WeTried Translations

Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR

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◈ Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time ◈

Episode 158: Leader of Demon Wings

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The sound of a body hitting the ground was bleak.

The Prefect’s body collapsed in silence, a sword wound having claimed her life in a single stroke.

Perhaps it was because the convictions she had held in life were hypocritical.

The sight of her navy official robes sprawled miserably on the ground as blood darkened them black seemed strangely fitting.

It must have looked that way to the common people as well.

“Thank you, Great Hero...!”

“Desolate Fortress and the Mount Hua Sect! You’ve truly opened our eyes.”

Hyeon Won-chang swiftly freed them, and each either lowered their heads or offered a deep bow.

Fervent praise followed. Many spoke aloud of the debt they owed.

It was difficult to accept their gratitude gladly. Grief stained the faces of those who had lost their property and families.

This was one face of the world as it was.

“Let’s go.”

The boy in the black long robe spoke. After watching for a moment, Yu Hyeon quietly moved to his side.

“We can go to the Martial Alliance together. Not that we’d have trouble finding it, but it’s incredibly crowded there right now.”

“Fine.”

Jeong Yeon-shin answered briefly and took the lead, accompanied by the common people who had apparently been used as leverage against the chivalrous warriors.

Hyeon Won-chang guided them along, occasionally cracking jokes.

He said that, now that Desolate Fortress had come through, lawless martial artists would no longer dare run rampant. He said he would give his hero’s headband to any child who did not cry.

The Zhongyang Association had several ships, one of which was enormous. It could easily carry fifty people.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s group and the common people boarded it together.

In place of the village men, who were too weak from hunger to row, Languid Flame Dragon and Hyeon Won-chang took up the oars.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood beside Languid Flame Dragon and urged him to move faster.

“Your hands are slow. You aren’t thinking of sleeping here, are you?”

“Once I return, I’m going straight up to Blue Uniform. It’s so humiliating.”

When they set foot in the village they had first visited, the Jeomchang Sect disciples greeted them with expressions as though they had seen a ghost.

“The child disappeared.”

Little Sword Empress Chwi So-ok spoke of the village boy who had told Yu Hyeon and Jeong Yeon-shin’s group of the village’s tragedy.

In the end, the boy had been luring martial artists into a tiger’s den without saying a word about the government troops and hostages led by the Prefect.

He had been delivering prey.

Martial artists generally possessed more than common people.

In this age, Green Forest bandits referred to martial experts encountered along secluded mountain roads.

Bandits no one could resist. Such was the nature of troubled times.

The Zhongyang Association Leader, who had even robbed martial artists, had simply encountered a predator called Demon Wings and been devoured instead.

That village boy, too, was proof of the chaos engulfing the world. Still, vanishing without a trace beneath the notice of Jeomchang Sect experts was another matter.

“He must have been a martial artist. He likely learned a martial art specialized in concealing aura and was born with exceptional talent.”

Jeong Yeon-shin dismissed the matter briefly as he looked toward the mountain range stretching toward Hanzhong.

Rather than the village boy, he thought of those he had cut down this time. Some had not been martial artists.

They had aided in plundering common people, but they had been government troops and officials.

The Prefect among them had accepted death of her own accord and even given him the Martial Alliance Assembly’s letter.

It was another kind of first killing, like when he had killed Tyrant Sword Sect martial artists at Jeong Family Manor.

From the time he buried the Prefect and the other enemies until now, Jeong Yeon-shin had pushed the lingering discomfort in his heart into one corner of his mind.

It was familiar. He had always done so ever since becoming a martial artist to obtain the World Tree fruit.

‘I am the Leader of Demon Wings.’

The boy closed and opened his eyes once. The blue gleam in his eyes settled once more.

“Mu-myeong, bring paper, brush, and ink.”

Languid Flame Dragon twisted his lips as he laid out the Four Treasures of the Study. Jeong Yeon-shin wrote a letter on the spot.

〈 Personal Letter to Myeong Yeo from the Leader of Demon Wings of Desolate Fortress 〉

It was a letter for the Eastern Depot.

“The path of the sword is present in your calligraphy. A hand truly worthy of a martial artist.”

Watching the brush move across the paper in swift strokes, Languid Flame Dragon gave a quiet exclamation.

“I knew it when I heard about that Seom-ye Martial Lineage. You must’ve written a few secret manuals in your youth. Ah, you’re still young.”

