WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
◈ Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time ◈
Chapter 45: Preparation
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Yeon-shin thought it was no good. The martial world was treacherous, and arrogance was an emotion that hastened one’s death.
It was not a mindset to entertain before even eating the fruit.
Just because many people praised him as a genius did not mean he should truly believe it.
‘Just give me the fruit. I’ll do anything.’
He impressed the thought upon himself. He recalled the Lord of Desolate Fortress’s curved, smiling eyes, their irises a deep green.
It felt as if he were falling into a bottomless abyss.
As he repeated his request for the World Tree fruit in his mind, the doors to the hall opened.
* * *
They said it had not originally been planned. There was word that the Imperial Grandson had personally requested it.
A few perceptive seniors said that, since there was no pretext for privately meeting Seom-ye, the excuse of commending Great Ming’s sword had been put forward.
“So, you are the Blue Uniform martial artists who were promoted this time.”
Yeon-shin met the third highest authority in the Ming Empire.
There was no need for Do Yu-won’s warning. This was someone already famous for his whims.
“I am the Imperial Grandson of this country.”
He was a remarkably handsome young noble.
His ears, pointed like the tip of a treasured sword, seemed strangely familiar. Perhaps he was about five and a half cheok tall.
He appeared to be about the same height as Yeon-shin, who had grown considerably of late.
Beneath his thick, jet-black brows, his flashing eyes held dark lightning.
He seemed to exist alone amid the brilliant sunlight pouring in from the side.
There was an inborn majesty in his gaze as it swept over the Blue Uniform martial artists paying their respects.
Was this the energy of one born with the destiny to reign over all under Heaven?
Though he had already told them they could raise their heads, Yeon-shin was the only one who actually did so.
‘It’s not as if he’ll earn merits for me.’
Even the current emperor, said to possess peerless martial arts, treated the Lord of Desolate Fortress as a Prince of Commandery.
They said she had taught martial arts to both the current emperor and the Crown Prince.
She was Great Ming’s long-serving Grand Preceptor. Even the Imperial Grandson’s power could do nothing about the World Tree fruit, so this meeting held little meaning for Yeon-shin.
The same was true of loyalty. It was something that could only arise after he survived.
‘It’s about time I asked the Lord for instruction. Should I request Static Training after all?’
He had been lost in thought when their gazes suddenly met. Those pitch-black eyes held a peculiar curiosity.
“It’s you.”
The Imperial Grandson of Great Ming spoke.
“Can you make music with a sword?”
“...?”
“It is common for renowned swordsmen to make sword resonance with a single blade. Sword Song is different. It belongs to the realm of qi control. They say one must possess innate sensitivity to turn sword resonance into music.”
Yeon-shin fell silent at the seemingly random question. Then the Imperial Grandson suddenly laughed heartily.
“I heard your talent was exceptional, so I asked. We are of a similar age, are we not?”
His words and conduct were unconventional. Tremendous self-confidence seeped from his speech and bearing.
It felt as though he were saying that no one under Heaven could do anything to him.
“It is rare for me to lose what I possess. Even more so when it is something that interests me. Yet I heard that the Grand Preceptor took notice of you. As one who studied under her, I felt jealousy rise within me as well.”
“...I am honored, Your Highness.”
“No. It is my flaw. As the Imperial Grandson of the Son of Heaven, it is something I should not feel. It is the result of lacking virtue, an imperfection. I wished to confirm your talent, hoping this shame might be eased, if only a little.”
The Imperial Grandson’s gaze was exceedingly direct.
He seemed to have learned peerless divine arts, for his eyes bore the radiance unique to masters. Yet it felt as though he possessed something beyond that.
‘Spirit.’
Yeon-shin thought.
Weiji Myo-hwa of the Zhongnan Sect was called the Sword Dragon, but this person seemed as though the single word dragon would suffice.
There was a reason the Imperial Grandson and Crown Prince were both addressed as Your Highness in Ming.
He had never known. This was what it meant to possess a bloodline that encompassed all under Heaven.
“Still, it seems I asked for too much. Sword Song is the most extravagant diversion among all arts under Heaven. It is something only royalty would speak of. How could I ask such a thing of you? Even I know only what I heard from my father, the Crown Prince. I am sorry and ashamed.”
The Imperial Grandson smiled faintly, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned away.
“Everyone, return now. It was a pleasant meeting.”
* * *
“What was His Highness the Imperial Grandson like? I have only ever seen him from afar.”
Yeon-shin had just finished all his scheduled duties.
Shin So-bin thrust a small face into view. Every member of Demon Wings had waited without even retiring to their quarters.
A banquet hall had been arranged in the Grand Training Hall. Was this the strength of Desolate Fortress’s Demon Wings?
“I don’t know. I was dismissed too quickly.”
Yeon-shin answered vaguely. The fragrant scent of the feast seemed to stimulate his dantian.
Having gone through an occasion unlike anything he had experienced before, he felt even hungrier.
