WeTried Translations

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◈ Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time ◈

Episode 139: The Turbulent Road Home (4)

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"Can't use your body anymore? You're burned through and through."

It was dawn, when a dim glow spread.

A person and a lump cast shadows amid the dense trees of a wild mountain.

The Seventh Apostle, draped in a red Pure Blood Robe, stood sideways upon a gently curving slope.

Beneath her hand, the silk wrapping around the lump that had once been the Blood Flame Sect Master dragged loosely along before stopping.

Though it was summer and the Mid-Autumn Festival was approaching, the air around the mountain was unusually cold.

Yin-cold qi flowed from the place as though a massive block of ice lay hidden within the mountain.

It was a sacred mountain found by Blood Flame Sect followers traveling throughout the Central Plains, on the ridge separating Sichuan and Huguang.

Bright orange dawn light gradually seeped in. Daybreak had come.

Haa.

White breath spilled from the Seventh Apostle's lips. A rare, refreshing smile appeared on her face.

It was an expression she only wore when secretly watching the young Grand Preceptor. Having transported something unpleasant, she was in a good mood after finally being exposed to refreshing yin qi.

"Not bad."

She was not speaking to herself.

―It is a rare sacred mountain.

A reply came from the lump of flesh. It was not an ordinary voice, but heart speech.

―Given time, I should be able to recover here. I was struck by vile dharma power, so it will take several years at the least. Seventh Apostle, you must offer tribute if you wish to shorten that time.

The Blood Flame Sect Master was using the Wisdom Heart Sutra, a technique great monks versed in Buddhist martial arts might employ.

It was unlike the lofty principle of All Streams Return to Origin. To expand his sect, he had immersed himself in Buddhist teachings for over a hundred years and grasped the essence of heart speech.

He had approached it not through enlightenment, but as a system of martial arts, establishing the authority of a Grandmaster of Blood Arts.

The Sect Master's clan belonged to neither the Han Chinese nor the elven race. They called themselves greater than the elven race.

It was a supernatural mystery. He could think by planting his spirituality within a crystal of blood. A body that housed it was one of the divine weapons and rare artifacts, and it was the Blood Flame Sect Master himself.

"Tribute? That's disgusting."

―What a cute thing.

A drop of blood carrying spirituality flowed from the Sect Master's corpse. It was thick and slimy like mucus.

One of the martial world's mysteries had revealed itself in its most revolting form. The thin, snake-like crystal of blood was the Sect Master himself.

―We should first decide this sect's future course of action. This has made one thing clear. There is another who will pose the greatest obstacle to this sect's grand plan.

"Let's hear it."

―The Lord of Desolate Fortress should not have been our first concern. She rarely leaves her post. This Sect Master believes she cannot remain away from the World Tree for long. We need only act in secret, and even if we provoke her wrath, scatter and evade her for a long time.

"I want to trade blows with her once. She annoys me. A lot."

―Don't. In any case, even the Purple Uniforms of Desolate Fortress, who are all but dead now, will no longer be a threat. We only need to learn the Divine Sword Squad Leader's movements. Next, the Zhuge Family Head may be worth considering, but though that bastard is cunning and powerful, he is not someone this sect needs to worry about.

The Blood Flame Sect Master's heart speech carried a strange note of laughter.

―The Sword Star, no more than a puppet of that Zhuge bastard, is the same. As for the sect leaders of the Nine Sects... they are carefree idlers savoring their martial prowess in the mountains. It is enough to watch the conditions of the nine mountain regions.

"......"

―The little Ming Cult Master in Xinjiang is more worth fearing. That one's ambition is excessive. I have never seen a genius of sorcery-based martial arts like that child. Still, that brat has only just begun to stretch as the head of a sect, so...

The Blood Flame Sect Master dragged out his words, then declared,

―That influence cannot compare to that of the Grand Preceptor, who has already entered the center of the martial world.

"I thought you'd say that."

The Seventh Apostle leaned lightly against an old tree.

She adjusted the sleeve of her Pure Blood Robe and pretended not to care. The Sect Master continued without concern.

―The dharma-powered martial art Ma Yeon-jeok displayed in its perfected form was truly powerful. For a martial art to possess the form of ultimate mastery, its foundation must have been firm from the moment its principles were forged.

The Sect Master, now no more than a handful of blood, paused.

―I can say this now. The Grand Preceptor's talent for creating martial arts has reached a level where Bodhidharma and Zhang Sanfeng must be mentioned in the same breath. I cannot fathom how vast the divinity within his upper dantian is.

"So?"

The Seventh Apostle asked with only a slight movement of her lips. Her expression did not change.

