Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 429: Grasping Truth

His brows furrowed as he recalled the path he had taken to create his signature techniques. They were molded from the foundation of Elite Sword Arts, yes, but shaped hastily in battle after battle, refined through intuition more than structured evolution.

ʼCould the technique itself be flawed?ʼ he thought, his grip tightening slightly. ʼHave I only scratched the surface of what it could become?ʼ His mind traced back every movement—Horizontal Break, Skyfall Split, Heaven Cleave—they were powerful, yes, but maybe they were built on an imperfect understanding of the sword.

ʼHorizontal Break was built upon a very simplified version of a horizontal slash… Skyfall Split was a simplified version of a downward slash… and Heaven Cleave was an upward slash, slashing at the heavens.ʼ Maxʼs mind wandered deep into the foundations of the techniques he had created, replaying every motion, every angle, every intent behind each swing.

He stood in silence, his sword lowered, the ghostly figure of the warrior still as a statue before him. In his heart, a quiet frustration began to stir—not out of failure, but out of realization. ʼI molded those moves from Elite Sword Arts, he reflected, gaze drifting down to his blade. And the Elite Sword Arts themselves were a direct evolution of the Basic Sword Arts. Which means… their core is simplicity.ʼ

That was the essence of what made them powerful—direct, sharp, efficient. And he had embraced that simplicity fully when crafting his three signature moves.

Horizontal Break was nothing more than a refined horizontal slash, stripped of unnecessary movement and built for speed and clean impact.

Skyfall Split took the concept of a descending slash and forged it into something meant to dominate from above.

And Heaven Cleave had been his attempt to cut through the very skies—an upward swing with all his power and ambition behind it.

But now, standing bruised and breathless before a warrior who had simply blocked them all, Max saw it clearly. Simplicity wasnʼt the problem—but his reliance on it was. The three moves, for all their raw power and polished execution, were ultimately built from the most basic forms of swordplay.

Max closed his eyes, letting the silence of the grey world settle deep within him as he stood unmoving, sword resting by his side. He reflected on every slash he had thrown, every technique he had forged, and every lesson buried beneath his struggles.

For the first time, he let go of the obsession to overpower, to dominate with force or flair, and simply listened—to his instincts, to the sword in his hand, to the memory of the countless years he had spent training alone in silence. Then, slowly, like light breaking through fog, understanding dawned upon him.

”I see,” he muttered, voice low and steady as he opened his eyes, the haze of confusion finally cleared.

He stepped forward, holding his sword in his right hand, and lowered into a stance—not a grand or flashy one, but one born from absolute calm. He drew in a slow, silent breath, centering every ounce of energy within him, his aura quiet, his heart still.

And then… he moved. One slash. A single horizontal sweep of his sword—no technique name, no explosive aura, no excess movement. It was as simple as it could possibly be.

But in that simplicity, there was clarity, purpose, and intent sharpened to perfection. The warrior before him reacted instantly, stepping forward and slashing with his own sword, ready to counter like before.

Clang!

The sound rang through the stillness like a bell struck by lightning—a deep, resonating clash that echoed with finality.

But this time, it was different. The moment the blades met, a shiver passed through the warriorʼs weapon, a thin crack forming across the steel.

And then, before Maxʼs eyes, the sword of the ancient warrior shattered, fragments bursting into shimmering dust. The faceless figure froze for a brief heartbeat—and then his entire form crumbled into particles of light, dissolving into the mist like a spirit released from its duty.

”The way of simplicity has to be both from mind and technique,” Max muttered under his breath, his voice soft yet carrying the weight of newfound understanding.

At last, he had comprehended something deeper—something that had always been there, etched into his movements, buried within his habits, and whispered through every swing of his sword.

All his life since he had awakened, he had trained in the Basic Sword Arts. Day after day, repetition after repetition, he had drilled those forms into muscle and bone, refining them, evolving them into what became known as the Elite Sword Arts.

He hadnʼt chased flashy moves or complex techniques. He had simply perfected the basics. And that—that—was the path his sword had walked from the very beginning.

It wasnʼt about overloading his style with layers of force, speed, or intricate sequences. It was about purity. About cutting away the unnecessary until only what mattered remained.

His strength wasnʼt born from chaos—it was forged through clarity. His sword wasnʼt a wild beast—it was a still lake, silent until the moment it struck. And now, with that truth finally embraced, Max could feel it—not just in his mind, but in his soul. His sword way… was simplicity itself.

”Kid, youʼre just one step away from entering the realm of the Concept of Sword,” Blobʼs voice echoed in Maxʼs ears, calm but carrying a trace of rare approval. ”Now you finally understand… just how monstrous you could become if you actually put effort into your auras.”

The words struck Max not as a scolding, but as a mirror reflecting a truth he had finally come to accept. He stood there in that quiet, grey world, the mist now still, his sword lowered but not forgotten, and he let those words settle deep into him.

He had always chased breadth over depth—spreading himself across laws, trying to master them all, merging auras into a strange blend, never truly understanding each oneʼs potential.

But now, having finally felt the depth that came from walking one true path with both body and mind, he saw what Blob had meant all along. Simplicity wasnʼt weakness—it was mastery distilled.