Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 358: Charge (7)

The scene unfolding within the manor had defied natural order.

It was an anomaly caused by true internal energy.

Inside the rice-papered room, the silhouette of a seated figure formed from an aura of light, hands gathered over the lower abdomen.

It was a Body-Protection Qi Shield.

Yet, the luminous glow emanating from the faintly shining robes did not merge with the flickering lanterns of the banquet hall.

Instead, it created a subtle, fan-shaped barrier that repelled them.

Its nature was strangely tyrannical.

“Hah—”

A soft exhale escaped from beneath the silver mask of the Little Invincible Demon.

“This... complicates things.”

A murmur slipped from their lips, born from the depths of profound internal breathing.

And then, as if a lie had been abruptly unraveled, the radiance vanished.

Darkness flooded in within an instant, as though light had never been present in the first place.

It was a technique unseen before in the martial world.

“...”

Silence followed.

Even though the lantern lights returned, illuminating the surroundings once more, the raucous chatter did not resume.

The Little Invincible Demon swept back a stray lock of hair that had fallen over their cheek.

A hint of hesitation flickered in the pale fingertips that had momentarily brushed their skin.

A deep, azure gleam flashed within the shadowed interior of the silver mask.

"His qi was unstable. Has he not yet mastered it?"

Their sharp gaze lingered on Jeong Yeon-shin’s room.

Then, as if suddenly realizing their own impatience, they relaxed their expression.

Perhaps it was because, at long last, something in this bleak and colorless world had arrived that was neither black nor white.

"How pathetic."

Sneering at themself, the Little Invincible Demon averted their gaze from Jeong Yeon-shin’s quarters.

Instead, they swept their eyes over the gathering.

“...This isn’t even the Sixteen Kingdoms period.”

They let out a dry chuckle, muttering under their breath.

A twisted smirk lifted their lips, mingling mockery, contempt, and self-ridicule.

“This is nothing more than a burial site for corpses still clinging to life.”

At that moment.

The gaze of Wind Lord Li Shi-myeong, seated at the head of the outdoor banquet, slowly shifted toward them.

At the same time, the Little Invincible Demon—who had stiffened for an instant—suddenly vanished like a wisp of smoke.

All that remained was the burly, bearded old master who had pointed toward Jeong Yeon-shin’s room.

“...Hmm?”

A flicker of doubt crossed Wind Lord Li Shi-myeong’s face.

When an elderly woman seated beside him asked what was amiss, he merely shook his head and silently turned his gaze toward Jeong Yeon-shin’s secluded quarters.

“Ensure that no one approaches.”

Li Shi-myeong’s voice rang out, slow and measured.

“The one who wields such peculiar techniques... I must observe him carefully.”

“I thought you called him the imperial hound? That light just now was truly bizarre. Perhaps it would be best to cut the weed before it grows...”

The speaker was an elderly woman with a long diagonal scar across her face.

Demon-Blade of Severance, Peng Moran.

A woman who had once roamed freely as the King of Northern Vagabonds, despite being an estranged branch of the Peng Clan.

Due to her lineage, she had only received half of the teachings of the Five Tiger Severance Saber.

In her later years, she had followed Li Shi-myeong into this manor.

But Wind Lord had never treated her as anything more than a formidable asset within the Scattered Pagoda of the Peng Clan.

His eyes had always been fixed solely on Peng Yeol-ran.

“Cut the weed? Tomorrow is the wedding.”

It was a warning.

Murderous words should not be spoken on such an auspicious occasion.

Marriage was a serious matter.

The Ghostly Tyrant King’s future was at stake.

“...Very well.”

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At Peng Moran’s subdued response, Li Shi-myeong’s gaze darkened.

The young Bright Wing Lord within that room would be unable to do anything during the grand ceremony.

The Tyrant King and the Wind Lord would be present.

And even Icy White Cheon So-so—who knew which side she would choose?

Even worse, Jeong Yeon-shin was young in both appearance and years.

It would be fortunate if he didn’t break under the weight of witnessing Seonmok Lord’s betrayal.

An unruly prodigy like him was unpredictable.

It was safer to keep him in plain sight.

