---
title: "Chapter 575: Treasure Hall"
slug: "ch-575"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 575
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1353
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

Max stared at the details. The rank wasn’t displayed—meaning his current strength wasn’t enough to unlock its true potential. He suspected that once he reached the Divine Realm, the mirror’s secrets would reveal themselves in full.

The description, while mostly in line with what Lady Virelia had explained earlier, introduced new and mysterious terminology. ’Cosmic Path...’ The words echoed in his mind, unfamiliar and enigmatic. What exactly was a Cosmic Path? He had no idea—but something told him it was far beyond anything he had encountered so far.

Before he could think further, Lord Harthorne stepped forward with a broad smile. "Now then, onto the next matter," he said cheerfully, gesturing ahead. "The rewards. There’s quite a bounty waiting for you, Max. Let’s head to the Treasure Hall."

With that, he turned, leading the way as Max followed, the Counter Mirror secure in his grasp, and Lady Virelia gracefully walking beside them. Whatever lay ahead, Max had more than earned it.

Lord Harthorne led Max through a set of shimmering doors into a place that instantly felt like something pulled from legend.

The Treasure Hall of Obsidian Dragon City—just hearing the name would’ve excited any genius—but standing within it was something else entirely.

The moment Max stepped in, his eyes widened in awe. The vast hall stretched endlessly in both directions, its walls lined with countless transparent cubes that glowed with a faint, ethereal light.

There were hundreds—no, thousands—of them, each containing something unique and radiant. Within some, he saw weapons of all shapes and forms—blades that shimmered with lightning, spears encased in frost, bows humming with golden strings.

In others, scrolls floated midair, ancient and delicate, their surfaces etched with glowing runes that seemed to pulse with sealed knowledge. Further down, techniques shimmered like living flames, frozen in motion, whispering untapped power.

There were even treasures like the Counter Mirror he now carried—artifacts wrapped in mystery, sealed within their protective cubes as if the hall itself respected their danger.

Every cube was secured to the towering walls, neatly arranged in rows that reached all the way up to the glowing ceiling, giving the place a sacred, almost divine atmosphere. It wasn’t just a hall—it felt like a sanctuary of history and power.

"This place is the Treasure Hall of the Obsidian Dragon City," Lord Harthorne said with a smile, clearly enjoying Max’s reaction. "Normally, after the assessment of all the geniuses in the Nine Dragon Paintings, this hall becomes crowded beyond belief—every prodigy racing to claim a reward. But today... it’s all yours. You have the entire hall to yourself. Take your time. Explore."

His voice echoed through the grand chamber as Max slowly walked forward, eyes wide, heart pounding.

’There are so many things here,’ Max thought, his footsteps slow and measured as he wandered deeper into the Treasure Hall, his gaze darting from one glowing cube to another.

Each step brought him face to face with something new—an elegant bow strung with threads of light, a dagger that shimmered with time-warping energy, an ancient scroll sealed within a cocoon of swirling wind.

His eyes lit up again and again, curiosity tugging him in every direction, and yet... there was one thing he desired above all else.

A sword.

Not just any sword—but one worthy of carrying the weight of his Concept of Severing Sword.

A blade sharp enough to divide not only matter but the very meaning of resistance. That was what he needed.

Turning toward Lord Harthorne, who had been quietly observing him, Max asked, "What are the things I can get here?"

He knew the city wouldn’t simply allow him to take anything he wanted. Clearing the seventh floor of the Nine Dragon Painting and stepping into the eighth might have been a major achievement, but this... this hall held artifacts of immense value. There had to be rules. Too much generosity would be unreasonable, even for someone like him.

Lord Harthorne nodded, his tone still carrying that faintly amused warmth. "According to the rules of the Obsidian Dragon City," he began, "if one manages to reach the fourth floor of the Nine Dragon Painting, they earn the right to choose a Legendary Rank weapon of their choice."

Max’s eyes brightened. A weapon. Just what he needed.

"Those who enter the fifth floor may add a Legendary Rank skill scroll to that reward," Lord Harthorne continued, "and clearing the sixth floor grants one Legendary Rank technique as well. Then, stepping into the seventh floor—that earns you two more techniques, added on top of the previous rewards."

Max raised a brow. That was already three Legendary techniques, a skill scroll, and a weapon.

"But you, Max..." Lord Harthorne’s voice lowered slightly, carrying more weight now, "you stepped into the eighth floor. That means, beyond all the rewards I mentioned, you’re granted one more treasure—of any rank. You may choose it freely."

Max blinked. His heart skipped a beat. Any rank. It echoed in his mind like thunder. He looked back at the glowing cubes that surrounded him, now seeing them not just as locked treasures—but as choices. Possibilities. Futures.

’I shouldn’t make a hasty choice here,’ Max thought, steadying his breath as excitement threatened to overtake reason.

His heart was still pounding from the sheer scale of possibilities laid before him, but he forced himself to stay calm. This wasn’t the time to let awe guide his hand.

’I’ll begin with the weapon first... a sword,’ he decided firmly, grounding himself with a clear objective.

Turning to Lord Harthorne, he spoke with conviction, "I want a weapon first. A sword."

Lord Harthorne gave a slight nod, understanding the weight behind the choice. "A sword, then."

With that, he turned and began walking toward a distant section of the Treasure Hall, where the cubes shimmered in slightly different hues. Lady Virelia followed closely behind, her usual grace and silence making her presence feel more like a watchful spirit than a companion.

They stopped before a long stretch of transparent cubes, each one glowing faintly, and within them—swords. Dozens, maybe hundreds of them.

"Here are all the swords," Lord Harthorne said, gesturing to the glittering corridor of weapons. "See if anything suits you."

Max stepped forward slowly, his eyes scanning the rows with cautious interest. The cubes contained a variety of blades—slender rapiers, curved sabers, massive broadswords, elegantly carved longswords, and strange, arcane variants glowing with unknown energy.

Then, one sword caught his attention. It was simple, elegant, perfectly sized—neither too large nor too small. It had a clean, streamlined blade with a hilt wrapped in black leather.

Max instinctively stepped closer, his eyes fixed on it.

"Your hands can pass through the cube," Lord Harthorne said, his voice echoing across the hall. "Everything here is inside protective cubes, but once I enter the Treasure Hall, those cubes become holographic. They’re safe to interact with."

Max gave a slight nod and stretched his hand forward toward the cube, expecting resistance—but his fingers met nothing but air. He reached deeper, letting his palm wrap around the hilt of the sword. The moment he gripped it, a faint jolt of connection sparked in his mind... but then it faded.

The first sensation that registered in his body was weight—or rather, the lack of it. The sword was far too light. He swung it once with a small flick of his wrist and immediately frowned. It moved too easily, too swiftly—there was no weight behind the blade.

To others, it might’ve been the perfect weapon—fast, agile, effortless. But not for him. Max’s strength, amplified by his Dragon Scales and refined through the immense Draconic Essence within him, was monstrous by default.

A sword like this wouldn’t complement his power; it would feel like a twig in the hands of a beast. He released it slowly, letting it return to its place inside the cube.

His standards were clear now. He needed a sword with weight—a normal-sized, durable weapon, forged to endure the destructive potential of his Concept of Severing Sword.

Light swords were never his style. They didn’t match the violence in his grip.