Chapter 573: Last Move
‘It seems… my strength has already touched the very limits of the Expert Rank, and I haven’t even used a fraction of the inheritances’ power yet,’ Max thought, his gaze calm and calculating as he silently assessed his performance.
He could feel it in every movent, in the weight of his strikes, and in the ease with which he had blocked Garry’s strongest attacks—his physical strength, speed, and control had all reached a level that pushed against the ceiling of what was possible for soone still within the Expert Rank.
And that was without tapping into even a fraction of the power from the three supre inheritances he had already mastered to perfection. If he were to activate them—even one—his strength could very well leap into the territory of the Master Rank, where legends walked and few could follow.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he looked back toward Garry, whose face was still twisted in tension and disbelief. “I’m still waiting for your third move,” Max said, his voice steady, casual, as if everything so far had been a re warm-up.
Garry, breathing heavily, heard the words and nodded to himself. There was no point hesitating now. He had given everything, and even if he was still outmatched, he wouldn’t walk away with regrets.
Taking a deep breath to steady his resolve, he decided to go all in.
He summoned his Concept of Fla, the fiery will that burned within him, pushing it to its absolute peak. Crimson-orange energy surged around him as he pushed the Concept of Flas like never before.
Then, without hesitation, he drew another sword from his spatial ring. Unlike before, this ti he poured his Overlord Armor inheritance not into his body, but directly into the blade. Black flas erupted and wrapped around the tal in a swirling, violent blaze.
But what happened next caught everyone off guard. The sword didn’t just glow—it transford. The blade grew longer, heavier, more sinister, its edge jagged and thick with burning power.
What had been a refined weapon was now a monstrous greatsword pulsing with an untad, berserk aura, black flas howling around it like the roar of a beast eager to be unleashed.
“Overlord Armor – Overlord Sword.”
Garry’s figure flickered and vanished, reappearing in a blur right before Max, his transford black-flad greatsword raised high in both hands. With a roar of determination, he brought it down like a crashing teor aid straight at Max’s head.
But Max didn’t flinch. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as his claws dispersed in an instant, black flas bursting to life across his right arm. They writhed like living things before solidifying into a sleek, deadly sword that seed to be forged from pure void and fire, seamlessly connected to his arm as if it had grown from his very soul.
The two blades t in a deafening Clang! that sent out a shockwave of fla and darkness.
The force of Garry’s swing was enough to push Max back three full steps, his boots skidding across the arena floor, but there was no fear or worry on his face—only growing interest.
‘Interesting,’ Max mused, eyes narrowing.
Garry didn’t pause; he pressed the advantage, gripping the berserk greatsword with both hands and swinging it down again with all his might. One attack, then another, then another. Each strike thundered through the air, leaving trails of black fire in their wake as Garry unleashed a flurry of relentless blows.
His body blurred with movent as he spun, thrust, and hacked with reckless intensity, trying to overpower Max through sheer force.
But Max wasn’t just defending. He t every attack head-on with the eerie precision of his Void Sword Style. His movents were smooth, calculated—his blade flowing like liquid shadow, redirecting Garry’s swings, parrying, and sliding past them with elegant ease.
While Garry’s every blow shook the ground, Max’s counters were like ghostly waves, absorbing the force and turning it back with graceful power. The crowd of three watched in awe as the two figures clashed again and again, their swords eting in flashes of fla and void.
For hundreds of exchanges, neither backed down, their blades singing with battle fury. But to the trained eye, the difference was clear—Max had the upper hand. He wasn’t just matching Garry—he was effortlessly reading him.
Each ti Garry adjusted his stance or changed the angle of his attack, Max was already there, already anticipating. He blocked with one hand, countered with a twist of the wrist, and struck with barely a shift of his weight.
While Garry’s swings ca heavy and desperate, Max’s blade danced like a predator with endless patience.
With each round, Garry’s breaths grew heavier, sweat rolling down his forehead. His arms ached under the weight of the monstrous sword, and his strikes began to slow, his rhythm faltering.
Max, on the other hand, looked almost unbothered—his expression calm, his breathing steady, his fla-covered blade flickering with contained power. The duel raged on, but the outco was becoming painfully clear. One was fighting to win. The other was simply proving a point.
Gritting his teeth and refusing to be outclassed any longer, Garry suddenly let out a battle cry, his eyes blazing with desperate resolve as flas erupted violently around his body.
His greatsword pulsed with power, the black flas on it intensifying, twisting like serpents ready to strike. With both hands gripping the monstrous weapon, he unleashed one of his ultimate techniques—
Overlord Monarch’s Judgent.
The air around him warped from the intensity of the heat as he spun once, then brought the sword crashing down toward Max with terrifying force, creating a scorching arc of black fire that split the air with a shrill, almost supernatural screech.
But Max remained unfazed. With a single smooth motion, he stepped forward and t the devastating technique head-on. His sword intercepted the strike mid-air, the collision exploding with a loud BOOM, sending sparks and fla flying in every direction.
But Max wasn’t finished. Before Garry could even regain balance, Max’s eyes sharpened, and with a burst of speed that seed to skip ti itself, he lunged forward. His sword beca a blur—just a single, effortless thrust aid straight at Garry’s heart.
It was precise, without any waste of motion, and carried a terrifying pressure.
Garry’s instincts scread. At the very last second, he gritted his teeth and brought up his greatsword, slamming the flat of the massive blade across his chest like a shield.
The thrust hit square against it with a thunderous impact. Though he blocked the fatal blow, the force behind it was monstrous. Garry’s feet were lifted from the ground as if he weighed nothing. His body was flung backward like a cannonball, spinning uncontrollably through the air before he smashed into the arena wall with a deafening crash, leaving behind a crater of shattered stone and dust.
The entire wall trembled, cracks running outward from the point of impact as Garry slumped to the ground amidst the rubble, coughing, bruised, and struggling to lift his sword.
The difference between them had been made brutally clear in that mont—a single thrust from Max had done what a hundred of Garry’s attacks could not.
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