Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Hearing the bloodthirsty mutters from the demons and elves around him, Max simply smirked and walked forward without hesitation. With a smooth motion, he leapt straight into the center of the arena, landing calmly in the wide circular space that had been left empty for battle.

He turned slowly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the crowd of onlookers from all three races — humans, elves, and demons alike. Then, raising one hand, he beckoned them forward with a single curling motion of his finger. ”Come on,” he called out, his voice calm but firm, ringing across the hall. ”Let the battle begin. Challenge me, if you dare.”

Almost immediately, a voice responded. ”I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

An elf with fiery red hair stepped forward from the crowd, eyes burning with confidence and disdain. He wasn’t alone — trailing behind him were five or six more elves, their presence silent but intimidating. At the front of that group walked none other than Elliot, the golden-haired elf Max had clashed with before.

”You’re Max, right?” the red-haired elf sneered as he came closer to the arena. ”I’m Zealot — just an ordinary genius of the Sylvaria Kingdom. But even someone ordinary like me should be more than enough to deal with you.”

Max smiled faintly, unmoved by the bravado. ”I accept your challenge,” he said, his eyes flicking over Zealot for just a moment — enough to see through his strength in an instant.

’Level 1 of Seeker Rank… really?’ Max wondered silently. ’Did they already forget I defeated a level 3 Seeker Rank yesterday? Why would they send someone so weak against me?’ Still, he didn’t mind. If they wanted to underestimate him, he’d let them pay for it.

Zealot grinned as he jumped into the arena, landing directly across from Max. ”You’ve never fought an elf before, have you?” he said mockingly, raising one hand as red flames burst to life from his palm.

In an instant, dozens of bird-like figures made of pure fire rose around the arena, flapping their wings as they circled and trapped Max in a prison of flames.

And within one of the largest flaming birds, Zealot stood tall, arms folded behind his back, eyes narrowed with confidence — convinced he had already won.

”I saw your fight yesterday against that demon,” Zealot said with a smug smile, his voice echoing across the arena. He stood proudly atop his massive flaming bird, staring down at Max with confidence gleaming in his eyes. ”And I noticed something… you’re physically very strong. Strong enough to beat a level 3 Seeker Rank while only being at level 1 of the Adept Rank. That’s when I realized — your class must specialize in the body. You’re probably some kind of genius in physical strength.”

Then, with a sneer tugging at the corner of his lips, he added, ”But that won’t help you here. You’re facing an elf now. We don’t rely on brute strength. We’re masters of mana control. And you—” he pointed at Max, eyes flashing with disdain, ”—are about to see what true magical precision looks like.”

With those arrogant words, Zealot raised his hand high.

”Go!”

Whish! Whish! Whish! Whish!

At his command, the fiery birds circling the arena shot forward, their blazing wings cutting through the air like razors. Ten or more of them came from every direction, aiming to surround and engulf Max in a storm of scorching flames.

Max stood still at the center of the storm, calm and unmoved. His eyes scanned the incoming fire constructs as he slowly reached behind him and drew his black sword. It gleamed with a dark edge under the light of the flames.

’It’s been a while, buddy,’ he thought, gripping the handle tight. As he did, a powerful wave of energy pulsed through the blade — the distinct, cutting force of a level 3 Sword Aura.

Lifting the sword high above his head, Max exhaled quietly and brought it down in a sharp, precise slash.

”Elite Sword Arts.”

A clean arc of power swept across the arena.

Boom!

The moment the sword moved, the flaming birds were obliterated. Some exploded on the spot, their flames puffing out like weak candles. Others were slashed apart midair, vanishing instantly. A few were thrown back and shattered into sparks before hitting the ground. In mere seconds, the blazing assault had been reduced to nothing. The arena went silent.

Max stood alone, untouched, his sword resting calmly by his side.

Across from him, Zealot remained atop his giant flaming bird — but his expression had completely changed. His face had gone pale, his eyes wide and stunned. He stared at the empty arena around Max, where not a single one of his attacks had landed. His army of fire had been destroyed in the blink of an eye.

Max wasn’t the least bit surprised by the result of his attack. After all, Elite Sword Arts wasn’t just any skill—it was a Legendary Rank skill, and not just any legendary skill either.

He had also realized something else long ago—if he took a basic skill, say of Common or Uncommon Rank, and upgraded it step-by-step through each tier until it reached Legendary Rank, the final version was always far more powerful than a freshly learned skill of the same rank.

It was as if the growth of the skill carried a foundation of refinement and familiarity that made it something else entirely. He had experienced this firsthand with several of his skills, and Elite Sword Arts was no exception.

”Any last words before I send you off?” Max asked calmly, his tone casual, like he was asking about the weather.

”I–I’m not getting defeated that easily!” Zealot barked, gritting his teeth in frustration. Refusing to give up, he raised his hand and yelled, ”Sphere of Destruction!”

The red flames that still lingered in the air began to swirl violently around him, gathering together into a dense, burning sphere the size of a football. The moment it finished forming, it launched toward Max with a screeching sound, tearing through the air at terrifying speed.

But Max remained still. Calm. Focused.

And then—Slice!