Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 402: Transcendent Realm (2)
Jeong Yeon-shin glanced down at the warped arrow in his hand.
Its shaft was as black as if soaked in ink—solid iron arrow, heavy and dense.
Having traveled an immense distance, its tip bore a faint reddish glow, though it failed to transmit its heat through the Protective Qi Barrier that surrounded him. Instead, it merely exhaled thick, white steam.
The aftershock was immense.
Saaa—
Even now, the air continued to boil in eerie transparency. This was the residual force of Ten Li One Shot.
Ordinarily, multiple master archers would have to form a Thunderflower Bow Formation, concentrating their power for over ten days just to launch a single arrow capable of striking ten li away.
Yet, the Warlord Archer of Amya Battlefront had executed the feat alone—at twice the usual range—in mere seconds. Naturally, the impact did not diminish; in fact, it had intensified.
Thud.
The arrow dropped to the ground.
As Jeong Yeon-shin released the iron arrow, the starlight enveloping his left hand withered and vanished.
His Protective Qi Barrier was the hardened callus of the Tang Twins—it could not be easily broken.
Jeong Yeon-shin murmured inwardly. Return.
A soft, grating noise followed, like sand shifting in friction.
The radiant energy that had once wrapped around his entire body dissipated like shimmering foam—before converging once more into a luminous wheel at his heart.
A chuckle came from Yong Hui-myeong.
“A fine Protective Qi Barrier.”
“...Haah.”
Yeon So-ha, who had unwittingly stepped forward as if to block the attack himself, let out a deep sigh of relief.
As his gaze met Jeong Yeon-shin’s, he gave a sheepish smile—his expression brimming with embarrassment.
“Well, between the two of us, it makes more sense for you to survive, Lord Jeong.”
It was a ridiculous concern, but Yeon So-ha muttered those words nonetheless—his eyes still darting toward the arrow in Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand, as if it were cursed.
Ipwang Fortress. The Shingeom Squad.
They were bound somewhere between brotherhood and camaraderie—not quite comrades, not quite sworn siblings.
The foundation of their faction was built on an ethos found nowhere else—a bond that existed between martial officials rather than mere disciples. Even without introductions, they instinctively shared a sense of kinship.
Because outside their fortress, they were foreigners everywhere.
“Step back.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice was firm.
“Yes, sir!”
Yeon So-ha obediently retreated, his posture respectful.
A scoff of amusement came from nearby. It was Yong Hui-myeong.
“So-ha, you brat. Try showing me that kind of respect sometime.”
“You just saved my life. And unlike you, the Lord of Ma Gwang-ik actually has some substance to him.”
“...Huh?”
“To rise to power, you have to back the right person, don’t you?”
Despite their banter, the atmosphere remained tense.
Everyone was gauging distance.
Even those unseen—such as the Warlord Archer of Amya Battlefront—and those who had already lowered their swords, like Namgung Mu-jin, who now gripped his pure-white blade with half-lidded eyes.
Bow and blade.
A deadly synergy.
Among Transcendent Masters, such an alliance was the epitome of strategic cooperation—where neither side would ever miss their mark.
“We’ve already exchanged one strike. He’ll be moving in soon.”
Yong Hui-myeong spoke.
“That archer from Amya Battlefront. Even for a master of his caliber, he must have realized that keeping a long distance against someone like you is unwise. The greater the range, the harder it is to land a decisive blow. And he’s an ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) exceptionally perceptive man.”
“Yes.”
Jeong Yeon-shin responded curtly, weighing the implications of the statement.
The Shingeom Squad Leader had just acknowledged the Warlord Archer’s cunning.
In terms of Perceptive Martial Insight, he was ranked among the highest of Transcendent Grandmasters.
After all, he had struck from over twenty li away with a flawless Ten Li One Shot—a feat beyond the reach of most masters.
Hm.
Just then, the archer’s presence vanished.
Had he activated some form of advanced stealth technique? Until he chose to reappear, it would be impossible to detect him.
Ssshh—
Across from them, Namgung Mu-jin, who had been casually flicking his blade, smirked.
Around him, a semi-transparent aura flickered like condensed lightning.
“Yong Squad Leader isn’t entirely wrong. Overextended range only weakens an archer’s impact. But that’s not the only reason.”
His voice was slow and deliberate.
“The Warlord Archer of Amya Battlefront suffered a humiliating defeat at the hands of Yong Squad Leader—just before the latter donned that purple robe of his. The great Transcendent Marksman nearly lost an arm that day. Naturally, he won’t be eager to approach.”
There was a mocking curve to his lips. It seemed that, despite moving together, there was no deep camaraderie between them.
