Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

"Apostle, I humbly implore you… would you accept this offering?"

Suddenly, someone addressed the Seventh Apostle. She, who had been blankly staring at the young Grand Master, slowly turned her head.

Her crimson eyes lowered, shifting to an emotionless gaze.

She briefly responded.

"Offering?"

"Y-yes, most revered Seventh Apostle."

The man had black hair streaked with red. He was a Blood Master Swordsman of the Blood Flame Cult.

With an endlessly lowered posture and blood staining his lips, he looked up at the Seventh Apostle.

At his feet lay a martial artist draped in black armor, sprawled lifeless. Bite marks were vividly imprinted on the nape of his neck.

"..."

The Seventh Apostle quietly looked down at the Blood Master Swordsman. Young in years, his face flushed with heat.

It was a familiar expression. It had been there since birth.

Everyone she had encountered growing up in the cult had revered her—with exactly that kind of face.

"The demon essence from the marrow of a pure-blooded seed is a rare delicacy. I implore you…"

The Blood Master Swordsman spoke.

"Madman!"

Another disciple exclaimed in horror, rushing forward using light-footed techniques.

He pressed down hard on the back of the disciple who had mentioned the offering, whispering urgently.

"You fool, you have spoken out of turn. Apologize a hundredfold for your offense! How dare you, like a common mortal, offer crude nourishment to the one who cultivates the purest blood energy, refined from boundless innate vigor! Do you seek to taint the Apostle's exalted martial state with impurity?"

"But… I heard that the Third Apostle ascended to such heights through the Blood Absorption Art."

"The Seventh Apostle is of holy blood, no less than the noble Ming lineage. Even the aristocrats of our cult call her blood pure and sacred! Do you recall the Solar Divine Meridian seen in Jinan? They said its blazing energy endlessly multiplied. The Seventh Apostle's innate blood is akin to that!"

"Ah…"

"Absorption is not a tenet of the sacred blood. It is merely a mercy granted by the Cult Leader to sustain us lowly mortals. The revered lips of the Seventh Apostle, born with divine blood, must not be sullied by human flesh or blood! Let the suffering masses ascend through trials and bloodshed, but for her, purity shall suffice!"

The Blood Master Swordsman, who had tried to make an offering, trembled. He immediately pressed his forehead to the ground.

"Please forgive my ignorance!"

He pleaded while prostrated. Reverence always carried an undercurrent of fear.

All Blood Flame Cult members harbored such feelings toward the Seventh Apostle.

Even the Blood Master Swordsmans, capable of dominating an entire province, were no exception.

"Pathetic fool, stop your noise. It's a technique recorded in the Demon Roaring Blood Art. It's just useless to me."

Replying indifferently, the Seventh Apostle turned her head again. It was then—

"Seventh Apostle."

Another disciple. The one who had stopped the offering. The Seventh Apostle, irritated, glanced at him as he bowed politely.

"Per the Cult Leader's will, reinforcements from Desolate Fortress have arrived here in the City of Master Craftsmen."

"Good. No need to waste energy creating sound waves anymore. It's convenient."

"Then, should we prepare a letter for the Cult Leader? Shall we instruct the subordinates to sharpen their blades in anticipation of a massacre?"

The Seventh Apostle shook her head gently.

"No. Don't. My Grand Master and I made a promise. He will create a martial art unique to me. I realized something after what happened at the main hall. Even the Grandmaster must walk the martial path unwaveringly to achieve new heights, so my Grand Master must enjoy his days in a good environment."

"...I do not understand your words."

The disciple looked puzzled. At the same time, a faint smile formed on the Seventh Apostle's lips.

"It's fine. The next life of our cult will understand."

Slash!

A crimson flower of energy bloomed, leaving a sinister fragrance in the air.

It was a tangible manifestation of internal energy—a blood blossom.

The disciple's vision tilted.

The world seemed to slow down. He looked down at his chest, ever so slowly.

Blood drenched him, like crimson paint splattered recklessly by a drunken artist.

He hadn't even seen the strike. It had been executed from an incomprehensible height of mastery.

Thud. He collapsed.

The one who had prostrated earlier already lay headless.

"Kill and destroy…?"

The fallen disciple murmured with lifeless eyes as his consciousness faded.

"Since being trampled by the Desolate Fortress' Lord, the Cult Leader has dulled considerably. Can't even tell a joke from a real painting anymore. That grand technique wouldn't have worked anyway… but he thought I underestimated Grand Master's uniqueness."