Even Yeon-shin had no choice but to drink today. He was concerned about regulating his qi, but Hyeon Won-chang had brought it after much consideration.
Shao Xing.
It was said to be a precious wine that had come to Xiangyang from distant Zhejiang.
Hyeon Won-chang had run all the way to Xiangyang’s finest tavern to obtain it.
‘Does this taste good?’
A comrade’s thoughtfulness and the taste of wine were separate matters.
As Ma Jin congratulated him, Yeon-shin took a sip and involuntarily furrowed his brow.
The seniors burst into snickers. Even Shin So-bin, a junior, looked at him as though he were a child.
“Seom-ye is Blue Uniform now.”
“The time has been far too short to call it a change of generations.”
“His accomplishments are considerable, are they not? The Eight-Fiend Rakshasa Sword was shocking enough, but the Seventh Apostle’s eye...”
Everyone chattered boisterously.
Even the masters of Desolate Fortress, revered by the world, were no different from common folk once alcohol entered the picture.
Amid them, Yeon-shin recalled the subject the Imperial Grandson had brought up.
Calling it a task was entirely Yeon-shin’s own interpretation. It was merely that a thread of inspiration seemed to have crossed his mind, stirring his interest.
‘He called it Sword Song. Making music with sword resonance.’
He had heard many rumors since coming to Desolate Fortress. Once, he had heard a story about Sound Arts.
They said a martial-world tale was famous.
An inner energy master had once played a seven-stringed zither to face a hundred people.
With only a few plucks of the strings, the master had burst the enemies’ eardrums.
The principle was not difficult to grasp.
‘Qi.’
In the end, it was inner energy. The question was how far one could elevate the effectiveness of qi carried through the air.
That was where superior martial arts and third-rate martial arts diverged.
‘I may be able to create Sound Arts with a sword.’
If he succeeded, dealing with many enemies would become easier.
“Drink!”
“We’re out of side dishes here!”
Were all drinking parties like this?
The banquet was no longer a celebration of Seom-ye. Everyone simply seemed to be enjoying themselves, and that made Yeon-shin feel more at ease.
As he casually indulged Hyeon Won-chang’s drunken antics, Yeon-shin began devising Sound Arts.
Thus the noisy day came to an end. The moonlit night was warm.
* * *
There was still another appointment the next day. This time, it was said to be a reward for his promotion to Blue Uniform.
“Choose quickly. Every one of them is a famous sword.”
The man stood a little above Yeon-shin’s waist. He had a thick beard and short limbs.
His arms, however, were enormous.
The muscles visible on his body looked sturdier even than Yeon-shin’s, despite Yeon-shin’s cultivation of the Jeong Family Youth Technique.
“Still, surely there is one that suits my hand?”
“They were made to suit all under Heaven. Any fool who blames a weapon should examine their own martial arts before doing so.”
Though his mouth was hidden behind his beard, it felt as though he wore an expression brimming with immense pride.
This was the armory of Desolate Fortress’s forge, said to contend for the best smithing arts under Heaven.
For the first time in his life, Yeon-shin met a man of the dwarven race.
They had helped found the empire alongside the elven race and settled in the Central Plains. They were treated entirely differently from the Semu people of the Western Regions.
The imperial family kept them tightly concealed in the Central Plains. Martial artists did the same.
They said people looked not at the dwarven race’s short stature, but at the talent they possessed.
‘They say they even forge divine swords.’
Yeon-shin surveyed the armory with Cheong Myeong. Every weapon within appeared extraordinary. It truly seemed as though he could choose anything.
Cheong Myeong spoke with a smile.
“Still, you should choose carefully. This is a one-time promotion reward. They say you can take something else once you become Black Uniform.”
“Blue-Eyed Demon Sword, is this young one truly Blue Uniform? I can hardly believe it. I have never heard of such a case. Though our clan pays little attention to the outside world...”
“Can’t you tell from the uniform?”
The man of the dwarven race fell silent when Cheong Myeong’s expression hardened.
It seemed Blue-Eyed Demon Sword’s epithet truly carried an infamous reputation among others. It was a side of Cheong Myeong unfamiliar to Yeon-shin.
He lightly nudged Cheong Myeong’s arm.
“Hm?”
“What about that one?”
Yeon-shin pointed to a sword hanging from a display rack. Its hilt and scabbard were both pure white.
It would make a contrast with the Desolate Sword at his waist, for everything except the blade of the Desolate Sword was pitch-black.
“That is Northern Light. A fine one.”
The man of the dwarven race spoke as though he regarded the sword as a person.
After receiving permission, Yeon-shin immediately approached and gripped the sword. Only after feeling the hilt’s texture for a moment did he draw the blade.
Shing.
Rippling patterns shimmered across the dazzling, pure-white blade. Yeon-shin poured qi into it with his right hand.
He immediately recognized it as a superior weapon. The energy flowed without obstruction, dancing along the blade.
He brought the blade close to his body and stroked it with his left hand. In that moment, pale-blue lightning flashed in his eyes.
“...With this, I should be able to perform even sword resonance.”