“The true Shingeom Squad Leader was an unstoppable force. Even the Golden Phoenix of Sichuan went out of her way to avoid both Patriarch Paeheop and Yong Squad Leader. And yet, despite her caution, she still reigned as the greatest martial master of Sichuan for decades...”
Namgung Mu-jin’s tone was odd.
It carried the cadence of a noble-born warlord—the natural arrogance of the Southern Rites’ most powerful lineage.
His voice flowed like a low, elegant melody, laced with subtle mockery.
“I’ve heard of your fearsome reputation. You executed the Lord of Geumsi Sect, didn’t you? Then you must be well acquainted with her mystical martial arts.”
“.......”
Jeong Yeon-shin remained silent.
The unspoken hierarchy among Transcendent Masters was, in some ways, amusing.
Those who rarely met equals would latch onto conversations, prolonging them whenever they found someone who could understand them.
And they would always try to analyze their opponent through observation.
“The man standing beside you has transcended the limitations of bloodline through sheer martial prowess. Despite being born with the energy of a Flood Dragon, he never once lost to the Lord of Geumsi Sect. And yet, the Warlord Archer, haunted by memories of his past defeat, refuses to unleash his full strength. Instead, he fires Ten Li One Shots from afar.”
Namgung Mu-jin’s words did not fully register in Jeong Yeon-shin’s mind.
He appeared to be listening quietly, the image of a respectful junior lending an ear to his elder.
But in reality, he was scrutinizing Namgung Mu-jin’s physique—just as the man was doing to him.
At this moment, both men were silently dissecting each other’s bodies.
“And yet, the Shingeom Squad Leader, once so mighty, has now fallen to such a state that he can no longer refuse assistance from a junior. Can you take his place?”
Despite his polite phrasing, the implication was clear.
He was a pragmatic warrior, one who would do whatever it took to survive and ascend to the pinnacle of martial mastery.
The rumors about him were likely true—Namgung Mu-jin was a swordsman who lived solely for combat.
A heavy sword user.
Jeong Yeon-shin noted.
The broad shoulders of his azure martial robe stretched wide. His right arm, which gripped his blade, was abnormally thick, yet despite the dense muscle, there was a sharp agility in his movements.
A light, wind-like flow of Qi streamed from his Xiabai Acupoint at his elbow down to his Neiguan Acupoint at his wrist.
He had mastered a deadly style—a heavy sword technique that never missed.
A terrifying truth.
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“Well, at least you’ve given us certainty.”
Namgung Mu-jin spoke, his words a mix of mockery and sincerity.
“No matter how much we swing our swords, we can’t seem to land a decisive blow. I was beginning to wonder if we were fighting a pointless battle.”
He smirked.
“But now, the Warlord Archer will gladly move closer and unleash his Sun Phoenix Driving Radiance Bow Art. I’m curious to see how your unyielding Protective Qi Barrier fares against our combined assault.”
Jeong Yeon-shin’s response was blunt.
This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.
“You have thick skin. You belong in the Earth Dragon Assembly.”
Namgung Mu-jin let out a hearty laugh and readjusted his grip on his sword.
“Well then. By the end of today, the martial world shall be freed from the Shingeom Squad Leader’s legacy.”
Kugugung—!
Jeong Yeon-shin's vision quivered, trembling up and down in fine vibrations.
Even the prelude to the Celestial Emperor Sword Form was enough to shake the ground.
"The force is rough. Cheonggirin was far more refined."
He spoke while circulating the Radiant Wheel Energy he had drawn back into his heart. The energy coursed through his entire meridian system, filling it with a soft yet overwhelming presence—the mark of Transcendent Masters who had survived countless battles.
It was the art of preparing an offensive stance before stepping into a battle where even breathing once would be an arduous feat.
Without a Signature Martial Art, Namgung’s First Sword was nothing special.
Unless he fully unleashed his refined techniques, he was not an opponent Jeong Yeon-shin found difficult to overcome.
He felt a rare certainty—a fight he could meet head-on with nothing but his own skill.
A whisper.
The now-cool blade of Yeoroe murmured in his grasp, as if speaking its judgment:
"His caliber is not even close to Cheonggirin’s."
"So-ha, fall back!"
Yong Hui-myeong ordered.
He could not openly engage his inner circulation—the risk of Qi Deviation was too high.
There were two Transcendent Grandmasters present, either of whom could strike at him at any moment.
Instead, he had to recover in secrecy, using the seed of energy Jeong Yeon-shin had implanted within him.
"Squad Leader, do not interfere."
Jeong Yeon-shin stated plainly.
A request—for uninterrupted concentration.
Perhaps Namgung Mu-jin took it as youthful arrogance. A grin curved his lips as he stepped forward.
