CHAPTER 937: BATTLING THE WRAITH

Just then, one of the golden swords in the sky trembled—and descended.

It didn’t fall like a boulder from the heavens. It glided downward slowly at first, then accelerated, streaking through the darkened sky like a beam of divine punishment aimed directly at Max. Its blade hummed violently with the aura of the 3rd level Severing Sword Concept. There was no hesitation in its intent. It was made to cut. To sever. To end.

Max narrowed his eyes and smiled.

His own sword concept surged in response. Though it had not yet stepped into the 3rd level, it had been tempered to the absolute limit of the 2nd. His body flickered as he shot upwards, slicing through the air like a comet, the Blue Dragon Sword in his hand burning with a pale, translucent edge. The instant their swords collided—

Bang!

The impact was deafening.

A shockwave exploded out in all directions, causing the clouds to tremble and the ground below to crack under the invisible pressure. Max was flung backwards like a broken arrow, streaking through the air at terrifying speed.

He barely managed to stop himself mid-fall, his legs skidding against the air as though he were standing on invisible ground. He hovered just above the mountains below, his chest rising and falling slowly.

Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes shone with burning light.

Above him, the golden sword he had just clashed against flickered—and then, like ash scattering in the wind, it crumbled and vanished into dust.

"Damn, he’s taking them head on. What kind of crazy bastard is this?!"

The shout echoed through the crowd, stunned voices murmuring all around as hundreds of powerful experts stared at the sky, eyes wide in disbelief. What they were witnessing was beyond anything they had ever seen in their lifetimes. Max—just a peak Master Rank expert—was clashing head-on against the Wraith of the World, not with defensive treasures, not with barriers, not even with protective formations, but with his own sword.

"I’ve never seen anyone do this before... this is madness."

"Madness?" another expert murmured. "This isn’t madness... this is suicide."

It was common knowledge across the world—etched into the bones of every expert—that the Wraith of the World was not something one challenged. It was a tribulation, a divine punishment. A force designed by the very fabric of reality to stop anomalies from ascending too fast. And those who faced it? They didn’t fight it—they survived it. If they were lucky.

Normally, before the Wraith descended, experts would spend months preparing. They would forge defensive artifacts, gather rare life-saving treasures, arrange support formations, and hide in secluded spaces fortified by their sects. Even then, survival wasn’t guaranteed.

But Max?

He didn’t wait.

He didn’t defend.

He didn’t run.

He met the golden swords of the Wraith—each brimming with the devastating 3rd level Severing Sword Concept—with his own blade. Blow for blow. Sword for sword.

To the hundreds watching from afar, it felt like reality itself had been shaken. As if the sky was being rewritten by the hands of a madman.

The tiger-masked leader of the Obsidian Order narrowed his eyes, murmuring softly, "Is he trying to temper his sword concept like this? Using the Wraith as a grindstone for his own blade..."

"Absolute madness," Palace Master Howard of the Absolute Sword Palace said with a solemn tone, hands clenched behind his back. "He’s walking on the edge of a blade right now. The Wraith of the World was never meant to be understood. It is not a teacher. It is a butcher. These swords aren’t just manifestations of a concept—they’re refined to kill. There is no mercy in them. Only annihilation."

He glanced upward, his gaze fixed on Max’s figure as it moved like lightning between sword after sword. "And the longer the Wraith remains, the more it adapts, the more it strengthens. This is why no one dares face it head-on. It grows more lethal with every second."

"And yet... he continues," the Tiger-masked man said quietly.

"Is this foolishness or genius?" someone asked in the back, almost like a prayer to the heavens.

"I suppose we’ll know in a few minutes," President William said with a strange smile playing on his lips, arms crossed as he observed the battlefield in the sky. His tone wasn’t mocking. It was respectful. Curious. His eyes shimmered with something deeper—an understanding that what they were witnessing was something that may only happen once in an era.

As if the first sword had signaled the start of judgment, the remaining golden swords trembled. One after another, dozens began to descend. Then hundreds. The sky looked as though it were falling, golden blades raining down like a celestial storm.

Max looked up and grinned like a maniac.

He gripped the Blue Dragon Sword with both hands and shot forward once again—straight into the heart of the falling swords.

Clang!

Bang!

Slash!

Roar!

The sounds of battle echoed endlessly in the sky.

Max’s figure flashed like a ghost, weaving through the golden rain. Each time a sword descended, he met it with his own. His strikes were heavy and wild at times, precise and sharp at others. Every impact made his arms tremble. Every clash sent ripples through his bones. But he never stopped.

He slashed one down—Boom! It shattered.

He spun mid-air, parried another—Clang! Sparks erupted.

He ducked low, then leapt high, cutting three swords in a sweeping arc—Swish! Swish! Swish! Three trails of gold exploded behind him.

Hundreds of swords came at him from all directions. Some from the front, some from above, some curved around to strike him from behind. But his perception, his instincts, his concept—they all sharpened with each exchange. His 2nd level Severing Sword Concept clashed endlessly with its higher version. It cracked, bent, broke... then reformed stronger.

Again and again.

Slash by slash.

Sword after sword.

Every strike pushed Max closer to the edge of comprehension.

His mind burned. His sword howled. His concept trembled.

He began to move faster. Smoother. More deadly.