Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

A man who had survived in the demonic path, a realm likened to hell itself, until old age.

If forced to choose between honor and survival, he would undoubtedly choose survival.

Yet, no one could easily accept what they had just witnessed.@@novelbin@@

The Lord of Sunmaren, whose voice had thundered with terrifying power, had just spoken—yet his words lacked the overwhelming resonance of a martial sovereign’s decree.

He had spoken from an immense distance.

To perceive his voice, one would have to heighten their senses through internal energy or read his lips.

As murmurs spread among the crowd, even the veteran masters of the Orthodox Nine Sects looked bewildered.

Notably, the Daoist elders of Qingcheng, rather than the monks of Emei, were the first to react.

“Did that demon-born monster truly say what I think he did?”

“My hearing must be failing me—did he just admit defeat…?”

“When did they even exchange blows?”

“The Lord of Sunmaren was said to have transcended demonic energy itself. Could he have been shaken simply by opposing energy?”

A soft voice slipped into their discussion.

It was the Young Sword Lord of Mount Song.

“It was divine energy. And the Tenfold Gate Master's weapon techniques… Ma Gwang-ik created the perfect conditions for victory. I don’t know how, but he did.”

It was a confirmation of what many had suspected.

The monks of Emei murmured solemn prayers, while the Qingcheng elders grew restless.

“Divine energy? I’ve heard rumors of such power…”

“But to see it with one’s own eyes… Does Ma Gwang-ik truly wield something akin to the Three Pure Daoist Forces?”

Excitement laced their voices.

The Three Pure Daoist Forces were renowned as the most sacred energies under heaven.

It was said that even among the Orthodox Nine Sects, only the Sect Leader of Wudang had ever truly grasped it.

“Silence.”

A sharp voice cut through the whispers.

It was the Sect Leader of Qingcheng, standing at the edge of the cave entrance.

His keen, blade-like features were framed by the flowing hem of his white Daoist robes, still rippling from his sudden rise.

“Satae, what do you think?”