---
title: "Chapter 490: Greatest Fortune"
slug: "ch-490"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 490
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1201
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

However, before he could dive into seclusion, Max knew there was one crucial thing he needed to confirm—something he had been avoiding thinking about amidst all the chaos.

"Blob," he asked quietly, his voice laced with a thread of hope, "has my soul been healed by the tower too?"

But the reply he received crushed that hope without hesitation.

"No," Blob answered flatly, his voice as clear and calm as ever. "The tower didn’t heal your soul. In fact, it didn’t heal you at all."

Max’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"What it did," Blob continued, "was far more peculiar. That red cocoon—what you were sealed in—it wasn’t a healing chamber. It was something else entirely. A time capsule.

He added. "From what I could observe, your body wasn’t repaired. It reversed. Time inside that sphere flowed backwards. Slowly. Quietly. Relentlessly. Every wound, every scar, every trace of death—it all faded away not because it was healed... but because it was never allowed to happen. It returned to a state where your body possess no injury."

Max’s eyes widened, realization dawning.

"Your body," Blob said, pausing for emphasis, "was returned to the exact state it was in at its peak condition—right after you emerged from the Tomb of the Sword Saint."

Max stood there in silence, the weight of that revelation sinking in. He was shocked—truly, utterly shocked. Never in his wildest imagination had he thought something like that was even possible. Healing through time reversal? It sounded like something out of myth, something far too magical, too absolute, to be real. And yet... it had happened. His very existence was proof of it.

Just as he was still absorbing the weight of that truth, a sudden wave of information surged into his mind. His eyes snapped open in alert. ’Huh? Another message from the tower?’ Max muttered inwardly, his brows furrowing.

He focused, and the flow of information began to unravel itself like an ancient script whispering directly to his soul. And as the meaning behind it became clear—his breath hitched. His expression shifted from confusion... to disbelief.

The tower had left a message. One that would change everything.

It stated: Whenever you are on the verge of death, grievously injured beyond anyone’s ability to save you, or suffering from an unhealable affliction—you may return to the Tower of Truth. As long as you are still alive... the tower shall reverse your body to the last peak state it held before the injury.

Max’s heart pounded in his chest.

It wasn’t just a one-time miracle.

It was a lifeline.

A sacred promise.

A privilege only he now held.

He stared down at his hands—the same hands that had wielded lightning, severed the heavens, and survived the wrath of Drevon—and slowly clenched them into fists.

"The blessing of the Primordial is truly the most important reward I could get from the tower," Max muttered under his breath, his fists tightening with a quiet intensity.

He stood still, letting the weight of those words settle in his mind, remembering the expression on the original master’s face when he had spoken of it—how he had called being recognised by the Primordial his greatest fortune.

And now Max understood. It wasn’t just about power or authority. It was something deeper—like the universe itself had paused for a moment and marked him as worthy.

He believed it wasn’t the tower alone that had chosen him, but the Primordial who once reigned over it. That recognition passed from the original master to him, like an inheritance not of blood but of fate.

And because the Primordial accepted him, the tower—the legacy it left behind—followed suit. And with that acceptance, came rewards that went beyond imagination, rewards that were not just earned, but granted.

"Hehe, good," Max muttered with a spark of excitement in his voice, his fists tightening with renewed strength. There was a fire in his eyes—controlled, focused, but unmistakably fierce.

He turned to Xolo, the golden tower spirit hovering calmly beside him, and asked, "How are things in the tower?" His voice was casual, but a hint of curiosity lingered beneath.

Xolo, always composed, replied with a neutral tone, "As usual. But over the past year, the number of demons within the tower has increased drastically. Not only that, the humans who once stood together have started turning on each other. Power struggles, territory disputes, even bloodshed over comprehension rooms of the Chamber of Concepts—it’s growing out of hand."

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly at that. "It seems like it’s finally time for me to showcase my Authority," he said with a faint gleam in his eyes.

Then, with a mere wave of his hand, space twisted around him—and in the next moment, two familiar figures materialized in the soft blue expanse of the hidden floor: Alice, eyes wide with disbelief, and Princess Lenavira, visibly stunned as her gaze landed on Max.

"Max!"

Alice was confused at first as to where she had suddenly appeared, but then, noticing the figure of Max, her eyes teared up, her face gained color, her world brightened up...

For one whole year, she had lived with the crushing thought that Max might have died—that he might never return, that he was gone forever.

And now, seeing him standing in front of her, alive, breathing, whole... it shattered the dam of emotions she had been holding back.

She ran forward without thinking, her voice breaking as she called his name again, "Max!" Her arms wrapped around him tightly, trembling, as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.

"I thought I lost you..." she whispered, her voice soaked in relief, in grief, in joy all at once.

"I am here," Max whispered as he pulled Alice into a tight embrace, his arms trembling slightly as he felt her warmth seep into his being. It was a warmth he feared he’d never feel again—a comfort he had longed for in the darkest depths of that red sphere.

As he held her, memories of the agony surged through him—the moment he unleashed the violet lightning, the way his body scorched, the way his strength crumbled, and the hopelessness that followed.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t regretted it in that moment. He would be lying if he said despair hadn’t clutched his heart when death inched closer.

In those final flashes of pain and fading thought, he hadn’t thought of glory or revenge or power. No—he had thought of her. Of Alice. Of her smile, her scolding, her quiet support, and the way she made him feel human again amidst the chaos of his world.

She was the only one he had ever truly opened himself to among all, the only one who had seen him not just as the strongest geniu—but simply as Max.

And now, holding her close, alive and breathing, he realized something far more terrifying than death—that losing her without ever truly showing her what she meant to him would’ve been the greatest mistake of his life.

"I am sorry I have made you worry." Max said softly amidst her cry, promising himself to not let her worry about him ever again.