Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

'Just what kind of strength is this Buddha inheritance?' Max thought, gritting his teeth as his boots cracked deeper into the shattered earth.

Every muscle in his arms was straining, his sword trembling under the crushing pressure of the six radiant golden palms descending from the towering Buddha shadow behind Noah.

Sweat dripped from his chin, trailing down his neck, soaking into the black scales covering his body. His vision blurred for a moment, but he forced it to focus, unwilling to falter.

His mind spun, racing to comprehend the sheer might he was facing. The sword strike he had used just now—it wasn't weak. In fact, it was probably the second most powerful attack in his entire arsenal when it came to raw sharpness and destructive capability if he was talking about using just one inheritance, only falling short to the terrifying might of his triple flame concept inheritance.

And yet… he was being pushed back. Overpowered. The palms weren't just powerful—they carried the weight of belief, of faith, of an inheritance that embodied centuries of transcendence. Max clenched his jaw harder, veins bulging along his arms and neck, but he refused to take a step back.

Max knew deep down, if it had been anyone else in his position, even a 5th level Champion Rank genius, they would've crumbled under this pressure long ago.

What was keeping him on his feet wasn't just his raw strength—it was his level 2 Concept of Severing Sword, sharpened with the edge of invincibility, the will to sever all obstacles, to never yield.

It was the 600 Draconic Essences roaring inside his body, amplified further by his Dragon Scales Transformation. It was the refusal in his soul to kneel before anyone or anything, no matter how divine they seemed. And it was that stubborn, almost irrational flame of defiance that still kept him standing… even as the sky itself seemed to press down on him.

'Should I use another concept?' Max pondered amidst the deafening pressure pressing down on him. The golden palms shimmered with divine weight, glowing brighter as if to erase his existence entirely.

But even then, Max's mind remained unnervingly calm. He knew he wasn't even close to using his full strength. Not even half. In fact, if he were being honest, he was barely fighting with one-fourth of what he could truly unleash.

He had so many other concepts—terrifying ones—that if he added even a single one to his Severing Sword Concept right now, he was confident the golden palms before him would crumble like fragile glass under the force of a storm. One more concept… just one, and he could end this in a single slash.

But… would he do that?

No. Max wasn't foolish. He wasn't reckless. Showing multiple concept mastery—especially at such a high level—wouldn't just shock the watching elders and Noah. It would paint a target on his back larger than the sky above him.

In this world, being too brilliant too soon didn't always bring respect—it brought fear, schemes, and assassins. So, Max pushed through the pain, thinking of a strategy. If he was to win, it had to be without giving away his true cards.

And just as he finalized a risky yet clever approach in his head, a calm voice reached him through the storm of energy pressing down on his body.

"Admit defeat, my friend… This attack of mine is very strong." Noah's voice carried no arrogance, only a gentle certainty. He wasn't mocking Max—he was genuinely concerned, seeing him shaking under the weight of the golden palms, as if he could be flattened at any moment.

But Max… he just smiled. Blood trailed down from his lip, his arms trembling, his sword buzzing faintly from strain. Yet that smile never wavered. Because he wasn't done yet. Not even close.

"I have yet to show my full strength too," Max muttered, and the moment those words left his mouth, a sudden change rippled through him. His eyes flared—bright crimson, glowing like twin suns forged in hellfire.

A gust of invisible, bone-chilling wind swept across the battlefield as an overwhelming, dark aura erupted from his body. For a single fleeting instant—just a fraction of a heartbeat—the tips of his hair ignited into a blazing red, like sparks from a dying star.

It was as if some ancient, malevolent being had stirred inside him, releasing a suppressed hatred, a resentment that had been chained for eons. The very air seemed to groan under the weight of the infernal energy that had awakened.

It wasn't complete. It wasn't the full Infernal Demon Transformation. He had only use that ability for a fraction of a second. But even that flicker—only his eyes and a few strands of his hair—was enough.

The aura from Max's body twisted the space around him, distorting the golden hue of the giant palm and the six others hovering behind it. The immense Buddhist pressure, which had been moments from burying him, now trembled, flickering as though unsure of its dominance.

Max took one step forward. The ground cracked violently beneath his feet. Then, without a single shout or dramatic movement, he raised his sword—now pulsing with a wicked red aura tangled around the pure essence of his Level 2 Concept of Severing Sword—and slashed.

SLASH!

In that single motion, a ripple tore through the air. Time seemed to freeze for a second. Then came the sound—like countless bells shattering in unison. The enormous golden palm, and the six others formed from the Buddha's projection, were all split into pieces.

Not pushed back. Not resisted. Cut apart. Completely, utterly severed. The shards of golden light scattered into the sky like remnants of broken divinity, fading into the air with an almost mournful hum.

Max stood amidst the silence, his hair returning to its normal color, the red light vanishing from his eyes. The aura disappeared as quickly as it had arrived, leaving behind only a calm figure holding a slightly trembling sword.

He had only used a fraction of the Infernal Demon Transformation—barely even tapping into it—but it was enough to slice through what had seemed untouchable. Enough… to turn the tides.