―Unlike those two, the Grand Preceptor is not an ascetic who cultivates mind and body. He will show no restraint when creating countless martial arts to counter others. He is an exceedingly dangerous sprout. The current leading to Desolate Fortress's destruction has only just begun to take root in the martial world.

"Wouldn't it be good if he created lots of martial arts? Every one of the Grand Preceptor's martial arts shines."

―Unfortunately, as long as the Lord of Desolate Fortress remains, we cannot take the Grand Preceptor into our embrace. If we cannot have him, then killing him is right. Hire every assassin under heaven. Hide us behind three or four layers and release the funds. The Grand Preceptor has accumulated no small number of grudges in the martial world, so there is no reason to hesitate.

"Kill the Grand Preceptor?"

―The First Apostle is in the Martial Alliance at Hanzhong. The First Apostle has taken on a fairly important position and must be looking for a chance to make the Martial Alliance Assembly and Desolate Fortress destroy each other. Ask for help. The First Apostle will cherish your noble blood, because you were born with the True Bloodline.

The Blood Flame Sect Master's heart speech carried authority. The presence of a Grandmaster of a sect still held power even after his body had weakened.

For a moment, the yin qi filling the sacred mountain felt even thicker.

The Seventh Apostle did not answer.

She adored the young Grand Preceptor. She saw him as the sole comet who would bring her to the ultimate end of martial arts.

He was unlike the tiresome Sect Master, who only demanded things from her.

The young Grand Preceptor kept pushing her away, yet ever since receiving Bodhidharma's treasured artifact, he had been wavering. That stirred a sadistic excitement within her.

More.

She wanted to give him more. She wanted to shower him with every rare treasure scattered across the world, everything that could aid his path, then see how he would treat her after receiving them.

What expression would the young Grandmaster make? How would the martial arts flowing from his fingertips change?

"Ahh."

She wanted to reach the end of martial arts with the boy. Martial Extreme.

At the end of that radiant life, she wanted to stroke the boy's cheek as he closed his eyes and tell him that his life had been dazzling. That she adored him.

The Seventh Apostle slowly opened her lips.

"Sect Master, I owe you a debt, but..."

―Hm?

"I've endured a lot too. I've repaid you plenty. You're the one who told me to live as I wished, aren't you?"

―Apostle.

"You want to kill the Grand Preceptor?"

―I thought what you said before was a joke.

The conversation of madmen began.

"I meant it. I'll become the True Blood Sect Master. I even heard where the seal is."

―Heh, hehehe. Will you consume me? That would be entertaining too. I wonder what the martial world looks like through your eyes.

"Disgusting. My talent is far greater than yours."

There was a mnemonic formula the boy in Black Uniform robes had given her when he was still a Blue Uniform.

The Seventh Apostle had originally been destined to grow as strong as the Sect Master simply by cultivating the Mara Roaring Blood Art. That was how she had been born.

She was even younger than the Languid Flame Dragon, who had fawned over the young Grand Preceptor. She had only just passed twenty.

She had risen to the rank of Apostle as the most powerful rising talent in the Blood Flame Sect. Her room to grow was limitless.

"So."

The Seventh Apostle smiled crimson.

"Die. Thank you for everything, and you've been a nuisance."

―Hahahahahaha!

The Sect Master burst into wild laughter.

―You are already a True Blood Sect Master! Our clan will prosper all the more! It is only regrettable that I cannot witness more of this sect's golden age...

Step.

Her smooth red shoes crushed the blood.

With a wet crunch, red flames burst to life on either side of her feet. Only two kinds of qi could completely destroy Blood Arts.

Blood Arts qi of the same kind, and sacred dharma power.

At that moment, the force wave of the Mara True Blood Art, newly created by the young Grandmaster, tore through the ground amid the spiraling flames of Helix.

It was a strike that completely burned to death the blood demon that had roamed the martial world for centuries.

The sacred mountain quickly regained its cold silence.

The Seventh Apostle slowly lifted her head. A crimson, refreshing smile was once again on her face.

"Hanzhong, the Martial Alliance?"

She sensed that she would reunite with the young Grand Preceptor.

It would be a meeting unlike any before.

* * *

Seom-ye, Jeong Yeon-shin, carried an unusual air.

There was a harmony beyond his years.

It was not only his aura. His bearing was the same. He wore the distinctive Black Uniform robes of Desolate Fortress and carried an extraordinary sword.

Despite his youthful appearance, he did not look out of place urging surrender. Cheong Myeong, who had opened the carriage window and leaned out, whistled.

"Mir-yeo, did you hear that? 'Will you resist?' He's become a main fortress martial artist rounding up martial-world rabble. When did he grow up like that?"

"Don't be ridiculous. He's a Black Uniform."

"Right, of course. Wasn't it only last year that I lent him my blue robe? In Shaanxi. Perhaps because of his age, he really feels like a younger brother."