The Seventh Apostle's muttering brushed against the ears of the dying disciple.

"The young Grand Master's martial prowess is far higher than expected."

Her voice carried a trace of amusement.

* * *

The Spring village of the City of Master Craftsmen was utterly silent. Only desolation lingered.

The stagnant air hung like death itself.

'Was it always like this?'

Surely not.

Jung Yeonshin arrived at the village entrance. In the distance, he sensed clusters of chaotic energy gathered in what seemed to be a square. They were martial artists.

Judging by their unstable and erratic energy flows, they likely belonged to the Thirteen Heavens.

Spring village of the City of Master Craftsmen was the first village at the entrance, a city of artisans.

Just looking at the deserted streets revealed the obvious.

He could sense fearful, stifled breaths from within the neatly arranged houses.

The artisans, renowned for crafting weapons, had been enslaved.

The words of Jonmyung, a blacksmith he met at the entrance, echoed in his mind. He had begged Jung Yeonshin, disciple of the Desolate Fortress' Lord.

He feared what atrocities the Thirteen Heavens of the demonic sect might commit.

"There are many common folk in our city! Please, please protect them!"

Those words rang true. As he walked further, faint sounds reached him—the crackling fire of forges, anvils, and the clang of hammers striking metal.

The village was dead, yet weapons were being made. There was no need for further thought—it was coercion.

Whoosh!

A sudden breeze ruffled Jung Yeonshin's hair.

"Shall we take care of it?"

Before he knew it, Flame Dragon had appeared beside the young master. Perhaps due to the Solar Divine Meridian's fiery nature, dried blood stained both his hands.

That wasn't all. The elegant blue robe of Namgoong Hwashin fluttered to the side, catching his peripheral vision.

The resolute aura of Crimson Noon Sword stood behind him, and with the light, gliding steps of Lightning Genius, the martial artists of the Returning Wings Squad assembled in formation at his back.

They had slaughtered the warriors of Pure Demon Alliance in mere moments.

The scent of blood lingered on their weapons. No one had sheathed their swords yet.

They were all seasoned warriors, far older than Jung Yeonshin. Yet, they too sensed what the boy had felt.

Even if their energy perception couldn't reach far, their experience led them to the same conclusion.

The looters ruling over City of Master Craftsmen—the remnants of the demonic sects—were still present.

"Leader, your orders."

Namgoong Hwashin spoke.

From White Qilin's entire being, boundless azure energy emanated. A clear and pure wave of energy.

It was more than just the strength of the Boundless Heaven Technique—it was the spirit of a righteous warrior.

He set aside despair over the plight of the common folk, focusing only on the task ahead.

"Leader…? Just now, you called him Leader?"

Heon Wonchang stammered, unable to believe what he had heard.

Namgoong Hwashin had addressed Jung Yeonshin as Leader and sought his command.

Was such a thing even possible? White Qilin was a rising talent who had dominated the Eastern Dragon-Phoenix Gathering south of the Yangtze River.

"I've been appointed as the temporary leader of the reinforcements."

Jung Yeonshin gave a short explanation.

Even that was enough to leave Heon Wonchang wide-eyed. But the boy spoke again, calmly.

"Clean it up."

A simple command. Yet the outcome was far from simple.

It was a call for the deaths of the enemies remaining in the Spring village of the City of Master Craftsmen. The martial artists of the Returning Wings Squad scattered in all directions.

Clang! Boom!

"Desolate Fortress! Was the Radiant Demon Squad still here?!"

"Stop! Stop! By the name of the lord, I request parley—ugh!"

The clash of swords and the resonance of energy shattered the stillness of the village.

"What is this…?"

"The masters of the Desolate Fortress Divine Sword Squad…"

The martial artists of the Tang Clan and the Beggars' Sect murmured. From the nameless cliffs near the Sichuan Tang Clan's territory to the Spring village of the City of Master Craftsmen, the scene had been nothing but a series of shocks and disbelief.

It wasn't just Jung Yeonshin's talent in martial arts.

Sect after sect in Sichuan had been annihilated.

It was hard to believe that the formal warriors of Desolate Fortress had mobilized at a mere word from a boy.

Yet, there was nothing to criticize. Every strike from the Returning Wings Squad was justified.

Drawing their swords and cutting down enemies—it was an act of vengeance that fit the order of things.

Considering the artisans of the village, it could even be called a righteous act.

