---
title: "Chapter 439 Too Strong Max"
slug: "ch-439"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 439
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1358
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

439: Too Strong Max

439: Too Strong Max

Max didn’t move until the last moment.

Then—one step to the side.

Just a single pivot on his heel.

The massive blade crashed into the arena where he’d just stood, exploding in a shockwave of wind and darkness—but Max was already inside the blast.

His blade shimmered, caught the gust, and redirected it with one smooth vertical stroke.

The winds buckled, twisted, and—vanished, like the fury of a storm blocked by the stillness of a mountain.

“Take another!” Korbin’s teeth clenched.

“Dark Wing Fang!” he howled, drawing every ounce of demonic energy into the edge of his sword, which now glowed blood red.

With a savage roar, he dashed toward Max, the blade dragging against the ground, carving a glowing black line as it built momentum—until, with explosive force, he unleashed a forward stab that shattered the ground beneath, sending a black fang-shaped wave of destruction screaming forward, its edges bristling with jagged, cursed energy meant to pierce through anything it touched.

Max didn’t retreat.

He stepped forward.

And with a flick of his wrist, he executed a simple diagonal slash.

No flash.

No explosion.

Just a clean, sharp movement.

The moment his sword touched the oncoming wave, it didn’t clash—it unraveled.

The demonic energy peeled apart at the seams as if it no longer knew what it was, and faded mid-air into red mist.

The arena, devastated in places, still echoed with the aftermath of Korbin’s fury—but at the center of it all, Max stood untouched.

Unmoved.

His blade hung quietly at his side, not even a glimmer of force left upon it.

And Korbin, breathing heavily, his blade trembling, stared at him.

Because no matter how powerful, how wild, or how deadly his techniques had been—Max hadn’t just countered them.

He had dismissed them.

With simplicity.

With clarity.

Every strike was met with a single counter.

Every flare of darkness was dimmed by a stroke of his silent blade.

Every technique—no matter how explosive—was reduced to nothing in front of his quiet mastery.

“Damn!” Korbin cursed under his breath, his eyes narrowing in fury.

Each of his attacks—his finest techniques—had been blocked effortlessly by Max.

“How could he be so strong?” His rage simmered beneath the surface, raw and unrelenting.

With every strike, Max moved with an ease that made Korbin feel as though his best efforts were nothing but child’s play.

There was no struggle.

No strain.

It was as if Max had seen his attacks before they even came.

The demon’s fists clenched around his sword, his knuckles white.

The frustration built into something darker—a storm inside him that demanded release.

This was not a battle anymore.

It was a war.

He wasn’t just fighting a human.

No, this was something else entirely.

A monster.

Korbin knew his rage would not be enough to defeat Max, not unless he pushed himself further—much further.

“I’m going to end this!” He roared, his voice heavy with hate and raw power.

The air shivered.

Energy surged out of him in a storm of pressure and darkness.

The mist churned, drawn into violent spirals as he raised his sword overhead, demonic energy pulsing along its blackened edge.

“Cruel Slash of Vengeance!!”

The blade came down like a divine punishment.

Wind exploded outward with each spin of his body—razor-sharp slashes streaking across the battlefield, tearing up stone, howling toward Max with increasing speed.

One cut.

Then two.

Then five.

Ten.

Faster.

Fiercer.

Like the storm itself had lost control.

But Max didn’t move.

Not even an inch.

His sword remained steady in both hands, not clenched, but held with the ease of someone who had already seen the end of the battle.

The first slash struck.

CLANG.

A clear, piercing ring split the chaos as Max’s blade met the attack head-on—cutting not just through the wind, but through the fury behind it.

The next strike came.

Deflected with a tilt of the wrist.

Another—redirected with a step so subtle it seemed like part of his breath.

One by one, the storm collapsed around him.

Max wasn’t fighting the wind.

He was weaving through it.

Each movement was fluid.

Minimal.

Inevitable.

Korbin’s rage twisted his features as he spun back, panting.

He’d expected resistance.

He hadn’t expected this—this calm, suffocating wall of skill.

His pride cracked.

“Red Tempest Slash!!”

The sword burned red, glowing like molten metal as Korbin poured the last of his breath, his fury, and his blood into a single, devastating slash.

It tore forward like a scythe of ruin, the force alone enough to tear the heavens.

Max didn’t brace.

He didn’t need to.

No tension in his muscles.

No panic in his eyes.

Just motion.

His blade flashed once, clean and horizontal.

The red wave split.

Shattered mid-air, breaking into harmless wisps of fading light that scattered around him like dying embers.

Max didn’t even blink.

Korbin stumbled, sweat dripping from his chin.

His sword trembled in his hands.

Max hadn’t counterattacked once.

He hadn’t needed to.

Every blow had been stopped like it was nothing.

A joke.

And that’s what terrified Korbin most.

The beast inside him stirred, clawing at the edges.

His demon blood screamed for carnage.

This wasn’t just a fight anymore—it was survival.

With a roar that cracked his throat, he screamed his last move.

“CRIMSON RUIN FANG!!”

His final card.

All of it—his power, his bloodline, his soul—was funneled into the strike.

The sword turned crimson, its edge so sharp it sang.

He thrust it forward like it could pierce through the world itself.

A wave of red, dense and roaring, burst from the blade’s tip.

It raced toward Max like death incarnate.

But Max only watched.

Just before the wave hit, he took a single step to the side.

Effortless.

Precise.

And then—he cut.

One smooth arc.

No power behind it.

Just control.

And the wave…

broke.

It scattered into a fine mist, dissolving like morning fog under the sun.

Silence followed.

The mist floated down.

The wind died.

And in that stillness, it became painfully clear:

The fight was already over.

Max stood there, his sword raised.

There was no struggle, no exertion in his stance.

The glow from his blade dimmed slightly, and yet it radiated an unmatched brilliance.

Korbin was on his knees now, breathing heavily, sweat pouring from his brow.

His hands trembled as he lowered his sword.

He was exhausted, enraged, and defeated.

Every single attack had been countered, every effort nullified.

He had thrown his most powerful strikes at Max, and yet, Max stood untouched.

Once again.

Max’s expression softened ever so slightly as he surveyed Korbin, his blade now resting at his side.

It was almost easy.

The simplicity of his sword style—the very essence of balance and clarity—had broken Korbin, shattered his every attack.

There was no grandiose move, no flashy technique.

Just pure focus.

“It’s over, Korbin.”

Max stepped forward, his movement calm, unhurried.

He was perfectly in control—and it was time to end it.

‘An aura just touching the concept is this strong…Even Peak Seeker Rank geniuses are not my opponent.’ He thought suddenly as he walked towards Korbin.

‘How strong can I be if I were to use my Space Concept?’ Though he also understood that to use Space Concept he would need very high level of energy.

And he wasn’t going to use it on these geniuses.

They weren’t worth him using his Space Concept.

Soon, Max appeared in front of Korbin.

Korbin trembled, fists clenched around the hilt of his sword as his chest heaved with rage and disbelief.

His three most powerful techniques—Cruel Slash of Vengeance, Red Tempest Slash, Crimson Ruin Fang—the same moves that had slain countless foes, shattered elite geniuses, and earned him his position as the Fifth Seat of the Demon Race… were all crushed.

Once again.

Effortlessly.

Meaninglessly.𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Like smoke brushed aside by the wind.

Max hadn’t even broken a sweat.

He stood there calm, composed—untouched.

Not a single thread of his black robe was out of place.

CREATORS’ THOUGHTS

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