Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 1840: To Not Use Dragonheart

Max materialized on one side of the arena, his white hair stirring gently in the breeze produced by the transfer. He stood in complete composure, his black clothing undisturbed and his expression at ease, while Dragonheart rested in his dimensional space without any hint that he intended to draw it.

Compared to the swelling clamor rising from the Divine Realm outside and the strained attention of every participant within the Eternal Hourglass, Max appeared almost unnaturally calm, as though this were not the first great collision between peak geniuses but simply another fight he had chosen to walk into on his own terms.

Rakan Thorne landed on the opposite side with far greater force.

The instant his feet met the ground, the dark gold stone beneath him shuddered. His tall and battle-worn frame seemed to carry the weight of an entire mountain shaped by war, and his bare arms bore faint bronze markings that resembled old scars earned through countless trials of tempering.

He carried no weapon, and he needed none. His fists served as his weapons, his body served as his armor, and the aura of war wrapped around him like an unseen beast waiting for permission to wake.

For several breaths, neither of them moved, and the entire arena seemed to hold its breath along with them.

Beyond the Eternal Hourglass, countless gazes across the Divine Realm were fixed on that same stage.

At the Black Dragon Clan, the disciples had stopped shouting altogether. They stared at the enormous screen with clenched fists, and many of them could barely remember to breathe.

At the War God Palace, the reaction was the exact opposite. The disciples roared louder with every passing moment until their voices shook the sky above the battlefield plaza.

"Rakan!"

"First Warlord!"

"Show him what true body strength means!"

"Crush the black dragon genius!"

At the center of the stage, Rakan studied Max for a long moment, and then his grin slowly widened.

"You are not drawing your sword?"

Max glanced down at Dragonheart and then looked back at Rakan. "Not for now."

Rakan raised an eyebrow. The excitement in his eyes deepened, though it now carried a trace of genuine surprise. "You used that strange sword path to defeat Rosaline. You carry the Sword of the Sword Sovereign. You traded pure sword techniques with Damian Voss and never once fell behind. And yet against me, the first Warlord of the War God Palace, you choose to not use your sword?"

Max smiled faintly. "That is right."

Rakan laughed, and the sound held no mockery yet. It was deep and rough and saturated with the desire for battle. "Do you understand what that means?"

Max regarded him calmly. "I do."

Rakan’s grin turned wilder. "Then tell me why."

Max lifted his hand and slowly closed it into a fist. A subtle ripple of physical force spread outward from his body. It was not energy, nor sword intent, nor the Pseudo Cosmic Path, but purely the strength of flesh contained beneath his skin, his bones, his blood, and a vitality that resembled that of a dragon.

The stage beneath his feet gave a low hum, as though the arena itself had recognized that the body standing upon it was far from ordinary.

"I have fought swordsmen, bloodline users, curse wielders, soul attackers, and cultivators of strange and unusual paths," Max said evenly. "But I have never properly measured my body against the strongest body cultivators in the Divine Realm."

His gaze settled on Rakan.

"And when people speak of body cultivation in the Divine Realm, they speak of the War God Palace."

The words carried clearly through the arena, and for a moment even the disciples of the War God Palace outside fell silent. Then the entire palace erupted with noise even greater than before.

"He wants to test his body against the War God Palace?"

"Against Rakan Thorne himself?"

"He is out of his mind!"

"Does he believe dragon blood alone can rival the first Warlord?"

At the Black Dragon Clan, many disciples looked stunned.

"He is really not using Dragonheart?"

"He intends to fight Rakan with his bare body?"

"That is far too dangerous. Rakan is no ordinary body cultivator."

Lady Virelia’s eyes narrowed slightly, and even the seven family heads grew solemn. They knew Max’s body was formidable, for they had witnessed enough to understand that much.

Even so, choosing to challenge Rakan Thorne in the very domain where Rakan was most terrifying remained an extraordinarily bold decision.

Matthew Grimes released a slow breath. "That boy truly refuses to walk any ordinary road."

Inside the arena, Rakan stared at Max for several long breaths before he smiled again. This time his smile carried more than excitement. It was nearly predatory.

"You have made an enormous mistake," Rakan said.

Max’s expression did not shift. "Have I?"

Rakan rolled his neck, and a series of loud cracks sounded from his bones. "If you had used your sword, your strange Cosmic Path, or any of your other hidden tricks, this battle might have grown complicated from the very first exchange. But if you wish to contend with me through the body alone, then you have walked straight into my kingdom."

A bronze aura rose slowly from Rakan’s skin, and the air around him grew heavy. His muscles did not swell in any exaggerated fashion, yet every line of his body seemed to become more solid, more ancient, and more oppressive.

The war markings along his arms brightened one after another, and thin cracks began spreading through the stage beneath his feet.

Rakan raised his fist.

"This body has been broken inside war furnaces, crushed beneath divine mountains, burned within battlefield suns, drowned in seas of blood, and rebuilt more times than I can count. Every bone in me has been tempered for combat. Every drop of blood in my veins carries the intent of war. Every breath I draw exists for the sake of battle."

His eyes locked onto Max.

"So allow me to teach you something, Max Morgan."

The bronze aura surrounding him grew suddenly denser.

"When you challenge the War God Palace in a contest of the body, you do not begin by testing us."

He took a single step forward, and the arena shook.

"You begin by surviving us."