Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Smooth. Cold.

Laced with venom.

"If it's not too much trouble, Magnar…" came the voice, "…a few of us would like to speak to Max. Privately."

Max turned sharply.

His eyes landed on Azula.

She stood with her usual haughty expression, her arms crossed, a faint smirk playing on her lips like a predator eying its prey.

Max's jaw tightened.

'This woman... She's plotting something.'

King Magnar's expression immediately darkened.

"Azula," he said, "this is not the time."

His voice grew colder.

"We're twelve hundred miles deep into the forbidden zone. We don't have the luxury to indulge in politics or power games."

He gestured around.

"And lest you forget, it was your map that led us to this empty zone—nothing but fog and ruin. Perhaps you should consider that before demanding anyone's time."

Azula's expression twitched for a fraction of a second.

But she smiled again, covering it up with practiced grace.

"Don't worry," Azula said softly, her voice as calm as ever. "It won't take long."

She turned her eyes toward Max, cold and deliberate. "We're in an empty zone anyway. No witnesses. No distractions. Seems like the perfect place… to settle some old accounts."

Her gaze sharpened.

"Are you ready to die?"

Max didn't flinch.

He gave a small shrug, eyes half-lidded with indifference.

"I doubt you have what it takes to kill me."

That answer caught Azula slightly off guard. She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his unwavering confidence—even surrounded, even outnumbered.

"You're good," she said slowly, "but not that good."

As if on cue, several of the leaders behind her moved subtly under her glance. They stepped forward, spreading out like trained predators. Within seconds, Max and everyone from the Black Lotus Guild were surrounded—cut off from the rest of the group entirely.

It was fast. Efficient. Calculated.

"Father, what is she doing?!"

Crown Prince Aelric's voice rose sharply as he stepped toward King Magnar.

"Stop her!"

Magnar's expression darkened, but he exhaled and shook his head.

"I can't," he said grimly. "She brought us here using her map. That's the only reason we made it through the deeper layers safely."

He looked at his son, his voice low and tight.

"If I interfere… she might sabotage the map. If that happens, we all die."

Aelric's fists clenched at his sides.

Alice's face paled as she stared across the battlefield. Her eyes found Azula, her own mother—and what she saw in that gaze wasn't regret… or hesitation.

It was pure coldness.

Azula laughed softly.

"Did you hear him?" she said to Max. "Even King Magnar can't protect you."

Still, Max didn't move. He didn't even blink.

Instead, his gaze slowly swept across the leaders now standing against him.

He recognized their faces. Their auras.

He remembered which ones had smiled at him just hours ago.

And then he spoke, his voice low and sharp.

"I can understand why this bitch wants me dead."

He gestured toward Azula.

"But what about the rest of you? What did I ever do to you?"

"I protected your geniuses. I led them out of a death trap. I brought them here."

His voice hardened. "And this is what I get?"

One of the leaders stepped forward, face calm, voice eerily casual.

"It's not personal."

Max stared at him in disbelief.

"You're too talented," the man continued. "Too fast, too strong. You've gained too much. We know you entered the ancient temple. You must have obtained treasures… inheritance… secrets."

Another leader stepped in.

"We just want to understand you." He smiled slightly. "A quick soul search. That's all."

"Yeah," came a third voice. "If we can learn what makes you special, maybe we can finally break through to the Master Rank."

A fourth one spoke up—this time with a grim tone.

"And don't forget, the Monarch wants you dead. If we kill you here, maybe we'll be spared his wrath. It's a win-win."

Max listened in silence as they revealed themselves one by one.

The truth of their greed. Their fear. Their hunger.

These weren't heroes.

They were cowards dressed in glory.

His jaw tightened. His hands curled into fists.

A flicker of black flame danced along his fingertips.

His heart pounded—not from fear… but rage.

A dark, boiling fury spread through him, coating every thought like tar.

'They're all the same…'

'Smiling faces hiding knives. Speaking of gratitude while plotting betrayal. Protecting their own legacies at the cost of others.'

'There's no honor here. No justice. Only greed.'

Only predators.

And something inside Max snapped.

The rage that had been building—slow, quiet, patient—finally overflowed.

His breath grew cold.

His skin prickled with surging power.

His Infernal Demon Tattoo burned beneath his palm.

The Draconic Essences inside him stirred.

His soul pulsed with a silent scream.

He looked up, eyes glowing faintly with a storm buried behind them.

"If you want to kill me…" he said slowly, his voice like a whisper before a tempest,

"…then..."

And in that instant—

Everyone could feel it.

Something had changed.

Before anyone could move—

It hit.

A sudden crash of soul pressure dropped like a divine hammer from the heavens.

The air itself seemed to snap, bending under the weight of a force that none of them could prepare for. The very space around them distorted, as though time itself had been paused by a being far beyond their comprehension.

For a breathless moment, no one could speak.

No one could even think.

It was a soul pressure.

But not just any soul pressure.

This was something… beyond them.

Utterly transcendent.

Those present—leaders of the Valora Continent, men and women who had reached the peak of the Expert Rank, who had stood unchallenged for decades—

They all felt it.

And they all knew the same terrifying truth:

This power didn't belong to them.

And it certainly didn't belong to someone at the Adept Rank.

But it did.

It belonged to him.

To Max.

They couldn't wrap their minds around it.

An Adept Rank possessing such a soul?

A yellow soul, yes—some had sensed it before.

But this?

This wasn't just the glow of a yellow soul.

This was a manifestation of dominance.

Of authority.

Of overwhelming spiritual force.

It was like staring at a star through mortal eyes—blinding, crushing, unstoppable.

But the pressure wasn't aimed at the leaders.

No…

They quickly realized, to their growing horror, that they were not the targets at all.

It was the geniuses.

One by one, heads turned toward the younger cultivators standing behind Max.

And what they saw… chilled them to their very bones.

Every single one of the young geniuses… was on their knees.

Foam trickled from the corners of their mouths.

Their eyes had rolled back, pupils glassy and unfocused.

Their faces were drained of color—blank, lifeless.

Some trembled.

Others slumped completely.

A few were even twitching uncontrollably, as if their souls were trying to flee from their own bodies.

It was a scene from a nightmare.

And not even the most talented among them was spared.

Not Anton, whose pride was second only to his arrogance.

Not the sons and daughters of noble houses.

Not the students of prestigious sects.

Only a few remained standing.

Crown Prince Aelric, face pale, but still holding himself upright.

Amelia, trembling but conscious.

Jack, Callie, Revenna…

And…

Alice.

She stood silent, a flicker of red flame rising faintly from her feet—her phoenix spirit shielding her soul by a hair's breadth.

The rest?

Collapsed.

And everyone knew—if Max had wished it… they would all be dead already.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Azula's smirk had vanished.

Several leaders took an instinctive step back, their expressions grim.

What the hell… was this boy?

A genius?

A monster?

Or something else entirely?