---
title: "Chapter 400: Three Statues"
slug: "ch-400"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 400
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1228
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

A short while later, three groups of elves approached the area in front of the hall. Each group was led by a distinctly powerful elder, all of them with snow-white hair and aged appearances. The first was an old lady, graceful and dignified with eyes that seemed to see right through people.

The second was an old man with a hunched back, walking slowly but carrying an air of cold strictness.

The third was another old man, but unlike the other, he stood perfectly straight, his gaze sharp and calculating. All three of them radiated ancient power—far above even Fugen.

"Lena dear," the old lady said gently, though her tone held a kind of weight that made Max instantly straighten his back. Her gaze fell on him like a blade. "Is this the boy you claim is the brother of Freya Voidwalker?"

Max felt a chill shoot down his spine just from her eyes. He didn't flinch, but deep inside, her presence unsettled him.

"Yes, Ancestor Ilya," Lenavira responded, her usual arrogance gone, replaced by polite respect. "This is him."

"This kid?" the old man with the hunched back muttered, eyeing Max with suspicion. "He doesn't even look like her."

"I bet he doesn't even know Freya," the other elder said with a scoff, then turned to Max. His eyes narrowed. "Boy, we don't usually let humans step foot in this kingdom. And the few who ever did? They had their uses. So, for your own good, I hope you're useful too… otherwise, jejejeje…"

Max froze slightly, his expression twitching. 'Damn… this old man's laugh is terrifying,' he thought, his skin crawling just a little from that eerie chuckle.

"Don't frighten the kid, Gallier," the old lady said with a soft chuckle, though her tone carried a firm authority that made the hunchbacked elder fall silent with a snort. Then she turned her gaze toward the grand structure before them—the so-called Ancestral Hall—and said, "Shall we open it?"

"Let's do it then," Gallier muttered, his voice gravelly as he slowly stepped forward, each movement deliberate and heavy with age. He walked to the front of the hall and stood directly before the entrance, though there wasn't anything blocking the path—no door, no gate, no barrier at all.

The old lady followed next, standing calmly beside Gallier, and the tall, straight-backed elder joined them without a word, forming a line of three just in front of the open space.

Max watched them carefully, frowning in confusion. From what he could see, there was no wall, no lock, no visible obstruction to the hall's entrance—only a few guards standing to the side, watching silently. 'What are they trying to open?' he thought, puzzled. It didn't make sense. The hall was right there, wide and open.

But then, all three of the elders reached forward and touched the empty air in front of them.

To Max's surprise, something invisible responded. A gentle golden glow suddenly spread through the air where their hands made contact, forming soft ripples like the surface of a calm pond. A wave of golden aura expanded outward from their palms, flowing in elegant patterns, as if unlocking something far beyond what the eye could see. The entire atmosphere changed—he could feel it, a deep sense of ancient power awakening.

"The Ancestral Hall is open," said Ilya, her voice calm as she turned to Princess Lenavira. "We may enter now."

"Let's enter inside," Princess Lenavira said calmly as she stepped forward, walking past the now-activated entrance of the Ancestral Hall.

Max looked at her back for a moment, then followed her into the hall without a word.

"Don't do or say anything stupid in there," her voice suddenly echoed in his mind, not spoken aloud, but delivered directly through vital essence sound transmission. "Otherwise, you might get killed right here and then."

Max immediately straightened up, his senses sharpening. That warning was enough to jolt him out of any trace of carelessness. He didn't doubt her words.

'These three old fossils…' he thought, his eyes drifting toward the elders following behind, 'they give off the same pressure as the Old Saintess…' That level of strength wasn't just threatening—it was ancient and unfathomable, something not to be provoked in any way.

They moved down a long, narrow hallway, their footsteps echoing softly in the silence. The path was dim, quiet, and heavy, as though the very air was laced with history. For several minutes, no one spoke. It was as if the entire group was holding their breath, walking deeper into something sacred.

Finally, the hallway opened into a vast, dome-shaped chamber. The ceiling stretched impossibly high, curving upward until it opened to the sky itself, letting sunlight pour into the space in a wide, divine beam. The floor was polished smooth like mirror stone, and in the very center of the dome stood three massive statues, each one facing Max and the elves who had entered.

They were enormous—each towering up to the dome's highest point. And all three were clearly elves, dressed in ancient robes, carved in exquisite detail, their expressions calm and timeless.

But Max didn't notice the other two.

His eyes locked onto the statue in the center, and the world seemed to vanish around him. His breath hitched, and his entire body began to tremble uncontrollably. His legs felt heavy, his heart pounded in his chest, and before he even realized it, tears began rolling down his cheeks—silent, uninvited, unstoppable.

Because he knew that face.

The same face that had appeared in his dreams, many times. The same face that had been etched in his mind. The same face that belonged to someone whose image was burned into his soul.

He didn't know how, and he didn't know why—but he knew this statue.

"Max, what happened?" Princess Lenavira asked, her brows furrowed as she turned to look at him. She had been watching from the corner of her eye, expecting him to be impressed—or maybe curious—but not like this. Not frozen. Not trembling. Not with tears silently running down his face.

His reaction was far too intense. It caught her off guard. She remembered clearly—Freya had been calm the entire time she visited Sylvaria Kingdom.

When they brought her to this very hall, even in front of these same ancient statues, she hadn't flinched. Not once. She had stood tall and composed, quiet but steady, like someone who understood the place but felt no strong pull toward it.

But Max… was the complete opposite. His body was stiff, fists clenched, eyes wide and locked on the central statue like he had just seen a ghost. And not just any ghost—but one carved deep into his soul.

Lenavira stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Do you… know the one in the middle?" she asked carefully, her tone losing some of its usual arrogance. She wasn't mocking now—she was genuinely confused, maybe even a little shaken by how real his reaction felt.

Max didn't answer. He couldn't.

Because in that face—carved in ancient stone, eyes cast toward the sky—he saw someone.

Someone who had once held his hand.

Someone who had once said, "Live freely, no matter what they say."

Someone whose voice he couldn't remember, but whose warmth never left him.

That statue wasn't just a figure from elven history.

It was someone from his past.