Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

”Severing Flow Sword Art!” Max’s voice rang out through the hall like a decree of death. His sword sliced through the air, a streak of pure annihilation carried by the full force of his Concept of Severing Sword.

It was the same technique he’d used before—but now, powered by the severing concept, it transformed into something entirely different. The attack didn’t just aim to cut—it intended to erase.

The space between Max and Silus warped slightly, rippling like the surface of disturbed water. The sword light howled forward like a tidal wave of blades, shrieking with the intent to break through anything—armor, flesh, even willpower.

Silus’ eyes widened, panic flickering across his face for the first time. His tortoise shell armor thickened automatically in response, drawing deeply on his bloodline.

But the moment Max’s strike crashed into it, the entire hall trembled. An ear-shattering explosion echoed across the chamber, followed by a gust of raw force that sent debris flying and cracked the walls.

”I’ve had enough of you!!” Silus’ roar echoed like thunder through the crumbling hall, his voice a howl of fury and humiliation. From the cracked wall of debris he had crashed into earlier, he stormed out, bloodied, battered, but burning with madness in his eyes.

His once-groomed hair was now a wild mane, his pristine armor scuffed and dented. He looked nothing like the proud young master of the Xuan Family—he looked like a man pushed to the edge.

”Black Tortoise Inheritance – Inverse Technique!” he bellowed.

At his call, a ripple of dark energy surged around him. The heavy, shell-like tortoise armor that had once bulked around his body suddenly compressed—flattening and thinning until it looked like a second skin of dark jade, pulsing with power.

His aura changed. It became sharper, deadlier, more volatile. Even the spear in his hand glowed ominously, its tip coated with a dense, dark green radiance that hissed like a serpent ready to strike.

”Die!” he shrieked, charging at Max like a mad beast.

But Max didn’t flinch. His eyes gleamed with excitement, his body tense but composed. He welcomed the challenge. And instead of dodging, he met the attack head-on.

Boom!

Their weapons clashed, and the entire hall shuddered under the force of the collision. Max was sent skidding backwards, his boots tearing long grooves into the stone floor, dust swirling around him. But instead of pain, there was exhilaration in his eyes.

”Good!” he muttered, the corner of his lips lifting as his body began to blaze with light from within. One by one, his 443 Draconic Essences ignited like stars, flooding his limbs with raw, ancient strength. A roar of draconic power surged through his veins, coating his frame with invisible might.

Silus came again, faster than before. His spear thrust out like a green dragon, each movement refined, deadly, and imbued with the will to kill.

But this time, Max was ready.

He raised his sword, the air around it humming violently. Then he stepped forward, his entire body surging with power, and slashed.

Clang!

BOOM!!

The next clash was apocalyptic. A deafening shockwave exploded from the center of their collision, sending splinters of the floor and walls flying. Both fighters slid backward, refusing to be overwhelmed, their weapons still ringing with the force of their strikes. But neither slowed. They lunged forward again.

Max slashed. Severing Flow Sword Art. His blade moved like the tides of destruction, splitting the air itself, laced with his unique Concept of Severing Sword—one meant to cut through anything, even laws.

Silus stabbed. Spear God Arts – Second Spear: Devouring Coil. His spear danced with serpentine speed, coated in tortoise force that spiraled with armor-crushing power.

Their battle turned into a blur—two titans exchanging blows with relentless intensity. The hall around them cracked, walls crumbled, and the paintings and mirrors that had once held mysterious secrets were torn apart by the shockwaves of their fight. It was no longer a test of bloodlines or techniques. It was a war of will.

Every time Silus roared, Max would answer with silence and a slash.

Every time Silus’ spear struck down like lightning, Max’s sword rose to meet it like judgment.

Sweat dripped. Muscles screamed. But neither of them backed down.

And in that ruined hall—among shattered treasures and faded echoes of the citadel’s former grandeur—the epic clash between both of them carved itself into memory.

Klaus and Nortan stood far off at the edge of the hall, their figures shrouded in dust and the eerie half-light of the Citadel. But their eyes were fixed—wide, unblinking, unable to look away from the battlefield where two monsters clashed.

The very air trembled, waves of pressure radiating outward every time Max’s sword met Silus’s spear. Each impact was like a thunderclap, the sheer force threatening to collapse the very walls of the chamber. Their senses, even dulled by distance, screamed danger

It was overwhelming. Bone-chilling. The kind of power that couldn’t be matched by courage or ambition—it was simply unreachable.

Klaus sighed at this moment. ”So, this… this is the strength of a true Master Rank…” he muttered, voice hoarse, almost reverent. He had seen battles before, had fought his own wars, but what unfolded in front of him wasn’t just a fight—it was a storm.

Silus, covered in his terrifyingly sleek Black Tortoise Armor, moved like a raging typhoon, his spear howling with law-level precision and weight.

But Max, that white-haired anomaly, was meeting him blow for blow. Sometimes even forcing him back. Max’s every strike seemed to cut space itself, the Severing Flow Sword Art paired with his Concept of Severing Sword leaving gashes in the air, scars of power that refused to close.

The ground beneath their feet was cratered, mirrors on the walls shattered into glittering fragments, and the ceiling cracked ominously above.

Nortan didn’t speak—he couldn’t. His throat was dry, his fists clenched tightly as he watched Max, the same boy he once looked down on, go toe to toe with a descendant of the Xuan Family, one of the Four God Nations.

Every time Silus launched one of his Spear God Arts, Klaus thought it would be the end—he felt it deep in his soul. But Max would always counter, always push back, sometimes even smiling, as though the pressure of death was a challenge he was born to conquer.

”Spear God Arts – Solitary Spear!” Silus roared, his voice echoing like thunder through the broken hall as he thrust his spear forward with a surge of terrifying force. The air itself twisted and cracked from the pressure, the spear aura condensing into a single devastating point that looked as if it could pierce through anything—armor, will, soul, or even the laws that governed the world.

The spear glowed with a dark green luster, sharp and absolute, the embodiment of destruction wrapped in silence. It wasn’t just a strike; it was a statement. A killing blow honed by countless years of bloodline refinement and legacy mastery.

Max’s eyes narrowed the moment he sensed it, his instincts flaring like wildfire. He felt the pressure converging onto him, the killing intent thick as a blade pressed to his throat.

But he didn’t falter. Instead, he adjusted his grip and allowed his concept to surge. The blade of his sword vibrated—alive with power—as he poured not just the Severing Sword Concept into it but now added the furious burn of his Flame Concept.