---
title: "Chapter 510: Passing the Trial"
slug: "ch-510"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 510
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1241
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Ten arrows of black flames launched in rapid succession, each one faster than the last, each infused with a greater degree of the Concept of Flames. The air whistled with their speed, and space itself seemed to shudder under their trajectory.

They weren’t just meant to hit—they were meant to overwhelm. The arrows screamed toward him like a storm of death, ready to crash into him from multiple directions at once.

Max’s eyes gleamed with sharp excitement as the ten flaming arrows tore through the sky toward him like burning javelins of death.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand and muttered calmly, "Magic Swords Barrage."

Instantly, the air around him shimmered as hundreds of ethereal blue swords materialized in formation, floating like a loyal army awaiting orders. Each blade pulsed with sharp intent, forged of condensed mana and laced with piercing energy.

With a mere flick of his fingers, ten of the glowing swords surged forward, intercepting the incoming arrows mid-air.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Explosions of fire and light erupted above the battlefield as the blue swords clashed against the black flaming arrows. The blasts shook the air, ripples of heat and energy pulsing outward in a chaotic dance.

The remaining swords hovered around Max, spinning slowly, protecting him like a shield of blades.

Meanwhile, Max stepped forward, gripping his sword tightly, its surface faintly glowing with his lightly flickering black flames. Power surged down his arm as he swung it in a clean, controlled motion, flames trailing from the blade like smoke from a dragon’s breath.

’Divergent Slash!’

A massive arc of black flames burst from his sword, its edge sharp enough to split stone, its heat intense enough to warp the very air.

The slash roared across the arena, aimed directly at the monstrous flame-being bound to General Paul.

In a single, fluid moment, the arc reached its target and—Swish!—sliced the fiery projection cleanly in half. The colossal entity didn’t even have time to react as its body split, and then exploded into dozens of small flame pops, each scattering across the arena like dying stars.

Black flames rained down in soft crackles around General Paul, who stood unmoving amidst the disintegration.

But a moment later, his body, too, began to crumble—slowly breaking apart into shimmering fragments of energy before vanishing into the air.

Max lowered his sword, the last of the blue magic swords dissolving behind him. The battle was over, and the second of the ancient geniuses had fallen.

’It’s funny,’ Max thought lightly as he stood amidst the fading embers of the battlefield, ’how the geniuses from ten thousand years ago could master their own Domains with such clarity, yet not a single being in the current Lower Domain has achieved the same.’

His gaze wandered across the scorched tiles of the arena, his expression calm but distant. The contrast was glaring. Once, this world had brimmed with true power—an age when Master Rank experts roamed the lands of the Lower Domain like living legends, when Domains weren’t myths but stepping stones.

And now? The Lower Domain had withered into a shadow of its former glory, weighed down by mediocrity, its peak far from reach.

Just as the thought faded, another figure began to condense before him—his next opponent.

Max fought him as he did the last, giving space, letting the ancient genius reveal their full might, unleash their most devastating techniques, only for Max to dismantle them in the end with calm precision.

Then came the third opponent, followed by the fourth. One after another, they emerged from the echoes of history—fifth, sixth, seventh—each a piece of a forgotten legacy.

Max faced them all, sword in hand, black flames roaring, draconic essence thundering through his veins. He held nothing back when it mattered, and each time, he stood tall as his foes faded into memory.

The battles grew heavier with each round, more refined, more desperate—these weren’t simple tests, but glimpses into the brilliance of a lost era. Yet Max pressed on. Eighth. Ninth. Tenth. And finally, after a relentless gauntlet of clashes, the arena went still.

The air shimmered faintly, and then, a familiar flat voice echoed across the silent chamber like a tolling bell. "Trial Challenger 4089 – Max Morgan successfully passed the trial to participate in the Trial of True Inheritance."

The words were simple, emotionless—but their meaning thundered through the tower. The qualification was complete.

’Even though none of them were truly strong enough to pose a challenge to me... I did learn something from them,’ Max mused as he stood in the now silent arena, the last embers of battle fading into the distance.

A faint sense of satisfaction flickered across his mind, not because he had won—victory was expected—but because the trial had offered something far more valuable: insight.

As he recalled each battle, each clash, and each technique, a realization crystallized in his thoughts.

The geniuses of the golden era, despite their overwhelming talents, didn’t place excessive emphasis on Domains. It wasn’t because they lacked the ability to create one—no, in fact, it seemed almost everyone during that peak age of the Lower Domain had a Domain of their own.

Domains were commonplace, expected, and therefore no longer considered a trump card. Flaunting a Domain back then was as pointless as boasting about breathing; everyone could do it.

So instead, those ancient experts had turned their focus toward something more refined: efficiency.

They honed the quality of their Concepts rather than relying on the grandeur of Domains. Their techniques were precise, their Concepts razor-sharp, their execution almost surgical.

They didn’t seek to overwhelm with scale, but to dominate through mastery. They studied how to squeeze every last drop of power from a Concept, how to weave it into every move, every attack, every breath.

"This makes me wonder... just how many levels are there in a Concept?" Max muttered quietly, his voice echoing slightly in the vast stillness as he found himself once again standing atop the familiar black-tiled floor of the hall—the same one where the trial had begun.

The oppressive silence of the chamber was broken only by the sudden flapping of wings as the parrot spirit reappeared before him, its feathers glowing faintly with an ethereal light. "You did good," it said simply, its tone carrying a rare note of approval. "Now, follow me."

Without further explanation, the spirit turned and began to drift through the air, guiding Max away from the trial chamber. Max said nothing and followed in silence, his footsteps quiet but steady.

They moved through corridors that seemed to stretch endlessly, lined with shifting light and ancient symbols that pulsed gently as they passed.

After a while, the scenery changed. The light dimmed, then faded altogether. Within moments, Max found himself surrounded by utter darkness—so dense, so absolute, it seemed to press in from all directions.

Even his Three Dimensional Body, which had always allowed him to sense space and matter with terrifying clarity, faltered. The edges of his senses were dulled, the boundaries of the room impossible to perceive.

He could see nothing, feel nothing, not even the walls or the floor beneath him. It was as if he had stepped out of the material world and into a void between realities.

Max’s eyes narrowed, his instincts sharpening as he continued walking behind the parrot spirit—now the only source of faint illumination in this sea of blackness.