Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 364: Kill!

"Come here," Max said, his voice gentler now.

Barry hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward.

"Do you really want to learn how to fight?" Max asked.

Barry nodded eagerly, eyes shining with resolve. "Yes."

Max grinned. "Good. Then watch closely the next time they come. I'll show you what real strength looks like."

Barry's face lit up. "Okay!"

Max ruffled his hair, then leaned back against his pillow of blankets.

Later, after the villagers had dispersed, their voices could still be heard outside the tent, murmuring in heated tones.

"He's going to bring trouble."

"We should offer him to the demons. Apologize. Buy some time."

"They'll come for blood now."

Max heard every word.

But he didn't flinch.

He understood them. In their minds, they were still cattle. The idea of standing was alien to them. They hadn't seen the world outside—had never met people like him, Klaus, or any of the great guilds or families of the Valora Continent.

They hadn't even met the true human powerhouses of this continent.

They didn't know that true power could change fate.

But they would learn.

Max let the voices fade into the wind.

He continued resting, letting his body regenerate. The dragon scales had done their job. The stiffness in his limbs had dulled to a manageable ache. He could now walk, even run, though not yet fight at his full strength.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and once again, night fell over the camp.

Just as Max reached for a water pouch beside him—

He heard it.

A low, thunderous rumble in the distance.

Hooves.

Heavy footfalls. Beasts. Metal armor.

And then his Three Dimensional Body picked it up—dozens of approaching figures riding grotesque beasts, flanked by towering monsters.

Max's eyes sharpened.

Demons.

And not just scouts.

A hunting party.

They were heading straight for the camp.

Max stood up slowly, rolling his shoulders, cracking his neck, his blood beginning to stir.

"Barry," he said quietly, eyes still locked in the distance, "get ready."

The kid looked up from where he was sitting and blinked. "For what?"

Max's lips curled into a calm, dangerous smile.

"To watch how demons die."

Max stepped out of the camp slowly, the morning air crisp against his skin. His footsteps were steady, deliberate. Behind him, Barry followed, his eyes wide with anticipation—but as they neared the edge of the tents, Max glanced back and gave a subtle shake of the head.

"Stay back."

Barry understood.

He stopped where the camp ended, hiding behind a stack of wooden crates, just close enough to watch—but far enough to stay out of harm's way.

At the edge of the village, thunderous footsteps rumbled through the earth.

A group of twenty to thirty demons had arrived, mounted atop grotesque beasts—mutated lizards and horned wolves with red eyes and breath like steam. The demons were clad in crude armor, their skin ranging from gray to deep crimson, their auras oppressive, violent, heavy.

They halted before the camp, and their eyes immediately fell on the five corpses lying in the dirt—dead demons from the envoy group that had arrived the day before.

The reaction was immediate.

Growls. Roars. Fangs bared.

"Who killed them?!" one snarled, voice dripping with fury. His hand gripped the hilt of a jagged blade as he scanned the villagers, who had begun to spill from their tents—fear etched across every face.

They said nothing.

No one dared speak.

They already knew what these demons were capable of.

And they feared what would come next.

Max stepped forward calmly, his posture relaxed, his eyes cold.

"It was me."

The demons turned toward him in unison.

A red-skinned one—taller than the rest, with bone ridges along his arms—narrowed his eyes, examining Max closely. His aura flickered slightly as he scanned Max's strength.

"Level one of the Adept Rank?" the demon scoffed. "You expect us to believe you killed five of our warriors? They were level fours and fives—fully armed, trained soldiers."

Max said nothing. He simply stared at them, expression unreadable.

The red-skinned demon sneered. "There's no way a weakling like you did this alone. Where are your companions?"

Max's lips curved upward, just slightly.

Then he asked, with a voice as calm as a quiet sea before a storm—

"Where is the Tower of Truth?"

The demons blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in topic.

Then understanding dawned.

They exchanged glances.

"Ah…" the red-skinned demon exhaled with a smirk. "So you're one of them. One of those humans from the foreign continent. No wonder you're stronger than the cattle here."

Another demon grinned. "Don't bother playing games, kid. Call your people. We'll deal with you all at once."

Max lowered his hands to his sides and took a slow step forward.

"I'll ask once more." His tone dropped a degree. "Tell me where the Tower of Truth is… or I'll make this place your grave."

The demons laughed—a chorus of mockery echoing across the field.

"You hear that? He thinks he's scary!"

"Trying to bluff his way out. Hilarious."

"Come on, call your squad already. This is getting embarrassing."

The red-skinned demon bared his teeth. "Stop pretending. We know you're stalling. There's no way someone at your level could take out five of ours. You're nothing but a loud brat with a death wish."

Max's smile faded.

His eyes sharpened.

And behind him, hidden in the shadows, Barry watched—his heart pounding in his chest.

He didn't know what Max was going to do.

But something inside him told him… he was about to witness something he or even the entire ranch hadn't seen in a long time.

Max exhaled softly and shook his head, almost in disappointment.

Then, in a voice cold and calm as death itself, he whispered—

"Magic Sword Barrage."

The air above the demons shimmered.

And then—

They appeared.

Hundreds of blue, glowing swords manifested in the sky, hovering in eerie silence. Each one pulsed with dense energy, their tips aimed downward, glinting in the sunlight like shards of vengeance. The air itself trembled under the weight of their presence, thick with the hum of power.

Each blade wasn't just conjured—it was sharpened with Level 3 Sword Aura, a force so refined and lethal that even the beasts the demons rode began to snarl and twitch, unsettled by the oppressive storm now looming above.

The demons looked up—

And their confidence shattered.

Their smug grins froze.

Their eyes widened.

Their throats tightened as they swallowed hard, the reality of their situation finally sinking in.

Too late.

They had underestimated him—badly.

"You should've answered me," Max said coldly, his voice carrying through the stunned silence. "If you won't tell me where the Tower of Truth is…"

He paused, his gaze icy.

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"…then there's no reason for you to live."

And then—

He dropped his hand.

The sky obeyed.

The swords fell like a storm of retribution.

WHISTLING. SHRIEKING. SCREAMING.

A rain of steel and light, hundreds of blades descending all at once, tearing through the ranks of demons in the blink of an eye.

Some tried to flee.

Some tried to shield themselves with magic.

Some didn't even move—frozen in fear.

None of it mattered.

The first wave of swords pierced flesh, shattered bone, split armor like paper. Blood sprayed into the air. Screams were short-lived. The second wave left nothing but silence. The third was judgment.

And when it was over—

Only bodies remained.

Scorched. Torn. Lifeless.

A field of death painted in blue light and red blood.

Max stood still, breathing quietly, his hands now lowered.

Not a speck of blood had touched him.

Behind the crates, Barry stared—awestruck, unmoving. His heart thudded in his chest as he looked at the field of corpses, at the boy who had stepped out of a tent and killed dozens without mercy.

This wasn't just strength.

This was domination.

And at the center of it all stood Max, his eyes glowing faintly, calm… and utterly unshaken.