Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 344: Sword and the Altar

As Max silently followed the little dragon-like fairy, countless questions swirled in his mind.

Where was this mysterious creature taking them?

Was it truly guiding them out of the Mourning Depths—or deeper into its heart?

Was it salvation or a trap disguised as hope?

Max didn't know.

All he could do now was trust it. After everything they had seen—the twisted space, the disorienting terrain, the ancient beast in the black fog—this glowing wisp of a dragon was the only lead they had.

And so he followed, eyes calm but wary, heart steady but coiled with tension.

Behind him came the others. The once proud leaders of Valora Continent and the brightest of its younger generation followed in silence. No one spoke. No one dared to break the fragile thread of purpose tying them together.

But every single one of them was on edge.

The fog was thick, but the sense of danger was thicker.

And it didn't take long for that danger to show itself.

A shriek pierced the silence.

From the left, a creature emerged—its form twisted and monstrous, like a fusion of man and centipede. Long limbs scraped the ground, and its torso opened up to reveal rows of needle-sharp teeth spiraling inward.

Before anyone could react, it lunged—

BOOM!

A flash of red light exploded as Norton Blade cleaved the monster in two. His sword, coated in pure killing intent, cut through flesh and bone like silk.

"Eyes open," Norton growled, his tone heavy. "They're watching us from the fog."

No sooner had he said that, a pack of wraith-like infernal beasts rose from the earth. Shrouded in shadow, their claws crackled with dark lightning as they howled and leapt toward the group.

CRACK!

A golden spear of light tore through the air.

King Magnar stepped forward, eyes flashing, and with a flick of his wrist, unleashed a sweeping arc of elemental force. The wraiths screamed, burned, and vanished into ashes.

But they weren't alone.

From above, a hulking creature with a bloated head and arms like tree trunks came crashing down. Its roar shattered stone and echoed through the empty zone.

Aurelia moved in a blur, a flurry of flaming blades carving the beast apart mid-air.

"That's the third wave," she muttered, wiping a smear of black blood off her cheek. "They're more out there."

"They know we're moving," said Kate, her voice low. "Something's driving them this way."

Azula, still silent and seething at the rear of the formation, only narrowed her eyes. But even she didn't act recklessly—she knew the Mourning Depths didn't play fair.

The deeper they went, the stranger the infernal beings became.

Some were twisted versions of familiar animals—giant infernal wolves whose howls turned into tangible sonic waves that shattered trees and stones.

Others were indescribable.

One had no physical form at all—just a drifting shadow that devoured heat and light. It floated above the ground, and any genius who came too close collapsed, screaming, from the sheer coldness of its presence.

But Harry sealed it with a complex rune formation, burying it beneath a sigil of blue flame.

Another creature appeared as a mirror.

It reflected back their worst fears—illusions so real some of the younger geniuses collapsed in panic, screaming as they were forced to watch themselves die over and over.

Magnar shattered it with a snarl. "Enough."

Through it all, the leaders fought. Silent. Efficient. Brutal.

They showed why they were feared. Why they stood at the top.

The geniuses could only watch in awe. For the first time, they understood the true weight of power—and what it meant to stand at the peak.

Max, however, didn't join the fights. He simply followed the little dragon.

His eyes were focused on the flickering trail ahead, his senses extended in all directions. With each passing step, his connection to the small dragon deepened. He could feel its will—calm, ancient, unwavering.

It wanted to take him somewhere.

Not just out of the Mourning Depths.

Somewhere important.

After hours of following Max—battling wave after wave of infernal creatures, each more twisted than the last—they finally came to a halt.

Before them stood a vast hall.

It wasn't just ancient. It felt wrong.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

Rows of strange statues lined the chamber. Some resembled grotesque beasts—gargoyles twisted in agony, their wings frozen mid-flap. Others were of mermaid-like beings, elegant but eerily expressionless. Some were unrecognizable altogether—shapes that hurt the mind to look at for too long.

Among them stood statues of humans, elves, and demons... their faces lifelike, eyes filled with something that looked too close to fear.

At the center of the hall stood an altar—low, wide, and carved from a dark stone that shimmered faintly under the flickering torchlight. Embedded in the altar was a crimson sword, its blade buried halfway into the stone. A translucent forcefield surrounded it, pulsing like a living heart.

And within that barrier… churned a dense cloud of infernal energy. It moved like smoke, but heavier. More alive.

Max took a breath. The pressure here was different.

"What is this place?" one of the leaders asked, voice hushed.

"How can something like this exist, hidden deep in the Mourning Depths?" another muttered.

"I heard this place was formed from the aftermath of a massive war," someone else said.

"Yeah, same here… but this? This doesn't feel like the ruins of war. This feels like something that was meant to be hidden."

The leaders glanced around uneasily, their murmurs fading into silence.

King Magnar turned to Max, voice low but firm. "Is this the place?"

Max gave a small nod, eyes still locked on the altar. "Yeah… I sensed something from here. Something powerful."

But even as he spoke, his gaze shifted to the little dragon. The creature hadn't stopped when they entered. It had flown straight to the altar, circling the sword like it was drawn to it… or trying to draw him.

'It wants me to take it,' Max thought. 'It's guiding me toward the sword.'

Before he could take a step, King Magnar's voice boomed through the hall.

"Everyone, spread out. Search the area. See if there's anything that can help us escape this place."

The leaders obeyed, fanning out cautiously, each one eyeing the statues like they might come to life.

Max moved too, but his thoughts never strayed far from the sword.

That's when he heard Blob's voice echo inside his mind. Calm, but… shaken.

"Max… I have a very bad feeling about that sword."

He froze.

"It's triggering every alarm I have. That thing is dangerous—far beyond anything we've faced down here. But it's not just the sword I'm worried about."

Max felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"Something is sealed beneath it. Something wrong. The infernal energy in this hall—no, in the entire Mourning Depths—all of it feels like it originated from that sealed thing. Like it's been leaking… breeding this darkness. Max, whatever is down there… it's evil beyond comprehension. You must not, under any circumstance, pull that sword out."

Max stood still, heart pounding.

Just moments ago, he was entertaining the thought. Maybe this sword was a key. A weapon. A piece of the puzzle. After all, the dragon had led him here—guided him right to it. And now it hovered beside the sword, waiting.

Watching.