His brows furrowed as he recalled the path he had taken to create his signature techniques. They were molded from the foundation of Elite Sword Arts, yes, but shaped hastily in battle after battle, refined through intuition more than structured evolution.
'Could the technique itself be flawed?' he thought, his grip tightening slightly. 'Have I only scratched the surface of what it could become?' His mind traced back every movement—Horizontal Break, Skyfall Split, Heaven Cleave—they were powerful, yes, but maybe they were built on an imperfect understanding of the sword.
'Horizontal Break was built upon a very simplified version of a horizontal slash… Skyfall Split was a simplified version of a downward slash… and Heaven Cleave was an upward slash, slashing at the heavens.' Max's mind wandered deep into the foundations of the techniques he had created, replaying every motion, every angle, every intent behind each swing.
