CHAPTER 938: SHARPENING THE SWORD

With every clash, a new understanding bloomed within him. A golden sword aimed at his throat—he tilted his body and sliced upward, not meeting it head-on but severing its energy thread from the side. Another sword shot for his legs—he stepped forward mid-air and struck its core, causing it to ripple before disintegrating.

Max’s breathing was heavy, but his eyes glinted with a maddening clarity. He had clashed with dozens of those golden swords by now—each strike like a test, each impact sending vibrations down to his very soul. His blade, his arm, his core—everything hurt. Yet his gaze never wavered.

"These swords..." he thought, parrying another blade that curved like a comet from the sky, "...they don’t just cut."

Another sword came from behind—silent, almost invisible, its aura hidden beneath layers of suppressive force. Max twisted his body, flipped backward mid-air, and his sword moved not to strike—but to sever the flow of energy at its base. The golden sword cracked from the inside and shattered like dried porcelain.

"They’re teaching me," he realized, "not just to slice flesh or steel... but to sever something deeper. The root of force itself. The source of intention. The beginning of an effect."

His concept flickered, twisted, and evolved.

’Cutting? No... that’s too crude.’

A new sword screamed through the clouds, its edge aimed straight at his heart.

Max took a step mid-air. Not back. Forward.

He met the sword—not by overpowering it—but by slicing the string of intent that tied it to its trajectory. The moment that invisible thread was cut, the sword collapsed into golden motes, powerless.

"Sever intent. Sever flow. Sever causality."

"Sever the very idea of what ’should’ happen next."

His understanding surged like a tidal wave within him.

He felt the Severing Sword Concept rise to its limit—boiling, reshaping, stretching to crack the edge of evolution.

Then suddenly... Max vanished.

He reappeared high above the sky—in the center of a spiraling storm of golden swords. Hundreds of them. Maybe more. Their edges glowed with divine severity, as if the world itself had decided this would be his grave.

But this time, they didn’t fall immediately.

They paused—as if sensing the shift. As if the Wraith itself was... watching.

Max raised his sword slowly. Blood trailed from his palm, but he didn’t notice. His aura had changed. It no longer just held force. It no longer just contained comprehension.

Now... it held authority.

And then—

Boom!

A thunderous explosion of silver and gold burst from his body like a sun swallowing the sky. Everyone watching—no matter their realm—felt it at once. A chilling wave of energy passed through them all, like invisible blades slicing through their spiritual roots. The world itself seemed to be trembling beneath the edge of Max’s new concept.

Even the strongest experts—President William, the tiger-masked leader of the Obsidian Order, Palace Master Howard—found their hearts skipping a beat.

"The 3rd level..." Howard muttered, jaw clenched. "He’s done it."

Up above, Max floated in the air—calm, firm, terrifying.

This time, he didn’t wait for the swords to attack.

He moved.

A single slash—ten swords exploded in a chain reaction of golden dust.

A twist of his wrist—twenty more were cleaved before they even moved.

And then, a spin. Graceful, fast, clean.

With that single rotation of his body—

Crack! Crack! Crack!

Every remaining sword fractured.

Then shattered.

The sky was clear once more. Silent. Still.

Max stood alone, suspended in the air, his sword lowered. Blood dripped slowly from his knuckles, his chest rose and fell with exhaustion... but around him, the air trembled. His presence had changed.

He wasn’t just strong anymore.

He was sharp.

A sword that severed everything—even the will of the heavens.

He had stepped into the 3rd level Severing Sword Concept.

"He did it. He actually did it. He survived the Wraith of the World... in his own way. What a spectacle!" one voice in the crowd broke the silence with disbelief trembling in every syllable.

Another genius, voice lower but filled with awe, followed quickly, "Not only did he survive it—he used it. He used the Wraith of the World like a whetstone... like a grindstone to sharpen his sword concept. And now look at him—just look at him, standing in the sky like a sovereign. That pressure, that terrifying presence... it’s the same kind of power I’ve only ever felt from the elders in my clan who are Mythic Rank."

The murmurs spread like wildfire, disbelief turning into reverence. Eyes filled with dread now brimmed with admiration and helplessness. "He’s a monster," someone whispered, barely audible. "A complete monster in human form. No one in history has ever done anything like this—yet he made it look easy."

All around, silence took hold again, a stunned, choking silence. Everyone had just witnessed the impossible. The Wraith of the World, a death sentence even to the most gifted geniuses, had not only failed to kill Max—it had bowed to him, been broken by him, and even unknowingly helped him comprehend a higher realm of understanding. This wasn’t a victory. It was a revelation.

"He did it..." Palace Master Howard of the Absolute Sword Palace muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. His aged eyes stared at Max, still floating in the sky, his bloodstained figure unmoving yet radiating with unfathomable intent. "I always believed the Wraith of the World existed solely to destroy us. That it was a punishment... a ceiling placed by the heavens."

He exhaled deeply, shaking his head with a bitter smile that held both awe and regret. "But maybe... maybe we were just never brave enough. Never daring enough to see beyond our fear. If we had his courage, perhaps we could’ve long since broken through the fifth level of our concepts... perhaps even ascended."

The words fell heavy, and the truth behind them was undeniable.

The tiger-masked man—the mysterious leader of the Obsidian Order—remained silent. His gaze was fixed on Max. Yet in his mind, a voice long thought buried echoed once more. Lucien’s voice. That monstrous genius of a generation.

"This world is just a speck of dust compared to what’s out there in the universe. You need more than talent to surpass its limits. I was born with god-like talent—but there will be others. People who don’t have my blessings... but who will still rise to the very top. Who will defy the heavens, spit on common sense, and break every tradition known to man. Those are the true geniuses. The ones who don’t follow... but lead."

His fingers clenched slightly as he looked at Max. ’Could it be?’ Was this boy... the kind Lucien once spoke of?

Meanwhile, President William let out a hearty laugh, his deep voice booming across the stunned crowd. His eyes sparkled with unfiltered joy. "Hahahaha! That was good! That was damn good!" His laughter echoed like a celebration, a declaration of pride. "To think I would get to witness the rise of another potential star-grade genius in this era. What a fortune! What a blessing to this world!"

Above them all, Max remained still.

Sword in hand. Eyes half-lidded. Breathing steady.

The sky had cleared.

The swords had vanished.

But the mark he left on their hearts and this era—was now indelible.