Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time

Chapter 458

At that moment.

The boy took a step toward the sword—then abruptly stopped, his expression contorting in a grimace.

It was as if he had suddenly felt pain. The nonchalant demeanor he had maintained when he was chosen to draw Demon Sword Thundercry had vanished.

Seated atop the palanquin, Cho Il-seo furrowed his brows as well.

He slowly parted his lips.

"Is there a problem?"

"My limbs have been growing suddenly these days..."

"I know that pain myself. But your tone is strangely light. I don’t recall granting you permission to speak so informally."

"This really hurts. How did he even endure this?"

The boy muttered to himself.

There was an undeniable sense of ease in his bearing. A rare trait in times of chaos—one that belonged to a learned man.

Even the way he walked toward Thundercry, planted firmly in the ground, had an unusual quality to it. There was a faint trace of form—something structured, methodical. As if he had mastered an exceptionally special martial art.

"That bastard…?"

Cho Il-seo felt an uncanny familiarity.

Among the disciples of the great sects, where every one of them was a prodigy, there were only a handful whose talents were truly overwhelming.

The feeling they carried—an aura that inevitably seeped into those destined for greatness—was precisely that.

Martial arts, at their most primal level, were a study that elevated the practitioner’s presence.

Even if someone trained in humility, they could never completely suppress the air of a true master.

Seated on his palanquin, Cho Il-seo snapped his fingers.

In an instant—

A blue bolt of lightning appeared out of thin air and struck down toward the boy’s crown.

"Do they treat you like a king in your sect?"

With a sudden, effortless sidestep, the boy continued walking toward the sword.

Behind him, a crackling noise filled the air—blackened scorch marks were left where he had stood. A small lightning strike had seared the ground.

He had avoided it.

And yet, there had been no sound in his movement.

His step was like a fragrance spreading through the air—silent, seamless.

There was only one such movement technique in the entire world.

At least, as far as Cho Il-seo knew.

"Silent Fragrance Step…!"

Even if someone disguised themselves in plain white garb, they could never erase the distinctive traits of their martial art.

And if it was the Silent Fragrance Step, famed among the thousand-year-old techniques of Mount Hua, it was even more unmistakable.

Seated in his place, Cho Il-seo tilted his chin slightly.

"A disciple of Mount Hua has grown bold. Do you even know where you stand?"

"Where else? Just another damned vast land where a bunch of so-called martial artists squabble over who's the king and who's a foot soldier."

"Are you here for your sect leader's revenge?"

"Why would I come for someone who's still alive?"

The boy didn't even spare Cho Il-seo a glance.

He had already arrived before Thundercry, gazing quietly at the sword’s hilt.

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