Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

"You are weak," Max said calmly, shaking his head in quiet disappointment. His voice was soft, almost emotionless, yet it struck like a hammer to the chest.

In the next instant, black flames burst into existence around the old man. The air twisted violently as the Crimson Reaper Sphere formed—an huge orb of jet-black fire that radiated a dreadful heat, darker than the night, heavier than death. Old Man Burning Cloud barely had a moment to react before he was swallowed whole by the flames.

"AAH! These flames—these flames are burning me! HOW?! I can control flames! Why are they burning me?!" he screamed from within the sphere, his voice cracking into madness. His body writhed, his flesh seared, his bones cracked as the black flames dug into his very soul.

He who had once bent fire to his will, who had made volcanoes kneel, now found himself consumed by a flame he couldn't tame. No technique, no resistance, no willpower could stop the agony. The flames weren't just fire—they were judgment.

And then, Max raised his hand. The black sphere trembled. Without a word, he clenched his fist.

BOOM!

The Crimson Reaper Sphere imploded, collapsing inward with terrifying force before vanishing completely into the air—leaving behind nothing. No body. No ash. No trace. Old Man Burning Cloud was gone, erased entirely from the battlefield.

Across the Battle Realm, silence returned once more, heavy and suffocating. For the second time, a famed Champion Rank master had been wiped out by a 1st level Master Rank youth. And this time, no one dared speak again. They could only stare. White Death… was becoming a nightmare carved into flame.

"Even Old Man Burning Cloud suffered the same fate as Roger!" a voice cried out from the crowd, echoing with disbelief that mirrored the expressions on thousands of faces.

It was as if lightning had struck the Battle Realm twice in the same breath, and people were struggling to make sense of it.

"Defeating Old Man Burning Cloud in a single move is something even top-tier geniuses of the three-star rankings would struggle with—and yet White Death did it like it was nothing. This White Death… he's no simple man."

Murmurs turned into wild discussions, disbelief giving way to frantic speculation.

"Who is he?" someone asked, almost desperately. "Why are we hearing the name White Death for the first time? And more importantly—which of the Seven Overlord Forces of the Middle Domain does he belong to? Or could he be a hidden genius cultivated in secret by one of the Four God Nations?"

The questions came in waves, louder with each voice joining the storm.

"I don't care who he is," another man shouted over the chaos, voice trembling with awe. "All I know is that right now, at this exact moment, the entire Middle Domain must be hearing his name. White Death. It's not every day you see someone this young step into Grinders Haven—and it's definitely not every day you see a 1st level Master Rank erasing 3rd level Champion Rank masters like they're nothing more than insects underfoot."

And just like that, the entire Battle Realm erupted once again. Cheers, gasps, disbelief, admiration—it all surged like a tidal wave across the realm. Tens of thousands of experts, geniuses, elders, and spectators all shouting the same name.

White Death.

It was a scene unlike any other. In the long and storied history of the Battle Realm, where countless legendary battles had unfolded, no one had ever seen something quite like this.

A masked youth, unknown to the world, stepping into the most brutal battlefield of all and turning it into his stage—defeating one feared veteran after another without even letting them touch him.

It wasn't just shocking. It was historic.

Standing amidst the scorched remains of the flaming world, surrounded by the ashes of Old Man Burning Cloud and the burning ruins of what once stood tall, Max remained still. The heat swirled gently around him, but his focus had turned inward, deep in thought.

"The full power of all three of my flame inheritances… can only be truly unleashed once I reach the Legend Rank or beyond," he muttered quietly, a flicker of realization glinting in his voice.

Though he had already mastered each of the three flame inheritances to their absolute peak—a feat that most experts couldn't achieve even after thousands of years—he knew he was still far from showing their real might. Right now, at the 1st level of Master Rank, he could only use a fraction of their power.

His body, his mana, his strength—it simply wasn't enough to bear the full weight of these monstrous legacies. That wasn't a flaw in his technique or comprehension. It was a matter of raw, foundational strength. The kind that only Legend Rank or higher experts possessed.

Only at those levels would his mana reservoir be vast enough, stable enough, and strong enough to handle the terrifying output of the fully mastered inheritances.

One had to understand just how incredible that fact was. A fully mastered inheritance wasn't a technique—it was a legacy, a law, a force capable of tearing through realms and burning down entire battlefields. It was beyond what Master Rank geniuses should even dream of wielding.

And yet, Max did. The fact that he could already call upon them—even if not at their fullest potential—proved just how much of a monster he truly was. Not just a genius. Not just a prodigy. But a walking calamity waiting to be unleashed.

Shaking his head lightly, Max cast aside his thoughts and initiated his next battle. In a flash of light, his body was transported once more, this time landing softly on a wide grassy plain that stretched far into the horizon.

A gentle breeze brushed against his body, rustling the blades of grass and causing his now-red hair to flutter gracefully in the wind. Yes—his hair was red now.

It wasn't natural, of course. It was the effect of his mask, a peculiar treasure he possessed. More than just a cover for his face, the mask could alter his appearance in subtle ways, including the color of his hair.

Max had used it once before when he needed to sneak out unnoticed from the Sun Palace to meet Alice. It had worked flawlessly then, and it worked now, allowing him to carry this identity of "White Death" while staying hidden from the world.

He allowed his Three Dimensional Body to activate again, his senses spreading like waves across the plain, scanning everything within range. It didn't take long before he locked onto his opponent.

To his surprise, it wasn't one of those battle-worn, ancient monsters like before. No thousand-year-old expert clinging to fading glory. This time, it was a young woman. She stood quietly a few meters away, her long black hair flowing in the wind, her slim figure perfectly still.

Her eyes—dead eyes—stared blankly ahead, lifeless and uninterested. There was no hatred, no bloodlust, no excitement. It was as if nothing in this world could spark even the faintest flicker of emotion within her.

Yet, despite that emptiness, she stood there hugging a sword to her chest with both arms, not tightly, but gently, as though it was the only thing in the world she still cared about.

Something about her presence sent a strange ripple through the air—not of pressure, but of silence.

And as Max stood there, red hair swaying, mask concealing all expression, he understood one thing clearly—this girl was not normal.