—trying to steal your right to become the next Leader of the Society of Sacred Swords.”
Ak Su-rim’s voice was sharp.
Deputy Commander of the Society of Sacred Swords, Ipwang Divine Spear.
Among the assembled Great Lords, she was the eldest.
And among the black-clad warriors of Ipwang Fortress, there was not a single one who was not a transcendent master.
Perhaps it was the weight of her position.
Her expression was unusually stiff, and the corners of her small mouth were pressed tight.
Her pitch-black irises burned with restrained intensity, darting between Jeong Yeon-shin and the Golden Dawn Lord’s lifeless body.
It was clear she was struggling to suppress her emotions.
“Let’s set the record straight.”
Her words were pointed.
“Every time I saw you thrust your spear from afar, you kept glancing over here.”
CRACK—
The sickening sound of flesh and bone being torn apart.
A rope—piercing ten corpses as though they were skewered meat—was pulled back in one swift motion.
It was a Cotton Rope Throwing Noose, a rare weapon among the Eighteen Arms of War.
A man chuckled as he retrieved the divine silk rope, woven from Heaven Silkworm threads.
“A moment later, and your spear would’ve been in pieces.”
Bloodrope Demon Dragon, Wei Ji-geuk.
The Great Lord of Tianlong, known across the Northern martial world as a monstrous killer.
His sharp jawline was smeared with blood. Jeong Yeon-shin had seen his rope wrap around the Lord of Ten War Gate just moments earlier.
“We already left Ten War Gate’s Lord half-dead and drove Sunmaryeon’s leader into complete retreat. We couldn’t ask for more.”
Another voice came from the side.
The Great Lord of Sky Piercer, a woman who had just sheathed her sword.
Her gaze as she looked at the Golden Dawn Lord’s corpse was unsettling. Rumors that she had nearly died at his hands seemed to be true.
Ak Su-rim sighed and leapt down from the spear.
“Seomye had confidence. You just underestimated your junior.”
“You dote on him like a grandchild.”
Wei Ji-geuk, wrapping the rope around his arm, scoffed.
Ak Su-rim frowned as she approached Jeong Yeon-shin.
“Husband. Not a grandchild. Husband!”
“Can I vomit? No one would even notice here.”
Gagging theatrically, he feigned retching.
But Wei Ji-geuk’s eyes were different from his casual demeanor.
Beneath his habitual bloodthirsty gaze, a deep sense of shock flickered.
What he saw—
A young man, barely in his early twenties, standing in silence, the Golden Dawn Lord’s corpse at his feet.
“He killed the greatest master of Sichuan... alone...?”
Jeong Yeon-shin, Lord of Bright Wing.
His robe was torn, revealing his battered and blood-soaked upper body.
Deep, fresh wounds covered every inch of his flesh.
Even drenched in blood, the elegantly carved muscles beneath his skin gleamed like a divine blade.
Not a single Great Lord made a fuss over his state.
After all, returning half-dead from missions was routine for warriors of their level.
They were all battle-hardened veterans.
Step.
In that silence, only Ak Su-rim’s quiet footsteps echoed.
A heavy atmosphere settled over the hill.
The Great Lords either spoke in jest or stared at Jeong Yeon-shin in quiet contemplation.
Ipwang Fortress stood at the intersection of the military and the martial world.
Unlike most sects, it placed great importance on external prestige.
To the martial world, they exuded fearsome authority.
To civilians, they projected trust and stability.
Among the high-ranking figures of the One Blade Pavilion, this mindset was even more deeply ingrained.
All eyes were on them.
They couldn’t afford to act undignified.
Only the Deputy Commander of the Society of Sacred Swords and the Great Lord of Tianlong acted out of line.
No matter how incredible their youngest black-clad warrior’s achievement was, the Great Lords had to maintain their composure before the public.
‘I’m just glad nothing else happened.’
Jeong Yeon-shin paid no mind to their reactions.
Ever since confirming his seniors’ safety, he had been focusing inward.
His body was in shambles.
Every meridian and energy pathway in his body had been thrown into complete disarray by the fight.
His muscles felt like waterlogged cotton, dragging down his movements.
The weight was unbearable.
It was natural.
After all, he had just «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» slain Sichuan’s greatest martial master.
And then—
Cough.
A sharp sensation scraped through his throat.
Unconsciously, he spat out blood.
At the same time, a piercing sound tore through the air from all directions.
A shrieking shockwave—the sound of space itself being split.
Before he could even react, his vision darkened.
Black robes filled his sight in an instant.
“Cheon So-so, your inner energy is the purest here—stabilize his life acupoint. I’ll guard you.”
“Bring out any elixirs you’ve been hoarding.”
