Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1629 A Symphony of Sword Slashes!

With that realization dawning upon him, Max’s hesitation vanished. If the golden slashes were intended as instruction, he resolved to compel the boulder into revealing every hidden secret it possessed.

His eyes consequently sharpened, a fierce yearning igniting deep within his soul. The pain coursing through his arms, the trickle of blood at the corners of his mouth, and the tremors within his meridians all faded into insignificance before the invaluable opportunity unfolding before him.

Without conceding another millisecond, Max extended his will and propelled his Concept of Severing Sword towards the boulder once more.

An immediate response was elicited.

Golden brilliance erupted from the ancient stone, an intense radiance that all but blinded the senses. Each inscribed sword mark adorning its weathered surface flared to life simultaneously, transforming the colossal boulder into a celestial body forged from pure sword intent.

An overwhelming pressure descended upon the secluded realm, so acrid and majestic that the very air around it seemed to fracture and divide under its formidable presence.

Then, another incandescent slash manifested.

It traversed the intervening distance with impossible swiftness, moving at such a terrifying velocity that the very notion of travel appeared to be nullified. One instant it materialized from the boulder, and the very next it had already arrived directly before Max.

His combat instincts surged into overdrive.

Bringing Dragonheart forth with both hands, Max pivoted his waist and confronted the incoming strike head-on.

The clash of steel against golden light produced a resounding, thunderous boom. A ferocious torrent of force coursed through the blade and into his limbs, leaving his fingers numb and his bones rattling. The sheer impact propelled him backward several paces, gouging deep furrows into the earth beneath his boots.

Even before he could regain his footing, Max’s gaze flared with renewed intensity.

He directed his Severing Sword Concept back towards the boulder.

Yet another golden slash was unleashed in reply.

He braced himself and blocked once more.

Then he attacked the boulder again with his concept.

Another slash descended.

Once again, he intercepted it.

This relentless sequence repeated without respite. Golden luminescence flared time and again throughout the hidden plane, with the boulder consistently answering each defiant challenge with another formidable sword strike. Max, in turn, met each one with every ounce of strength, expertise, and unwavering willpower he possessed.

His wrists began to weep blood from the ceaseless strain.

The skin on his palms tore open against the unyielding hilt of Dragonheart.

His internal viscera convulsed violently from the shockwaves transmitted through his body.

His chest constricted, his muscles screamed in protest, and blood surged repeatedly into his throat.

It must be understood that Max’s physical body was currently of extraordinary resilience. With 5000 Dragon Scales passively bolstering his defenses, it should have been virtually impossible for mere sword slashes to inflict harm. Yet, here he was, enduring these strikes as if he were but a fragile mortal confronting them.

Nevertheless, Max obstinately refused to cease his efforts.

He persisted in projecting his concept forward.

He continued to receive the incoming slashes.

He kept on blocking.

Over and over again.

Repeatedly.

Initially, each sword slash felt overwhelmingly potent. Despite their shared essence, every individual strike possessed subtle nuances that betrayed a terrifying and profound depth.

Certain cuts were direct and unwavering, imbued with an absolute simplicity that annihilated resistance through sheer purity. Others arced subtly in their trajectory, altering their intended line at the final critical moment much like serpentine predators striking from unseen ambushes.

Some descended with an oppressive might, as if intent on cleaving mountains asunder. Others ascended with a concealed and potent momentum, akin to mythical dragons emerging from the abyssal depths to challenge the very heavens.

Max compelled himself to engrave each of these into his memory with his Dimensional Sovereign Body.

Even as blood trickled from his hands and agony reverberated through his being, his mind functioned with a chillingly precise clarity.

In the fleeting intervals between collisions, he meticulously replayed each slash within the theater of his thoughts. He dissected the flow of power into the blade, the condensation of intent prior to its release, and the inherent simplicity of movement that nevertheless contained an endless degree of refinement. No superfluous action existed in any of the strikes; every motion was executed out of absolute necessity.

Then, amidst this ceaseless barrage of exchanges, a sudden transformation occurred within the boulder.

The golden luminescence cascading across its surface began to tremble erratically. The countless etched sword marks stirred, resembling rivers of light flowing across solid stone. One by one, they converged toward the central mass. Ancient patterns merged, and the boulder’s distinct shape dissolved into an indistinct blur before Max’s astonished eyes.

The colossal stone reshaped itself into the looming silhouette of a man.

The figure stood imposing and nebulous, constituted entirely of shadow defined by golden edges. Its visage remained indiscernible. Its attire flowed and shifted like wisps of smoke. No discernible cultivation aura emanated from it; yet, its sheer presence exuded a pressure more profound than any mountain and more ancient than time itself.

Only one aspect remained unequivocally distinct.

It wielded a sword.

Max’s heart pounded with violent trepidation at the sight.

