Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Max's face twisted further, veins bulging, muscles straining. His teeth were clenched so tightly they threatened to shatter.

This isn't possible.

He could feel the power in his body. The overwhelming infernal energy. The sword burning in his grip like a second heart. His body was transformed—tattoos crawling across both arms, his face half-marked by seething lines of power.

And still… it meant nothing.

Every scream of "DIE!" was met with silence.

Every devastating blow was met with stillness.

And Mark—his smile never wavered. If anything, it grew.

Like he was enjoying it.

Like he was watching a child throw stones at a storm.

"NO!" Max growled seeing that his rage increasing even further.

As he descended further into his fury, the sword itself began to vibrate violently—feeding on his madness, growing more alive with every cry.

The markings across Max's body pulsed like a second heartbeat, glowing hotter, darker, redder.

He wasn't fighting anymore.

He was rampaging.

"I want more… I want more power… I want more strength…"

Max muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse, trembling—not from fear, but from desperation. His grip on the blood-red sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. His eyes burned with fury, madness, and a savage craving.

He wasn't speaking to himself anymore.

He was speaking to the sword.

And the sword… answered.

'Then you shall have it.'

The words weren't spoken aloud, but they echoed in his mind—low, ancient, and hungry.

Before Max could even react, the sword began to tremble violently in his hands. And then—

BOOM!

A blinding pillar of light erupted from his body, shooting straight into the sky like a beacon of raw power. The entire hall was bathed in crimson and black hues, the walls groaning under the pressure of the energy radiating from him.

At the center stood Max, cloaked in light, consumed by it.

The energy wasn't just powerful—it was suffocating. Even some of the strongest leaders stumbled back, instincts screaming that what they were witnessing was something far beyond their comprehension.

Mark's smile faded slightly. His gaze sharpened.

"Oh boy," he muttered, voice low. "Now you've done it."

His expression turned solemn, even cautious.

And then—

Snap!

With a casual flick of his fingers, the entire storm of light vanished.

So did Max.

So did the sword.

One moment they were there. The next, gone.

Mark lowered his hand and exhaled. "Done," he said simply, looking around. "You can all go home now."

He raised his hand again, ready to snap his fingers and be rid of the rest of them.

But before he could—

"WAIT! WAIT!"

A voice rang out in panic. It was Envoy Lucas.

Mark turned, mildly annoyed. "What is it now?"

Lucas stepped forward quickly. "Where's Max? Did you kill him?"

Mark raised a brow. "No. I didn't."

He casually pointed toward the pit, now quiet and still.

"I sent him down there."

Lucas stared at the dark void, confused and wary.

"That kid was losing control," Mark continued. "His rage. The infernal energy. It was pushing him past the edge. I only wanted to see how far he'd go—how his body would react to the pressure of infernal energy under emotional stress. After all, infernal energy feeds on strong emotions."

He gave a small shrug.

"And I'd say it was a success. The brat achieved something even I never thought would be possible with that tattoo—he unlocked a Complete Infernal Demon Tattoo. Remarkable, really."

But then his tone turned grim.

"Still… giving himself over to the sword like that? Letting it take the reins? That wasn't part of the plan."

He looked back toward the pit, eyes narrowing.

"So I put him down there. Let him stew. Let the sword whisper all it wants. Who knows… I may still need him someday. That place will do him more good than anything else right now."

He turned back to the room.

"Anyway… you all can disappear now."

Snap!

And just like that, the hall was empty.

The leaders. The young prodigies. All of them vanished—not turned to dust, not killed. Simply transported away as if they were never there.

The moment silence reclaimed the space—

New figures appeared.

Dozens of them, clad in black and crimson, faces concealed behind masks or hoods. Their presence was dark. Disciplined.

And leading them…

Cain.

The towering man stepped forward, his aura calm but powerful, his expression reverent.

He dropped to one knee before Mark without hesitation—and the others followed, kneeling in unison, heads bowed.

"Master," Cain said, smiling faintly, "it seems you've successfully unsealed another part of your soul."

Mark didn't reply at first.

He just smiled.

"Oh, Cain…" Mark let out a slow, weary sigh, his expression momentarily softening with a trace of frustration. "This soul took so long to recover…"

He gazed at his own hand as if still adjusting to the feeling of being whole—or at least closer to it.

He shook his head slightly, then looked to Cain. "Have you figured out where the other two fragments are? The one in the Lost Continent, and the other in the Four God Nation?"

Cain, still kneeling, lifted his head slightly. "Yes, Master. I've been tracking them for some time now."

He stood slowly, arms crossed behind his back.

"In the Lost Continent," he began, "your soul is sealed somewhere inside the Tower of Truth. I haven't narrowed down the exact floor yet—it's well-protected—but I can sense it. Faint, buried deep… but it's there."

Mark's jaw tightened. His fingers twitched.

"That bastard sealed it in the Tower of Truth?" he muttered, massaging his temple with a groan. "Of all the damn places… he had to pick that cursed tower."

Cain nodded solemnly. "I imagine it wasn't a random decision. The tower has its own laws. Anyone trying to retrieve something from its depths must either pass the trials or be torn apart by truth itself."

Mark's expression darkened. "Hmph. Trials or not, I'll rip it down if I have to."

Cain continued, "As for the second fragment—within the Four God Nation…"

He paused.

"It's… complicated."

Mark raised a brow, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Complicated how?"

Cain hesitated for the first time. "The seal is tied to an ancient formation hidden within the Celestial Beast Temple—one of the ruined nation—a place that hasn't been opened in over two thousand years. The seal isn't just protective… it's living. Adapting. And it seems to react to anyone carrying infernal energy."

Mark closed his eyes and exhaled again, this time slower, more controlled.

"Of course it is…" he muttered bitterly. "One step ahead, even now…"

There was a long pause.

Then Mark opened his eyes.

Sharp. Focused. Dangerous.

"Well, no matter," he said. "We'll take it one step at a time."

His lips curled into a thin smile.

"First the Tower of Truth. Then the Celestial Beast Temple. And once I have all my soul fragments—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

The storm building behind his eyes said everything.

---

Meanwhile…

Aboveground.

In the sacred hall of the Divine Palace, golden pillars glowing softly under the light of the afternoon sun—

A flash of light appeared.

And in an instant, everyone—the leaders, the young geniuses—stood there, dazed and confused.

One moment they were trapped in the depths of the Mourning Depths. The next… they were back.

Not a scratch. Not a sound. Just silence.

"Alice!"

A voice cried out in the distance, full of panic and love.

Aurelia rushed forward, her flames igniting as her eyes landed on a lone figure standing across the hall.

It was Alice—blinking, lost, looking around with wide, frightened eyes.

She turned just in time to see her mother, and the moment their eyes met—

They collided into a tight embrace.