“Am I the only one here who actually owes Seomye a favor? In terms of pure qi refinement, the unparalleled Heavenly Authority Dragon Force—”
“Musclehead, stop interfering with his energy circulation and focus on guarding. You do realize the Yullyeong elder is watching, right?”
The Great Lords had instinctively moved, forming a defensive formation around him.
Bukgung Ah, the Lord of Yeouicheon, spoke in her usual nonchalant tone, her teasing drawing Hahoe Wi-jin, the Great Lord of Cheonrim, into the situation.
Jeong Yeon-shin allowed himself a small smile.
Just then—
A faint touch grazed his lower back.
It was a cool, delicate hand, but the pure energy spreading through it was unmistakable.
Cheon So-so, Lord of Seonmokryeong.
“Well done.”
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
It carried both gratitude and surprise.
The time that had passed—from the Formation of the Flood Dragon to this very moment—was contained within that single phrase.
There was warmth in it.
Like a senior sibling comforting a younger one.
Jeong Yeon-shin closed his eyes.
A low resonance hummed through his body.
The Heavenly Cold Flowing Ice Art of Seonmokryeong seeped through his life acupoint.
Perhaps it was because Cheon So-so carried the sapling of the Heavenly Wooden Tree—her internal energy was astonishingly pure.
The qi from her technique merged seamlessly with Jeong Yeon-shin’s Jeongga Inner Art.
The battle-heated meridians in his body rapidly began to cool down.
Around them, dense energy waves formed a protective barrier.
“That head must be displayed.”
A low voice carried across the battlefield.
“Of course. The fool of Sichuan—the so-called ‘Ironhead’—was obsessed with beauty, and he nearly stripped Seomye bare in the process.”
“Ak Senior, if you’re here to stand guard, at least face outward instead of looking at him...”
As they rummaged through their robes, searching for the elixirs they had stashed away in preparation for battle, the Great Lords of Sky Piercer, Ak Su-rim, and the Silent Edge exchanged quips.
Just then—
“Someone like you should be able to move even while circulating energy. Take this. It’s Seven Stars Pill of Wudang.”
A mechanical clank accompanied the voice.
An unknown hand pressed an elixir into his mouth.
A sharp, pungent medicinal aroma filled his senses.
The one who had given it to him—
The Great Lord of Wugeuk, a stranger to Jeong Yeon-shin.
Even though the Seven Stars Pill was considered a treasure of Wudang Sect, a group that rivaled Cheon Geum Moon as one of the greatest sword sects in the world—
"Thank you."
The moment he slightly parted his lips, a soft chuckle came in response.
“I should be thanking you.”
“...?”
“Because of you, many things are about to change.”
His words were laden with meaning.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
As Jeong Yeon-shin focused on replenishing his meridians, he etched the Wugeuk Great Lord’s words into his memory.
Time Passed.
By the time the crowds cautiously began descending the mountain, their footsteps rustling against the dirt—
"It's done."
Jeong Yeon-shin stood, his strength returned.
A full recovery would take several more days and nights, but for now, he could move again.
FLUTTER—
As soon as he opened his eyes, a crimson robe came flying toward him.
It landed softly over his shoulders.
Looking up, he saw Crimson Blood Demon Horse, Senior Jin, standing in the distance with his arms crossed behind his back.
It wasn’t thrown using energy manipulation—just a simple, calculated toss.
And because of that, the gesture carried even more weight.
It was a display of silent acknowledgment.
"So this is how a superior earns the favor of his subordinates."
Jeong Yeon-shin was impressed.
He slowly looked around.
The brilliant Great Lords were watching him up close.
A strange feeling settled in his chest.
After a moment, he finally found the words to speak.
“How did you all know to come?”
“We’ll talk about that later. For now, let’s go.”
A smiling Ak Su-rim leaned forward.
A flicker of confusion crossed Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze.
“Go where?”
“We just took over Ten War Gate. The place is in great condition.”
***
Four days had passed since the Great Battle of Unhoe Peak.
The storytellers who roamed the markets and inns of Sichuan Province found their pockets unusually full.
After all, there had never been so many stories to tell.
“So, what happened was—the King of the Dark Swamp took down three of the Thirteen Heaven Lords, one after another...”
“Hundreds of monstrous experts ascended the hill—can you imagine the pressure? If they had marched north at that moment, I swear I would have believed it! Of course, if they actually reached Beijing, His Majesty would have crushed them all in a single move!”
“The Society of Sacred Swords’ Great Lords—their divine might was overwhelming. It wasn’t a clash of sects, it was a one-sided massacre.”
“And then... the Human Phoenix, who spread his mystical wings—only to have his long, drawn-out fate severed by the blade of Lord of Bright Wing.”
As with all rumors, exaggerations were inevitable.
