Max had come to realize that his ability to adapt wasn’t entirely limitless; there were certain martial arts and specialized attack patterns he had to witness multiple times before he could truly dissect how they worked. This was especially true if there was a complex sequence of muscle motions or hidden momentum behind the strike.
Through his various street wars, he had mapped out his own cognitive boundaries. He knew it was vastly easier for him to replicate a technique if he had physically fought against it. If a style was trickier or relied on subverting expectations, it simply meant it would take him longer to analyze the mechanics before he could pull off a near-perfect replication.
Finally, he had learned one more crucial truth: in some cases, he simply didn’t possess the foundational conditioning needed to perform the exact same level of technique. Even if he understood the underlying physics and could move his limbs in the exact same trajectory, there were things certain masters did for decades to condition their bodies and master their craft to use them a certain way.
What Max possessed, however, was a system that continuously forced an evolution upon his body, making him superhuman. The raw, upgraded output of his Vow was allowing him to artificially bridge the gap, making up for the decades of conditioning that would have normally been required.
And in this precise encounter against the wooden blade, that raw superhuman output was what was allowing Max to accurately whack each of the incoming attacks away.
"How the hell is he doing that? His forearms should be torn completely apart by now!" Shooting shouted from the sidelines, her voice vibrating with a mixture of disbelief and growing panic.
"Not just torn apart," Sarah added, her sharp eyes tracking the trajectory of the cedar blade. "Vera is using the exact same velocity she used to dismantle entire rival syndicates in the past, but he’s cleanly blocking every single strike no matter what angle it comes from."
Even Abby, trapped inside Vera’s powerful vessel, was beginning to feel a wave of intense frustration building in her chest. She wondered why none of her attacks were breaking through his guard. No one she had encountered since her awakening had been able to continuously neutralize her offense like this.
Worse yet, a dark thought began to plague her mind: if she couldn’t strike down Max, the women standing behind her might begin to suspect that she wasn’t the real Vera. Because Abby possessed next to no formal combat experience herself, she was blissfully unaware of just how terrifyingly impressive Max’s defensive display actually was. To her, it just felt like she was failing.
"AHHH!" Abby screamed, her frustration boiling over into a raw, descending strike aimed directly at the center of his skull.
This time, rather than deflecting the force, Max utilized his footwork to take a sharp step backward, intentionally allowing the wooden sword to complete its downward trajectory. The bokken crashed into the floorboards with a deafening crack , instantly shattering the heavy tiling underneath and sending stone splinters flying into the air.
An audible gasp rippled through the ranks of the Billion Bloodline group as they saw and felt the sheer, unbridled destructive power behind the blow. They looked at the crater in the floor, silently wondering how they would have fared if they had tried to absorb that hit directly.
Meanwhile, the members of the Fallen Rose allowed smug, knowing smirks to return to their faces. This was the destructive power of their leader.
"It’s incredibly difficult to win a fight under these parameters," Max said calmly, his breathing steady despite the red haze blurring his vision. "Although my blocking forms are near-perfect, because you are utilizing a long-range weapon with that kind of velocity, I can’t really find an opening to counter and strike back."
As Max spoke, his tone carried an air of resignation, as if he were openly admitting the tactical disadvantage. Hearing this, Abby felt a surge of confidence; she took a heavy step forward and launched another massive strike from above, intending to finish the bout.
This time, Max didn’t move backward. He side-stepped the descending wood, his body moving forward into her personal space.
He threw up a rapid kick, his leg lifting sharply toward the side of her head. Sensing the threat, Abby desperately pulled back her sword, positioning the wood to block the incoming shin—until she suddenly felt a heavy, warm hand land directly on her face. Max’s fingers closed cleanly over her eyes and jaw, halting her entire momentum right there and then.
"If we don’t need to actively hurt each other, I would really rather not," Max asked, his voice low and calm as he held her in place. "But I think I have managed to sufficiently display my capabilities and prove myself to your group, haven’t I?"
Abby stood completely frozen, her mind a tangled knot of confusion. She didn’t understand what had just occurred. She was absolutely certain she had seen his leg flashing toward her head; she had reacted to the visual threat. So why had nothing hit her wooden sword? And how had Max been able to close the distance so effortlessly without her noticing?
"Don’t worry," Max said softly as he pulled his hand away from her face, stepping back into a relaxed posture. "I was just as confused the first time that particular trick was used on me as well."
What Max had just executed was the exact phantom strike technique that Darius of the Black Hounds had utilized against him. By combining high-speed execution with precise muscle manipulation, he had produced a visual phantom strike—an attack so realistic that her instincts forced her to block an empty space, leaving her completely open to his real movement.
The only other person among the spectators who had somewhat recognized the physics of the movement was Wolf. He stared at Max, a mixture of awe and intimidation settling into his features.
’Max... I don’t think any of us have ever actually seen the true ceiling of your potential,’ Wolf thought, a dry laugh catching in his throat. ’If you’re developing at this speed, how the hell am I supposed to accurately grade your progress anymore?’
Since the combative heat in the hall had effectively died down, the members of the Fallen Rose were informed that they were free to utilize the facility’s training gear or head down to the main canteen. The mention of fresh, hot food immediately appealed to the biker gang, and the women began venturing away toward the elevators, chatting loudly. The members of the Billion Bloodline group watched them leave, mentally reminding themselves to keep their mouths shut around the visitors from now on.
With the crowd dispersed, the inner circle and the leaders of the Fallen Rose moved away from the training floor, entering the quiet security of Max’s private office.
Max walked behind his heavy desk, leaning against the edge as he looked at the woman standing before him. "Alright. Now that we’ve established our boundaries, are you going to tell us why you actually came to visit our territory, rather than simply initiating a gang war?"
Abby took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto his red hair as she prepared to deliver the truth she had risked her position to bring him.
"Yes," Abby said, her voice steadying. "The real reason we brought the Fallen Rose to your doorstep is because someone placed a high-level contract with us. An anonymous entity ordered our gang to completely eliminate the Billion Bloodline group from Notting Hill."