---
title: "Chapter 816: Black Mist Swamp"
slug: "ch-822"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 822
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1030
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

This swamp was called the Black Mist Swamp, as marked clearly on the map Max had studied.

A dangerous place stretching thousands of miles in radius, it was littered with venomous creatures—snakes with barbed fangs, bloated toads the size of dogs, scorpions with crystalline tails, and centipedes as thick as a man’s arm and longer than a sword.

But these creatures weren’t the real danger.

According to the annotations left by the elders of the Great Ruler Empire, it was the black fog that truly earned this swamp its ominous name.

The notes warned with unusual emphasis: ’Do not engage the black fog. Do not get lost in it. Flee if it appears.’

This strange black mist, as they recorded, had a life of its own. It could form out of nowhere, seeping from the ground, rolling like a sentient tide. Creatures lurked within it—beings unseen and unnatural.

No one had ever made it out after being swallowed by the fog.

Looking across the vast expanse, Max furrowed his brows, then exhaled and stored the map away. "Guess I got lucky," he muttered with a faint smile, touching his chin. So far, the skies were clear, and the air, though humid and foul, held no signs of corruption. Still, he wasn’t naive. He had no plans to linger here.

With the secret domain open for only three months, every minute mattered. Time spent navigating a cursed swamp was time wasted.

Without another thought, Max kicked off the air and sped through the swamp, racing low over the bog, weaving past trees and decaying stumps. His protective essence layer shimmered with movement, keeping the sticky black vapors of the swamp water at bay.

But barely moments passed—just a dozen breaths—when the wind shifted. It was no longer warm and stagnant but cool, unsettling, and carried a faint gray tint that clung to his skin like static. Max didn’t slow.

At first, he dismissed it. Just swamp wind. But then he noticed it. The world was darkening. Rapidly. At first, the sun was veiled. Then the mist thickened, swallowing his surroundings inch by inch.

Even with his enhanced Three Dimensional Body, his vision dulled, the air dimming like a shroud had been thrown over his senses. He halted in midair, eyes scanning warily as a chill ran up his spine.

From the depths of the swamp, tendrils of black air slithered upward, coiling like ink in water, slow and menacing. They twisted into the sky, spreading out, blotting everything. It was as if a giant had upturned a vat of darkness and spilled it across the swamp. The once murky but visible swamp had turned into a void of shadows.

Max couldn’t see the trees. He couldn’t even see his own feet beneath the glow of his protective aura. His breath formed faint mist in the air. It was cold—so unnaturally cold it felt like fingers brushing the nape of his neck. Not the bone-deep, ancient chill of the Mourning Depths, but still bitter enough to freeze the soul.

Max’s heart sank. "No way..." he muttered under his breath, pulse quickening. It seemed fortune had betrayed him. The very thing he hoped to avoid—the black fog—had arrived, unannounced and merciless. The swamp was no longer a simple terrain. It had become a trap. And he was caught in it.

Then without any warning—

"Woo woo woo..." Strange, eerie sounds echoed across the swamp, rising from every direction like whispers from the underworld. It was like the cries of dying beasts, or the mournful howls of lost souls.

The entire atmosphere twisted into something unnatural, as if the swamp itself had come alive, breathing malice.

Max, standing midair with his protective essence shimmering around him, narrowed his eyes, his senses flaring as tension coiled in his gut.

Then—

Whoosh!

A sudden flash of blood-red light shot toward him from the left, sharp and fast like a bloody arrow. His Three Dimensional Body activated instantly, warning him of the incoming threat even before his eyes locked on it.

What he saw made him grimace slightly—a centipede, but not any ordinary one. Its entire body was covered in blood-red scales, each plate glimmering with a sinister sheen as if soaked in fresh gore.

Its body arched and twisted through the air with deadly grace, and its eyes—massive, bowl-sized, and glowing a deep, menacing scarlet—were locked onto Max with crazed hunger. The aura it exuded was twisted, almost demonic, and filled with bloodlust.

"Blood centipede..." Max muttered under his breath, recognition flashing in his eyes. He’d seen sketches and read records of various kinds of monsters in his free time in the Great Ruler Empire.

This was no regular monster. It was a rare mutated variant known as the Evil-Blood Centipede—a creature corrupted by dark energy, known for its insatiable appetite for fresh flesh. These things didn’t just hunt; they slaughtered for pleasure. No hesitation.

Max’s body flickered like lightning as he drew the Blue Dragon Sword. With a fluid motion, he slashed outward, sending a deep blue arc of sword energy forward. It roared with power, infused with his intermediate level 2 sword concept, stretching ten feet across like a shining crescent moon.

The blow landed squarely.

Puff!

The blood centipede didn’t even have time to scream. The arc cleaved through it cleanly, bisecting it down the middle. Blood erupted like a geyser, thick and foul, raining down onto the swamp below.

The black grass hissed as the blood splattered, turning the murky waters crimson, as if the swamp itself was bleeding. A nauseating stench spread out in the air—a mix of rot, iron, and something deeply sinister.

Max grimaced and stepped back slightly, but before he could even wipe the blood off his sword, the swamp began to bubble and churn beneath him. His instincts screamed.

A moment later, countless figures emerged from the black muck. Snakes slithered out, fangs bared and dripping with venom. Giant toads leapt into view, their bloated bellies pulsating with black mist.

Leeches as long as a man’s arm writhed toward him, their bodies glistening and segmented, each movement grotesque and wet. The air turned colder, darker, more suffocating.