---
title: "Chapter 591: Second Stage"
slug: "ch-591"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 591
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1287
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

The shattered remains of the Three Commandments of Monarch—Garil, Loxus, and Reiner—those very same bodies that had been obliterated by Max’s golden swords, reduced to scattered flesh, shattered limbs, and charred armor, suddenly began to twitch.

Bit by bit, bone fragments, muscle sinew, and torn roots of energy slithered across the stone floor like strands of fate being pulled by invisible threads. The dismembered parts gravitated toward each other, humming with a low, unnatural resonance, and began to piece themselves back together.

What had moments ago been nothing more than disfigured corpses were now reforming, reconstructing cell by cell, essence by essence, until three whole figures stood tall once again in the clearing.

Their clothes tattered, their faces pale, but their auras unmistakably intact. Their eyes flickered open, burning with a dull light as if pulled back from the brink of oblivion. And as they stood—silent, motionless, and eerily calm—it was as if they had never died in the first place.

No signs of trauma, no visible wounds, just rebirth in its most twisted form.

The battlefield that had been cleared with divine precision just moments before was now once again haunted by the very monsters who were supposed to have been annihilated. But no one remained to see this. No one was there to understand what this meant.

***

Max found himself standing in an eerie, vast hall, unlike anything he had ever seen before. The moment he stepped through the portal, the hum of the portal was replaced by a silence so quiet that even his own breath felt too loud.

There was no roof above his head, and when he looked up, there wasn’t a sky or even stars—only an endless darkness, stretching in all directions, swallowing any sense of depth or horizon.

And yet, despite the oppressive void overhead, the entire hall was bathed in an unnatural brightness, as if some invisible source of light emanated from the very walls and floor themselves.

The ground beneath his feet was smooth, dark stone, cool to the touch and polished so finely it reflected his image with an uncanny clarity. Surrounding him on all sides were tall, ornate mirrors—some cracked, some whole—each framed with intricate, golden patterns of dragons, swords, vines, and eyes that seemed almost alive.

he mirrors stood like silent watchers, stretching from floor to the invisible ceiling, reflecting not just Max’s form but other strange things: sometimes distorted versions of himself, sometimes places he had never been, or people he had never seen.

On the walls between the mirrors were paintings and drawings, ancient and faded in some places, but vivid and haunting in others. They depicted battles, celestial beasts, falling empires, and unknown worlds—all rendered in breathtaking detail.

Some of the drawings appeared almost childlike, while others were so masterfully crafted that they looked like windows into actual memories or fragments of time.

One painting showed a man battling an army of shadows, his sword blazing like a sun; another showed a woman staring into a mirror that bled red light.

The deeper Max looked, the more unsettling it became, as if the hall wasn’t just a place—but a memory, a prison, or maybe a trial wrapped in illusion and forgotten truth.

The air felt heavy, charged with energy and something else—intent, maybe. A will.

And as Max took a cautious step forward, his reflection in one of the mirrors didn’t move in sync. His heart tightened slightly. Whatever this place was, it was not what it appeared to be.

Just at that moment, as Max stood alone in the haunting hall of mirrors and ancient paintings, the stillness behind him broke. Two figures appeared through the flickering glow of the portal, stepping onto the polished obsidian floor with light but steady footsteps.

Max turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the auras before the faces. And then, his gaze fell upon someone he had long kept on his killing list—a name etched deep into the pages of grudges past: Nortan Blade. A man who, long ago, had once stood above Max, had once tried to kill him.

The other figure, to Max’s mild surprise, was Klaus.

"It’s been a while," Max said, a cruel grin stretching across his face. His voice was calm, but every word carried the weight of a simmering vendetta, sharpened with time and strength.

Nortan’s face turned grim, his jaw tightening as he met Max’s eyes. There was no mockery in his gaze now, no arrogance—only wariness.

He had seen it. Just moments ago, on the battlefield, he had watched in stunned disbelief as three of the Monarch’s Commandments were annihilated—instantly, by three divine golden swords that had appeared without warning.

The swords hadn’t belonged to King Magnar, nor Kate, nor anyone else he knew. They had belonged to the young man standing before him.

Which meant only one thing—Max had the capability to kill him. Easily. If he wished it. Nortan wasn’t a fool. He could feel the weight of that pressure pressing down on his chest like a silent blade hovering at his throat.

"What are you three doing? Come here, right now!" came the sharp voice of Silus, echoing across the strange, open hall like a command laced with invisible authority. The tone cut through the heavy tension lingering between Max, Nortan, and Klaus.

Max turned his head slowly toward the far end of the hall, where Silus stood with arms folded, eyes narrowed in clear annoyance. He stood among the towering mirrors and faded murals, his posture regal and composed, as if this entire twisted place was his personal chamber.

"Come on," Silus repeated, frowning as he watched the three of them standing still, as if they were lost in some petty drama. He didn’t have the patience for delays. Not in a place like this.

"Let’s go," Klaus said lightly, giving Max a knowing smile as he began walking toward Silus. He didn’t need to ask what had just happened—he understood Max far too well. He had seen the fire in his eyes, the restrained wrath. But this wasn’t the place. Everything had its time.

Max lingered for a heartbeat longer, his piercing eyes still locked on Nortan, who stood stiffly, his fists clenched at his sides, face taut with unreadable emotion.

Max said nothing. He didn’t have to. The message was clear in his gaze alone—this isn’t over. Then, without a word, Max turned away and followed Klaus toward Silus.

Nortan exhaled through his nose and clenched his fists tighter. Every step Max took ahead of him felt like a blow to his pride. Gritting his teeth, he finally moved, following the two without saying a word.

Silus, observing the three of them silently, noted the thick tension lingering in the air between Max and Nortan. He could practically smell the animosity, but he didn’t care. It didn’t matter to him. Personal grudges meant nothing when weighed against his purpose.

"I have tasks for all of you," he said, his voice suddenly taking on a commanding, almost casual authority. "You see these mirrors, paintings, and drawings on the walls?" He gestured around them, his hand sweeping over the vast hall filled with intricate, mystical artwork and mirrored surfaces.

"Each one is hiding a secret. A riddle. A memory. A trap. If you can solve it—understand it—then you might just uncover a treasure hidden within," he explained, his eyes briefly flickering over each of them. "But of course…" he added with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, "after you hand over every single treasure you obtain from this stage… to me."

He grinned wider. "Don’t worry. I’ll reward you handsomely. I’m very fair… when I want to be."