lastwebnovel-app/content/novels/dimensional-keeper-all-my-skills-are-at-level-100/ch-179.md

---
title: "Chapter 179: Shall We Begin?"
slug: "ch-179"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 179
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1076
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

Veylin’s breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling in uneven tremors.

He lost.

His hands shook, his grip on his spear slipping, the once-familiar weight of it now feeling like a burden too heavy to carry.

His mind played the scene of lightning dragon cut in two over and over again like an endless cycle stuck in a loop.

And then—

"You lost. You lost against a kid? Hahahahaha…"

The voice coiled around his mind, an eerie, mocking laughter slithering into the cracks of his confidence like poison seeping into his veins.

"Even the technique given by your father wasn’t enough to defeat him… So what can you do? Pathetic!"

The words cut deeper than any wound.

His father’s technique—the legacy he had built his strength upon—had failed.

It was supposed to be unstoppable.

It was supposed to be enough.

But it wasn’t.

It wasn’t enough.

His mind played the scene over and over again, an endless, torturous loop that refused to stop.

The moment the Lightning Dragon—his father’s ultimate technique—was sliced cleanly in half.

The way its massive body, supposedly indestructible, was effortlessly torn apart by Max’s single calm strike.

The crackling lightning fading, the two halves crashing lifelessly to the ground.

Again.

And again.

And again.

No matter how much he tried to block it out, the image replayed in his mind like a shattered record, the impact of that moment seared into his soul.

He could still feel the shock, the disbelief, the utter helplessness that followed.

And worst of all—

The silence that came after.

The silence of defeat.

The silence of his own weakness laid bare.

A hollow numbness spread through his chest, filling the void left behind by his shattered pride.

His fingers trembled, his muscles weak, as a thought he had never allowed himself to consider slipped into his mind.

"Am I really… pathetic?"

Doubt.

A foreign, unwelcome poison that seeped into his soul, twisting its way through his very being.

"Am I going to lose?"

His mind spiraled, dragging him into the depths of uncertainty and fear.

He had trained for years, endured countless battles, honed his spear until it became an extension of himself. He had never allowed failure to take root in his heart.

But now?

Now, his entire existence felt like a cruel joke.

His grip weakened.

The spear in his hands—the weapon that had once defined him, his pride, his path—felt alien.

Too heavy.

Too meaningless.

The stage around him blurred. The world faded into the background.

Nothing remained but the voice.

The voice that stripped him of everything he believed in.

"You have nothing left."

His legs wobbled. His body swayed.

For the first time in his life,

Veylin felt truly powerless.

In that moment, whatever pride, whatever self-confidence Veylin had shattered completely.

It wasn’t just a defeat.

It was a complete dismantling of everything he had ever believed in.

The unwavering pride he carried as the son of the Young Monarch—gone.

The absolute confidence he had in his strength—erased.

The unshakable faith he had in his father’s technique—broken beyond repair.

Nothing remained.

Nothing except the cold, hollow realization that he had been powerless.

He had always thought himself undefeatable. That no one in his generation could ever bring him down.

But Max had done more than defeat him.

Max had stripped him of everything.

His hands trembled, his grip on his spear turning weak and lifeless.

For the first time in his life,

Veylin felt like nothing.

"Indeed, you are nothing…"

The eerie voice slithered back into his mind, its tone dripping with mockery—as if relishing in his despair, twisting the knife deeper into the wound.

"You had everything…"

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"But even with everything, you still lost."

The voice whispered, a cruel, venomous hiss that wrapped around Veylin’s mind like chains, dragging him deeper into an abyss from which there was no escape.

His breath was ragged, his vision blurred as his own thoughts turned against him.

"Pathetic."

The word clawed at his soul, tearing apart whatever pride still lingered in the cracks of his broken will.

He tried to move, tried to steady himself—but his body refused to obey.

His fingers twitched around his spear, but there was no strength in his grip.

The weapon that had always felt like an extension of himself, that had once been an instrument of his invincibility, now felt… useless.

He was useless.

"You were born at the top."

The voice slithered into his thoughts again, its tone mocking yet filled with a cruel truth.

"You were given everything. Wealth, talent, resources—power beyond what others could ever dream of. You were supposed to be the strongest."

"And yet, here you stand—broken, humiliated, defeated."

Veylin’s legs shook. His entire body felt like it was sinking—no, drowning—in a pit of his own failure.

He could still hear the silence after the battle ended.

A silence deafening in its finality.

A silence that whispered one undeniable truth—

"You were never strong to begin with."

Something inside him cracked.

Then—

A suffocating emptiness swallowed him whole.

This was beyond defeat.

This was erasure.

The death of his pride. The death of his confidence. The death of who he once was.

There was nothing left.

Nothing but the darkness pulling him under.

At that moment, darkness fully consumed his vision.

It wasn’t just the absence of light—it was absolute emptiness, an abyss so deep that even his thoughts felt like they were being swallowed whole.

And in that endless, suffocating void—

There was only despair.

Bottomless. All-encompassing.

A despair so vast it felt heavier than reality itself, crushing everything Veylin had once been. His past victories, his pride, his strength—all meaningless, all forgotten.

His existence was erased, leaving behind nothing but the overwhelming weight of his failure.

And yet—

From that despair… something was born.

Something darker than the void itself.

Something that should never have existed.

A presence so vile, so unnatural, that even the darkness recoiled in its wake.

It stirred within him, a whisper beyond reason, a force beyond understanding.

It was hatred, but not just hatred.

It was madness, but not just madness.

It was an abomination, something that had no place in this world—

And yet, it clawed its way into existence.

A voice—deeper, crueler than the one that had mocked him before—spoke from the void.

"Its’s time..."

A twisted, horrifying grin stretched within the abyss.

"Shall we begin?"