3ac2277146
8.4 KiB
| title | slug | novel | number | views | likes | wordCount | createdAt |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Chapter 595: Max’s Killing Intent | ch-595 | Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 | 595 | 0 | 0 | 1381 | 2026-04-15 |
After spending another full day roaming the strange mirror-filled hall, Max found himself deep in contemplation, exhausted but determined. He had combed through dozens of mirrors—touching them, testing them, sensing the faint fluctuations of energy until he finally uncovered two more mirrors that resonated strongly with him.
One pulsed with the elusive concept of space, the other shimmered with a calm, focused edge that vibrated with sword intent.
Like the flame and lightning mirrors before, each of these mirrors opened a path to a sealed chamber upon resonance. Inside each, after grueling trials testing his understanding and mastery over those concepts, he was rewarded with treasures worthy of his efforts.
The first was the Space Anchor Sphere—a small, metallic orb no larger than his palm, glowing with faint spatial ripples that made the air around it bend subtly. It wasn’t built for combat, but Max could immediately see its overwhelming utility.
According to the system, if the Space Anchor Sphere was planted in any location—say, a secret chamber or his personal stronghold—it would become an anchor. No matter where he was in the world, so long as he channeled a sliver of his spatial energy into the orb, it would tear open space and pull him back to the anchor point instantly.
It was a perfect escape tool, a guardian of secrets, a way to survive any ambush or trap.
Max’s eyes gleamed as he tucked it away with care. "Not flashy, but brilliant," he muttered to himself.
The second treasure was more traditional but no less extraordinary—a technique scroll titled Soul Sword Art. Max read through it quietly, his brows raising in astonishment. It was a sword art that didn’t rely solely on physical skill or elemental mastery—it bonded the sword with the soul.
If Max locked onto an enemy’s soul, then distance, barriers, or stealth would mean nothing. The sword, guided by soul resonance, would fly through any obstacle to strike down the target, even if they were hiding in the most well-guarded corner of the world. It was silent, deadly, and impossible to dodge once the soul was locked.
"A terrifying assassination tool…" Max whispered, already envisioning how powerful he’d be once he mastered it.
Two treasures, each profound in its own way. The first gave him security, the second, lethality. And together, they made Max more dangerous than ever.
"I couldn’t find any secrets to the paintings or the drawings on the walls," Max muttered with a sigh, shaking his head slightly. He had spent hours inspecting every inch of the ancient murals—runes etched in fading ink, brushstrokes layered with cryptic intent, and countless scenes from forgotten times—but none of them responded to him.
None glowed. None shifted. None stirred even the faintest resonance within his soul. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. Either the secrets were too well hidden, or perhaps they were simply not meant for him.
Still, Max didn’t let it weigh him down. After all, the treasures he had obtained from the mirrors in the second stage were immensely valuable. The Star Flame Art, the Lightning Core: Heart of the Azure Storm, the Space Anchor Sphere, and the Soul Sword Art—each of them had the potential to change the course of his cultivation journey.
So instead of feeling regret, he felt a simmering anticipation. There were still greater mysteries to uncover within the Citadel of Atherion—this was merely the beginning.
What did concern him, however, was Silus.
Roughly an hour later, Max arrived at the rendezvous point—a circular chamber of obsidian stone beneath a canopy of magical darkness, illuminated only by floating orbs of dim white light. Silus stood at the center, arms crossed leisurely as if he’d been expecting Max’s delay.
Beside him were Klaus and Nortan.
Both of them had dark expressions on their faces, their posture stiff, their gazes lowered. Max didn’t even need to ask. He could tell that Silus had already demanded their treasures, and from the look of it, probably taken them too.
"You came late," Silus said with a smirk, eyes sharp and playful. "But I assume you must have gathered quite the haul, hmm? Too many treasures to count?"
Max’s lips curled into a sneer. "Even if I did get something, do you really think I’d hand them over to you?"
Silus’s smile faltered for a second before turning cold. "Oh?" he murmured, intrigued now. He took a step closer, his gaze narrowing, voice dropping into something more sinister. "Do you even know who you’re talking to? I come from one of the four divine families of the Four God Nation—the Xuan Family. One word from me, and your friends, your family, your guild… everything and everyone you care about will vanish. I’ll burn it all to the ground just to make an example out of you."
His words weren’t loud, but they cut like knives. Silus’s aura flared—subtle but filled with invisible pressure. For a moment, the chamber felt as if it dropped in temperature. Even Klaus and Nortan began to tremble lightly from the pressure Silus was emitting.
A ruthless chill passed through Max, but his expression didn’t change. His eyes simply hardened.
"Is that so?" Max sneered, his voice cold, sharp like a blade drawn in the dead of night. A flicker of killing intent flashed in his eyes as he took a step forward, meeting Silus’s arrogant gaze without flinching.
Until now, he hadn’t placed Silus in his kill list. The so-called Guardians, even with their overbearing presence and lofty titles, were still tied to the Four God Nation—an untouchable force in the eyes of someone like him who hadn’t even stepped into the Master Realm.
Max had planned to avoid provoking them, to keep his head down, play along with their games, and quietly grow stronger.
But that plan shattered the moment Silus threatened his family, his guild, his people—everything he held close. Those weren’t just words. They were declarations of supremacy, drenched in malice, spoken by someone who saw lives beneath his heel. And Max wasn’t the kind to forget.
A dark laugh rumbled in his chest, low and bitter. Silus and his so-called guardians—Rulers of the Lower Domain? No. They were nothing more than greedy tyrants in borrowed robes, parasites gorging on the treasures of the Citadel. They weren’t protectors. They weren’t leaders. They were glorified thieves, pretending to represent order while indulging in power and plunder.
And now? Now Max didn’t care who stood behind them—Four God Nation or not. He had marked them in his heart.
"You know what? You can keep your treasures," Silus said suddenly, his laughter echoing off the mirror-lined walls, sharp and mocking. His eyes narrowed, a glint of cruelty flashing through them. "I’ll let you live for now. After all, wouldn’t it be better to kill you after you’ve collected even more treasures—for me? Think of it as doing my work for me." He sneered, but beneath that forced bravado, his heart wasn’t nearly as bold.
Silus had felt it—the chilling pressure that had leaked from Max when he stood defiant just now. That killing intent wasn’t fake. It wasn’t posturing. It was cold, deliberate, and very real.
And Silus, despite all his arrogance, wasn’t foolish. He remembered clearly how Max had taken on Commander Leone’s attack head-on and survived, something even seasoned Master Rank warriors would struggle with.
That proved his theory that Max did contain a treasure to increase his strength to the peak of Expert Rank, but was that the limit?
Silus wasn’t sure, and he, for one, wasn’t confident he could take him down one-on-one.
Besides, there were other variables he couldn’t ignore—Klaus, silent but sharp-eyed, and Nortan, still smoldering with repressed fury. Neither had made a move, but if a real fight broke out, Silus knew he couldn’t afford to have them at his back. A sudden sneak attack while dealing with Max could cost him dearly.
No—this wasn’t the time. The citadel still had many stages to unfold, and opportunities to strike would come. Opportunities where Max might be isolated, weakened, or cornered.
Silus would bide his time. Let him walk, let him grow more arrogant, more burdened with treasure and power. And then, when the moment was right, Silus would crush him without mercy.