Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

Jeong Yeon-shin took a step back. The nape of the Seventh Apostle, pale as frost, grew that much farther away.

He had activated the Sword Song with the sensation of spreading his Six Harmonies Zenith Form widely.

“……”

The vast clearing, cast in deep shadows, had been drenched in silence for some time.

Even So Cheonmujuk, who always had something to say by his side, had fallen quiet. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, gradually fading from sight.

Jeong Yeon-shin paid it no mind.

Saaa.

The gentle breeze carried falling autumn leaves, piling atop the shade cast by swaying branches.

Thus, the silence of Taemo Mountain Fortress and the Lord of Celestial Extremity Gate was tinged with crimson.

Among the great sects competing for dominance—Ipwang Fortress, Mount Hua, and Azure Fortress—the Thirteen Heavens of the Unorthodox Path still held sway over Hangzhou.

Those surrounding the clearing at this moment were elite martial artists. Though there were differences in their achievements, all had long since tempered their upper dantian with inner power.

Naturally, they could faintly sense the intent woven into the melody of the sword.

But Jeong Yeon-shin had not called out to them. The Divine Sword, Yeoroe, cried out toward an entirely different audience.

Come.

He called out to Yeoroe, floating by his side.

Uuuung.

Since he had not used the Sword Song as an attack maneuver, there was no crack in the milky-white divine blade as it gracefully traced an arc and returned.

It brushed, almost coincidentally, against the hilt of the Songmun Ancient Sword strapped to Jeong Yeon-shin’s waist before slipping smoothly into its scabbard.

Now, two swords hung at his waist.

Sabak.

The Seventh Apostle turned toward him. Her long, black hair, cutting through the transparent autumn wind, shimmered darkly. Even though she had moved on her own accord, she seemed startled by her own reaction.

The black eyepatch slanted across her face trembled slightly, and a flicker of red glowed in her opposite eye.

Her lips slowly parted.

“I…”

“They're coming.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke, still facing sideways. Before he even finished, the Seventh Apostle had already turned her gaze in that direction.

Slaash!

A faint white line was etched into the air. It was as if space itself had been torn.

The dust swirling over the rich, ochre-colored ground was sucked toward that vertical rift with a sudden whoosh.

At the same time.

A shadow slipped through the gap like smoke.

A figure holding a loosely gripped sword, steam billowing from its blade. The crimson glow spreading along its edge sizzled, hissing like searing iron plunged into cold water.

It defied natural order. A phenomenon befitting the term Unorthodox Path.