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Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 309: A Horrifying Scene · Oct 05, 2026

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Chapter List (2046)

Page number / 41

301 Chapter 301: Three Months of Time 2026-10-05
302 Chapter 302: Divine Rank - The Peak of the World 2026-10-05
303 Chapter 303: Amara Moyer 2026-10-05
304 Chapter 304: A Map 2026-10-05
305 Chapter 305: A Foolʼs Dream 2026-10-05
306 Chapter 306: Bored 2026-10-05
307 Chapter 307: Replacing Slaughter with Infernal Energy 2026-10-05
308 Chapter 308: A Wailing Ghost 2026-10-05
309 Chapter 309: A Horrifying Scene 2026-10-05
310 Chapter 310: Darkness 2026-10-05
311 Chapter 311: A Song... 2026-10-05
312 Chapter 312: RUN! 2026-10-05
313 Chapter 313: Sinful Bone Frame 2026-10-05
314 Chapter 314: Hunting 2026-10-05
315 Chapter 315: Sealed 2026-10-05
316 Chapter 316: A Painful Process 2026-10-05
317 Chapter 317: Unholy Trinity Body 2026-10-05
318 Chapter 318: Manifestation 2026-10-05
319 Chapter 319: Wraith of the World 2026-10-05
320 Chapter 320: Seven Lightnings of Judgment 2026-10-05
321 Chapter 321: Vanished into nihility 2026-10-05
322 Chapter 322: Pressure Making Expert Rank KNEEL 2026-10-05
323 Chapter 323: Eating Away Fate 2026-10-05
324 Chapter 324: Deviant 2026-10-05
325 Chapter 325: Yin and Yang 2026-10-05
326 Chapter 326: Looking Forward 2026-10-05
327 Chapter 327: Meeting Envoy Lucas 2026-10-05
328 Chapter 328: Soul Search 2026-10-05
329 Chapter 329: Eleven Layers of Infernal Demon Tattoo 2026-10-05
330 Chapter 330: Half an year... 2026-10-05
331 Chapter 331: Safe Zone 2026-10-05
332 Chapter 332: Infernal Storm 2026-10-05
333 Chapter 333: Meeting Others 2026-10-05
334 Chapter 334: True Mourning Depths 2026-10-05
335 Chapter 335: Max Taking the Lead 2026-10-05
336 Chapter 336: Soul Mark 2026-10-05
337 Chapter 337: A Dragon? 2026-10-05
338 Chapter 338: A Dragonʼs Assistance 2026-10-05
339 Chapter 339: Meeting with leaders 2026-10-05
340 Chapter 340: 340. Greed and Rage 2026-10-05
341 Chapter 341: Go Ahead and Kill Me 2026-10-05
342 Chapter 342: Pity 2026-10-05
343 Chapter 343: Moving Forward 2026-10-05
344 Chapter 344: Sword and the Altar 2026-10-05
345 Chapter 345: Mark Vendor 2026-10-05
346 Chapter 346: A Showdown 2026-10-05
347 Chapter 347: A Conspiracy 2026-10-05
348 Chapter 348: Twelve Layer Infernal Demon Tattoo 2026-10-05
349 Chapter 349: My Soul is sealed here 2026-10-05
350 Chapter 350: Evil Sword 2026-10-05

Chapter 309: A Horrifying Scene

”My leg? Whatʼs wrong with my leg?”

The red-haired youthʼs voice trembled as he jerked his head down.

He hadnʼt felt anything.

Not a sting. Not a cut.

Just—silence.

Then he saw it.

And something inside him snapped.

His legs—his flesh—had already rotted away.

The skin was gone.

The muscle was gone.

All that remained were wet, blood-slick bones standing where his legs used to be.

And still—his body hadnʼt caught up.

His mind was frozen.

Stuck between panic and denial.

The blood and pus that oozed from his ruined limbs—

sank into the ground silently.

The dark-gray stone of the Mourning Depths

drank the fluid like thirsting soil.

And then—

it changed.

Beneath him, the ground turned a deep, hellish crimson.

As if the blood itself awakened something buried beneath.

”AhhhhhhHH!”

He screamed.

This time, it was human.

A sound of someone who just realized they werenʼt dying—they were being unmade.

He fell backwards, collapsing to the stone floor in a frantic sprawl.

And as soon as his hands touched the ground—

They began to rot.

Instantly.

Skin sloughing off like wet cloth.

Flesh liquefying, sliding off bone like hot wax.

His fingers dissolved.

His wrists followed.

Then the blood started bubbling.

Dark. Thick. Sickly sweet in its stench.

”No… no… no…”

He gasped and gurgled.

Hands clawing at air, eyes wide and unblinking, as chunks of his body dropped off with every motion.

He tried to crawl away.

But with every inch, he left behind bloody trails of half-melted muscle and shredded organs.

His thighs turned to pulp.

His waist slumped, barely held together by torn sinew.

And yet—he was still alive.

Still aware.

The smell was unbearable.

It wasnʼt just death—

it was corruption made manifest.

”SAVE ME! SAVE ME!!”

Finally, he remembered.

Old Man Grey.

The guide. The only one who might know something—anything.

He reached out a rotting, skeletal hand, palm out, shaking with terror, dripping blood and strings of meat.

