That slash.
It wasn’t just a swing—it was the embodint of every ounce of his strength, every drop of comprehension, every second of struggle inside the Dinsion of Ti.
The glowing black scales on his arms shimred with draconic might, veins glowing beneath like rivers of molten power.
As the sword moved, the very air split open with a high-pitched hum, the pressure of the slash tearing through the atmosphere like a celestial blade descending from the heavens.
His strike carried the full weight of his level 2 Concept of Severing Sword, now sharpened with the faintest, terrifying edge of invincibility—a whisper of a future dominion over all things that dare oppose the sword.
The massive golden Six Hands Buddha Palm, radiating divine brilliance and crushing spiritual pressure, descended like the will of an ancient god. But Max’s sword, small in comparison yet overflowing with defiance, cut upward into the oncoming divine force.
The mont they collided, the world held its breath.
BOOOOOM!
Max’s sword t the palm in a thunderous collision. For a mont, everything stopped.
The ground split in every direction.
Winds reversed.
Air rippled.
And for a breathless instant, they were equal.
Sword and palm. Concept versus inheritance. Mortal effort against divine legacy.
The mont Max’s sword clashed with Noah’s gigantic golden palm, the entire world seed to freeze. A shockwave burst out at the point of contact, splitting the ground like glass beneath their feet.
For a breathless instant, Max held it—his sword pressed against the imnse golden palm, neither side giving an inch. Sparks flew wildly as golden force clashed with severing sharpness. The air around them twisted from the sheer energy, thunder rumbling above their heads.
Max had managed to block it. His Concept of Severing Sword—empowered by the edge of invincibility—held firm against the Bright Buddha’s might.
He stood resolute, his black dragon scales gleaming, his arms steady, and his sword radiant with the full force of his understanding. It was a contest between equals—one forged by will, the other by enlightennt.
But then it happened.
From behind Noah, the golden Buddha shadow that had remained still and serene began to stir. Its six divine arms slowly lifted, each one glowing with a sacred light. The chants in the air grew louder, deeper, vibrating through the bones of every onlooker.
The six hands ca together, rging above the original palm, and with a silent pressure—one that did not roar but pressed like a heavenly weight—they descended in unison, joining the main palm.
Max’s expression changed.
At first, nothing seed different.
But then... he felt it.
A pressure. Subtle, creeping.
His hands, once still, began to tremble slightly. His sword—firm and bright—began to vibrate under the sheer increase in force. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of his face. His jaw clenched.
The six Buddha palms rging with the original had nearly doubled the pressure in an instant. His muscles scread. His stance cracked the earth further as his feet dug into the ground like anchors. And yet, even as he resisted, the overwhelming pressure pushed just a little deeper.
Max growled and poured more strength into his swing. His black scales flared with energy. The full power of the 600 Draconic Essences surged again. His veins bulged, his skin flushed, and his energy howled in rebellion.
He took a step forward, roaring, forcing the sword to hold—forcing the golden palm back a hair’s breadth.
But the six joined palms were too heavy. Not in weight—but in force. In sacredness. In will.
His hands began to shake harder now. His breathing grew ragged. His shoulders trembled under the weight.
The sword’s edge, though still glowing with the Concept of Severing, was starting to falter.
Max felt it.
He was losing ground—bit by bit. Inch by inch. His body bent lower. His arms began to go numb. Every second, the golden palms pressed further, and every second, Max had to give more just to stay in place.
He had blocked the original palm. His sword and the Buddha’s strike had been equals.
But now... with the six divine hands pressing down from above, the balance had tipped.
And Max was being slowly, thodically, overpowered.
"Haha, he will lose." Elder Bras from the Thunder Monarch Hall burst into laughter, his voice echoing across the forested hills like a drumbeat of ridicule. His eyes were locked onto Max, who at that mont stood barely holding himself upright against the crushing weight of the golden Buddha palm.
The sight of Max’s trembling arms and bent knees made Elder Bras sneer with satisfaction. ’It would be even better if that palm killed Max,’ he thought darkly, a flicker of vicious delight in his gaze. Though he knew that hoping for Max’s death might be too much, the image alone filled him with twisted pleasure.
On the other side, the expressions of Elder Drew and Lyra were as rigid as stone. Elder Drew had long accepted that losing to Bright Buddha Palace wouldn’t be a disgrace—after all, they were known to be the strongest among the overlord forces—but Lyra wasn’t thinking like him.
She understood far more deeply what was at stake. She knew what this battle ant to Max. She knew him very well, seen his potential, and sensed the fire in his soul. This wasn’t just a competition for a mana pool—this was Max’s proving ground.
It could be said that this was Max’s first true battle with a genius of the Middle Domain. And the result of this battle might decide if he would either rise as a legend or fade before the eyes of those who underestimated him.
Lyra’s fists clenched silently by her side. Her heart pounded louder with every second Max endured. ’You can do it!’ she scread in her mind, her gaze unblinking, full of hope and fierce belief. Max was still standing. Still holding. Still resisting. Still not giving up. And that alone... was enough for hope to remain alive.
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