Cheong Myeong's lips curved into a fresh smile.

"Squad Leader, what will happen to us?"

Cheong Myeong glanced into the carriage as the question was asked. At the same time, a heavy voice answered.

"Continue cultivating Demon's Light without rest. That will be enough. Even if I must leave the main force, I intend to use my own hands to ensure there is no disruption to Demon Wings' legacy."

"Squad Leader, you don't have any hands."

At the front of the group, Jeong Yeon-shin ignored Ma Jin's silence. It was simply the carefree joke characteristic of Cheong Myeong of the elven race.

He only stared at Little Sword Empress Chwi So-ok.

With his eyes, he told the Jeomchang Sect's eldest disciple that it would be proper to detain her and her fellow disciples until the journey ended. The boy demanded an answer through silence.

What had come of trusting the orthodox sects' good faith at the Namgung Family?

Jeong Yeon-shin would not repeat the same mistake.

His firm resolve showed in eyes that crackled with the white lightning of the Record of the Dharma Light Wheel.

The corners of Chwi So-ok's lips, which had held a gentle smile, stiffened slightly. She was an heir of one of the Nine Sects, possessing exceptional swordsmanship and lofty chivalrous renown.

In many ways, she was often compared to Weiji Myo-hwa, the Sword Dragon of Zhongnan Sect. That was how highly she was regarded among the younger generation of the martial world.

The Little Sword Empress watched Jeong Yeon-shin in silence for a moment.

The boy met her gaze as well. He needed to see through her true martial arts by examining her whole body.

To keep the waves of qi from reaching the carriage holding his maternal grandfather and the Elder Council Head, he had to completely counter the Little Sword Empress herself.

Overwhelmingly so.

'They said she is a master of the two-handed sword. Her hilt and blade are both long. Should I assume she has trained her sword like a saber? She must have deeply cultivated the thrusts characteristic of Jeomchang sword arts.'

He studied her eyes.

Her expression made it difficult to tell what she felt.

She possessed a flawless beauty like the sword qi for which she was known, but something else stood out more to the boy.

The thick calluses covering both of the Little Sword Empress's palms. They were the hands of a swordswoman who had poured her life into training.

Yunnan and Shaanxi were too far apart for her and the Sword Dragon to have ever determined who was superior, but in terms of effort, she did not seem inferior to Weiji Myo-hwa.

'She must have trained hand techniques as well. I need to account for Hand Arts too.'

The boy waited no longer. Wearing the Black Uniform robes of Desolate Fortress on the wide official road, he represented the group.

It would be absurd if he could not subdue a single rising talent.

At the head of the procession, halted by the actions of the Languid Flame Dragon and Namgung Hwa-shin, he slowly stepped forward.

Step.

With that single step, the Little Sword Empress's eyes changed.

They no longer held even a hint of vacant innocence. A master's lightning-like gleam flashed through her eyes as she fully measured the distance between herself and her enemy.

He could feel that she had raised a sword in her heart. The movement of the air changed.

The stiffened air foretold a clash within a single exchange.

A hazy space formed between the two. A sword domain.

It was the range where sword paths could reach and the area affected by force waves from sword strikes. A tug-of-war had begun.

It was a fight to release aura and nullify the other's domain, then fill the distance between them with one's own territory.

Jeong Yeon-shin led the exchange. He did not want the shockwaves of their sword strikes to reach his maternal grandfather and the Elder Council Head behind him.

Step.

Only the boy moved. Each time he took another step closer, the colorless aura around them both rippled.

A gray wind, given shape between the two swordsmen, churned violently.

Step.

His footsteps rang out unusually loud. He walked forward, narrowing the distance himself.

It was not something one could easily do without absolute confidence in one's swordsmanship.

With one hand on the hilt of the divine sword Northern Light, the boy in Black Uniform robes, his hem fluttering in the wind, looked every bit the Squad Leader under the Divine Sword Squad.

The Little Sword Empress had lowered herself at an angle and taken the opening stance to draw her sword. A small bead of cold sweat ran down her cheek.

At last, she realized that Jeong Yeon-shin's Black Uniform rank was genuine from the unrestrained aura he revealed.

There were only five paces between them now.

The tension between them stretched taut. The resonance of their humming auras grew fierce.

Soon, the violent trembling of the air began to foretell the swordsmen's collision.

Then.

The Little Sword Empress suddenly removed her hand from her sword hilt and bowed. Her black hair scattered in the powerful wind of their auras.

At the same time, the wind within the sword domain came undone with a whoosh and swept through the surroundings.

As Jeong Yeon-shin watched quietly, the Little Sword Empress slowly straightened and opened her lips.

"Uh... I'll come along."

She looked somewhat dazed.

Footnotes:

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