Martin wasn't afraid of dying.
He was afraid of breaking rhythm.
He was afraid of losing efficiency.
He was afraid that the rising demands of the tower would slowly sap his endurance not his strength, but the capacity to maintain control.
"I need to be more efficient in my killings," he said to himself firmly.
The idea had been forming in the back of his mind over the last few stages.
He'd used his Silver Swords well they were one of his most reliable tools.
Manifested constructs of his own energy, they were effective, elegant, and obedient.
But he'd been using them like tools.
Disposable. One stage, one battle, then gone.
That was the flaw.
"If I was able to create fifty Silver Swords," he said aloud, eyes narrowing, "each having two percent of my power, that would change many things."
He ran the numbers again in his head.
Two percent of his total power each.
That was one hundred percent of his power distributed, but still under his control.
