---
title: "Chapter 652: Soul Sword Art"
slug: "ch-658"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 658
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1232
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

Max closed his eyes, and with a thought, summoned the image of his soul. A vague golden being sitting cross-legged appeared behind Max who was also seated cross-legged in the training chamber.

It shimmered behind him—solid golden form. Then, with precise intent, he separated a tiny fragment, about one percent, and gently guided it into the blade.

A golden thread separated from the soul form floated towards the sword and merged into it.

The sword trembled. It glowed golden faintly at first, then violently vibrated as it tried to resist the invasion. But Max’s soul fragment wasn’t just raw power—it carried intent, will, and dominion. The sword had no choice but to yield.

Cracks of light ran across the blade’s surface, vanishing a second later. The resistance faded. A connection formed.

Max opened his eyes. He could feel it. He didn’t just hold the sword anymore—he felt it. Every grain of metal, every line etched into the blade’s spine, every vibration that rippled through the hilt... it was all part of him now.

The sword had become his extension, not just of body, but of soul.

With just a single thought, Max focused his soul force and willed the sword to move. Instantly, as if yanked by an invisible force, the blade shot out of his hands like a bolt of lightning.

It flew straight up, piercing the air with a sharp whistle before crashing violently into the ceiling of the training chamber.

Bang!

A loud metallic clang echoed through the chamber as pieces of dust and tiny fragments of stone rained down from the cracked ceiling. Max instinctively caught the falling sword as it bounced back toward him, the hilt landing perfectly in his palm.

"Hehe..." Max laughed awkwardly, scratching the side of his head with one hand while holding the still-vibrating sword in the other. He hadn’t expected the speed to be so ridiculous.

Honestly, he had only wanted to test whether the sword would respond to his soul’s command and float—just a gentle rise or a simple hover. Instead, the thing had blasted off like a missile with no brakes, almost like it was trying to escape the planet entirely.

It worked, that much was clear. The technique’s claim wasn’t exaggerated. It really was fast—too fast. So fast that Max hadn’t even been able to control or slow it down properly.

As the Soul Sword Art manual had warned, unless one had achieved full mastery of their sword and soul, the blade could easily go out of control, endangering not only the enemy but the user and everyone around.

Max stared at the sword for a long moment, then let out a breath. "I’ll need to practice this... a lot," he muttered, glancing at the hole in the ceiling.

Following that, Max placed the flying sword aside for the time being and brought out the broken sword he had obtained from the citadel—a jagged, ancient-looking weapon with cracks along its blackened blade. But the moment he took it out, something unexpected happened.

Buzz!

A sharp, vibrating hum erupted from the sword as it began to tremble violently in his grasp. Max’s expression changed instantly. He gritted his teeth and instinctively poured the power of all 600 Draconic Essences into his arms just to hold it steady.

Even with that monstrous strength, it felt like the blade was trying to break free from his hands, as if resisting him—no, not resisting him, but reacting to something inside him.

"What the hell?" Max muttered, eyes widening in disbelief. "How did this thing suddenly become this volatile?!"

He vividly remembered when he first picked it up in the citadel—back then, it had exuded a powerful aura, yes, a terrifying sword concept that made even his sword concept resonating with it.

But it was dormant. Silent. Heavy, but calm. It hadn’t resisted him, nor had it acted this violently. Now, it felt like he was holding a beast that had just awakened from a long slumber and was roaring in defiance.

Just then, as if summoned by the surge of power, the figure of Blob appeared beside him in a flicker of light. Calm as always, Blob hovered silently for a second, then spoke. "That broken sword is carrying the legacy of its master."

"Legacy?" Max blinked, stunned. He looked at the broken sword with a new sense of awe. He had heard of legacies being passed down through scrolls, statues, or soul remnants. But through a broken sword?

Blob nodded. "Yes. It’s rare, but not unheard of. In desperate moments, powerful sword masters sometimes seal their inheritance into their weapons, especially when they know they’re going to die. It’s a way to preserve their path—their essence—hoping that someone worthy will one day inherit it."

Max’s grip on the trembling sword tightened. "When I picked it up in the citadel, it wasn’t like this. It was powerful, but it didn’t react this way."

His brows furrowed as he searched his memory. "The only thing I remember was... my sword concept resonating faintly with it."

Blob’s eyes glinted. "That might have been enough. Some legacy seals don’t need blood or energy to activate—just recognition. If your sword concept matched the frequency of the sword’s intent, even partially, it may have been what broke the seal."

Max looked down at the sword, still buzzing in his grasp, glowing faintly with a silver-blue mist. "I see." He nodded in understanding.

"Comprehend it well. You might get the inheritance from it if you are lucky," Blob said calmly as his soft, glowing hand extended and gently touched the trembling surface of the broken sword.

The effect was instantaneous. As if soothed by some divine presence, the sword’s violent buzzing halted. The oppressive aura it had been exuding vanished like smoke in the wind, and in just a moment, it returned to being a simple, quiet, broken sword resting in Max’s hands.

Max stared in stunned silence. No matter how many times he witnessed it, Blob’s ability to do things that defied logic never ceased to amaze him. Whether it was taming unruly spirits, erasing the malevolent effect of the evil sword, or like now, calming a sword imbued with a dead master’s legacy—Blob always made it look effortless.

’Spirit race are indeed blessed by the gods,’ Max thought with a trace of reverence in his heart.

"I have calmed it down for now," Blob said in his usual relaxed tone, turning his glowing eyes toward Max. "But once you start trying to comprehend it again, the broken sword will respond to your sword concept. It will awaken—reacting to your resonance—and at that time, it will go berserk again."

Max nodded seriously, understanding what he was getting into. If this sword truly carried a legacy, then it wouldn’t hand it over easily. The path of comprehension was bound to be one of trials—of mental, spiritual, and pressure.

"But I believe you’ll be fine when that happens," Blob added with a small smile, his voice filled with quiet trust.

"And I’m here anyway." With that, his ethereal form flickered, and he disappeared with a soft pulse of light, returning to the Dimension of Spirit where he resided.

Left alone in the chamber, Max looked at the quiet sword resting in his palms.

He exhaled slowly, set the sword before him on the ground, and sat cross-legged, closing his eyes.