---
title: "Chapter 355: Three Months"
slug: "ch-355"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 355
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1236
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

Aurelia wrapped her arms around her daughter, trembling, her voice breaking. "You're okay… you're okay…"

Alice gripped her mother tightly. "I thought I died… I thought he…"

"I know," Aurelia whispered, her voice trembling as she held Alice even tighter. Her fingers dug into her daughter's back as if to make sure she was truly there. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, the relief washing over her like a crashing wave.

Tears she had held back in the face of war and bloodshed now slipped down her cheeks in silence.

She didn't try to stop them.

She just held her daughter.

On the side, Anton let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. His shoulders slumped in visible relief as he watched the two embrace.

One life, at least, had been spared.

Across the hall, King Magnar scanned the gathered group of survivors, his eyes briefly settling on Alice.

"Has everyone returned?" he asked, his voice calm but tight.

There was a pause before Aelric stepped forward.

"Father," he said quietly. "I think… Palace Master Hugh is gone."

King Magnar closed his eyes, a grim line forming on his lips. He didn't ask for confirmation. He didn't need it.

The man's absence said enough.

"I see…" he murmured. A long silence followed before he opened his eyes again.

"Very well," he said firmly. "Everyone, I want a detailed report. Everything that happened down there—no matter how small—I want to hear it. I'll remain here at the Divine Palace for the next few days."

Just then, Envoy Lucas stepped away from the group, his expression unreadable.

"I'll prepare the teleportation runes," he said curtly. "These geniuses will depart for the Lost Continent in three months."

He turned slightly as his voice grew colder. "I hope you've all gathered enough Battle Coins. Without them, don't even bother boarding the ship."

With that, Lucas vanished in a flash of light, leaving behind only a ripple of mana in the air.

King Magnar watched him go but said nothing. He simply turned his gaze forward, thoughtful and unreadable.

But not everyone in the hall was so silent.

From one corner, a pair of burning eyes locked onto the spot where Lucas had stood.

Aurelia.

Her entire body radiated with restrained fury. If looks could kill, Lucas would've been reduced to ash on the spot.

She didn't say a word, but her thoughts were clear.

If it hadn't been for Lucas's manipulations—his whispering, his instigation—Alice never would've been involved in such danger.

She'd nearly died.

She wanted to lash out. To demand answers. To burn something.

But Alice was alive.

So for now… she stayed quiet.

The Divine Palace fell into silence.

The kind of silence that lingers after chaos. Heavy. Unsettling.

Until a soft voice broke it.

"…Mother," Alice said, her brows furrowing slightly, her voice laced with confusion.

"Where's Max?"

The question echoed in the vast chamber.

She looked around, scanning the faces of the crowd.

"I don't see him here…"

---

Deep within the pit of the Mourning Depths, where light itself seemed to hesitate, a lone figure lay sprawled on the jagged black stone.

Max.

His body was battered. Bruised. But still clinging to consciousness.

His arms were wrapped tightly around the Abyss Dragon Sword, the blood-red blade pressed against his chest like it was part of him—an extension of his rage, his grief, his madness.

His eyes glowed.

Not with energy.

But with pure, unfiltered hatred.

"I'll kill him…" he growled, voice low and trembling with fury. "I'll kill him… I'll kill him!"

His words echoed in the emptiness, bouncing off the unseen walls of the pit like an oath shouted into the void.

Max tried to stand, groaning as he pressed one hand against the ground and forced his knees to move.

But it was like trying to stand at the bottom of an ocean.

The infernal energy in the pit was overwhelming.

It hung in the air like molten lead—heavy, thick, and alive. Every breath Max took felt like inhaling fire. Every motion was like pushing against the crushing weight of a thousand chains.

The deeper he inhaled, the more it tried to drown him.

He collapsed again with a grunt, barely able to hold the sword close.

"Max!"

A voice—sharp, familiar—rang out in his mind.

Blob.

"Snap out of it! Listen to me!"

But Max didn't answer.

His mind was buzzing.

Not with thought, not with reason—but with a singular, consuming instinct.

Kill.

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill.

It repeated like a broken chant, louder with every breath.

The sword pulsed in his grip—responding. Feeding off his fury. Fueling it. The lines between Max and the blade were blurring.

"Damn it…" Blob hissed inside his consciousness. "This sword… it's too dangerous. Too corrupted. Its power is eating into him like a parasite."

He paused, frustration building.

"Until Max is separated from that damn sword, there's nothing I can do. Nothing anyone can do."

His voice darkened.

"Even a Mythic Rank… maybe even a Divine Rank wouldn't be able to control this thing. And Max is still just in the Adept Rank. This is beyond anything he can handle."

Back on the stone floor, Max grit his teeth, every muscle in his body shaking.

His arms trembled violently as he tried to rise again.

His legs buckled. His back screamed in protest.

But the rage was louder.

"I'll kill Mark… I'll kill Lucas… I'll kill Azula…"

He gasped for breath, his body refusing to move—but his voice kept muttering, louder now, hoarse and raw.

"I'll kill them all…"

He slammed back down, his forehead striking the ground with a dull crack—but he didn't even flinch.

He held the sword tighter, eyes blazing with madness.

And deep below, the Abyss Dragon Sword pulsed again.

Alive.

Awake.

---

While Max remained buried deep in the pit of the Mourning Depths, trapped in a relentless cycle of trying—and failing—to escape, time outside moved on.

For him, each attempt to rise was met with the crushing weight of infernal energy, pushing him back down again and again, as though the pit itself refused to release him. His world had become a prison of darkness, rage, and exhaustion.

But beyond that pit… the world hadn't stopped.

Three months passed in the blink of an eye.

And now—the day had come.

Across the Valora Continent, excitement buzzed in the air like a storm waiting to break. It was time.

The geniuses, chosen from every corner of the continent, had gathered at a single place:

The private villa of Envoy Lucas.

Nestled high in the mountains and surrounded by ancient wards, the villa was a place few were ever allowed to enter—except today. Today, it overflowed with talent.

Young warriors and cultivators stood side by side, each carrying weapons, artifacts, and dreams. Some laughed and chatted, cloaking their nerves with bravado. Others remained quiet, eyes fixed forward, mentally preparing themselves for the journey ahead.

All of them were here for one reason:

To travel to the Lost Continent.

To climb the fabled Tower of Truth.

And to etch their names into its eternal records.

The air was electric with anticipation.

But beneath that excitement… was tension.

No one could deny it.

Every person here had heard the stories—about the Elves and the Demon Race, the two dominant powers of the Lost Continent. And those stories weren't myths. They were warnings.