Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

This rule alone ensured that no experts dared to grow complacent, not even at the peak.

Because of this strange and terrifying truth, many experts in the Middle Domain firmly believed that the true lifespan limit of the Divine Rank wasn't just ten thousand years.

They argued that the ten-thousand-year cap wasn't a natural boundary of the Divine Rank itself, but rather a restriction imposed by the world they lived in. Their belief was simple yet profound—the world they inhabited simply couldn't bear the presence of beings who had lived beyond that limit.

It wasn't that Divine Rank experts couldn't live longer, but that the world rejected them once they crossed that threshold. The evidence, in their eyes, was clear. Experts in the Expert, Master, Champion, Legend, and even Mythic Ranks all shared one truth: if they reached the end of their natural lifespans, they would simply die of old age. Their life force would gradually wither away, and they would pass peacefully—or painfully—but naturally.

But for Divine Rank experts, things were vastly different. When they reached the ten-thousand-year mark, they didn't weaken with age. Their bodies didn't break down. Instead, the heavens themselves turned against them.

Every year after crossing that limit, they would face the terrifying Seven Lightnings of Divine Punishment—a heavenly tribulation that wasn't just symbolic, but a deadly execution.

And it didn't strike once and disappear. It came back every single year, stronger each time, until the expert was obliterated or managed to ascend to a higher realm.

This stark contrast made it clear to many scholars, force leaders, and ancient beings that the Divine Rank's limit was not defined by the expert's body, but by the world's tolerance. If the world had no such limit, if it could bear more power, then perhaps a Divine Rank expert could live far longer—maybe even forever.

It was a theory that echoed across generations, whispered in the halls of ancient forces, and pondered upon by those who aimed to defy fate itself.

Now, knowing all this, it became clear why Grinders Haven was so brutal. Champion Rank experts, with lifespans stretching across millennia, often spent hundreds or even thousands of years battling inside the Battle Realm.

Some of them had fought more battles than a young genius like Max had eaten meals. They refined their techniques over centuries, perfecting every move, every strike, every counter. And unlike young prodigies who relied on talent and rapid growth, these veterans were built on pure experience, discipline, and endless combat refinement.

It was these monsters of war—some possibly over three thousand years old—that Max now risked facing in Grinders Haven. A youth not yet fifty, entering a battlefield where every opponent might carry a thousand lifetimes of battle scars.

Generally, the kind of people one would find dwelling in Grinders Haven weren't young geniuses or rising stars—they were warriors whose talent potential had already hit its ceiling. Most of them were stuck at the Champion Rank, unable to break through to the higher realms no matter how hard they tried.

These were experts who had already reached the peak of their natural talent. No matter how many resources or techniques they consumed, they couldn't go any further. But instead of fading away into obscurity, they chose to immerse themselves in what remained—the thrill of battle.

For them, the Battle Realm became their second home, and Grinders Haven was the perfect battlefield. With nowhere else to go, they fought endlessly, sharpening their techniques, reliving past glories, and holding onto a sense of purpose through combat alone.

Because of how rare it was for anyone new—especially young experts—to step into Grinders Haven, every battle that took place there was treated as a spectacle. It wasn't just a simple match. It was broadcasted live across the entire Battle Realm on giant floating screens that hovered in public halls, training centers, and sect arenas.

The moment Max appeared on one of those massive screens, it caused an instant stir. Whispers turned to chatter, and chatter became excited uproar. He wasn't just any challenger—he was a Master Rank expert at the first level, barely past his initial breakthroughs.

And yet, here he was, boldly choosing to face 2-star geniuses—warriors who had proven themselves through hundreds, if not thousands, of battles especially in the Grinders Haven moide.

To the audience, it was insanity. A youth in his prime, walking alone into a place reserved for veterans who'd seen centuries of bloodshed. The sheer audacity of it all made Max an instant sensation, and the entire Battle Realm began buzzing with his name.

Not only because he had chosen Grinders Haven, but because of the shocking fact that someone at his level dared to challenge opponents who were leagues above in both experience and status.

"I can't see who's behind the mask," someone in the crowd murmured, eyes fixed on the massive screen floating above the hall. "But judging by his build and posture, I'm sure he's some young expert. Still… how dare he choose to battle in Grinders Haven? And not just that—he even picked a 2-star genius difficulty while being just a pitiful 1st level Master Rank. Is he insane or just arrogant?"

Another voice chimed in, tone laced with unease. "And that mask... have you looked at it? It's just plain white. No holes for eyes. No designs. Just blank. Honestly, it's kind of creepy."

"Creepy?" someone snorted. "Forget creepy—look at the names on the screen. White Death versus Roger Hale. We all know Roger Hale. The guy's a beast in the Frost Region. Third level of Champion Rank and said to be practically undefeatable by anyone at the same level. His frost techniques alone can freeze someone's blood from twenty meters away. And then this masked guy… White Death?" The speaker let out a half-laugh, half-scoff. "That name doesn't suit someone with such weak strength. First level of Master Rank? What's he trying to prove?"

"He's going to get one-shot for sure," another added, shaking his head. "This is what happens when geniuses let their talent go to their heads. They think the world bends to them until reality slaps them down. Hard."

All around the Battle Realm, in every hall, training ground, and gathering place where the floating screens played the match, people watched with anticipation, amusement, and scorn. Comments flooded in, each more mocking than the last.

Max's appearance as White Death had stirred the entire realm—not with admiration, but with disbelief and ridicule. To most onlookers, this was nothing more than a suicide match, a young fool challenging a veteran warlord, all while wearing a mask that hid his face but not his supposed ignorance.