“I’m counting on you.”

Jeong Yeon-shin did not answer Languid Flame Dragon. He spoke to the creature instead.

The White Swallow tilted its head once, then flew from the boy’s hand. A densely written letter was tied to its foot.

“Let’s go.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke after sending the White Swallow off.

The villagers, who had surrounded the group while staring blankly up at the spiritual beast, hastily lowered their heads. At the same time, they cried out.

“Great Hero, please give us a chance to repay you!”

“At least let us offer you a meal... No...”

A woman in a shabby skirt trailed off. There was no way they could offer him a proper meal.

The noble boy in black had distributed the food and supplies from the Zhongyang Association to them, but the devastated village did not even have a proper stove.

Rebuilding came first.

“I’ll stop by when I return. If this village is standing again by then, I’ll accept a meal, with the satisfaction of seeing it restored as my side dish.”

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke kindly. The villagers, including the woman, teared up and each took the boy’s hand once.

It was a point of warmth in troubled times. Hyeon Won-chang, too, was briefly surrounded by young and old alike. It took some time before he could free himself.

“Once you enter the alliance, you’ll have to meet the Alliance Leader first.”

Little Sword Empress said as she looked at Jeong Yeon-shin with an odd expression.

The boy silently nodded and mounted a fine horse. Languid Flame Dragon, Hyeon Won-chang, and Namgung Hwa-shin took positions at his sides and rear.

Behind them, the villagers bowed with hands clasped in the Daoist salute or respectfully pressed their palms together.

They were Daoist and Buddhist gestures, respectively. It looked as though they regarded him not as a person, but as a spiritual being.

The boy felt something strange stir within him. As a martial artist of Desolate Fortress, he had done something ordinary.

Still, it was the first time he had heard the praise of common people directly. Until now, he had only repeated missions and immediate departures.

It was fortunate that the World Tree fruit was in Desolate Fortress. He could earn merit while feeling this warmth.

Jeong Yeon-shin waved once toward the village and turned his horse around.

‘They said the Martial Alliance Leader is the Sword Star.’

The boy turned his thoughts to his original mission.

‘A person called by an epithet like Star. How skilled with a blade must he be?’

He recalled his Radiant Sword Flow, a sword form originating from the cliffs of Mount Zhongnan. Many martial artists had watched his spar with the Namgung Family.

Since the forms of his sword art were known throughout the martial world, he needed to reinforce them without anyone noticing.

The martial world was full of mysteries. He did not arrogantly assume he would naturally dominate the grand founding ceremony.

Even if he won, as Desolate Fortress’s representative, he could not disgrace himself during a guidance spar with the Alliance Leader.

‘The Law Enforcement Squad Leader was helpful. I’ll apply every insight that comes to me to my sword art, from now until the grand founding ceremony ends.’

* * *

The Martial Alliance’s main headquarters in Hanzhong was at the height of its splendor.

The heat that had thickly settled on the summer grass had been replaced with clear air.

It suited the atmosphere created by the magnificent complexes of halls and the countless people gathered there.

“Lord Jegal, have you returned those things to the Namgung Family?”

“Yes. They were borrowed items from the start. We recovered everything that needed to be obtained.”

“Were the traces clear?”

“Isn’t Mount Mao in Southern Zhili? The Mount Mao Sect sorcerers whom the Namgung Family immediately summoned at the time seem to have done their job. Thanks to their arts, none of the bodies decayed, so examining the sword wounds was easy.”

“Hmm...”

“The Divine Sword Squad Leader’s sword art truly was a peerless divine art. Even the cut surfaces contained principles worthy of a secret manual. Without the family’s hidden teachings, it would have been difficult to unravel. And the forms used by Seom-ye, the Leader of Demon Wings... Once analyzed, they too proved far from ordinary secret arts. He truly deserves to have become a Desolate Fortress Squad Leader at the youngest age.”

“...The head of the Namgung Council of Elders was said to be the only direct descendant who did not participate in the spar. Their desire for revenge must be bone-deep. The fact that they obediently transported the bodies of their son and grandson proves it.”

“Hasn’t the Namgung Family already been consumed by its branch families? It was probably only their final struggle.”

Middle-aged men with precious swords at their waists strode confidently onward.

Smooth stone paths spread before them, halls extended in every direction like an imperial palace, and golden sand glittered on roads intersecting in eight directions.

