Genius of unique lineage Chapter 260


Genius of a Unique Lineage

259. Rotating Whirlwind Strike


Miho speaks from behind.


I uttered briefly and twisted my body.

Wheel Knights charge head-on into view.

Their armor withstands regular bullets, shrapnel grenades, and even mortar shells.

But it cannot handle adamantium buckshot.

Wheel Knights rush forward at a terrifying speed.

The cumbersome armored figure grows rapidly larger.

Whirring! The noise of wheels strikes the ears.

I aim and fire.


The fourth batter spews fire.

The adamantium buckshot pierces a head-sized hole in the Wheel Knight’s torso, who was mindlessly charging forth.

The force created by the firepower launches the approaching body backward.

A piece of arm from a Living Armor following at a distance gets blown off too.

Close-range adamantium shot proves its worth.

Seeing this, I clench my left fist tight and shake it upward.


Galaxy Field.

One of the renowned defensive spells in the magical world envelops the front.

The Living Armor’s weapon crashes against the shield.


All are blocked.


The fourth batter spits out steaming casings before I aim it again.

Invaders swarm into my view.

A Wheel Knight with slit eyes.

A Living Armor with a small mouth.

A Wheel Knight with a tiny head.

A Living Armor with thick arms.

Wheel-attached morons and legless moron armors.

Would they have their personalities if I employed tactics?

The thought occurs to me.

Even amidst this, my hands stay busy.

Pulling the trigger, I draw and slash with the Jungle Knife at close range.


The Jungle Knife, now erratic due to the weight of the adamantium blade, bisects one of the Living Armors vertically.

An appropriate force fills my arm muscles, and heat rises within me.

I then draw the Jungle Knife downward from above.

Ting, trdddddd!

The blade rends through the armor, sending out a clanging noise.


In that moment, I fire the fourth batter again.


The adamantium buckshot punctures the opponent’s body with holes.

Consequently, a Living Armor with a large head loses its skull.

Yet, it still moves. Its arm twitches, then the sharp blade attached in place of a hand lashes out.

Living Armors are not easily killed.

One must destroy half of its composite armor.

I dodge sideways.


A poorly hidden muzzle pops from the side and slashes through its torso.

Metal plates tear and shatter as if hit by a heavy punch.

The destructive power is akin to that of a properly delivered blow from a shifter’s punch.

“Mom’s weapon is great, right?”

Mom asks.

“It’s good.”

It’s a melee. It seems to be only Invaders around me.

Still, I don’t think it’s a crisis.

Mother flips her gun from bottom to top.

With a flick, the barrel disengages, spinning a full circle before clicking back together.

The gun has a long barrel and a short handle—a sawed-off shotgun design.

Looking at the loading mechanism, it’s no ordinary gun.

It’s something you might see in a movie.

“Your uncle gave it to mom as a job entry gift.”

Mother boasts about the weapon gifted to her, handling a gun in each hand.


The senses of the Immortal discern the structure of the gun.

Firepower, pressure, and no cartridge.

A blue light gauge fills up beside the barrel.

Though it doesn’t seem associated with magical powers.

“Air pressure round?”

“Something like that.”

As mother smiles slightly, she says,

“Director, direction.”

Miho’s voice. It sounds stronger than before.

Gazing back, no one has a moment to be shocked by the harshness of the battle.

Kinam, after firing his rifle, tosses a grenade.

Not having the luxury to bring along weapons made of new materials, he hastily grabs a shrapnel grenade.

The Immortal’s marksmanship is unmatched.

Among them, Kinam is an elite of the pure lineage.

Kinam’s aim is superb.

A Wheel Knight tries to swat away an incoming grenade, but the grenade curves behind the enemy.

A curveball. Major League material.


The grenade explodes, entangling several Invaders.

Sojin fights more straightforwardly.

Instead of firearms, she wears gloves with small shields attached.

She repeats blocking and striking.

While our allies shoot and throw grenades, she diverts attacks from charging Invaders, delivering blows back.

A magnificent shield.

Watching a Wheel Knight’s lance deflected effortlessly, I am forced to marvel.


That’s a technique from Team Leader Ijongbong.

Well, she’s a shifter. An elite among them. This much is expected.

She must be more frustrated without the ability to transform.

However, no transformations here.

The current priority is the formation.

