Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

He froze.

A strange sensation pulsed through his veins.

Faint. Subtle. But unmistakable.

His blood.

A connection.

His eyes widened.

That pulse… that signal—he knew it. It was the same one he had crafted months ago when he gave Alice a vial of his blood to track her if they were ever separated.

"No way…" he whispered. His breath caught.

He concentrated—barely able to move, but fully aware.

The connection was active.

That meant…

She was alive.

"But how…?" he muttered, stunned.

The image of Alice turning to dust replayed in his mind—Mark's smile, the snap of his fingers, the horror in her eyes—and yet this sensation…

It was real.

It was her.

Just as hope sparked in his chest—something darker stirred too.

The memory twisted. The pain surged again.

Rage.

It returned like a beast snapping free of its cage.

His hands clenched into the dirt.

His breath turned ragged.

His body trembled—not from pain, but from fury.

Mark.

The one who played him.

Who toyed with Alice's life.

Who sealed him in that pit and laughed.

Max's heart pounded harder.

The tattoos on his skin began to shimmer again in red—faint, pulsing, awakening.

His eyes burned, glowing dimly red.

"So, you've finally come to your senses, huh…"

The voice was sarcastic, familiar.

Max stirred slightly as a small, floating figure shimmered into view—his ever-annoying, ever-watchful companion.

Blob.

He hovered a few feet above Max, arms crossed, looking down with a sneer.

Max, flat on his back, bruised, battered, and barely able to move, lifted his eyes weakly toward him.

"You look like roadkill," Blob said bluntly. "And that's me being polite."

He floated in a slow circle around Max, inspecting him. His tone turned sharper. "You've completely given yourself to that cursed sword."

Max's lips barely moved, but his voice was clear. Heavy. Resigned.

"I know."

Even now—even now—he could feel it.

The pull.

The sword lying just feet away, pulsing faintly, was still whispering to him. Calling to him like a long-lost lover.

He could feel the chaos clawing at the edges of his mind.

His muscles twitched involuntarily at the thought of picking it up again.

He clenched his jaw.

Blob narrowed his eyes.

"Let me take a look."

He floated just above Max's forehead, placed a tiny glowing hand against his skin.

A soft green light radiated from Blob's touch—gentle, warm, like a breeze in early spring.

For a moment, Max didn't feel anything.

Then—

Everything changed.

His mind, once storming with noise and fractured thoughts, suddenly became quiet.

Peaceful.

The incessant urges—the bloodlust, the whispers, the desire to kill—vanished.

For the first time in months, Max felt clarity.

His breathing slowed. His limbs relaxed. His heart, once pounding, eased into a calm rhythm.

It felt… pure.

Too pure.

He blinked slowly, then whispered, "What… did you do? I feel… good."

Blob smirked and floated back.

"Didn't do much," he said casually. "Just scrubbed the filth from your soul and cleaned out the noise in your mind. That sword... it left more than just markings."

Max turned his head slightly, eyes landing on the Abyss Dragon Sword, still pulsing faintly in the dirt nearby.

The red glow had dimmed—but he could still feel its presence. Like a shadow pressed against his spine.

"It's quiet now," he muttered.

"Good," Blob said. "But don't get cocky. The moment you start craving its power again, it'll come back. And next time, you may not crawl back out."

Max nodded slowly.

He raised a trembling hand and summoned his Level 3 Space Aura, letting it swirl around the blade. The energy formed a gentle cocoon of shimmering spatial energy.

With a flick of his wrist, he sealed the sword and sent it into his storage space.

Out of sight.

Out of reach.

For now.

Max slumped back with a groan. "I can't move."

Blob shrugged mid-air. "Of course you can't."

He started ticking off with glowing fingers. "Your body's been saturated by infernal energy way above your current level. You forced a transformation using the Infernal Demon Tattoo, pushed your physique far beyond what an Adept Rank should ever handle, fought someone at the peak of Expert Rank—and then used a broken teleportation rune to launch yourself across continents like a human missile."

He crossed his arms, floating down to Max's eye level.

"Oh, and let's not forget… you landed straight into a spatial storm halfway through. Your body's lucky to be intact, much less functional."

Max exhaled slowly, turning his face toward the sky.

"I see," he muttered. "That… actually explains a lot."

Blob floated up again and glanced toward the horizon.

"Well, you're alive. Broken, but alive."

He looked down at Max again.

"And lucky for you, we're in the Lost Continent now."

Max's eyes flicked toward him. "Where exactly?"

Blob shrugged. "Not where you were supposed to land, that's for sure."

Max sighed.

He had no strength left.

But as his eyes slowly drifted shut, one name echoed in his thoughts.

Alice.

And somewhere in the distance…

That faint pulse of his blood connection continued to beat.

Still alive.

Still out there.

"Huh?" Blob tilted his small glowing head, eyes narrowing as he gazed off toward the horizon. "Someone's nearby… a group. Might be useful."

Max blinked, barely able to turn his head.

Blob floated above him for a moment longer, squinting at the approaching figures. "Yeah. They look harmless. Maybe they'll help patch you up."

And with that, he gave a lazy wave and disappeared—vanishing into Max's Dimension of Spirit in a shimmer of light.

Max exhaled softly, his body still aching, pinned to the earth by sheer exhaustion.

Then his vision shifted.

Even though his physical body was paralyzed, his Three Dimensional Body—an ability that allowed him to observe his surroundings on multiple layers—extended outward.

He immediately sensed them.

A cart, rickety and wooden, pulled by two large, tusked beasts that looked like a cross between wild boars and oxen, was approaching the edge of the crater. The cart creaked and rattled as it rolled to a slow stop.

People climbed down from it—adults and children, dressed in long, faded robes and earthy garments that looked like they belonged to a forgotten century. Their hair was tied back with cloth bands, some wore straw hats, others carried woven baskets.

They looked traditional.

'Too traditional,' Max thought.

'This is the Lost Continent?' he mused silently, his brow twitching in confusion.

He had expected powerful warriors, hardened cultivators, or cities brimming with spirit arrays and deadly politics. But these people looked like… farmers. Isolated. Rural.

And then he noticed their auras.

Weak.

Painfully so.

Max scanned them quickly with his spiritual sense and was stunned by what he saw.

Level 1. Level 2. Novice Rank.

And that was just a few of them.

The rest?

Ordinary humans.

No power. No aura. No cultivation. Nothing.

"What the hell is this place…?" Max muttered under his breath, his voice rasping. "I thought humans here were supposed to be stronger than back in Valora…"

Just then, movement caught his eye at the edge of the crater.

Three small figures—children—peered cautiously over the rim, their faces wide-eyed and curious.

"W-Whoa…" one of them whispered. "Is he dead?"

"Look at those markings on his wrist…" another said, voice trembling. "Is he a demon?"

The third boy stepped forward, cupping his hands over his mouth.

"Father! Father, come quick! There's someone down here!"

Max blinked slowly, trying to lift his head, but his body refused to move.

Still, even in his weakened state, his heart stirred.

He didn't know who these people were, or where exactly in the Lost Continent he had landed.

But fate had brought someone to him.

And for now…

That was enough.