There were even hermitages built to invite Shaolin monks. Now, young martial artists occupied them.

“To be frank, this is my first time hearing of something called the Dull Sword at the assembly. We have no such principle in our region. If it means strike second, seize the initiative, doesn’t it sound like empty showmanship?”

“I agree. If one can delay a sword strike and still subdue the opponent, why wait for them to attack first? That would already make one a master far beyond the opponent. If it is a sword one cannot block even knowing it is coming, then the difference in realms is already too great. They cannot be compared on equal footing.”

Men and women with brilliant vigor sat wherever they pleased and discussed martial arts.

They had drawn weapons gleaming in the sunlight and laid them out on the ground.

Every one of them wore colorful martial robes woven from silk.

Their status was lofty, and they always kept themselves clean. Having cultivated orthodox martial arts as well, their skin was exceptional.

Regardless of gender, they appeared pale and noble.

“Some speak of martial arts that do not exist in the world. The Thousand-Pound Hammer is one of them. How can a person’s body increase its weight out of nothing?”

“That seems to be a matter of terminology. In the Guangxi martial world, it refers to a secret art of properly anchoring one’s lower-body center. It is a method that combines the opening stance, True Step, and qi circulation as one. I heard that Wudang Taiji Fist is also an art that firmly stabilizes one’s balance while adjusting the opponent’s center of gravity. Am I wrong?”

Every man and woman conversing possessed outstanding looks. They appeared wholly disconnected from the famine outside.

The Martial Alliance Assembly was an unprecedented place for exchange. It was a gathering for particularly eminent martial artists.

The world was vast, and it was exceedingly rare for martial artists from lofty, prestigious sects across the Central Plains to gather in one place.

Until now, they had been too busy acting like royalty in their expansive homelands.

That had been their life until now.

Here, they had encountered people worthy of their standing. They could not help but be excited.

Then someone spoke.

“Isn’t it about time we went? The elders gave us something to do.”

Moyong Myeong-jun said. He was a handsome young master of the Moyong Family from north of the Yangtze, famed for its superb sword art north of the great river.

He was also the Moyong Family’s Young Family Head.

“We received word an hour ago that those boorish Huangbo fellows entered Hanzhong. Let’s get moving.”

“I’m the one who received the orders.”

A young man with a gentle impression, dressed like a scholar, stood. His green silk robe suited his air perfectly.

He possessed peerless looks that seemed to bring spring into the autumn air, drawing the gazes of many women who had been discussing martial studies with him.

Immortal Dragon Jegal Hyeon.

“I was told to inspect Seom-ye’s sword art. I never thought I’d become a sacrificed stone on a Go board.”

Jegal Hyeon spoke as though muttering to himself.

A boy with extraordinary eyes smiled faintly.

“Well, it may be because if a seasoned master exchanges blows with Seom-ye and loses, the alliance’s dignity would take a hard blow... More than that, Brother Jegal’s fan art and eye technique are exceptional. Who knows? You might put up a decent fight.”

“Who knows.”

A bitter smile formed on Jegal Hyeon’s lips.

“Regardless of age, he is a Squad Leader of Desolate Fortress. The rumors say so too, and a major faction as strict as that would not seat an inferior martial artist as a Squad Leader. In any case, I will lose, so come at least fifteen minutes later. I do not wish to show you my disgrace.”

As he spoke, he placed a foot on the second-floor railing of the hermitage.

Step.

The moment he took a step, wind rose. His figure vanished into the distance as though flying.

It was a picturesque use of the Body Movement Scripture. Exclamations broke out from both men and women.

“He has erased the boundary between movement techniques and lightness arts. He truly is the Immortal Dragon. No matter how I look at it, he doesn’t seem likely to lose easily...”

“After he admitted defeat to the Imperial Sword Art, he endured in silence and trained behind closed doors. He must have achieved something.”

Some watched him with sour expressions. Moyong Myeong-jun muttered inwardly as well.

‘What an irritating man.’

‘He is an important figure directly connected to the alliance’s elders. I need to earn Father’s trust as well.’

Though each of them had different thoughts, they were an alliance of orthodox sects.

The young martial artists decided to honor Immortal Dragon Jegal Hyeon’s request. It was the respectful conduct expected of martial artists of the orthodox White Path.

They spent fifteen minutes in separate conversations and idle chatter.

