CHAPTER 939: NINE DRAGONS

"Don’t relax, kid... your Wraith of the World is far from over." Blob’s calm but heavy voice echoed in Max’s mind just as he lowered his sword and prepared to descend.

Max froze midair, blinking in surprise. "It isn’t?" he asked, tilting his head back toward the sky. The black clouds still loomed above, thick and ominous, their darkness almost suffocating. That same crushing, oppressive feeling still lingered in the air, pressing against his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake off.

"A normal Wraith of the World," Blob explained solemnly, "is meant to restrict experts from breaking the world’s balance. It uses the laws of the world themselves against them. And here’s the thing—one must endure the Wraith for every law they’ve comprehended. In your case..."

The voice in his mind paused for a fraction of a second, almost as if savoring the weight of the words. "...you will go through four Wraiths. One for each of your elements—sword, flames, lightning, and space."

Max’s brows rose, but instead of fear or even concern, a faint, almost eager grin curved his lips. "Is that so?" His voice was calm, but his heart stirred with anticipation. Why would he be worried?

Just moments ago, by using the Wraith of the World as his opponent, he had broken through to the third level of the Severing Sword Concept. If one Wraith could serve as the perfect grindstone for his sword concept, then... couldn’t he use the others to temper his flame, lightning, and space concepts in the same way?

The thought thrilled him. ’Three more chances... three more breakthroughs.’ His fingers tightened slightly around his sword hilt. ’Good.’ A silent chuckle rumbled through his chest as he stared into the endless black canopy above. ’Come, then. Show me the next one.’

Down below, the gathered crowd hadn’t dispersed yet. A sharp voice suddenly broke the tense quiet. "Hey, look—the clouds aren’t going away. They’re... they’re getting thicker!"

That caught everyone’s attention instantly. Dozens of heads snapped upward, eyes widening as they saw it for themselves. The sky wasn’t clearing. On the contrary, the swirling black mass was growing denser, roiling like an ocean storm, as if some unseen hand was pulling every shred of darkness in the heavens into one place.

"This isn’t right..." a middle-aged elder muttered, frowning deeply. "After a Wraith of the World descends, the clouds always disperse—whether the one undergoing it survives or not."

"I can feel it too," another expert said, rubbing his arms as if to ward off an invisible chill. "The pressure in the air... it’s heavier now. Far heavier than before."

"I don’t understand," an old man in white robes admitted, his tone uneasy. "In all my years, I’ve never heard of such a thing. It’s as if the Wraith hasn’t ended... but is transforming into something else entirely."

The murmurs spread through the crowd, confusion mixing with apprehension. All eyes remained fixed on the shifting black above, the oppressive weight sinking deeper into their bones with every passing second.

"Could this kid have mastered more than one concept?" Thunder Lord’s voice carried a rare note of disbelief, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied the unnatural density of the black clouds above.

"Two concepts?" President William muttered, his tone equally shaken. "And judging by the fluctuation in the clouds... the other concept is also at the second level." His words drew a ripple of astonishment from those around him.

The tiger-masked man, leader of the Obsidian Order, tilted his head slightly, his deep, measured voice carrying both curiosity and gravity. "In the long history of the Middle Domain, there have indeed been experts who walked the path of more than one concept. But their progress was never balanced. Some had one concept at an impressively high level while the second lingered barely at the first, while others failed to bring either past mediocrity."

His gaze remained fixed on the storm above, his tone dropping lower. "Yet there was one thing they all shared—none of them... have survived the Wraith of the World."

That statement made the air feel heavier. Emperor Hermes’s eyes widened, genuine shock flashing across his face. The earlier swell of pride he felt at Max’s incredible accomplishment—comprehending two separate concepts to the second level—suddenly twisted into something far more somber.

If anyone else had uttered such words, he would have brushed them off as ignorance or exaggeration. But this was the leader of the Obsidian Order—a man whose influence spanned the shadows of the world, whose information network was unmatched in the Middle Domain.

If even he declared that all such dual-concept experts in history had fallen to the Wraith, then the possibility was frighteningly real.

Just then, the heavens themselves seemed to split apart as a deafening roar rolled across the sky, shaking the air like a drum of war. From the depths of the churning black clouds, nine colossal dragons emerged, each one forged entirely from roaring black flames.

Their bodies stretched for hundreds of meters, sinuous and regal, their scales glistening like molten obsidian under the flickering light. Every movement of their massive forms made the clouds churn violently, and every beat of their flame-woven wings sent waves of oppressive heat crashing downward.

The black fire that composed them burned without flicker, steady and suffocating, exuding an ancient, destructive aura—as though these dragons had crawled out from the deepest pits of the world’s wrath itself.

Their long, serpentine bodies coiled through the sky with terrifying grace, each movement radiating the crushing presence of something far beyond mortal comprehension.

Gasps rippled through the crowd below, and even the most seasoned warriors instinctively stepped back. Many felt their knees weaken, their skin prickling under the sheer weight of the aura pouring from above.

It wasn’t just heat—it was a suffocating pressure that felt as if it could burn away the very soul. The air grew heavy, scorching, each breath feeling like inhaling fire.

Gasps and cries erupted among the onlookers.

"Gods above... those are Black Flame Dragons!" someone shouted, their voice cracking.

"Not one... nine of them! How in the hell is that even possible?" another cried out, stumbling back.

"I can’t... I can’t breathe under this pressure," a trembling expert muttered, clutching at his chest.

"They look like they could burn an city empire to ash," a voice whispered in dread.

"Forget the city, if one of them descends, even Mythic Rank experts would be forced to retreat!"

"Wait... those flames... they aren’t normal. They’re devouring the light itself!"

The crowd were truly shocked and speechless. They stood so much far away from Max and yet they could feel the pressure from the nine black flaming dragons.