After the hidden plane fell silent and the boulder returned to its ancient, unmoving state, Max remained standing where he was for a long time. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, each inhalation carrying the lingering tremor of the countless impacts he had endured.
Blood still stained his palms, and his arms felt as though they had been struck by mountains again and again, yet none of that occupied his thoughts anymore. His entire focus had already shifted inward.
It was on the sword.
Max slowly lifted Dragonheart.
He did not rush into movement. Instead, he allowed the understanding he had gained to settle within him. Every slash he had blocked, every motion he had observed, every subtle transition in the shadowy figure's movements replayed clearly within his mind.
The complete sword art he had pieced together felt vivid, as though it had been etched directly into his bones rather than merely remembered.
Then he took a step forward.