“What about Miss Ye?”

“I do not know. It seems she is not participating today.”

“Young Hero Ak appears to be lovesick. Is that not too obvious?”

“Do not speak as though I am the only one!”

Talk of the woman currently most famous in Hanzhong, complaints about scheming elders, noble spirits declaring that they would race freely across the martial world, romances budding among talented men and women, then conversations returning once more to martial arts...

Fifteen minutes was very short for martial artists full of youthful vigor. They rose from their seats one after another.

“I saw Seom-ye’s facial-feature portrait. Is he truly as handsome as that?”

“The alliance’s martial artists are not lacking in appearance either. I am more curious about his level of martial arts. Just how strong is he, for the alliance elders to mobilize even their secret intelligence network to trace Seom-ye’s movements?”

“There were strange rumors. Ones about the Huangbo Family’s Young Family Head and White Qilin Namgung Hwa-shin...”

Their steps were swift, as befitted the alliance’s promising youths. They reached the main headquarters’ front gate at once.

‘Hm?’

At that moment, Moyong Myeong-jun sensed that something extraordinary had happened. Were they spectators? An enormous crowd blocked his view.

The Martial Alliance Assembly’s front gate was as wide as the entrance to an ordinary fortress multiplied tenfold, yet it was still packed.

It appeared that not only alliance martial artists, but common people conducting trade in Hanzhong and caravan guards had gathered as well.

“How could that be?”

“Is that even a person...?!”

The murmuring was quiet compared to the number of people. It meant they were completely absorbed in the scene before them.

Moyong Myeong-jun kicked off the ground and leaped high.

Whoosh!

He landed atop the walls extending along both sides of the gate. Many martial artists appeared to have had the same thought.

Dozens already stood at the same height.

No one looked back at the distinguished swordsman of the Moyong Family. That, too, had never happened before.

Moyong Myeong-jun looked down, and his eyes widened.

“...!”

A handsome boy stood atop Jegal Hyeon’s fan.

He bore himself with proud aloofness. It was the bearing of a supreme master.

It was an unbelievable sight.

Because status stood in for seniority within Desolate Fortress, Demon Wings Seom-ye’s position lay far beyond that of a rising young talent.

Yet Immortal Dragon’s fan art was also considered the finest in all Hanzhong: the Boundless Whirling Wind Fan Art.

For a time, rumors had claimed it could contend with Clear Qilin Namgung Se-jin’s Imperial Sword Art.

‘Until he lost to Clear Qilin in twenty exchanges at the Dragon-Phoenix Gathering...’

Still, Jegal Hyeon was not young. He was close enough to Languid Flame Dragon, who possessed the Sun God Meridian, to speak casually with him, and investigations placed him nine years older than the Leader of Demon Wings.

Immortal Dragon clearly possessed the reputation and accumulated effort worthy of holding an important position in the alliance. He was among the strongest even amid the young martial artists of esteemed, prestigious families.

‘But is he not being toyed with?’

Moyong Myeong-jun activated the family’s peerless eye technique. His vision became hazy in an instant.

Only the black-robed boy’s body appeared exceptionally clear.

‘What...?!’

Jeong Yeon-shin, Leader of Demon Wings.

The fine muscles in his limbs repeatedly tightened and relaxed. He was generating dozens of unfathomable profound principles of superior martial arts.

The sight of him clad in a faint breeze, his black robes fluttering, was strangely mysterious.

Small instances of Force Projection arising throughout his body supported him and dispersed his weight.

Weak force waves continuously expelled wind.

He looked like an immortal. What sort of movement technique was that?

“Leader of Demon Wings! What are you doing...?!”

A middle-aged man who had rushed over shouted, a spear strapped to his back.

He appeared to be from the Shandong Ak Family. An alliance elder had stepped in after being unable to watch any longer.

Even as Jegal Hyeon gritted his teeth and swung his iron fan from side to side, the young Squad Leader’s straightened foot did not fall from atop it, like the leg of a crane.

The mastery of Desolate Fortress Black Uniform exceeded imagination. The black sleeve rippling behind the boy’s back as he held his hands behind him was especially striking.

The impossible movement technique looked elegant even as one watched it.

“Your alliance’s rising young talent asked this Squad Leader for a spar...”

The young Leader of Demon Wings glanced down at him before speaking.

“I am offering instruction.”

Footnotes:

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