---
title: "Chapter 387: Powerful Violet Lightning"
slug: "ch-387"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 387
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1167
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

'If I recall correctly... my affinity to flames was also very low in the beginning,' he reminded himself, remembering the affinity test during the recruitment test of Phoenix Order guild. 'And it looks like my affinity to lightning is no different.'

But then again, this wasn't just ordinary lightning he was dealing with. It wasn't something anyone could train with in a typical way.

This was divine punishment lightning — a force used by the world itself to destroy those who went against it. Trying to become compatible with something like that wasn't just about strength or affinity. It was about survival.

Maybe, just maybe, "compatibility" didn't mean physical adaptation at all. Maybe it referred to something else — like his ability to control the Violet Lightning freely, to call upon it without it turning on him, to use its full power without being torn apart from the inside.

That would explain why it was only at ten percent. Because right now, the lightning didn't see him as a master. It saw him as a vessel — one barely worthy of carrying its spark.

Thinking about all this, Max slowly raised his right hand and focused his mind, calling upon the Violet Lightning within him. He didn't know if it would answer — not with his current low compatibility — but he had to try.

CRACKLE!

A sharp sound echoed through the air as thin tendrils of violet-colored lightning burst out from his palm. The moment they appeared, they writhed like living serpents, dancing across the air with an eerie glow.

Then, they struck the ground. The effect was instant and terrifying. Wherever the Violet Lightning touched the floor, it didn't just burn or char it — it melted it. Not to ash, but to lava. The solid stone turned into bubbling, glowing liquid within seconds, as if reality itself couldn't withstand the lightning's wrath.

Max's eyes widened in disbelief. "This is too strong!" he gasped, watching the destruction unfold. He hadn't poured any effort into controlling it. He hadn't even released much — just a few flickers, just a few strands. And yet the damage was monstrous, far beyond anything he'd expected.

If this was the power of just one dragon, and at only ten percent compatibility, then the true strength of the Violet Lightning — used freely, completely, without resistance — must be on a level he couldn't even imagine. The thought sent a chill down his spine, even as the heat of molten stone rose around him.

"This is good!" Max said to himself, a wide grin spreading across his face as excitement bubbled up inside him. Despite the fact that he could only control a small amount of the Violet Lightning due to his low compatibility, it was still more than enough for someone at his current level.

Just a few tendrils had melted solid ground into lava. That alone spoke volumes about its terrifying power. For now, he didn't need to master it completely. Even a fraction of this strength gave him an overwhelming edge.

Just then, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.

"Kid, was that violet-colored lightning the same lightning I'm thinking of?" Blob's tone was cautious, almost unsure.

Max chuckled lightly, still admiring the lingering sparks on his fingers. "Yup. It's the Violet Lightning from the Seven Lightnings of Judgment. Though right now, I can barely control it since my compatibility is still very low."

There was a long pause.

"..."

Blob was completely speechless. For a moment, he didn't know what to say. People all over the realms trembled just hearing the name Seven Lightnings of Judgment. Entire legends spoke of their destructive power, their divine wrath. And here was this kid — barely scratching the surface of his potential — already tapping into one of them.

Max, unfazed, changed the topic as a new thought struck him. "Blob, I also got a soul ability. So, I was thinking of giving my soul threads a definite shape. What do you think it should be?"

"Any shape would work," Blob replied quickly, his voice now more serious. "But if you want my advice, go with a sword. It's basic, yes, but there's a reason it's so widely used. With your soul ability and the fact that you've already reached the Yellow Soul stage, a sword-shaped soul could become your ultimate trump card — your biggest life-saving move in critical moments."

Max's eyes gleamed with interest. A soul sword... it had a nice ring to it. And more importantly, it felt right.

"Alright, a sword shape it is then," he muttered to himself, his voice calm but steady. He closed his eyes and slowly sank his consciousness deep into the core of his being — into the depths of his Soul Palace.

The moment he entered, he found himself surrounded by a vast, glowing space, quiet and ethereal. All around him, hundreds of thousands of thin golden threads floated gently, swaying without direction like leaves in the wind.

These threads were his soul force — raw, powerful, but still formless. Max stood there in silence, gazing at them. He knew what he had to do, but even knowing that didn't make the task any easier.

'This is going to be difficult,' he thought, taking a deep breath before clapping his hands together. In the next moment, the atmosphere within the Soul Palace shifted. A deep rumble echoed through the glowing hall, and the golden threads began to stir.

Slowly — almost reluctantly — they started to respond to Max's will. He focused with all his strength, pouring every ounce of his concentration into the task. The soul threads began to twist and curl, wrapping around each other, intertwining like vines. It was a slow and exhausting process.

Max wasn't just controlling one or two strands — he was guiding over ten thousand at once, each one delicate and powerful, each one resisting just a little, like a wild beast being tamed.

Time passed. Hours slipped by like sand through fingers. But Max didn't stop. He couldn't afford to. His will was like iron, unwavering, and inch by inch, the golden threads began to take shape — first into a rough sphere, then into something sharper, longer, more defined.

The progress was painfully slow, but it was moving forward. He continued like that for nearly five hours without pause, his consciousness completely immersed in the delicate weaving of his soul. And finally, as the night fell over the outside world, Max stood at the center of his Soul Palace, sweat dripping from his forehead, eyes glowing with quiet satisfaction.

In his hand now rested a golden sword — not a weapon of steel, but a pure soul construct, shaped by sheer will and forged from the very essence of his being. It glowed gently, its form steady and balanced, perfectly sized, and warm to the touch. A sword made not for cutting flesh, but for piercing souls. And it was his.