”Please! Help me!!”

But Old Man Grey—stepped back.

Twice.

Eyes wide.

Face pale.

Voice hoarse.

”No one approach him!”

His words cut like a whip.

And no one disobeyed.

Not because of respect.

But because they were already backing away.

Kacha!

His bones cracked—not with force, but with a sound like ancient wood splintering in a storm.

His legs collapsed inward.

The femurs—once proud, strong—crumbled into fine gray dust, as if theyʼd aged ten thousand years in seconds.

And it didnʼt stop there.

The rot was no longer just a physical thing.

It had entered the marrow.

It had seeped into time.

His spine curved, caving in.

Shoulders sagged.

Every joint popped and cracked and then shattered, like glass under pressure.

Then—his hair paled.

Not slowly—not gradually—

But in two breaths, it turned into dry, brittle hay, the kind that would crumble at a touch.

His face…

Once youthful and proud—became tight, wrinkled, and hollow.

Skin turned to bark.

Eyes sank, vanishing into deep, black pits.

His cheeks hollowed out like a mummy pulled from its tomb.

He reached out.

His left arm stretched, trembling—not toward a person.

Not toward salvation.

But toward nothing.

A meaningless, pitiful reach—as if trying to grasp existence itself before it slipped through his fingers.

A groan slipped from his throat—low, wet, full of despair.

And then—

Crack.

His arm shattered, breaking into dust and chunks, raining onto the blood-soaked stones.

The last thing anyone saw—was his torso melting, his ribcage folding in, his organs liquefying, turning into a thick, black-red syrup.

His whole body collapsed into a puddle of blood, rot, and gore.

Slosh.

It all slumped down.

A heap of viscous, stinking fluid, where a man once stood.

Even that didnʼt last long.

The ground drank it in.

Every drop.

Every shred.

And the bones?

What remained of them—

turned to ash.

A moment later—nothing remained.

No bones.

No body.

No clothing.

No trace.

Just a small pile of red ash, barely enough to fill a hand.

That was all.

Everything else—

His pride, his fear, his ambition, his voice—

Had been erased.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

They just stood there—frozen—staring at the crimson ashes where the red-haired youth had vanished.

Not died.

Vanished.

Like a page torn from existence.

Even the most ruthless among them—those who had killed in cold blood, who had crushed enemies, who had spilled blood for glory—

They said nothing.

Because this wasnʼt battle.

This wasnʼt poison.

This wasnʼt a fatal wound.

This was decay. Erasure.

A slow, grotesque unraveling of life… that none of them could stop.

Or even understand.

Even Max—with his calm mind, steady heart, and will like tempered steel—

Felt it.

A sharp chill, climbing from his lower back, shooting upward along his spine like a spear of ice aimed straight at the heavens.

His fists clenched.

Not out of fear.

But instinct.

That was not a natural death.

It was a message.

Old Man Grey, who had seen horrors most couldnʼt dream of, stood with a trembling breath stuck in his throat.

He swallowed hard.

A bead of sweat rolled down his weathered cheek and dripped to the blood-red stone below.

He had survived dozens of expeditions into the Mourning Depths.

He had seen bodies explode from within.

People driven mad by cursed echoes.

Men who aged a century in a minute.

But this—

This kind of death?

He had never seen it.

The wind no longer blew.

The infernal mist around them… felt heavier.

Thicker.

As if the Mourning Depths itself

was waiting.

Watching.

Tasting their fear.

No one dared to speak.

No one dared to exhale too loudly.

Weapons remained unsheathed.

Eyes scanned every inch of fog.

Max stood still—

Body tensed, breath shallow.

His senses—usually sharp as blades, capable of detecting a flicker of killing intent from hundreds of meters—felt numb.

He hadnʼt seen it.

Hadnʼt sensed it.

Hadnʼt felt a thing.

And yet…

Heʼd just watched someone die in the most horrifying way imaginable.

He had come ready.

Mentally. Physically.

Prepared for battle—

For swords and claws.

For explosions of mana and deadly strikes in the fog.

He thought the danger came from the infernal beings—that if one died in the Mourning Depths, it would be in combat, struggling against some abomination twisted by infernal energy.

But now—

He had seen a death with no attacker.

No claws.

No curse.

No warning.

Just… decay.

Rot that crept silently through the soul, and devoured everything.

And that, to Max—was more terrifying than any monster.

Because the scariest thing in this world was never the strongest.

It was the unknown.

Ghosts? Gods?

Those were titles.

Names.

Geniuses like them had long since stopped fearing superstition. Even the so-called ”gods” were just mortals who stood too high. Ghosts? Just another class. Another trick.

But this?

This had no name.

No shape.

No origin.

And that made it impossible to prepare for.

In that moment—

Max understood something chilling.

They werenʼt geniuses here.

Not now.

Not in the face of this place.

They were mortals again.

Walking through a cursed night, surrounded by shadows that didnʼt speak, didnʼt move, but watched.

The kind of fear that crept into the chest, settled in the spine, and made a man question if even blinking too loud might get him killed.

They had only crossed 5,000 miles.

Still 3,500 to go before reaching the 1,500-mile zone.

This wasnʼt even the deep end.

This was the edge.

And already—

Something unexplainable had claimed a life.

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