Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1374 Legacy of the Sword Sovereign

In Max's hand, the sword kept vibrating as his boots met the Treasure Pavilion's ground, its golden edge unleashing a wild and commanding sword intent that seemed to breathe. This intent expanded in ripples, keen and steadfast, infused with an timeless spirit that resisted all taming.

The instant it burst out, all the other arms in the pavilion stirred like they faced a born enemy. Swords clanged, lances shook, and even the artifacts sealed farther inside the chamber hummed softly in echo.

The handful of disciples there pulled back on reflex, their faces stiffening from the oncoming force, while Elder Soren himself sensed his breathing turn labored beneath that mighty vibe.

Just Max grasped the real reason for that shaking.

"Golden Battle Sword, Dragonheart," Max whispered low, his tone steady but brimming with assurance. The blade wasn't just responding. It was communicating with him in its sole way, disclosing its title via its bold intent and firm purpose. Dragonheart. A title loaded with arrogance, rebellion, and the remnants of endless fights against impossible foes.

"This blade..." Elder Soren breathed, his poise cracking at last. Amazement flooded his stare as he fixed on the edge Max clutched. Over his thousands of years watching the Treasure Pavilion, he'd never thought anyone, much less a fresh recruit disciple, could seize the armament perched at the top of the ninth level. What unfolded before him demolished old beliefs and flipped ages of steady conviction.

"Elder Soren, do you know this sword?" Max inquired, spotting the sharp shift in the elder's look.

"I know a bit," Elder Soren answered gravely, his eyes locked on Dragonheart. "If I recall correctly, this sword was once the possession of Dragonheart Sword Sovereign. He stood as a mythic powerhouse, hailed as the top sword expert of his time in the Divine Realm. His grasp of the sword hit a frightening peak, so near the hard-to-reach domain of the Sword Saint that folks figured his rise was bound to happen. But ultimately, he missed that domain by the tiniest bit."

Elder Soren stopped, like dredging up a memory lost in the ages. "Following that, Dragonheart Sword Sovereign slipped from sight. Nobody knows his whereabouts or the route he picked next. Some claim he hid away to chase a greater insight, others think he ditched the sword for good. The sole sure fact is that ages back, he handed this sword over to the Black Dragon Palace himself."

He went on, his words laced with a hint of respect. "He set just one rule. This sword couldn't pass to elders or seasoned masters. It had to go to a youth, one whose spirit and promise matched the blade's own. For thousands of years, this edge sat idle, turning away every disciple bold enough to grasp it, no matter their gifts or strength."

Elder Soren at last turned to Max, his gaze mixing wonder and doubt in equal parts. "But after all those years, it picked you. You're the first to lift Dragonheart from this pavilion."

"This sword carries such a history?" Max murmured while eyeing the golden edge in his hold. The burden now felt beyond mere weight, like the annals of time pressed into his skin.

At this point, he fully got why the sword had wavered before, why it probed his determination rather than submit right away. Dragonheart had been owned by a Sword Sovereign, not just a mighty practitioner but the finest sword lord of the Divine Realm back then, a figure teetering on the brink of the Sword Saint realm.

Against such a titan, Max realized his present state fell short, and the sword had detected that divide plainly.

"Man, Max actually snagged that sword," Carl uttered in a rattled tone, his stare glued to Dragonheart with raw skepticism. "Starting now, his quiet times in the Divine Realm are done."

"I get what you're saying," Laura responded with a slow head bob, her face growing somber. "The Divine Realm teems with sword prodigies who've revered Dragonheart Sword Sovereign's heritage for ages. Loads of them yearned to claim his blade, but none could try since it stayed locked in the Black Dragon Palace. With a palace disciple taking it—and a brand-new outer one at that—the word will push those sword practitioners over the edge."

Carl released a deep breath as the fallout sharpened in his thoughts. "When this gets out, I can picture half the Black Dragon Palace folks challenging Max, without mentioning the outsiders hunting any reason to hassle him."

Max caught their talk sharp and clear, but he let it not rattle his core. His eyes stayed firm as he faced Elder Soren, the golden blade gripped tight in his fist. "The sword belongs to me now, right?" he questioned evenly, his voice free of question or waver.

Elder Soren gave a quick nod. "It does. This sword ranks at least low immortal tier, so guard it well, kid."

A subtle grin crossed Max's features at the nod. He clenched Dragonheart harder, sensing its intent ease as if recognizing his determination. No matter the tempests this blade might unleash ahead, Max welcomed them sans remorse.

"Now I need a cultivation art," Max stated, shifting his focus from the sword to Elder Soren.

"Hm," Elder Soren murmured lightly before agreeing with a nod. "What kind of cultivation art are you after?"

"What kind?" Max echoed, going quiet for a second as he sorted his ideas. His sight wandered naturally to the huge Treasure Hall surrounding them, yet he really pondered the makeup of his own strength. "I want one that lets me handle fire, ice, lightning, space, and various elements as one, not apart, but blended smoothly."