Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

As the translation took hold, the symbols started to make sense. Each one represented not a word or phrase, but a principle of existence. The first symbol showed the birth of motion—the moment time began to flow. The second revealed stillness—the end of that motion. The third symbol was the bridge between them, the cycle of return that defined all creation.

Together, they formed the basis of Chrono Genesis.

The deeper Max went, the more he realized the magnitude of what he was learning. Chrono Genesis wasn’t merely an art or a divine technique. It was an embodiment of the origin of time itself.

It spoke of creation through destruction, of reversal through renewal. It was a process where one could give birth to a moment, destroy it, and then recreate it again—an endless loop of birth and return that mimicked the flow of time.

He could see fragments of what the technique could achieve:

Moments where time fractured like glass, only to reform perfectly.

A single breath stretched into eternity.

A strike frozen mid-air, suspended between two moments that no longer existed.

An entire reality collapsing and then rewinding itself as if nothing had ever happened.

But with every revelation came understanding of the cost. Chrono Genesis was not meant for mortals, not even for divine beings who had reached perfection in their realms. It demanded everything from its user—their strength, their essence, and even their soul.

The more one delved into it, the more they risked losing themselves in the flow of time, trapped between past and future, unable to return to the present.

The final symbol in his mind was different from the rest. It was a glowing spiral surrounded by darkness, constantly collapsing and expanding. The translation came slowly, each word feeling as though it was written directly onto his soul:

”To create is to end. To end is to begin. The one who commands both shall become the still point between existence and eternity.”

As the last line echoed through his consciousness, the flood of knowledge subsided. The golden rivers of time resumed their flow, and the cold stillness that had enveloped the space around them began to fade.

Max gasped softly, his body trembling as he opened his eyes. His mind still buzzed with the remnants of the knowledge he had just received. He could still see faint lines of light etched into his vision—symbols that refused to disappear.

Old Man First watched him carefully, his expression calm but serious. ”Now you understand,” he said slowly. ”Chrono Genesis is not a technique one practices. It is a truth one learns to exist within. You will not control time through it. You will learn to live where time itself is born.”

Max’s lips parted slightly as he processed those words. The technique wasn’t about changing time or bending it to his will—it was about becoming part of its origin. To perform Chrono Genesis was to recreate the moment of time’s first breath, to hold in one’s hands the balance between cause and effect, creation and destruction.

”The risk,” Old Man First continued, ”is as great as the power. With the help of Chrono Genesis, you have to split your flow of time from your body with a part of your soul and then use the embryonic form of the planet to create a clone suitable for you to comprehend the concept of time without causing the law of causality to affect you in anyway whatsoever.”

Max exhaled slowly. The danger was beyond measure, but so was the potential.

”I am ready,” Max said quietly, his gaze locked onto Old Man First. His voice carried neither hesitation nor bravado—it was calm, but that calmness had weight, as if it had been carved from pure resolve. ”Guard me against the Wraith of the World if it comes to strike me.”

Old Man First’s brows furrowed slightly as he observed the young man before him. ”You understand the risks right?” he asked after a moment, his tone steady but heavy with meaning.

”I do,” Max replied. ”But this is something I have to do.”

The old man nodded once, slowly. ”Very well.”

He raised his hand, and a thin ripple of light spread outward from his palm. It extended across the empty expanse, forming a shimmering barrier around the area they stood in. It wasn’t made of aura or divine essence. It was something else—something beyond material existence.

The flow of stars around them dimmed, and even the current of the River seemed to slow, as though it feared to disturb what was about to happen.

”Then begin,” Old Man First said quietly. ”I will shield you.”

Max inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. He could already feel the flow of time moving within him—the faint, invisible rhythm that connected every cell, every thought, every breath.

Ever since Max understood the Chrono Genesis technique, he felt that he had became very close to time than anything else. It was a strange sensation.

And yet he could feel it vividly.

It was subtle, like a whisper under the surface of his consciousness. And yet, when he focused, he could sense its presence clearly. It was the pulse of existence itself, the flow that kept him tethered to reality.

To separate it was an act that defied the order of the world. It wasn’t merely dangerous—it was forbidden.

The Wraith of the World was known to awaken when the natural order was threatened. It was not a being, not truly. It was a manifestation of the world’s laws—an automatic defense that struck down any existence that dared to disturb the balance.

To open the First Divine Vein, the Vein of Origin, had already been enough to draw its attention. Splitting the flow of time, however, was another matter entirely.

That was the very essence of causality.

To split time was to separate the cause from the effect, to divide the continuity of existence into something unnatural. It was to pull the thread that held the entire fabric of reality together. No mortal, no god, and no divine being had ever dared to attempt it because the Wraith would not just attack—it would erase.