Before he could even formulate a coherent thought, the shadowy figure took a deliberate step forward and initiated a swing.

The movement was executes with pristine, unadorned, and utter flawlessness.

From this singular, perfect motion, a golden sword slash sprang forth and hurtled directly towards Max.

Reacting purely on instinct, Max thrust Dragonheart upward with a speed born of sheer desperation.

Being flung backward by the impact, Max paid no mind to his body's momentum. His entire focus was riveted on the preceding action. He dissected the footwork, the subtle twist of the torso, the alignment of the shoulders, the angle of the wrist, and the precise moment that power flowed from the physique into the weapon.

That strike was not a haphazard event.

It was a demonstration of mastery.

Without letting his focus waver, Max propelled his Severing Sword Concept outwards once more.

The shadowy figure responded with another sweep of its blade.

Then came another.

And yet another.

Repeatedly, the silhouette raised its sword, unleashing arcs of golden radiance. Again and again, Max parried while scrutinizing every minute detail of its movements. He observed the synchronization of breath with the rhythm of motion. He noted the shift in posture preceding each assault. He perceived how offense and defense were intrinsically woven into the same action.

His actions had evolved beyond mere defense.

He was in the process of internalizing an ancient art.

Initially, Max could only replicate glimpses of the technique. He adopted a slight adjustment in his stance. He mimicked the sharper rotation of a shoulder. He refined the angle of his interception. He grasped how force could traverse more directly from his body into the sword.

With each clang of steel upon steel, his comprehension grew deeper.

The shadowy entity delivered a downward blow, and Max began to counter with the identical descent. The figure pivoted into a diagonal cut, and Max gradually mirrored its rotation to nullify the threat. The figure executed a short, horizontal arc that concealed a sudden thrust at its conclusion, and Max eventually responded with the same transitional movement, disrupting the attack before its completion.

The more he blocked, the more he assimilated.

The more he assimilated, the more he could emulate.

The more he emulated, the less strain each exchange imposed upon him.

Before long, the battlefield adopted a peculiar cadence. The shadowy assailant struck, and Max countered with the mirrored maneuver. The unseen foe altered its sequence, and Max adapted accordingly. The shadowy opponent advanced a single step and slashed, and Max advanced in kind, reciprocating the strike.

Golden trajectories crisscrossed the ethereal space without end, the phantom and the challenger echoing each other in a tempest of steel and luminescence. Their movements became quicker, more refined, and inherently simpler. Each blow appeared rudimentary to the untrained eye, yet each contained profound layers of sword intent.

The passage of time became irrelevant.

Max forgot his physical suffering.

He forgot his mounting exhaustion.

He forgot the multitude of powerful individuals observing from beyond this pocket dimension.

He even forgot his own identity, spontaneously entering the profound state of his nascent cosmic path – the emotion-severing sword.

Within his consciousness, only the sword existed.

At an unremembered juncture, all the disparate fragments of understanding coalesced within Max. Every replicated slash, every practiced form, every seamless transition between aggression and evasion, every seemingly basic motion that veiled infinite complexity became a singular, unified whole in his mind.

It manifested as a singular sword art.

Not a collection of disparate techniques.

Not a series of isolated maneuvers.

A singular, continuous doctrine conveyed through countless sword strokes.

The very instant Max apprehended this fundamental truth, a profound internal shift occurred.

He moved preemptively, before the shadowy entity could initiate its action.

He advanced with flawless equilibrium. His waist rotated with natural grace. His shoulders aligned effortlessly. His breath stabilized, sinking calmly into his core. Dragonheart moved in one fluid motion, imbued with the exact essence he had just comprehended.

A brilliant golden slash erupted from his blade.

It met the figure's incoming assault and utterly annihilated it.

A profound silence descended upon the hidden dimension.

For the first time, the shadowy figure ceased its movements. It slowly lowered its sword, its gaze lingering on Max as if for a final appraisal. No words were exchanged, yet Max perceived an unmistakable acknowledgment passing between them.

In the subsequent breath, the figure disintegrated into myriad streams of golden light.

These luminous streams flowed back into the ancient stone.

The boulder resumed its original form.

All the dazzling luminescence vanished.

The numerous sword marks fell silent once more.

Max remained, his breathing ragged. His body was battered, bleeding, and utterly spent. Every muscle throbbed with agonizing pain, yet his eyes blazed with an unprecedented intensity.

He directed his Severing Sword Concept at the boulder anew.

Nothing transpired.

No golden radiance emerged.

No slash was unleashed.

No response was elicited.

The intensive training session had concluded.

Max slowly tightened his grip on Dragonheart, his gaze fixed upon the now-silent boulder. He had accomplished more than merely withstanding its onslaught. He had done more than simply mimicking a few techniques.

He had inherited the true sword art concealed within those trials.

The Saint Origin Sword Art.