---
title: "Chapter 1436: Isabella’s Pride!"
slug: "ch-1443"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 1443
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1153
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

"Are you Max, the one who took away the Sword of the Sword Sovereign?" Isabella asked as she stopped a short distance from him. Her voice was calm, yet there was unmistakable curiosity beneath it. The surrounding flames rippled faintly as she stood there, her presence serene but not weak.

Max raised both hands lightly in a gesture that was almost casual. "I suppose that would be me."

There was no boastfulness in his tone. He spoke as though the matter was neither grand nor trivial. Yet the weight of that event was well known throughout the outer halls. The Sword Sovereign’s inheritance was not something ordinary disciples could approach, much less claim.

Isabella studied him carefully. Her gaze was steady and probing, as if she were attempting to peer beyond his outward calm and into the depths of his foundation.

"How did you do it?" she asked quietly. "How did you make the sword submit to you? Even with my Imperial Bloodline, I could not accomplish that."

Max shook his head slowly.

"There is a difference between forcing a sword to submit and allowing it to acknowledge you," he replied. "I did not subdue it. I did not overpower its will. I simply stood before it and allowed it to decide."

Isabella’s brows drew together slightly.

"You mean to say the sword acknowledged you rather than being conquered by you?" she asked, her tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

Max nodded calmly.

"The sword has its own spirit," he continued. "If you attempt to dominate it, you clash with its nature. If you allow your intent to resonate with it, then it chooses whether you are worthy."

For a moment, Isabella fell silent. The flames around them crackled softly, casting shifting light across her thoughtful expression. She did not immediately argue his point, though it was clear that his words unsettled her understanding of the event.𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Her Imperial Bloodline was meant to command and dominate. That was the nature of its authority. Yet perhaps that very dominance had created a subtle resistance between her and the sword.

After a brief pause, she exhaled quietly and shifted the conversation.

"How about we race?" she said, a faint smile returning to her lips. "Let us see who can reach deeper into this trial."

Max looked at her with mild surprise.

"Why do you want to race me?" he asked with a slight sigh. "Look at Zain Heron. He is already approaching the fourth pillar. If you wish to measure yourself, you should race him."

Isabella’s smile deepened, though her eyes grew sharper.

"I know he is powerful," she admitted. "His Blazing Dragon Sovereign Body is formidable, and his resonance with the Source Bloodline is nearly perfect."

She paused for a moment before continuing, her voice lowering slightly.

"But when I look at him, I see a blazing flame. It is intense and dominant, yet predictable. When I look at you, it feels different."

Max’s expression remained composed, though his attention sharpened.

"When I look at you," Isabella said slowly, "it feels as though I am standing before something that has not fully revealed itself. There is a sense of danger. It is subtle, yet undeniable. Even if you are not displaying overwhelming strength outwardly, there is something about you that feels like a predator watching from the shadows."

Her words were calm, not accusatory, but perceptive.

"Even Zain does not give me that feeling," she added. "He is strong, but straightforward. You are not."

Max smiled faintly, though there was a trace of irony in it.

"You place me in very high regard," he said lightly. "I am honored."

Yet within him, a faint ripple stirred.

Her instincts were sharper than he had anticipated. She could not sense the full nature of his bloodline, yet she felt its presence. She felt the hidden edge beneath the calm.

Isabella tilted her head slightly.

"So," she asked again, her smile returning with quiet challenge, "shall we race?"

The flames flickered between them, as if awaiting an answer.

"Nah, I am not interested," Max replied calmly as he shook his head.

There was no hesitation in his refusal and no attempt to soften it with politeness. His tone was casual, almost indifferent, as though the proposal held no particular significance for him.

For a brief moment, Isabella’s expression stiffened.

Outwardly, she remained composed. Her posture did not falter, and the serene aura around her did not erupt in visible agitation. However, a faint distortion passed through her gaze before she regained control of her features.

Inwardly, the impact was far greater.

Isabella had always been proud.

Even before the resonance with the Imperial Bloodline awakened within her, she had carried a natural confidence born from talent and lineage. Among her peers, she had stood above most with little effort. After being recognized as the Saintess in training of the Black Dragon Clan, that confidence had deepened into something far more absolute.

The Imperial Bloodline was not merely a mark of potential. It was a symbol of destiny. Elders revered her. Disciples admired her. Even some senior cultivators treated her with a level of respect that far exceeded her cultivation level.

Over time, that reverence shaped her inner perception. She grew accustomed to standing at the center of attention. She grew accustomed to being the standard against which others measured themselves.

And now, before her, stood a disciple who had calmly rejected her invitation without the slightest ripple of concern.

To Isabella, it did not feel like simple disinterest.

It felt like dismissal.

A faint heat rose within her chest, though it was not from the Path to Eternal Flames.

She had already carried a lingering sting in her heart long before this encounter. When news spread that the Sword of the Sword Sovereign had been acknowledged by a mortal realm cultivator while she, the Saintess in training, had failed to claim it, she had felt a subtle humiliation.

She had never openly expressed it. She had maintained her dignity and composure. Yet the fact remained.

A sword that did not acknowledge her had chosen him.

That alone had unsettled her pride.

Now, standing here within the Path to Eternal Flames, she had hoped to use this trial as a stage to display the undeniable gap between them. She wished to demonstrate that while the sword may have acknowledged him, in raw strength and foundation she still stood above.

But his refusal had struck deeper than she anticipated.

It implied that he did not feel the need to measure himself against her.

It implied that her challenge was not even worth entertaining.

Isabella’s fingers curled subtly at her sides before she relaxed them again. Her expression smoothed into calmness, though her eyes held a sharper edge now.

"In that case," Isabella said, her voice losing its earlier lightness and turning solemn, "what if we place a bet here?"