After all, once the wedding was over, Li Shi-myeong’s Four-Wind Blooming Steps would shatter the young Bright Wing Lord’s neck.

"He will surely become our clan lord’s enemy."

Unlike the rumors, Wind Lord had never viewed Ghostly Tyrant King as a woman.

Since the day he lost to her in the Dragon and Phoenix Gathering.

The night before, she had spent the evening with him.

And the next morning, bathed in dawn’s light, she had whispered sweet nothings into the ear of another woman.

That was the moment Li Shi-myeong had reached enlightenment.

Within the rushing torrents of his Four-Wind Blooming Steps, he had grasped the sixteen-step essence of Flowing Wind’s Boundless Grace.

Freedom was there.

The years had passed, and the cycle had repeated itself.

To Wind Lord, Ghostly Tyrant King was the incarnation of inspiration.

Someone who would guide him to Martial Perfection.

He had adored her Five Tiger Severance Saber.

He had loved her boundless, unrestricted way of living.

Even when Golden Seal Lord had arrived to steal away the sacred artifact that could summon the Flood Dragon, Peng Yeol-ran had remained as magnificent as ever.

The Dragon Emerges, Thunder Shakes the Heavens Cannon.

When, in her fury, she had devised a technique that recreated the mythical breath of the Flood Dragon, he too had transcended his own martial realm.

“Raise your cups!”

He rose to his feet.

As if he had never seen the display of Bright Wing Lord’s martial prowess just moments ago.

"Not even the Eight Great Noble Houses could muster such strength."

Beneath the banquet stage, Li Shi-myeong and Peng Yeol-ran’s warriors stood.

The old masters of the Scattered Pagoda of the Peng Clan, their colorless eyes gleaming like polished steel, seemed to Wind Lord like the ultimate martial shield.

These were men and women who had accomplished so much that they dared to tear through Heaven’s Grand Formation itself, all in pursuit of a Flood Dragon.

“Tomorrow is the day! When the Lord of Scattered Pagoda of the Peng Clan takes Seonmok Lord as their bride, this sacred land of the Flood Dragon shall become our very own Paradise of Peach Blossoms!”

There was no loud cheer.

As always, the old masters valued their dignity above all.

But in their eyes, the dim, colorless gleam of their boundless energy flickered like silent approval.

And that was all the satisfaction Wind Lord Li Shi-myeong needed.

***

A forge open to the sky.

Chiiiiik!

Thick steam rose, curling into the air.

Beneath the relentless pounding of two small figures, a length of metal was being shaped, compressed, and refined.

Both wore only thin sleeveless inner garments, their upper robes tied at the waist.

The signature green hems of their Sichuan Tang Clan robes were smudged with soot and grime, slipping down as they moved.

The furnace roared, its heat swirling violently. Their upper bodies, constantly in motion, flexed in a precise, compact rhythm.

The forge never ceased exhaling its breath of fire.

To the left, neatly arranged against the stone wall, were hammers, clamps, and chisels—adding to the rugged atmosphere of the smithy, thick with the scent of iron.

It had been five days.

The struggle of birth, tempering, and forging had consumed them.

At some point, faint sky-colored mist had begun to seep from the twins’ eyes, noses, and lips.

But the village blacksmiths, watching in stunned silence, did not dare speak.

The small boy worked the bellows with grand motions, while the girl—his near mirror image—flashed her azure-glowing eyes as she hammered at the forming blade.

Every so often, they switched roles, maintaining the keen, knife-sharp sensation coursing through their hands.

The crowd surrounding them numbered well over a hundred. Among them was Hahoe Wi-jin, the village elder who had safeguarded the villagers.

"Are my eyes deceiving me...?"

He murmured, staring at the sweat-glistened faces of the twin siblings.

Tang Yeohwa and Tang Leryeo.

For a brief moment, their features wavered like a mirage over the vast desert.

Tang Yeohwa’s face sharpened, resembling Jeong Yeon-shin so vividly it was unsettling.

Tang Leryeo, on the other hand, looked so elegant in the firelight that the flames seemed to serve as her ornaments.

