---
title: "Chapter 322: Pressure Making Expert Rank KNEEL"
slug: "ch-322"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 322
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1110
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

RUMBLE!

A bolt of orange lightning surged down from the heavens, striking the Manifestation dead center.

It was the sixth bolt.

Max braced himself, half-expecting the statue to tremble or fracture. But like all the others before it, the Manifestation stood firm—unmoving, unaffected.

He exhaled, shoulders relaxing just a bit.

"One more…" he whispered.

RUMBLE!

Before he could even finish that thought, another bolt descended.

This time, it was red—bright and blazing, screaming through the sky like the wrath of a furious god.

It slammed into the colossal figure with a thunderous crack that echoed across the entire Mourning Depths.

And still—

Nothing.

The statue did not flinch.

No cracks. No fractures. No signs of damage.

Max stared in awe.

Seven bolts. Each one more powerful than the last. And yet, his Manifestation endured it all.

Unbroken.

Unyielding.

Max's lips parted, breath caught in his throat.

Was it over?

Had he survived the Judgment of the World?

Max's eyes remained locked on the sky, silently praying for the black clouds to disperse and vanish now that the seven bolts had fallen.

But his hope was shattered.

Instead of clearing, the clouds grew darker. Denser. As if drawing in every shadow from the heavens. Then, without warning, a pressure descended.

It wasn't loud. It wasn't explosive.

It was silent—but absolute.

Max's breath caught in his throat. His lungs refused to move. For a split second, it felt like existence itself had pressed down on him.

His knees nearly buckled.

But then… it passed.

The suffocating sensation faded just enough for him to inhale sharply, his chest rising with relief. He realized why—his Aura of the Primordial was protecting him. If not for that title, that ancient force wrapped around his soul, he would have collapsed.

Still, sweat drenched his body. His skin was pale, and his hands trembled slightly.

"What the hell was that?" he whispered, turning toward Blob, his voice hoarse and his face drawn.

Blob hovered close, frowning. He didn't look any more composed than Max.

"I don't know," he said, eyes narrowing. "But that pressure just now… it wasn't ordinary. I've never felt anything like it." He shivered slightly. "It was suffocating… yet at the same time, it felt natural. Like something that's always been there, watching."

---

Not far away, Max's squad—led by Old Man Grey—was faring far worse.

All of them had dropped to their knees. Their faces had gone ghostly pale. Some trembled violently, blood beginning to seep from the corners of their eyes. Others collapsed altogether, eyes rolling back, bodies convulsing as they lost consciousness.

Even Old Man Grey, seasoned and hardened by decades of life-and-death battles, had his hands pressed against the ground, gritting his teeth as his bones creaked beneath the pressure.

Amara gasped, clutching her chest. "W-What's happening?" she choked out.

It felt like the very concept of breathing had been stolen from them. As if the air had turned hostile. And with it, a killing intent—dark, ancient, and brimming with pure malice—descended over them.

A wave of terror swept through the group.

It felt like the end of the world.

---

Elsewhere, not far from Max, a group of young geniuses was experiencing the same torment.

Every single one of them had collapsed to their knees. Their faces were white as bone. Some had tears of blood streaking down their cheeks. Others trembled like leaves in a storm.

"What's happening?!" Crown Prince gasped. Blood pooled beneath his eyes as he clutched his head, his body on the verge of collapse.

Amelia, Revenna, Jack, and the others were no better.

Eyes bleeding, limbs shaking, hearts pounding wildly.

It was a horrifying sight—once-proud prodigies reduced to shivering wrecks, unable to withstand the overwhelming pressure that pressed on their very souls.

Only one among them remained standing.

Alice.

She stood at the center of the collapsing group, a brilliant phoenix of flame spiraling around her—wings outstretched, a divine barrier against the storm.

The fiery bird roared silently, shielding Alice from the worst of the pressure. But even then, her legs trembled. Her breathing was shallow. Her brow dripped with sweat.

The phoenix shield held strong—but only just.

Still, she was better off than the others. And seeing them kneeling, bleeding, suffering—something inside her snapped.

Clenching her fists, she grit her teeth and extended her flames outward.

The phoenix's wings stretched wide, its fiery warmth sweeping over the entire group, wrapping them in protective flame.

Slowly… the pressure eased.

Their bodies stopped shaking. The blood flow slowed. Breaths came more easily.

It wasn't a complete salvation—but it was something.

What was happening to Max, to his squad, to the prodigies scattered across the Mourning Depths—wasn't isolated.

This… was universal.

Every single squad that had ventured into the depths—regardless of strength or background—was now kneeling beneath the same crushing pressure. Not a single soul had been spared.

Even the most powerful figures on the continent—the leaders of Valora Continent, those at the absolute peak of Expert Rank—were no exception.

Though their resistance was leagues above the others, they too were down on one knee, beads of sweat sliding down their faces, lungs struggling to inhale under the suffocating weight pressing on them like a mountain had fallen from the heavens.

King Magnar, golden hair matted to his forehead, gritted his teeth as he tried to steady his breath.

"Damn…" he muttered, eyes narrowed. "We're like ants under this pressure…"

He turned his head and saw the rest of the continent's elite in the same state—kneeling, trembling, eyes wide in disbelief.

"This was bound to happen," Azula sneered, her voice sharp even as she pressed a palm to the ground for support. "You all act surprised… but something this massive doesn't come without consequence."

Another leader choked out, "What the hell is this pressure? I've never felt anything like this in my entire life."

"It's… terrifying," another added. "It's like every part of me is screaming to run, to hide. But the worst part? I don't even think it's directed at us."

"Exactly," someone else nodded. "This killing intent… it's full of rage, despair, pure hostility… but we're not the target. Otherwise, we'd all be dead by now."

"This must be the Wrath of the World," one of the elders muttered. "It has to be. No mortal aura could suffocate the very land like this."

Their voices were hushed, trembling. Because it was unthinkable.

They were the strongest of the Lower Domain—men and women who had ruled their regions, fought wars, killed countless enemies. And yet here they were, brought to their knees by a presence they couldn't even see.

A presence from the world itself.