Woomiho’s ability shines anew.

She instantly distinguishes our allies’ combat style and creates a formation.

It’s not a trained method.

Moreover, this includes both the Hwarang’s shifter special force and the Immortals’ special force.

Yet there is no dissonance.

All thanks to Woomiho.

She is half a step behind, maneuvering the whole battle.

Momentary judgment.

In that, she is superior even to me.

Worth acknowledging.


Again, she urges me to change direction.

In my mind, Woomiho’s weakness is selfishness.

Her choice is correct.

The right path for survival.

But if possible, couldn’t we also save a few passersby?

I quickly conjured the battleground in my mind, perceiving a zigzag line crossing it.


Mother calls out.

“This way is right.”

I reply with confidence.

Mother trusted me. Without a moment’s doubt, she lent me a hand from the side.

Woomiho’s intense gaze burns into the back of my head.

But that doesn’t mean she neglected her duty.

She did her part.

Managing things, producing appropriate instructions at the right moments.

“Third one.”

Woomiho speaks, and Rose looks in that direction.

An exceptional ability among powers, Medusa’s Gaze, halts a target in its tracks.

As one falls, the others trip over it, forming a barricade.

Behind them, bullets pierce.

Precision shooting from Yohan and Gwitaey, elite marksmen of the Immortal Special Force.

Mari likely keeps close to the panda form—assaulting.

We are a serving team riding the waves of Invaders.

The formation doesn’t collapse.

“Hoof, hoof.”

I can hear the harsh breathing of Jungik.

He must be exhausted.

Woomiho plays Jungik as a joker.

To put it nicely, he’s a joker; frankly, he’s bait.

Whenever there seems to be a gap, she throws Jungik in.


“Light Transformation.”

I call out to the startled Jungik and turn around without a glance back.

During the activation of his ability, he is a transcendent capable of ignoring physical laws, the Light Transformation.

Jungik returns transformed into light.

“Hwa, ha. Are you insane?”

On his return, he complains, but it’s fruitless.

Woomiho ignores him and charges onwards.

She fully utilizes her ability.

“It keeps going towards the ominous.”

Kinam warns.

Yeah, I know.

While saying this, I take it upon myself to eliminate that ominousness.

One step forward.

“I’ll cover you, son.”

Mother’s voice comes from behind.

In an instant, I put Mother at the lead and dive into the ranks of Invaders.


Jungik mutters from behind.

He had Light Transformation to sprint away for a moment, but I went straight in.

Malice from all directions of Invaders pressures my body.

I breathe heavily amidst these individualistic bastards.

Taking full advantage of the Kinetic Shell and Iron Arm techniques.

I stomp my foot hard against the ground.


Asphalt shatters. I stand with my foot planted, gripping the handle of the fourth batter in the left and Jungle Knife in the right.

Sensations of encroaching blades seep into my awareness.

I ignore them.

In that state, I swing the weapons in my hands left and right.


The rapidly spinning fourth batter and Jungle Knife create a whirlwind.

Bang, kwaaang, jing, krrrrk!

A cacophony of metal screeching and impacts mixes together.

I’ve slain the eight Invaders that enveloped me.

Then, turning towards the second wave, I wield my weapons again.

Sure, let’s assume these Unique Invaders use tactics.

Still, these Invaders do not think for themselves or fight independently.

Though startled by the turnabout, nothing changed.

I jokingly categorized them by characteristics like “a Living Armor with a big head,” but in truth, they’re not different.

They’re the same.

All blindly rushing in.

They don’t think.

They just repeat learned behaviors.

Thus, patterns become apparent.

I store that in my sight and annihilate my surroundings with two attacks.

Possessing monstrous strength akin to a shifter.



Many wounds pepper my body. My thigh is torn as if burst open, and one eye has popped.

So what.

I can’t dodge every attack.

It’s okay.

The Immortal’s regenerative power takes care of my body, and stamina fuels the regeneration.

While pain akin to ants biting ensues, I’ve endured worse even during extracurricular lessons.


I hear from the gap I created among the Invaders.

Woomiho’s hastily formed triangular formation pushes through.

Among them, a number have their lives spared.

“Ah, damn, I almost died.”

Someone from Hwarang, who doesn’t seem part of us, mutters.

“JC Immortal here.”

“Do you know? Follow me.”

I speak to them.