In the next instant, his sword was already swinging.
A pure white trajectory cut through the air.
A single, straight slash of devastating force shot toward Jeong Yeon-shin.
His eyes narrowed.
Zzzzzzzang—!
When Yeoroe met the attack, fragments of force scattered like sparks.
For a fleeting moment, the impact site bloomed with a flower of lightning, only to vanish an instant later.
Even through his grip, a monstrous pressure pressed down.
And that was with him deflecting as much force as possible.
He had spoken lightly, yet had cycled the Celestial Emperor Sword Form’s Great Celestial Cycle dozens of times before striking.
Rather than dispersing his internal energy outward, he had condensed it entirely into his sword.
"Can you endure it?"
Namgung Mu-jin asked in a low voice.
Their faces were close. His breath spilled out in thick, white mist.
It wasn’t mere moisture—it carried the density of internal energy, forcibly pushed to extremes.
Despite his seemingly leisurely demeanor, his body told a different story.
As Jeong Yeon-shin silently studied him, Namgung Mu-jin’s beard twitched upward.
Heavy Sword.
A style that stood unyielding.
If he relaxed his grip here, he wouldn’t merely be flung away—his body would be severed in two.
Jeong Yeon-shin recalled three acupoints—Quchi, Chize, and Shaohai—the essential pivot points of the arm.
Then.
A sudden weight sank into his legs.
From below, a colorless mist had risen, wrapping around his feet.
The pinnacle of Celestial Emperor Sword Form.
A level where True Energy was materialized into form.
Namgung Mu-jin’s eyes glowed white.
His Upper Dantian was fully saturated with Qi, making it unnecessary for him to even open his mouth—his voice flowed into existence on its own, carrying an eerie resonance.
[So, you prefer short duels. We enjoy those as well.]
Unlike ordinary warriors.
Had he deeply mastered the Celestial Emperor Sword Form?
His aura alone sent out waves like an all-encompassing storm.
He had spent the past moments measuring Jeong Yeon-shin—his stance, balance, Qi flow, and positioning.
A strategy of disruption.
It was not Ipwang Fortress’ Seomye who held sole claim to this art.
The greatest warriors of the world all possessed it—the ability to predict the next movement from the subtlest shifts in energy.
A talent that allowed grandmasters to move a step ahead.
A sharp noise pierced the air.
It came from above Namgung Mu-jin.
A hazy vortex rapidly formed, taking the shape of a sword.
The Formless Sword.
It exhaled furious gales, each gust strong enough to flay flesh from bone.
From behind, another arrow raced toward him.
The sensation was razor-sharp, a blinding light piercing through Jeong Yeon-shin’s martial perception in a perfectly straight line.
The Sun Phoenix Driving Radiance Bow Art.
Even in slow perception, the Warlord Archer’s arrow was frighteningly fast.
It carried the full might of a Ten Li One Shot, with no energy wasted.
The combined assault of two Transcendent Masters.
A perfect pincer attack.
Their delay had been intentional—to see how Jeong Yeon-shin would respond, to predict his every move.
A faint milky-white current wrapped around his limbs, locking him in place like shackles.
It was an extremely practical form of energy manipulation.
[This is the end.]
Namgung Mu-jin murmured.
[Why did you compress it like this?]
Something unseen rose like a wildfire, swallowing his intent whole.
The energy had surged from his Upper Dantian.
Like a louder voice drowning out a quieter one.
It was far denser than Namgung Mu-jin’s.
[This isn’t a pure Celestial Emperor Sword Form.]
[......?!]
Jeong Yeon-shin did not answer.
From the corner of Namgung Mu-jin’s vision—Yong Hui-myeong stood with arms crossed, silently watching.
He allowed this situation to unfold, even as it reached this point...?
Simultaneously.
Behind Jeong Yeon-shin, the earth stirred.
This battlefield had already been overturned by their fight.
Small grains of sand, having absorbed the principles of Myriad Blossoms Falling Like Rain, began to expand in mere fractions of a second.
Their speed was incomparable.
They carried the weight of over a hundred years of perfected technique.
Kuwaaaa—
A whirlwind, vast as a dragon’s coiling body, cast a dark shadow over the ground.
Even as Namgung Mu-jin’s Formless Sword had yet to fully manifest.
[This makes piercing much easier.]
Jeong Yeon-shin’s thoughts rippled through the air.
His jet-black pupils reflected Namgung Mu-jin’s face.
A deep abyss, as still as a well.
[You shouldn't have done that.]
His voice was quiet.
And then.
The earthen tornado, painted in ochre hues, collided into the vortex of the Formless Sword—
tearing it apart into shreds.
