---
title: "Chapter 973: Last Step"
slug: "ch-979"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 979
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1038
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

The guards snapped instantly. "Intruder!"

One slammed the butt of his spear against the stone, sending lightning surging into the floor as they both stormed forward toward the fleeing illusion. Their mana surged, detection arts flaring wide to capture the false figure.

Max’s lips curved in the faintest smile. "Hook, line, and sinker."

As they charged, the rune-gate behind them hissed, its defenses lowering for a heartbeat as the guards’ aura control shifted outward. Max moved like a phantom, sliding between their shadows and the door, his invisibility wrapping around him like liquid night. With a single step he slipped inside, the gate closing silently behind him.

The projection fizzled out moments later, vanishing into harmless sparks, leaving the two guards growling in confusion outside.

"What was that?" one asked darkly.

"Could it be the runes etched onto the walls here?" The other said not sure.

"It could be. There are too many runes here." The first one said after some thought.

"I think so too," the other said, returning to their posts.

Inside the third floor, Max stood pressed against the wall, every muscle still. His Blue Soul and his Three Dimensional Body expanded instantly, mapping the labyrinth ahead. Patrols. Wards. Layers of rune-locks. And beyond all of it—faint, pulsing like a heartbeat—Lenavira’s bloodline.

Max moved like a whisper through the suffocating corridors of the obelisk’s third floor. His invisibility wrapped him in shadow, his Blue Soul stretched thin to the very limit—mapping every rune, every patrol team, every flicker of life that moved in the dim light.

It was then he saw it. One particular cube shaped cell where he could sense her bloodline. It wasn’t far away but not close enough for Max to determine her condition.

Dozens of guards in black armor passed him by, their steps heavy, their eyes sharp, their weapons crackling with restrained energy. Twice he froze against the wall as patrols marched past. Once he had to cling to the ceiling like a spider as a warden inspected the hallway below with an artifact lantern that cut through illusions and cloaking.

But Max was patient. He had been patient from the beginning. He waited, he timed, he slipped, and he passed. One by one, the obstacles fell behind him, and the deeper he went, the heavier the air became.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of weaving through this labyrinth of prisons, Max arrived at the heart of it.

Rows upon rows of cubic cells stretched out like a cold, endless graveyard. Each one was sealed by shimmering spiritsteel bars reinforced with runes, their faint glow crawling like veins of light across the metal. Inside them, men and women from countless clans and sects sat slumped against the walls—faces hollow, eyes lifeless, their spirits crushed by imprisonment.

Max’s gaze swept past them all. His heart didn’t waver, not even for a moment. He wasn’t here for them. He wasn’t here to play savior to every broken soul in this cursed dungeon.

He was here for her.

And then he felt it.

That familiar pull. That undeniable connection. Her bloodline—his bloodline.

Max’s head turned sharply, his gaze locking on a cell near the far edge. His body froze for a heartbeat, then moved before his mind could even catch up. He glided between the rows, weaving around two guards who patrolled lazily but heavily armed, ducking low as he slid past a warden carrying a spirit tablet. His soul sense pressed deeper into the cell.

There.

Lenavira.

She sat curled against the far wall of the cubic prison, her knees drawn close to her chest, her long silver hair draped across her shoulders. But her skin—it wasn’t the radiant glow of an elf. It was darker, ashen, with faint crimson veins crawling across it like scars of corruption.

Her once bright emerald eyes, half-lidded and weary, flickered faintly with an unnatural red hue.

Max’s chest tightened.

"She’s... still in her Dark Elf form." The thought tore through his mind.

He clenched his fist. He didn’t know everything about this form, only enough to understand it wasn’t natural, wasn’t safe. The Dark Elf state was a stain—a force elves avoided unless driven by despair or chains far beyond their will. For Lenavira to be trapped in it... it meant she was fighting something terrible inside herself.

Max exhaled softly, forcing the tension from his body. ’I’ll get you out of there. Then... I’ll worry about the rest. First, survival.’

His gaze flicked over the cell door, reading it in an instant. Passcode. Fingerprint. Eye scanner. Threefold security, tied directly into the obelisk’s living core. A flawless cage.

For anyone else.

Max crouched lower, watching the guards circle back down the long row. His invisibility shimmered faintly, his Blue Soul humming like a restrained storm. His eyes narrowed at the cell holding Lenavira.

He closed his eyes, pressing his back against the cold stone wall. His breath was steady, but inside his mind a storm raged.

’I can’t wait this one out. This isn’t like the outer gates or the patrol doors. The guards won’t open her cell for a routine check, not unless they’re commanded to. That means... if I want her out, I need to make them open it themselves.’

His fingers curled into fists. The runes along the spiritsteel bars glowed faintly, mocking him. The passcode shimmered across a small runic panel, the fingerprint scanner pulsed dimly, and the eye plate gleamed like a predator’s eye waiting to strike. All tied to the obelisk. All waiting to scream the moment something went wrong.

’I could try to force it... but no. The obelisk would roar, and every guard from the Void Soul Tower and Thunder Monarch Hall would come storming down here. Lena wouldn’t survive that crossfire.’

His eyes snapped open, gleaming faintly with the sharp light of his Blue Soul. He turned his head just slightly toward the corridor, watching the guards who rotated at regular intervals.

They walked in pairs, sometimes trios, their armor polished, their weapons humming with runes. Peak Mythic Rank, some of them. Even one mistake would mean blood.

’Right I can use that technique!’ Max’s mind flashed with an idea at that moment.