Woomiho silently looks at me. No, she glares.

As if saying her eyes would look elsewise if I’d warned her earlier, I just shrug my shoulders.

“Widen the formation.”

She instructs. Soon, the survivors join the formation.

“How many times can you do it, Mr. Jungik?”

“What do you mean?”

“Mi, Light Transformation.”

It seems she intended to say “bait,” a rare slip of the tongue not characteristic of Woomiho.

Perhaps what I did had that much impact.

“Bait, yes, three more times.”

Jungik replies carefully.

Observing that, I take the lead again.

“What’s that clumsy technique?”

Even in this circumstance, Mother doesn’t lose her wit.

“Rotating Whirlwind Strike.”

I fire back any random joke.

“I’ll teach you properly later, the Rotating Whirlwind Strike.”

Is there really such a technique?

“Let’s go.”

And we charge again.

Afterward, the same process repeats. Stamina is the only concern. The fight ultimately is simple.

We just don’t know when it will end.

Occasionally, Woomiho catches my intention and adjusts the direction.

I follow her commands.

This continues as we run.

“Plow through.”

Another voice chimes in.


The cacophony of heavy machinery, like a downpour of waterfalls, fills the atmosphere.

Instinctively, my senses read the noise and output.

I glance in that direction.

An armored vehicle towers above, an anti-aircraft machine gun poking out.

The heavy machine gun breathes fire.

Cartridges fly. Bullets ignore armoring as the high-caliber rounds turn Wheel Knights and Living Armors into scrap metal.

Watching, I look back at the path we’ve traversed.

The survivors trailing behind are visible.

It was not enough just to break free for ourselves.

I deliberately loop wide, collapsing the formation of Invaders.

In that glimpse, I take in the survivors.


Kinam shouts.

And before Kinam’s shout, I feel it, too.

A mass of malice flying from a distance.


A booming sound follows. A purple dot appears before my eyes.

I instinctively twist my body. A block would suffice, given my reaction.

Yet, my reflexes are slightly late.

No matter how much stamina remains, not fleeing like Light Transformation Jungik, and after performing the Rotating Whirlwind Strike at least five times, I’ve lost too much blood.

My feet are heavy. My reaction, a shade too slow.


Kinam is an Immortal, sensitive as I am. The boy foolishly attempts to shield me.

Blocking in my stead? Get hit straight on, and he’s good for months of convalescence.


Suddenly a shadow blocks my front.

A back covered in black and yellow fur appears.

Crouching, then the figure rotates, hands rising and swinging in revolution.

Around the feet, the waist spins—everything gyrates, creating a vortex.

I see a soaring dragon form.

The dragon is attacked by a tiger gnawing at its throat.


The incoming purple point is a Living Armor javelin, hurled by a Spell Knight.

Intercepted by the back, my mother, who has transformed, speaks in incantations.

“Where to.”

Kinam halts awkwardly, intending to protect me.

“Is that the Rotating Whirlwind Strike?”

I question mother.


Mother affirms. After that exchange, we join the formation created by our allies.

I also catch a glimpse of a bombardment-like onset targeting the Spell Knight.

While casting spells and defending, it was the Spell Knight who threw the Living Armor javelin at me.

Watching me, perhaps.

Should I be grateful for the attention?

In the midst of standing…

“Thank you.”

Someone from behind speaks.

A stranger to me.

“Thanks to you, I’m alive.”

Another someone speaks. Looking now, it seems everyone, including Woomiho, is receiving such hollow thanks.

Everyone pitches in uniformly.

“Saechoispec, right? That’s what this friend did.”

Yohan speaks.

“Ran with the power of love, nothing more.”

Ignoring Gwitaey.

“That’s him, not me, leave me be.”

Kinam speaks.

“It was the director’s will.”

Miho does the same.

The survivor’s gazes gather on me.

“I owe you one.”

A visibly aged special species with powers speaks.

That’s all they say.

Merely owing a favor.

Simply saved some folks since there was capacity.

What’s the big deal?

Well, almost impaled by a javelin while doing it, but mother deflected that.


“Yoo Gwang-ik.”

“Yoo Gwang-ik!”


Someone murmurs my nickname. A faint whisper cuts through the noise of bombardments, growing louder.

Soon they chant my name and company loudly.

A shout spreads from the middle of the battlefield.


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