Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

438: Korbin, 5th Seat of Demon Race

438: Korbin, 5th Seat of Demon Race

Korbin.

The Fifth Seat of the Demon Race.

“You…” Craig muttered, recognizing him instantly.

His voice dropped low, eyes narrowing.

But after a long moment, he gave a nod.

“Alright.

You get one chance.

Go and kill him.”

Korbin’s lips curled into a small, dark grin as he turned toward Max.

“How about it?” he asked, his tone casual, almost mocking.

Max’s answer was a slow smile.

“Honestly?

I was waiting for your battle,” he said, his voice calm but edged with anticipation.

Finally, a direct fight.

A clear confrontation.

No political maneuvering.

No veiled threats.

Just combat.

A part of him relaxed slightly.

The situation had de-escalated—for now.

He didn’t have to unleash his Authority yet, but he kept the thought close.

‘If the demons don’t back off after this, I’ll have no choice.

I’ll kick them out of the tower… or worse, kill them.’

Without another word, Max and Korbin moved simultaneously, stepping away from the center of the hall.

The crowd parted in silence, making way for the two figures as they ascended into the massive circular arena suspended at the heart of the tenth floor.

The energy in the hall shifted once more, the tension sharpening like a blade as the two stood at opposite ends—Max, clad in quiet power, his eyes unwavering; and Korbin, brimming with fierce, oppressive aura, eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

They faced each other.

And the entire Tower held its breath.

“I’m at the peak of Seeker Rank,” Korbin said slowly, his voice echoing across the quiet arena as he stepped forward, his presence radiating sharp, oppressive heat.

His crimson eyes bore into Max like blades, yet the younger man stood there, utterly calm.

“And you?

You’re only at level six of Adept Rank…”

He sneered, lifting his chin slightly.

“There’s a fourteen-level difference between us.

Fourteen.

That gap isn’t something arrogance or luck can bridge.” His tone grew colder.

“You should know—the difference between the Five Seats and other so-called geniuses is like comparing a fly to a moth.

We don’t share the same sky.

And yet…” he narrowed his eyes, “…you stand there, looking like you’ve already won.”

Max, standing opposite him with hands loose at his sides, didn’t flinch.

His eyes remained serene, his expression unreadable.

Then, with a slight shrug and a casual tilt of his head, he replied, “I don’t know.” His voice was calm, devoid of pride, yet filled with unwavering certainty.

“If I’m being honest… before I entered the Pillar of Divine Appraisal, I was already sure that I could defeat all the so-called top geniuses of the Lost Continent.”

His words echoed through the arena, drawing silent gasps from the crowd that listened with bated breath.

“And now…” he added, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “now that I’ve experienced the Pillar—understood what lies at the peak of talent, touched the edge of concepts your kind can’t even comprehend—my declaration isn’t just confidence.” He took a step forward, his voice quiet yet absolute.

“It’s truth.

You… or anyone on this continent at the Seeker Rank… can’t defeat me.”

The words hung in the air like thunder after lightning—impossible to ignore, impossible to dismiss.

They were not just a boast.

They were a declaration from someone who had stood where no one else had.

“Bold words!” Korbin snorted, his eyes glowing with fury as he reached behind his back and drew his massive black sword, the blade snarling with demonic energy as if it were alive, thirsting for battle.

The moment it left its sheath, a heavy, malevolent aura surged outward, pressing against the very space of the arena, causing a visible ripple in the air.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone floor beneath his feet as his demonic energy flared, surrounding his body like a black inferno.

“Let’s see if your tongue can back up your strength, Max!”

Max didn’t respond with words.

He simply drew his sword in a single smooth motion.

No flourish.

No grand release of energy.

Just a simple, effortless draw—a movement so clean and precise it almost felt unreal.

His blade didn’t roar, didn’t shine, didn’t scream for attention.

It simply existed—quiet, sharp, and waiting.

BOOM!

Korbin was the first to move.

His feet shattered the arena floor as he launched himself forward, sword raised high, demonic energy flooding into the air like a violent storm.

His first strike came down with all the power of someone at the peak of Seeker Rank—a slash that would split mountains, burn forests, and cleave through dozens of Adept-level warriors in a blink.

Max met it with a single, horizontal swing of his sword.

CLANG!

The clash echoed like a bell struck by a divine hammer.

The demonic blade, roaring with black energy, was halted cold in the air.

The force of the collision created a shockwave that rocked the entire arena, dust and debris exploding outward in a ring.

Yet, when the smoke cleared, Max stood firm, unshaken, his sword resting lightly in front of him, unmoved by the full force of Korbin’s power.

Korbin’s eyes widened.

“Tch!”

He struck again, this time with a spinning slash aimed at Max’s side, followed immediately by an upward arc toward his chest.

Max turned his wrist slightly—nothing extravagant, just a minute shift in angle—and met both strikes with exactly what they needed: a simple parry, a deflection, a tap.

Again and again, Korbin unleashed a storm of attacks.

Overhead strikes, spinning blows, wide arcs laced with demonic fire—each attack precise, fast, and lethal.

And yet, with each one, Max responded with quiet mastery.

A calm pivot.

A slide of the foot.

A wrist flick.

No wasted movements.

No grand counters.

Only simplicity—refined to perfection.

Max’s sword wasn’t dancing, it was breathing.

He had no named techniques, no flashy sequences—only the essence of the sword, born from countless battles within the Pillar of Divine Appraisal.

His style was reduced to the purest form, polished until even chaos itself couldn’t disrupt its flow.

“Stop dodging and fight me properly!” Korbin roared, frustration creeping into his voice as he leapt back, demonic energy surging violently.

His sword pulsed red and black as he howled, “Demonic Eclipse Slash!” He swung the blade in a wide arc, sending a giant crescent wave of destruction barreling toward Max.

Max took a breath.

His eyes didn’t even flicker.

He stepped forward.

Raised his sword.

And cut.

SHIIING!

With a single, clean stroke, he sliced through the wave.

Not just split—it unraveled, disintegrating like mist exposed to the sun.

The attack faded as if it were never there.

Korbin’s rage boiled over.

His sword trembled in his hands, not with fear—but with the violent energy he had been restraining no longer.

“Fell Storm Cutter!” he roared, his voice cracking through the air like thunder.

He spun with terrifying speed, his massive blade sweeping around him in a wild circle.

Black demonic energy flared from the edges of the sword like a raging hurricane, tearing through the air and pulling up huge fragments of the arena floor into the storm.

The technique created a vortex of slashes—countless arcs of sharp wind spinning toward Max with murderous speed from every direction.

But Max’s eyes didn’t flicker.

He raised his sword—not high, not low—just exactly where it needed to be.

One horizontal slash.

That was all.

SHHHHNK!

His blade glided through the chaotic winds, severing them at the source, stilling the vortex like slicing through silk.

The moment the fell storm reached him, it collapsed into harmless gusts that washed over his robes like a summer breeze.

But Korbin wasn’t done.

“Black Tempest Slash!” He bellowed again, his body shooting into the air as he lifted his sword above his head.

The blade darkened into pure black, absorbing light itself, and then—he descended.

A vertical strike that tore down from the heavens like a black meteor, trailing a violent tempest behind it, shrieking as it fell toward Max like the wrath of a god.

CREATORS’ THOUGHTS

ShinGotLost

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