If Jeong Yeon-shin had been born a woman, he would look exactly like Tang Leryeo.

Fwoooosh!

The forge fire surged violently.

This time, Tang Leryeo worked the bellows.

They were completely unified.

It was as if they had achieved Sword and Mind as One, but not with a blade—instead, they had become one with each other.

The hammering never ceased.

The furnace roared even hotter.

Ironwood from Sichuan, Ignition Stones from Yunnan, and the mysterious Dragon’s Ash—a soil found only in the Sacred Lands of the Flood Dragon—combined to create an inferno capable of melting any metal in an instant.

The blade, now glowing crimson, lay upon the anvil, continuously enduring the siblings’ relentless strikes.

"A Swift Blade will temper well. At this rate, air resistance will be negligible."

"We’re forging spiritual essence into it, right? Did you remember the Scripture’s Teachings?"

"I only know how it feels. As long as it feels right to him, that should be enough. It must not break when infused with divine force."

"I've never seen the Heavenly Lightning-Swift Slash before. Its balance..."

"Let’s measure it by Eungong’s (Benefactor’s) energy."

"His arms were like True Silver, light as steel. His Qi waves never faltered."

"His reaction speed surpasses ours, so we must focus on joints."

"Shoulder, elbow, wrist. Jianyu Acupoint, Quchi Acupoint, Neiguan Acupoint... No need to worry about Hukou Acupoint between the thumb and forefinger. Eungong’s grip can withstand even the Resonance of Rivers—so what matters is making joint movements as smooth as possible."

"Yeohwa, Post-Heavenly Eight Trigrams, on the Dui side, half an inch below."

Bang!

"Li. No need to ask where, right?"

Bang!

"Our True Qi won’t taint it, will it? It’s not impure?"

"There’s no other way."

"Qian. Dead center, slightly to the left."

Boom!

This was no ordinary hammering.

With each strike, shockwaves rippled outward, sending a circular tremor through the air.

Whenever one of these invisible waves passed, at least one of the onlookers fell to the ground.

"With the way his body is structured, he’ll excel at Adaptive Techniques. If not, he’ll need to use them frequently."

"I know."

"I’ve seen the Lightning-Swift Slash before. The way it stores wave energy before countering was impressive."

Even Hahoe Wi-jin, offering occasional insights, played a crucial role.

"Elasticity—add more soil. Reverse-Origin Three Yang Art, in Three layers."

"Now!"

Fwoooosh—KANGGG!

They forged without looking at him.

Yet, everything they did was for him.

They carved his image into the steel, shaped the blade to resemble his essence.

By dissecting every facet of his movements, they dismantled him—only to rebuild him anew in the weapon.

Just as martial techniques become divine arts when imbued with spirituality—

Their five days of hammering had instilled a spirit into the steel.

It was not the wielder adapting to the weapon.

It was the weapon that would infinitely adapt to the wielder’s will.

On the sixth day.

As the first faint hues of dawn painted the distant ridges—

"Just a little more... There! This is it!"

With Tang Leryeo’s exclamation, Tang Yeohwa delivered the final strike.

From their bloodied hands, a faint, sky-blue radiance pulsed through the grip.

Woooooong—!

The resonance was as pure as a temple bell.

It spread outward from the anvil.

The steel, once searing red from the fire, suddenly cooled, as if rejecting its own heat.

Shedding its crimson glow, it regained its silver body.

Upon the blade’s surface, shimmering water-like patterns began to appear, reflecting the first light of the sun.

Watching in silence, Hahoe Wi-jin’s throat moved.

For the first time, he did not focus on the sword.

The siblings did not immediately attach the completed blade to its hilt.

They merely stood on opposite sides of the anvil, gazing at each other.

A faint smile traced their lips.

The sky-blue glow that had once emanated from them had vanished.

"Repay kindness twofold, and vengeance tenfold."

The Chivalry of the Tang Clan had crystallized into one absent figure.

At that moment, ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ the sunlight shattered, its beams washing over the blade in a dazzling white cascade.

Tang Yeohwa.

Tang Leryeo.

They had forged a divine sword.

And then, standing tall—

They perished.

At seventeen years of age.