Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Max, too, stood still, his expression calm and unreadable. But internally, he was anything but passive. His Three Dimensional Body ability had expanded his perception outward like an invisible net, covering the entirety of the glowing chamber. Every glowing orb, every movement, every whisper of aura was within his reach.

And in that instant, he could feel it—several of the glowing lights subtly resonating with his presence, swaying just a bit closer to him than the others. There wasn’t just one. There were dozens. Yet, Max didn’t move.

He knew something others didn’t—he had observed. From how the others interacted with the lights, it was clear: each person could only take one inheritance. Just one. That made his decision critical. With so many that acknowledged him, he had to be cautious. He needed to find the one that didn’t just suit his power, but elevated it.

The one inheritance that resonated with his very soul and offered the highest value in return. And so, while others rushed or stumbled into their choice, Max stood patiently, silently scanning through the countless possibilities, letting his instincts—and his Three Dimensional perception—guide him toward the one inheritance that could be most suitable for him.

And so, time trickled by, slow and silent like the drift of ancient sand through an hourglass. All around the hall, excited murmurs and gasps began to ripple through the once-quiet space.

Experts from the Lower Domain, many of whom had only heard of inheritances in legends passed down by their elders, were now claiming them with trembling hands and tearful joy.

Some leapt up with uncontained excitement, overwhelmed at the thought of gaining an inheritance that would shape their cultivation path for decades to come.

Others accepted orbs more quietly, their expressions mixed with satisfaction and curiosity—even if the inheritance wasn’t perfect, it was still a blessing beyond anything they had ever imagined. In a world where inheritances were nearly extinct, to walk away with one was a miracle in itself.

Amid the pockets of celebration and murmured gratitude, Aria, Elias, and the two Xuan Family commanders were visibly content. Each of them now held a soft glow between their hands, proof that they had secured an inheritance that resonated with their path.

Their eyes gleamed with quiet ambition. Though they didn’t speak, a subtle glance was enough to know—they were pleased. They had not come to the citadel for nothing.

But while others found their treasures and destinies, Max remained still. Silent. Eyes closed. Alone.

Surrounded by thousands of floating lights, he stood unmoving, like a lone figure lost in a sea of stars. His breathing was steady, his expression calm, but his aura—subtle, unreadable—was filled with quiet intensity.

It wasn’t hesitation that held him in place. It was precision. He wasn’t looking for just any inheritance. He was waiting for the right one. The perfect one.

And then, without warning, an hour passed—and his eyes snapped open.

Sharp and clear, golden irises glowed with resolve. In a blink, his figure vanished. With the eerie silence of a ghost, he reappeared at the center of the hall, before a single glowing orb that hovered alone like it had been waiting for him all along. It didn’t shine the brightest, nor was it the most elaborate.

But to Max, it felt... alive. As though it breathed in sync with his heart. The connection was undeniable.

He didn’t hesitate.

Lifting his hand, he reached forward and grasped the orb. It didn’t resist. Instead, it shrank into a small, pulsing ball of light that floated gently in his palm. Without a second thought, Max crushed it between his fingers.

Snap.

The moment it broke, a ray of radiant light burst forth and shot directly into his forehead, flooding his mind with overwhelming brilliance. The entire hall pulsed for a moment, and those nearby turned toward Max instinctively, feeling a ripple of pressure pass through the space.

But Max didn’t flinch.

’It’s not an inheritance but a sword art,’ Max thought, his brows knitting together in a light frown.

He had expected something grand—some ancient bloodline technique, or a hidden legacy from a long-forgotten realm. But it was only a sword art. Yet as he stood there, letting the realization sink in, he slowly exhaled and shook his head with a small, thoughtful smile.

No—it made sense.

His Concept of Severing Sword was the sharpest edge in his arsenal. It was devastating, pure, and lethal... but also the one he understood the least. It wasn’t because it lacked power—it was because he hadn’t yet earned the depth that concept demanded.

Sword intent, after all, wasn’t built on instinct alone. It required discipline. Repetition. Experience.

’Foundation before peak.’ He remembered that phrase clearly, spoken once by an old swordmaster in the Phoenix Order guild. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it.

But now, he understood. To truly grasp the full meaning of Severing Sword, he needed to sharpen his fundamentals—to master not one, but many sword arts. Each form, each stance, each flow would be another stroke added to the painting that was his comprehension.

Only through thousands of cuts, slashes, and strikes could he forge an understanding strong enough to contain the savage precision of Severing.

So no—this sword art wasn’t a disappointment. It was the first step toward something far greater.

Eyes gleaming with determination, Max let the memory of the sword art settle into his mind like a carved engraving. ’This is good,’ he thought. ’One step at a time. I’ll cut my way forward.’

”What are those?!” Elias’s voice rang out sharp and stunned, slicing through the silence like a blade.

Max’s ears perked instantly, his gaze snapping toward Elias, his senses flaring with alertness. He frowned, unsure what could have caused such a reaction from someone normally so composed.

Turning his head toward the entrance of the fourth stage, Max’s eyes narrowed at the scene unfolding before them.

There, standing like shadows resurrected from the past, were four familiar figures—Nortan, and the three Commandants of Monarch whom Max had personally slain back on the second floor of the citadel. Their presence was like a cold slap to the face.

Yet something was deeply wrong.

They didn’t move like the proud and fierce warriors they once were. They stood unnaturally still, as if held up by invisible strings. Their limbs hung lifelessly, their bodies swayed slightly like they were being blown by an unseen force, and the expressions on their faces... they were vacant, utterly devoid of emotion.

The most disturbing part was their eyes—pitch black voids that swallowed all light, giving no trace of soul, consciousness, or even rage. There was nothing human in them anymore.

Puppet-like. Hollow. Reanimated.

The sight unsettled the others in the hall too, as whispers of shock and confusion echoed around Max. A chill ran down his spine—not from fear, but from the unknown. What force had the power to bring back the dead in this way? Who was playing with corpses like tools? And more importantly, why bring back the ones those were dead?

Many questions ran through Max’s mind like a storm, each crashing into the next, but among them all, one stood out like a screaming alarm—why was the infernal energy inside his body reacting so violently to their presence? It wasn’t just a faint stir or a flicker of awareness.

No, it was a full-blown upheaval, a furious, uncontrollable thrashing deep within him, as if the energy itself recognized something dreadful in those resurrected corpses.