“You?”
The man of the dwarven race snorted. Perhaps because his clan presented weapons to the imperial family, he appeared to know of Sword Song.
“It is a divine skill one cannot even dream of without considerable familiarity with the weapon. Even a supreme master cannot imitate it without inborn talent, so what need is there to speak of doing it with a sword you have just picked up?”
“Quiet.”
Cheong Myeong spoke.
Yeon-shin had already closed his eyes.
He knew without swinging it.
He knew how the sword had to move, and how the blade could ride the air better by tracing subtly different sword paths.
It was a realm separate from proficiency.
It would take time for Northern Light to become as familiar to his hand as the Desolate Sword, but he understood at once what kind of sword it was. It was an innate sense.
Then it happened.
From quite far away, a familiar aura approached.
It felt lofty, as though it might soar into the sky at any moment. Was it the Imperial Grandson he had seen before?
A moment later, the man of the dwarven race frowned.
“Did I not tell you to choose quickly? They said His Highness the Imperial Grandson is coming.”
It was no coincidence.
They said the imperial family’s movements were extreme.
An imperial procession was known by either no one or everyone. Desolate Fortress was a gathering of supreme masters.
Unless the Imperial Grandson had secluded himself deep within or was traveling incognito, anyone could know.
Yeon-shin had yet to see imperial martial arts. This was why he had chosen this time, hoping to gain even a little inspiration.
“The Imperial Grandson has been going about more often lately, has he not?”
Cheong Myeong asked in a peculiar tone. The man of the dwarven race nodded.
“They say he has grown attached to martial studies since the Crown Princess passed away. Having lost his mother, he seeks to soothe his heart through the sword.”
“His mother...?”
Yeon-shin repeated it without thinking.
He examined Northern Light Sword for a moment. Then, as though it were of no consequence, he asked Cheong Myeong.
“If I gain the Imperial Grandson’s favor, could I receive help with personnel matters in the main fortress? For instance, securing support when I challenge for the rank of Divine Sword Squad Leader.”
“It would certainly be better than having no connection. It is not a position one can attain through martial strength alone.”
Yeon-shin nodded at Cheong Myeong’s faint smile.
That would be good. He had already practiced with the Desolate Sword. If he wished to create Sound Arts capable of facing a hundred enemies alone, would he be unable to produce mere sword resonance?
He stepped out of the armory.
Vooom.
The moment he poured qi into it again, Northern Light emitted a peculiar resonant sound.
It was like the cry of a newly born flood dragon. Then came a song of the sword, spreading straight outward.
“What...!”
Even the man of the dwarven race’s shocked voice was buried beneath the sound.
* * *
Great Ming was an empire founded through the union of the Founding Emperor and an elven empress.
The elven race was a clan revered as immortals, and the bloodline that began with the Grand Empress’s body granted descendants eternal youth and long life.
The throne changed hands only through war and assassination.
The current emperor was powerful. He had ruled for a long time without incident.
Because of Desolate Fortress, peerless masters could not covet the imperial family, and the emperor grew more at ease as the years passed.
He had even faced Shaolin’s One Hundred and Eight Arhat Formation alone in order to study Shaolin’s martial arts.
The Crown Prince had remained Crown Prince for decades. There was no justification for him to inherit the throne.
Imperial Grandson Joo Yoon-myeong had been born late.
As the Crown Prince’s son, he had to watch his father gradually lose his sharpness.
Whenever his father sought to calm his heart, he would perform Sword Song with a single sword. At some point, Joo Yoon-myeong could no longer see it.
“Sword Song, of all things.”
The Imperial Grandson suddenly laughed as he personally made his way toward Desolate Fortress’s armory.
“Who else would cultivate such an extravagant pastime?”
Having lost his mother, the Crown Princess, at an early age, he had begun speaking to himself more often. Those attending him knew this well enough not to react.
Then it happened.
Beneath the fading dusk,
there stood a boy in a Blue Uniform martial robe, a blue outer robe fluttering as he held a lowered sword.
He had seen him before. Seom-ye, was it?
He was the young swordsman whose movements were reported daily to the Lord of Desolate Fortress, whom the Imperial Grandson also admired.
Was it intuition? An old tale came to the Imperial Grandson’s mind.
During the Spring and Autumn Period, a master musician had called someone a kindred spirit.
It meant a close friend who understood one’s performance better than anyone else.
“Sword resonance...?”
The Imperial Grandson heard the resonant sound ringing from the boy’s sword. His steps unconsciously quickened.
Then he saw it. It felt as though his ears had naturally opened.
Vooom.
The moan of a hatchling wyrm gradually transformed into a dragon’s roar.
There was a resonance as though yearning for something distant. It was enough to feel poignant.
The Sword Song that seemed to rise from a dragon’s throat soon drew forth even the Imperial Grandson’s old memories.
His father in the days when he was still full of life, and the song of his sword.
As he let his heart rest in those distant memories, he muttered as though sighing.
“Was there one who could make me their kindred spirit...?”
Footnotes:
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