Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 - Chapter 433

Chapter 433: Original Master of the Tower
Just as the words left his mouth, the mist in front of him stirred unnaturally. It coiled and condensed, not in the shapeless way it had done before, but with a strange grace—deliberate and focused.

From it emerged another warrior… but this one was different.

Unlike the previous mist warriors, who had all been vague humanoid shapes, undefined by race, age, or gender, this figure was clear.

He stood tall, clad in traditional flowing robes that fluttered faintly despite the stillness of the air. His long white hair cascaded behind him like strands of snow, and his bearing was regal—composed like a swordsman who had seen countless lifetimes.

He looked… human. Except for one thing—his eyes. Or rather, the lack of them. Where his eyes should have been, there was only shadow, an unknowable void that neither reflected light nor emotion.

Max’s fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his sword as he stared at the final opponent standing quietly before him. His instincts flared like alarms in his blood, sharp and undeniable.

‘This guy smells like danger,’ he thought, eyes narrowing as his posture subtly shifted into a guarded stance. The figure didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t even breathe, but Max could feel it—presence. A kind of silent pressure that screamed of mastery and absolute calm, like a storm trapped beneath still waters. The white-haired figure radiated something ancient, something too vast to be put into words.

“Is this one a human?” Max asked, his voice steady but curious as his gaze flicked toward the glowing red eyes of the tower spirit hiding in the mist.

“No,” the spirit replied, its tone deeper than before, as if the moment demanded a weightier truth. “He isn’t a human. He is the original master of the Tower of Truth. He is a Primordial.”

Max blinked, caught off guard by the response. “He’s… a Primordial?” The words left his lips almost in disbelief. “The original master?”

His heart skipped a beat. He had expected a final opponent, yes. But not this. Not the ancient being responsible for the creation of the entire tower. Not a member of a race Max had no idea whatsoever, if they did exist in the world or not.

A Primordial—one of the strongest races to ever exist. Something beyond comprehension.

But what stunned him just as much was the appearance of the figure itself.

“But… why does he look so much like a human?” Max asked again, his voice quieter now, almost like he was asking himself.

There was something deeply unsettling in the resemblance. The traditional robes, the long white hair, the composed frame—it all mirrored the humans of old legend. And yet, the sheer aura of the figure screamed of something far more vast and unknowable.

“There are many races that look just like humans,” the tower spirit answered, its voice now laced with the calm wisdom of something that had watched over millennia. “You’ve already seen the elves. Even the demons resemble humans—if you ignore their darker skin and hulking builds. So it should not surprise you that the original master of the tower—though a Primordial—could resemble a human too. Form is but one piece of identity. It is not what defines race… or power.”

Max exhaled slowly, nodding as the truth settled in his chest. This was no ordinary opponent. No mere guardian or test. He was about to face a shadow of the very being who once stood at the peak of this place—a Primordial who had forged the Tower of Truth.

“Come on then,” Max said, a flicker of excitement rising in his chest as he steadied his stance, eyes locked onto the figure before him. There was something thrilling—almost surreal—about standing opposite a legend, the very creator of the Tower of Truth.

A being from an ancient race thought to be myth. A Primordial. The idea of testing himself against such a figure wasn’t just daunting—it was electrifying.

And then, without warning, the mist warrior moved. He didn’t glide like the others. He ran, thundering across the field in a blur of pure motion, his white robes fluttering behind him like trailing banners of mist. But almost instantly, Max’s sharp gaze caught something strange—something that didn’t make sense.

“Huh?” he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. “He isn’t using any mana… not even infernal energy… not even soul force…” He frowned, but then his frown slowly twisted into a grin. “Could he be planning to…?” he murmured, the realization dawning.

And just like that, he understood what was about to happen—and welcomed it. With a deep breath, Max put away his sword. He rolled his shoulders, stretched out his arms, and then charged forward with a wild grin etched on his face. No mana. No aura. Just him.

As the distance between them vanished in seconds, the mist warrior raised a clenched fist without hesitation—raw, bare-knuckle power aimed straight for Max’s face. But Max didn’t flinch. He matched the motion, his own fist cocked back and filled with nothing but physical force, and with a roar of exhilaration, he drove it forward.

BOOM!

The collision rang out like a thunderclap, a deafening shockwave exploding from the impact as both fists collided mid-air with terrifying force. A violent gust of wind burst outward, tearing through the surrounding grass and flattening the mist in every direction.

Both figures were blasted backward from the sheer force of the impact, their feet skidding violently across the vibrant green grass. Max gritted his teeth, digging his heels into the ground to stop his momentum, a fiery thrill surging through his veins.

His knuckles throbbed, but his blood sang. This wasn’t a duel of energy or aura—it was a battle of bodies. Of strength, skill, and raw, unfiltered combat.

‘His physical body is comparable to mine!’ Max was shocked knowing that his body was super strong because of the Black Dragon Chaotic Bloodline and because of the Dragon Scales. And yet he could only match the original owner of the tower.

This was unbelievable to Max and at the same time he felt that this much had to be expected from the legend who build the tower.

‘But that’s just his physical body…’ Max thought, eyes sharpening as his battle spirit flared. ‘How would he compare to my raw strength?’ With a deep breath and a focused will, he unlocked the force sleeping within him—activating the full might of his three hundred Draconic Essences.

RUMBLE!

The ground quaked beneath his feet as a monstrous pressure erupted from within his body, like the roar of a caged beast finally breaking free of its prison. Power surged through every vein, every muscle, every bone in his body.

His skin tightened, bulging slightly with coursing veins as raw strength rippled through him like waves in a storm. It was not magic. Not mana. Not aura. This was pure, unfiltered physical power, forged from his unique essence—a force few in the world could comprehend, let alone withstand.

The instant the pressure was released, the mist warrior reacted. His body blurred forward, his speed now matching the ferocity Max had just unleashed.

Seeing the movement, Max didn’t hesitate. His figure vanished, the spot where he had stood exploding into dust as he blasted forward like a missile, propelled by strength alone. The air around him screamed in protest, the force of his movement tearing through the mist and shattering the ground behind him.

And then—