'Jung Yeonshin… There's no need to record more about his position. It's better to assess the martial arts he has mastered.'

Hu-gae thought to himself. The boy's caliber was clear—he had completely won the hearts of the Desolate Fortress' warriors.

No matter how much he pondered it, Hu-gae couldn't fathom how such a thing was possible. It was noteworthy, to say the least.

'I'll need to investigate further. He's not just a talented martial artist.'

The sudden turmoil in the Spring village of the City of Master Craftsmen.

The second most respected beggar in the martial world shifted his gaze.

His eyes fell upon the boy—calmly standing in a deep blue robe.

There was something profound about the boy's aura.

It was the dignity of someone destined for greatness. Hu-gae, who had met countless heroes, recognized it immediately.

Perhaps it was seeing him command the warriors of the squad with just a few words.

'When the Murim Alliance forms, he must be closely monitored. He's a dangerous figure.'

At that moment, Jung Yeonshin met his gaze. Hu-gae quickly looked away.

Half an hour later, they gathered at the entrance to Hayeok, the next village. It was a massive semicircular stone gate.

The martial artists of the Returning Wings Squad had assembled the residents of the village. The cleanup was complete.

From the forges of City of Master Craftsmen to the houses and squares, blood from the fallen enemies stained the stone floors.

"Thank you! Thank you so much!"

"We thought we'd be enslaved… Truly, thank you."

The common folk repeatedly bowed. The man at the forefront pressed his chest to the ground and did not rise.

It was Jonmyung, the village chief of the Spring village.

Meanwhile, Crimson Noon Sword sought Jung Yeonshin's permission to interrogate the captured enemies.

The boy gave a silent nod.

"I—I'll talk!"

"Shut up! You spineless fool, have you no shame?!"

The one who shouted was instantly decapitated. Namgoong Hwashin's sword strike drew a straight line, leaving no trace of blood.

"I should've been the one to claim credit."

Flame Dragon grumbled as Crimson Noon Sword questioned the prisoners about their purpose.

In the martial world, few adhered to the ideals of righteousness and chivalry.

Several mid-tier sect warriors immediately responded.

"They said Bodhidharma's incarnate essence is in Spring village—shaped as a relic."

"Incarnate essence?"

The Tang siblings, who had been watching Jung Yeonshin closely, asked. It was only natural.

The term referred to one of the three bodies of the Buddha.

In the martial world, it was regarded as a condensed core of internal energy.

Bodhidharma's incarnate essence meant a fragment of the energy accumulated during his lifetime.

Masters of the Tang Clan, skilled in poisons and medicine, couldn't help but perk up.

Jonmyung, after bowing again to Jung Yeonshin, finally spoke.

"As expected, they're after it."

"How could such an ancient artifact still exist?"

Tang Ryeo-ryeo asked.

Glancing at Jung Yeonshin, Jonmyung only continued after the boy nodded.

"It seems there were people here before the Iron Tribe. They forged condensed energy crystals. Craftsmen of a level rarely seen throughout history."

"They forged energy fragments? How is that even possible…?"

"The Tang Clan Master could likely do the same, but perhaps he keeps his distance from his children. In any case, the density isn't high. However, if melted into a sword, it could create a divine blade. If consumed… who knows? It's a treasure anyone would covet—and a source of disaster."

With a bitter expression, he finished speaking.

Jung Yeonshin turned toward the stone gate leading out of City of Master Craftsmen, placing his palm against its grooves.

"We're moving forward. Farewell, and take care."

As he bid farewell to Jonmyung and the villagers, a voice interrupted.

"I don't know who you are, leading the warriors of the Divine Sword Squad, but you're as foolish as your age suggests."

One of the prisoners spoke. A middle-aged man with an imposing air.

His chest was scorched and dried from Flame Dragon's Solar Force. Only the quality of his silk robes hinted at his status.

"The key to Rare energy's treasure was split between the Ten Perfection Sect and the Pure Demon Alliance. You'd best not act rashly. The stone walls may collapse."

His words and manner were far from ordinary—clearly, he was of high status.

The masters of Desolate Fortress, including Heon Wonchang and Flame Dragon, looked at him blankly.

"I possess a diagram of Rare Energy's treasure formation—about thirty percent complete. Don't think you can torture it out of me. I can endure. But if you grant one condition—"

Rumble!

A faint light seeped through. The door was opening beneath Jung Yeonshin's fingertips.