Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

"Congratulations, Max, for ascending to the eighth floor," Jason said, walking up to him with a broad smile, his tone sincere and admiring. "You’ve achieved something that many—if not all—geniuses in the Black Dragon Palace only dream of. Some spend their entire lives trying and never make it beyond the fifth or sixth. And yet, you... you made it to the eighth floor."

Max gave a simple nod, his expression calm as always. "I was lucky," he said modestly, though everyone around them knew there was nothing lucky about what he’d accomplished.

Jason smiled at Max’s humility but didn’t press further, his eyes flickering with curiosity toward his younger sister, Lucia, who stood a few paces away. He was eager to see how she would react, especially after all that had transpired between her and Max.

Lucia stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "Max," she said, her voice calm but holding a faint edge of steel. "I lost this time... but remember, there will come a day when I will defeat you. Fair and square."

Her tone carried no bitterness, only fierce resolve, and Max could see clearly that while she had accepted her loss today, it was only a temporary pause in her relentless pursuit of strength.

Max gave her a warm smile, his eyes steady. "I know," he said confidently. "But for that, you’ll have to wait until I ascend to the Divine Realm."

Lucia’s eyes narrowed slightly at the challenge, but she nodded, acknowledging his words without another remark. Then, without looking back, she turned and walked away with a purposeful stride.

Jason chuckled. "Well then, Max," he said, his gaze fond and proud, "I’ll be more than happy to welcome you in the Divine Realm. You’d love it there. It’s a magical place—far more vast and vibrant than this mortal realm. You belong there."

Max returned the sentiment with a silent nod.

"See ya soon," Jason said with a wink before quickly chasing after his sister, clearly worried she might cause trouble if left to stew on her thoughts too long.

Max stood there, watching them disappear into the crowd, his heart calm but resolute. The path to the Divine Realm had already begun—and this was only the beginning.

"You did good," Lady Virelia said, her voice steady, but the pride in her eyes betrayed the weight of those words. Her expression was unreadable to most, but Max could tell she was happy.

And why wouldn’t she be?

She hadn’t expected that this venture into the Mortal Realm would yield such extraordinary results.

And now, with Max as her direct student, one representing her sector, there was a glimmer of real possibility that she could be selected as one of the thirty-six Compound Masters in the Black Dragon Palace.

That meant influence, prestige, and access to greater power—things even someone like her pursued.

Max nodded, keeping his usual calm. "I have to return to my planet now," he said simply, not offering an excuse or dramatic farewell—just a quiet truth.

The things he’d seen and experienced, the growth he’d undergone, the encounters with legends and powers he had once only imagined—he needed to return, to take it all in and prepare for what was next.

Lady Virelia had expected as much. She inclined her head slightly, her silver eyes softening. "Let’s go and meet Lord Harthorne first. There are many rewards waiting for you right now."

"Rewards..." Max repeated under his breath, his brows twitching slightly as if reminded of something he had tossed to the back of his mind. In truth, he had completely forgotten about the rewards.

The True Inheritance Trial was meant to conclude when one reached the fourth floor of the Nine Dragons Painting. From that point onward, rewards were distributed according to contribution, performance, and comprehension.

And yet, Max had far exceeded those expectations, reaching not just the sixth or seventh, but the eighth floor. His path had veered into legend, and now the rewards he was about to receive would likely reflect that.

A small spark of curiosity rose within him as he followed Lady Virelia.

Not long after, Max and Lady Virelia returned to Lord Harthorne’s grand office—a place that now felt strangely smaller, more constraining after the expanse of the Nine Dragons Painting. But they weren’t alone.

Standing before Lord Harthorne were two other figures—one, a middle-aged man with deep-set eyes, sharp features, and an aura so heavy and obscure that Max couldn’t see through it at all.

The other was a young man, probably in his early twenties, dressed in dark robes with jet-black hair falling behind his shoulders. His strength was at the very peak of Expert Rank, and his expression oozed self-importance, as if he were royalty looking at a commoner.

The moment the middle-aged man laid eyes on Max, his lip curled in mocking amusement.

"Huh? Someone in the Seeker Rank?" he scoffed with a laugh that dripped contempt. His voice filled the chamber, as if he wanted every corner to echo with his derision. "Virelia, don’t tell me you’re dragging another piece of trash into your sector. Again."

Lady Virelia’s expression turned sharp, her eyes cold like steel drawn from its sheath. "Simon," she said icily, "don’t judge a book by its cover. That habit of yours will cost you, and one day, it’ll leave you with nothing but regret."

Simon snorted, clearly unbothered. "Regret? You’re defending this kid?" He waved a hand at Max as if dismissing a beggar from a palace gate. "This boy’s still in the Seeker Rank. What business does he have taking part in the True Inheritance Trial? Let alone rising in rank? I have never seen any Seeker Rank genius in the trial before. And yet here he stands," he said, turning now to Lord Harthorne with a half-smile of complaint.

"Tell me, Lord Harthorne—how does Obsidian Dragon City manage its affairs these days? Because from where I stand, it looks like you’re just handing out opportunities to mortals who’ll never rise."

Lord Harthorne didn’t respond immediately. His face remained unreadable, carved from stone, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth as if he were suppressing a smile—or perhaps holding back a storm.

He then leaned back in his chair, his fingers gently tapping the armrest as a slow, knowing smile curled on his lips. Deep within his eyes was a flicker of amusement, though he kept his voice calm and composed.

’This fool Simon... if only he knew. If only he knew that the very boy he’s mocking is marked by the legendary Mark of Divinity... if only he knew this same boy just ascended to the eighth floor of the Nine Dragons Painting...’ Harthorne nearly chuckled aloud at the thought. ’He’d probably faint from sheer disbelief.’

He folded his hands neatly before him and turned his gaze to Simon. "Is that so?" he asked in a voice that was pleasant, yet held a hidden edge. "You believe my Obsidian Dragon City is handling things poorly, hmm? That our standards are falling short?"

Simon nodded smugly, clearly believing he had the upper hand.

"Then how about this," Lord Harthorne continued, his tone light yet heavy with authority, "Let your so-called genius from Hundred Battle City face Max in a duel. Let the battlefield decide who’s worthy and who’s not. No more words. No more arrogant claims. Just one fight. The result will reveal everything—whose city cultivates the greater genius... and whose judgment is lacking."