Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

The sound of silk brushing against blades of grass was stark against the silence.

The junior disciples of the Nine Orthodox Sects, who had been studying the traces left by their masters' techniques, stood frozen in place, ears straining in disbelief.

Even those who had been glaring daggers at the Five Sentinels of Vengeance turned their heads.@@novelbin@@

"Did he just say… Lord of Ipwang Fortress, Ma Gwang-ik?"

"I saw Seomye at the Han-Zhong Martial Alliance Gathering—his physique was completely different from this man’s."

"He was much younger."

"Of all people, to lie to the elders of Mount Qingcheng and Emei…."

The group of junior disciples traveling with the Nine Sects' masters consisted of about twelve well-trained warriors.

They had all properly learned and internalized the foundational principles of their sects’ Qi perception techniques, making them leagues apart from ordinary vagrant martial artists.

Even as they devoted mental focus elsewhere, they kept their Qi senses attuned to their surroundings.

This was the nature of their battlefield training—they had endured countless blood-soaked conflicts, always needing to remain vigilant.

Naturally, they were observing every subtle movement of the black-clad youth before them.

It was impossible not to feel uneasy.

The elders of the Nine Sects could not be spoken down to—not only would it be an affront to Ziwei Arhat and Qing Eun Daozhang, but it would also humiliate their entire sects.

"Brothers, let’s be patient. This layman's Qi is no ordinary thing—his words cannot be dismissed outright."

"I agree."

The Golden Staff Saintess of Emei and Red Cloud Dragon of Mount Qingcheng, two rising prodigies of the Nine Sects, did not lash out at the black-clad youth’s remarks.

Instead, they calmly reassured their companions, then observed Jeong Yeon-shin with composed, contemplative expressions.

"Lord of Ipwang Fortress?"

Qing Eun Daozhang, standing with Red Cloud Dragon at his back, echoed the name. His sharp brows furrowed with doubt.

"Can you take responsibility for those words?"

He had felt it—a faint yet overwhelming Qi presence when Jeong Yeon-shin had used his light movement technique earlier.

His wariness was justified.

"Do I need to?"

Jeong Yeon-shin tilted his head slightly.

He thought to himself—was there any real need for this conversation to continue? It wasn’t as if he planned to travel alongside them.

Sensing his indifference, the middle-aged bhikkhuni, who had previously been brutally crushing the Five Sentinels with her iron staff, brought her hands together in a formal gesture and spoke.

"Even the slightest brush of sleeves in passing is fate. And yet, layman, it seems you have no further business with us."

"The sleeves never brushed," Jeong Yeon-shin replied absently.