But the number of eyewitnesses to this event was unprecedented.
Unlike ordinary gossip, the truth had spread rapidly.
Sichuan was in shock.
All factions and authorities had no choice but to respond.
At this moment—
Under the broad daylight of the main road, even the Provincial Commander and the Imperial Governor found themselves halting their carriage before the gates of Ten War Gate.
Inside the carriage.
"I should have witnessed it myself..."
A middle-aged man in red official robes muttered to himself.
This was the Imperial Governor of Sichuan, the man responsible for managing the province’s civil administration and governance.
As an experienced bureaucrat, he was well-versed in handling people.
Yet, his plump face was furrowed with deep, permanent creases.
“You shouldn’t trouble yourself over it. You were preoccupied with state affairs, weren’t you?”
The man sitting across from him—also middle-aged, but clad in martial attire—spoke in a calm tone.
This was the Provincial Commander of Sichuan, the supreme military authority of the region.
“None of those gathered beyond these gates are of the Purple Rank. At the very least, our heads will remain attached—for now. We are, after all, second-rank imperial officials.”
“That’s not certain.”
The Imperial Governor shook his head, his voice firm.
“I heard an account from an Imperial Censor. Do you know what Lord of Bright Wing said when he faced the monster of Golden Dawn Sect? You should not let your guard down so easily.”
“As if uttering the word ‘disband’ is some impossible feat.”
The Provincial Commander scoffed, arms crossed.
The source of this c𝓸ntent is frёeweɓηovel.coɱ.
“What truly worries me is His Majesty’s reproach. We, as the highest-ranking officials of this province, sat idly while an unprecedented force gathered in one place.
Mark my words—if we are summoned before His Majesty, we’ll be forced to endure the One Hundred and Eight Arhats Formation of Shaolin as punishment.”
“......”
“We ask only one thing.”
The Provincial Commander adjusted his sword belt, standing as the massive carriage doors creaked open.
“When will the Society of Sacred Swords' Great Lords, who left the world in chaos, finally take action to restore order?”
“Whoever steps forward to answer—Lord of Bright Wing, the Vice Commander of the Society, the Annihilation Lord, or even the Lord of Yeouicheon—it doesn’t matter.”
“Aren’t those names far too overwhelming?”
The Imperial Governor hesitated.
“Regardless, we ask only one question. Remember that.”
“Understood.”
The Imperial Governor gave a slow nod.
A moment of resolute silence passed between the two highest authorities of Sichuan.
A satisfied smirk crossed the Provincial Commander’s face.
“Open the gates.”
Creak—
The massive carriage doors swung open, revealing an imposing assembly of armored soldiers.
Their warhorses snorted, iron-clad hooves striking the ground.
These were personally trained martial troops—the pride of the Provincial Commander’s army.
He stood tall, his expression a picture of confidence.
And then—
Suddenly.
From the carriage entrance, a cascade of jet-black hair tumbled down like a waterfall.
Someone was hanging upside down.
A face came into view.
An astonishingly beautiful face.
Fair skin.
Piercing blue eyes.
Dark robes flowing down both sides.
There was only one Great Lord of the Society of Sacred Swords from the Northern Bloodline.
“Y-You... Lord of Yeouicheon, the Dragon Authority—Bukgung Ah?”
The Imperial Governor stammered.
Around him, the soldiers reacted instinctively, drawing their weapons in alarm.
A chorus of steel rang out.
Yet, through it all, Bukgung Ah said nothing.
She simply stared at them with those cold, glacial eyes.
Her presence was chilling—
It was the kind of aura that made one question whether she was even human.
A silent dread settled over the two officials.
“To think you would personally come to greet me,”
The Provincial Commander coughed, forcing a diplomatic smile.
“You seem disinclined toward long conversations. So I will get straight to the point.”
He shot a quick glance at the Imperial Governor.
After all, there was a reason the Imperial Governor was the one sitting beside him.
The Provincial Commander was a military man—direct, blunt, unrefined.
But the Imperial Governor was different.
A man gifted with words, skilled in navigating imperial politics.
Even for the Provincial Commander, facing a member of the Society of Sacred Swords was overwhelming.
The Imperial Governor's face darkened in contemplation.
For a brief moment, he seemed lost in deep thought.
"An opportunity."
The Provincial Commander recognized that look.
Whenever the Imperial Governor made that expression, brilliant timing and insight followed.
This was the same man who, with a single letter, had diverted imperial grain shipments from Shaanxi to Sichuan.
A man who could change fate with mere words.
The Imperial Governor took a breath.
And then—he spoke.
“May I ask... what delicacy Lord of Bright Wing enjoys?”
“What?”
A flicker of genuine confusion crossed Bukgung Ah’s face.
