Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 312: RUN!

”What was that just now?” Max asked, breath heavy but voice steady.

He wasnʼt shaken.

Not on the surface.

But deep inside, even he couldnʼt pretend the terror hadnʼt reached him.

Blob hesitated.

For once, it didnʼt have a clear answer.

Then, slowly, it spoke.

”It should be… a Sinful Bone Frame.”

”Sinful Bone Frame?” Max asked, eyebrows furrowing.

The name itself felt heavy, cursed.

”What is that?”

Before Blob could answer—

Figures stumbled out.

From the fog.

Eight total.

From the original ten.

Their bodies were intact, but their faces—ashen, drained, like they had walked through a graveyard and shaken hands with death.

Some fell to their knees.

Some just stared into the sky, as if confirming they were still alive.

Max didnʼt blame them.

Even he… felt the weight.

They had survived.

But what they saw—

What they felt—

Would never leave them.

That song still echoed faintly in their memories.

That rotting genius, tearing his own body apart.

That feeling of something unseen watching from inside the mist…

Waiting.

Smiling.

Yes.

Too horrifying.

Far too horrifying.

These geniuses werenʼt children.

They werenʼt new to danger.

Theyʼd walked the path of blood and battle.

Killed to rise.

Clawed their way up past thousands of corpses just to stand where they were now.

The Mourning Depths didnʼt scare them.

But that?

That thing inside the fog—

That siren-song death, that puppet-like madness, that curse that peeled flesh and stole souls—

That left a chill in their marrow.

No battle aura.

No clash of swords.

Just the fog, the singing, and a slow, beautiful death.

Old Man Grey turned toward Max, his wrinkled, calloused hands gripping his crescent sickle, his brows drawn tight with both tension… and awe.

He had been prepared to die in there.

Everyone had.

But Max—

Max had rushed in when everyone else froze.

And lived.

That wasnʼt something you ignored.

His voice was steady now, but underneath it was that quiet respect a man earned only in life-or-death moments.

”That black fog… Iʼve never seen it. No idea how to break it. Honestly, if you hadnʼt moved, weʼd probably all be corpses by now.”

Max simply nodded.

”Yes.”

There was no smugness in his tone.

No arrogance in his posture.

Just tired calm.

”Little Brother Max…”

Grey narrowed his eyes.

”…Did you see the way out? Did you understand something the rest of us couldnʼt?”

He had watched Max carefully—

The way heʼd changed direction mid-charge.

That wasnʼt random.

That wasnʼt blind panic.

It had looked deliberate.

Amaraʼs gaze sharpened.

She didnʼt speak, but the subtle lean forward, the way her hand paused at her side—

She was waiting for his answer.

The other geniuses watched too,

Their expressions a mix of hope, awe… and quiet suspicion.

Could he really have seen through that?

Max shook his head, firm and unshaken.

”No.”

”I just thought... if Iʼm going to die, Iʼd rather die moving than sit still and wait for death.”

”So I ran.”

A small shrug.

”Didnʼt expect it to work.”

As Max finished speaking, Old Man Grey nodded slowly—

His expression calm, his eyes unreadable.

He didnʼt doubt Maxʼs words.

Truth be told, he hadnʼt believed Max could see through that black fog to begin with.

It wasnʼt cynicism.

It was just cold logic.

This was Maxʼs first time in the Mourning Depths.

He was young.

Strong, sure. Famous, yes.

But still just a genius at the Apprentice Rank.

And in this place?

Genius meant nothing.

The Mourning Depths didnʼt care about titles or fame.

It didnʼt care if you were a dragon in the skies—

Here, everything bled the same.

So to him, Maxʼs charge had just been bold luck.

A gamble that paid off.

But that didnʼt mean it wasnʼt worthy of respect.

Max didnʼt miss the othersʼ reactions.

The way their shoulders shifted.

The way they avoided his gaze.

The small twitches of frustration they tried to hide.

A few looked at him with awe.

But more looked at him with bitterness.

Like he had stolen something from them.

Some of them were clearly thinking it:

ʼIf Iʼd just run too…ʼ

ʼIf Iʼd just acted before him…ʼ

ʼThat couldʼve been my moment…ʼ

One of them in particular, a wiry youth with a faint red streak in his hair, muttered under his breath with forced calm:

”In the Mourning Depths, randomly charging ahead or using moves without thinking can just as easily kill you. The only reason we got caught in that death trap to begin with was because someone else attacked randomly…”

He heard every word.

The bite in the voice.

The false logic dripping with jealousy.

Max didnʼt even blink.

Didnʼt turn.

Didnʼt respond.

This wasnʼt new.

Envy came with the spotlight.

Especially among geniuses—where everyone believed they deserved to stand tallest.

Let them talk.

Words wouldnʼt get them out of the Mourning Depths alive.

Old Man Grey coughed lightly, the sound cutting through the murky air like a command.

The murmuring youth shut up immediately, clearly aware heʼd gone a bit too far.

Greyʼs voice, though calm, carried a weight that forced everyoneʼs attention:

”No matter what, this time… our survival is thanks to Little Brother Max.”

There was no debate in his tone.

No space for envy or argument.

”But remember this—next time, donʼt act on impulse.”

His eyes swept across the group—stern, serious.

”Suppress your strength. Donʼt release aura. Donʼt flare your soul energy. No unnecessary movement.”

He paused, his voice dropping into something colder.

”Because down here… even your heartbeat might wake something ancient.”

A heavy silence followed.

No one dared speak.

Old Man Grey looked up toward the faint stars—

His compass.

His only ally against the madness of the Mourning Depths.

Theyʼd drifted off course—

But not badly.

Still salvageable.

”Weʼll rest here for now. Then we move.”

The others nodded silently, most sitting down, weapons still drawn, shoulders tense.

Max didnʼt join them.

Not really.

His body remained still—

But his mind had already gone elsewhere.

He sank inward, his awareness slipping into the deep, luminous stillness of the Dimension of Spirit.

The fog of the outside world vanished—replaced by shimmering rivers of a dreamlike world.

And in the center—

Blob.

Waiting.

Watching.

”Blob… what is a Sinful Bone Frame?”

His voice in this space echoed like thought across a still pond.

He needed answers now.

Not after the next encounter.

Not after another genius tore their own organs out.