Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

The screen hovering above flickered silently before the word "Start" appeared.

But even with the signal given, neither of them moved. There was no rush. No sudden flash of lightning or explosion of aura. Only two warriors standing face-to-face, acknowledging the strength in each other.

The young man from Bright Buddha Palace folded his hands in front of him and bowed slightly. His voice was calm and clear. "Friend, my name is Noah Ans. Let us have a good battle."

Max felt no arrogance, no hostility—just sincerity in his words. He mirrored the gesture respectfully. "I'm Max Morgan."

"Friend, be careful, I am about to attack you," Noah said gently, the corners of his mouth curved in a serene smile that somehow made the air around him feel heavier. He calmly raised his right hand and extended his palm forward with a motion so smooth it looked like the unfolding of a lotus.

At first, there was no pressure. No killing intent. Just peace. But then the wind began to stir around his outstretched hand—softly at first, then more violently, spiraling and howling as if the heavens themselves had taken notice. A radiant golden glow enveloped his palm, and in the blink of an eye, the chant of ancient Buddhist scriptures echoed in the surroundings, an ethereal vibration that shook the soul.

Max's body tensed the moment the golden palm began to move.

Its motion was slow… almost deceptively so. As though anyone could dodge it with ease. But Max's instincts screamed otherwise. His eyes, sharp and trained to detect the slightest shifts in space, caught it—the palm didn't travel through space. It skipped it. It teleported.

One moment it was in Noah's hand, the next it was already in front of Max's chest, inches away, massive and all-consuming like a divine judgment descending from the sky.

Its sheer size left Max breathless. It was like a divine hand, big enough to flatten mountains, and compared to it, Max felt like nothing more than a fly being swatted away. His hand moved instinctively, reaching for his sword—but just then, a strange heaviness took hold of him.

It wasn't weight on his body, it was pressure on his soul. A sensation as if the palm wasn't just trying to crush him physically—it was trying to erase his very existence. His will, his thoughts, his spirit—everything trembled.

'What is this feeling?' Max thought, his heart pounding. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. His limbs were screaming to move, but his soul was screaming louder—Run. Run or be annihilated.

'Is this the chant?' Max wondered, his thoughts muffled by the overwhelming sound of the sacred verses echoing in the air like invisible chains binding his spirit. Realizing it wasn't a physical attack alone—realizing that the chant itself was affecting his soul—Max did something unthinkable.

He closed his eyes and with a deep breath, used his vital essence to seal off all his senses. Sight. Sound. Smell. Even touch and perception—everything turned to darkness. And in that hollow silence, he found clarity.

Only then did he feel it—the true calm hidden beneath the crushing aura. It was like standing in the eye of a storm. Everything outside was raging, but inside, everything was still. And in that stillness, his Three Dimensional Body activated with precision, calculating not just the direction, but the exact timing he would need.

He drew his sword, the familiar hum of it in his hand feeling like an extension of his soul. His body overflowed with the power of his level 2 Concept of Severing Sword, the energy around him sharp enough to cut through even the sacred chants resonating in the air.

"Severing Flow Sword Art!" he muttered under his breath, and in a flash, his sword slashed upward to meet the golden palm.

Bang!

A thunderous sound rang out the moment his blade collided with the golden hand. Max felt it in every fiber of his being—the feeling of striking a mountain. Not just any mountain, but a divine one that had stood unshaken for eons.

His sword trembled, his arms shivered, and it felt as though all his effort had been absorbed completely, like tossing a stone into a bottomless lake.

Gritting his teeth, Max roared inwardly, "600 Draconic Essences!" In an instant, his body surged with overwhelming power. His black glowing scales shimmered as that terrifying strength surged into his sword arm. The sheer force caused the ground beneath his feet to fracture, spiderweb cracks spreading outward as rocks lifted and dust rose.

But even then… he was still being pushed back.

'I'm getting pushed back…' Max thought, his mind strangely calm despite the pressure. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't scared. He was simply... focused. Focused in a way he had never been before.

'No matter how powerful this palm attack is…' Max told himself, eyes narrowing to a single point, '...it is ultimately still a palm. And my sword… my sword can sever anything.'

Everything else disappeared.

The sounds of the battle, the watching elders, the drifting chants in the air—none of it existed anymore. There was no sky. No ground. No enemy. Only two things remained in Max's world: his sword... and that colossal golden palm pressing toward him like divine judgment.

He no longer saw it as an attack. It wasn't Noah's power, or the Bright Buddha Palace's prestige—it was simply an obstacle. A wall standing in his way. A challenge daring to block his path forward. And his task was simple: to cut it.

"The true essence of the sword..." Max whispered, his voice nearly drowned by the chaos, yet it carried with eerie calm, "...is not to kill."

He stilled. His breathing slowed. Even the subtle tremor in his blade ceased, as if the sword itself was listening.

"It is not bloodlust. It is not conquest. It is not dominance." His tone was soft—barely audible—but every word fell like thunder in his own heart.

Then, the world fell into silence.

"The sword exists to cut apart all things that bind," he continued, his eyes reflecting the sword's light, "all things that chain, all things that corrupt the soul… all things that block one's path."

At that moment, the sword no longer felt like a weapon. It felt like a force of nature. No resistance. No sound. No fear.

The last shiver in the blade vanished.

"It is to sever everything."

SLASH!

With a single, fluid motion, his sword moved—not violently, not aggressively, but with an elegance that almost seemed gentle. Yet, the moment it passed, the golden palm—so vast and powerful that it once seemed unmovable—was cleaved perfectly in two. The halves hovered for a breathless instant... then crumbled into glimmering dust and scattered to the wind, as if they had never existed.

And Max stood still beneath the falling golden fragments—silent, unshaken, sword lowered—like a man who had just carved open the heavens.

'My level 2 Concept of Severing Sword… it just moved a little closer to the intermediate stage,' Max thought as he slowly opened his eyes, still standing in the fading glow of the golden palm's remnants. His breath was steady, his gaze calm, but inside, he could feel it—something had shifted.