Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

To study the rules of this enclosed space, he needed to leave marks behind. Markers that would allow him to measure space, track changes, and see if anything looped, shifted, or erased itself.

The problem?

Every trace, every scar, every physical sign left in the Mourning Depths would be erased—corrupted by the infernal energy saturating the region. The land itself refused to be mapped.

Unless…

He used something stronger.

Something the land couldn’t destroy so easily.

Soul.

Max’s eyes sharpened with thought.

An expert’s soul wasn’t just ethereal consciousness—it was a manifestation of will, intent, and identity. The stronger the will, the longer the soul could last—even across ages.

The Sinful Bone Frame he’d encountered? Its soul had endured tens of thousands of years inside the Mourning Depths. That alone proved the soul was one of the few things that could resist the corruption of this realm.

And Max had one advantage most others didn’t.

A yellow soul—bright, vibrant, and endlessly growing.

”The first mark…” Max murmured.

He walked forward to a flat patch of ground, knelt slightly, and flicked his finger with a small motion.

A golden rune shimmered to life at the tip of his finger and shot downward, condensing into a glowing symbol etched into the earth.

The moment it landed, a faint yellow radiance spread out from it—a lingering trace of Max’s soul.

The air around it shivered slightly, reacting to the foreign energy.

He’d woven a simple rune with a thin wisp of his soul force. Not enough to weaken him, but enough to serve as a beacon—something to test the rules of this place.

Max didn’t move.

He stood there silently, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the rune. Watching. Waiting.

Would the infernal energy corrupt it?

Would it resist?

Behind him, the others stirred. Confusion rippled through the crowd.

”Max, what are you doing?” one of the younger geniuses asked cautiously.

Before Max could respond, Old Man Grey snapped.

”You worthless idiot!” he barked. ”Why ask a question you wouldn’t understand the answer to?”

Despite his harsh tone, even Old Man Grey was curious. But he didn’t dare disturb Max’s train of thought. Not now.

Max said nothing. His expression remained calm, focused, analytical.

He observed the rune.

Watched as the yellow glow slowly dimmed—but not by much.

Minutes ticked by.

A quarter of an hour passed in silence.

The wisp of his soul was still there. Dimming, yes—but slowly. Deliberately.

Not even 5% of its energy had been lost.

Max’s heart eased slightly.

His soul force wasn’t just strong—it was unusually resilient. His yellow soul, infused with that innate regenerative nature, was holding firm against the corrupting tide of infernal energy.

He began estimating.

’If only 5% of the energy is lost in fifteen minutes… then one of these marks could last at least six hours. That’s more than enough time to create a mapping system.’

Just then, a familiar voice rang out inside his mind.

”Boy, you’re sharper than you look sometimes!” Blob said with a proud chuckle.

”Strengthening the mark with your yellow soul—clever move.”

Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply.

His mind was already racing through the next steps.

”Alright. Let’s continue.”

Max straightened to his full height, dusting off his palm after finishing the soul mark. His pink eyes narrowed toward the horizon where the black flame still burned like a blade through the sky. His voice was calm, resolute.

The others took his words as a signal. They stirred from their tense silence and began preparing themselves to move, weapons in hand, eyes alert.

Max led the way.

But his path wasn’t linear.

Sometimes he moved forward.

Other times, he veered sharply to the left or right.

And on occasion, to the bewilderment of many, he even walked backward.

At regular intervals—every five hundred feet—he would stop, flick his fingers, and release a shimmering rune laced with a wisp of his yellow soul. These glowing marks, subtle but enduring, acted as trail beacons in a realm where direction held no meaning.

But despite his calculated route…

Despite his caution…

The Mourning Depths only grew closer.

When they were actually walking in reverse of the Mourning Depths.

With each step, the oppressive landscape shifted subtly, drawing them in like a slow, inevitable pull. The monstrous black flame on the horizon grew larger, clearer, more vivid. Heat waves rolled off it in eerie pulses. The thick, distorted air shimmered like glass. It was no longer some distant, surreal illusion—it was real, and far too close.

The Mourning Depths itself now looked like an ancient abyss carved into the fabric of reality—a mouth of oblivion.

And it was watching.

”Max... are you sure there’s no problem with this path?”

The question came hesitantly from one of the younger geniuses trailing near the middle of the group. His voice cracked slightly, his nerves fraying with each mile they marched closer to the ominous void.

Max didn’t respond immediately.

But before he could, Crown Prince Aelric turned, eyes cold.

”If you think you can do better, take the lead.”

The genius fell silent instantly, face flushed with shame. No one else said a word after that.

They walked for miles.

The ground beneath their feet changed—cracks widening, black roots twisting through the earth. The sky itself seemed to bleed shadows. The once-faint hum of infernal energy had become a low roar, constant and suffocating.

And then…

They saw it.

Barely two hundred miles away—the true Mourning Depths.

A gaping, bottomless fissure in the land that exhaled black fog like smoke from a god’s funeral pyre. The fog didn’t rise—it surged, a silent fountain of void-like energy shooting hundreds of thousands of feet into the sky, staining the heavens themselves.

There was no fire.

No flame.

Just pure, undiluted death.

Max slowed to a halt.

He stared at the scene in front of them, the cold pressure pressing against his chest like invisible chains.

Then, quietly, he said, ”Alright, since walking back towards the safe zone only leads to the Mourning Depths then we’re turning back. Let’s return to our original route.”

Even without understanding the laws at work here, he knew—they were too close. One misstep, and the Mourning Depths wouldn’t just claim them. It would erase them.

But going back proved just as maddening as the journey forward.