Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 - Chapter 440

Chapter 440: Korbin – Dead
“Damn it… DAMN IT!!” Korbin howled, his aura exploding once more, wild demonic energy crackling around him like fire trying to consume the air itself. “What are you?!”

Max, still as the center of a pond, raised his sword—just slightly—and breathed. His pink eyes locked on to Korbin with the cold, quiet clarity of someone who had already seen the end of this fight. And then—he moved.

Not with rage. Not with speed.

With purpose.

He took a single step forward. His sword arm rose, not in some dramatic, over-the-top flourish, but in a slow, graceful arc. And then, the world changed.

WHOOM.

A wave of pressure exploded outward from Max—not violent, but suffocating in its purity. The air stilled, as if the very world had paused to witness what was coming. The ground beneath his feet cracked—no, peeled, layer by layer, as if reality itself couldn’t bear the sharpness that now lived in his blade.

Every being on the tenth floor—elf, demon, human—froze. Their hearts skipped. Their minds screamed that something unnatural had been unleashed. Max’s sword hadn’t just become dangerous.

It had become truth.

“What… what is this feeling?” someone whispered from the crowd, unable to breathe.

“It’s not just Sword Aura…” muttered an elf, eyes wide in shock. “It’s… approaching Concept…”

“This!” Craig’s voice cracked through the air as his eyes went wide with disbelief. He wasn’t the only one—several of the demons behind him took unconscious steps back, their instincts screaming at them to flee from the suffocating pressure emanating from the arena. From Max. From his sword.

The sheer density of power, the terrifying clarity in that pressure, wasn’t something that could be faked or misunderstood. It wasn’t brute force. It wasn’t overwhelming aura. It was something far rarer, far more frightening—refined intent, the kind that only came when one’s understanding of a power reached its apex.

“How… how can this be possible?” Craig muttered aloud, stunned as he tried to steady his shaking breath. His fists trembled at his sides. His eyes darted between Korbin’s hopeless figure and the lone figure standing in the arena—Max, his blade lowered, his eyes calm, untouched, unmoved. A man who had not only defied the standards of power, but rewritten them in front of every witness.

There were thousands of geniuses in the tenth floor of the Tower of Truth. Elves, demons, humans—all talented beyond compare. Some had spent decades locked in the Chamber of Laws, meditating in silence, struggling to reach the mysterious boundary between Aura and Concept. Some never reached it in a lifetime. Some never even caught a glimpse of it.

But Max?

He had just arrived. This was his first time on the tenth floor. He hadn’t even touched the Chamber of Laws. And yet… his sword pressure was knocking at the door of a Concept—something that shattered the entire understanding of what was possible, of what was normal. It was unprecedented.

‘This human…’ Craig’s thoughts twisted into a storm of panic and resolve. ‘He needs to be killed at any cost.’ His fists clenched harder, fingernails digging into his palms until blood dripped silently from between his fingers.

It didn’t matter if it was shameless. It didn’t matter if it broke the unspoken rules of pride. Max was too dangerous to be left alive. If this talent was allowed to continue, if he was allowed to grow just a little more… there would be no stopping him.

Even Princess Lenavira, standing silently beside Alice, couldn’t hide her shock. Her normally composed gaze trembled faintly as she recalled the pressure that had poured from Max’s sword just moments ago.

Her elven bloodline, especially her royal bloodline, gave her one of the highest affinities to mana and energy among her people, but even she had to admit—the pressure Max released was suffocating. Crushing. Yet refined like silk wrapped around a blade. A storm within a drop.

‘So he wasn’t bluffing,’ she thought, her eyes fixed on the arena. ‘When he said he could defeat the top geniuses of the Lost Continent… he meant it. And now… he’s proving it.’

The entire tenth floor of the Tower of Truth had gone silent.

And deep within the hearts of every genius present—fear began to root itself. Fear not of the human race…

But of Max Voidwalker.

Korbin, still crouched, his eyes bloodshot and mouth parted in disbelief, felt as though his entire body was being torn apart just standing in the presence of Max’s sword. “This… this can’t be real…”

Max took another step. With each breath, his sword began to hum—not with energy, but with understanding. This was the sword style forged in the crucible of the Pillar of Divine Appraisal. Honed through battle after battle against warriors who tested not just strength, but essence. It was not chaotic. It was not flashy.

It was perfection through simplicity.

And now, he unleashed it.

He raised his blade and whispered beneath his breath, “Void Blade Style – Final Arc.”

In that moment, the entire floor felt like it had been cut in half. A streak of silver light flashed through the arena so fast that even time failed to register it. There was no swing. There was no clash. There was only a single motion—so refined, so distilled—that even the heavens might have bowed to it.

The pressure snapped. The silence shattered.

Korbin didn’t even feel it.

He blinked once—and then the world came apart.

His sword split in two.

His armor cracked down the middle.

His body froze… before slowly beginning to dissolve, from the center of his chest outward. No blood. No scream. Just disintegration, as though his very existence was deemed too noisy to remain.

“No…” Korbin muttered weakly, falling to his knees. “This can’t be…”

But it already was.

With one stroke, Max had ended it.

As Korbin’s body faded into bloody mist, Max stood still, his blade lowered at his side, glowing faintly with that surreal clarity. Around him, no one moved. No one breathed.