Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1381 A Commotion for the Sword

Having devoted yet another complete month inside the Dimension of Time to honing his Void Severing Star Scripture, Max at last resolved to venture outside and hunt for materials that would drive him beyond the concluding phases of Divine Rank toward the Rebirth Realm.

His blade intent had sharpened further while settling into greater tranquility, and his assurance remained steady without tipping into overconfidence. Yet, right as he geared up to exit his dwelling, a subtle crease formed on his brow.

Via his Three Dimensional Body, Max detected multiple figures dispersed near his quarters. Certain ones concealed their auras clumsily from atop roofs and hallways, others lingered boldly by doorways like watchful hunters, and a few even lounged with shut eyes while keeping a slender sense fixed on his chamber.

The count of individuals present exceeded his expectations by a wide margin, and their motives shone through without any hint of secrecy.

"What the hell is going on here?" Max pondered while halting just before the entrance. He held back from bursting out right away and instead tuned in silently, letting the talks beyond drift into his hearing. Following a few minutes of eavesdropping, the full picture sharpened in his mind, and an icy grin crept across his mouth.

"They've all set their sights on my sword Dragonheart," Max scoffed to himself. Once word got out about him seizing the weapon of the Dragonheart Sword Sovereign, it was bound to rattle endless sword cultivators into frenzy.

For those practitioners, Dragonheart stood as more than just a tool—it embodied the pinnacle of sword dominion, and the notion of it falling to a fresh outer disciple proved utterly intolerable to them.

"They figure that by dueling me and emerging victorious, they can seize my sword," Max mused with silent contempt. "If that's genuinely their view of things, then they're even stupider than I'd guessed."

Armed with that insight, Max swung the door wide and sauntered forth with ease, his face serene and his stance loose. The very second he emerged, the vibe near his home shifted dramatically.

Concealed watchers stepped into view, poised challengers snapped to attention, and stares brimming with avarice, envy, and drive fixed upon him.

"Max, I challenge you," a youth bellowed at once, advancing with a piercing presence. "Do you have the guts to take me on? We'll wager your sword in this fight."

Before Max could reply, a second call rang out. "So you're the one who grabbed the Sword Sovereign's blade. I refuse to accept you're fit to hold that weapon. Surrender it if you fall, or face me if you've got the nerve."

Further calls erupted nearby, clashing with raw antagonism and thrill scarcely held back. Demands for combat flew freely, some courteous, others haughty, all revolving around one prize.

Max remained still amid the clamor, absorbing their words without any sign of fury crossing his features. His gaze stayed even, though beneath that evenness lurked a keen and perilous glint. He sensed no peril.

Rather, what struck him was the stark truth that from the instant he gripped Dragonheart, tranquility had turned into something he could no longer afford.

"You want my sword? Guess what, you're not getting it." Max declared with a loud sneer. "Now piss off!"

"What did he just say?" one follower blurted in shock, his eyes bulging as though he doubted what his ears had caught from Max's bold statement before the group.

"He told us to piss off?" another echoed deliberately, his cheeks heating with rage while his presence wavered wildly from the sting of such offhand rejection.

"This kid's way too cocky!" a blade practitioner roared in fury. "He acts like snatching the Dragonheart Sword lets him walk over all of us."

"Does he get how many folks crave that sword?" another snarled from the throng. "That edge is meant for the Divine Realm, not some newbie outer disciple."

"Hah, this is interesting," a steadier tone remarked with a chilly chuckle. "The bolder he gets, the more convinced I am to rip that sword from his grasp."

"He dares to taunt us right out in the open," yet another follower hissed through gritted teeth. "Perfect. Now nobody can claim we're ganging up when we call him out."

"So that's his response?" a female voice murmured, her look piercing and shrewd. "Alright. If he won't yield it without a fight, we'll claim it through combat."

Around Max, the atmosphere tightened as animosity built up, fury, desire, and aspiration mingling fiercely, while endless gazes flared with resolve, since his retort hadn't scattered them but rather sparked something far deadlier.

Max released a gradual breath while pressing onward, his pace deliberate and firm amid the strain closing in from every direction. He understood full well that outright battles were banned outside approved fighting fields, duel areas, and official sparring spots.

No matter their greed or wrath, these followers wouldn't risk striking at him directly in this place. Thanks to that restriction, he navigated the assembly fearlessly, brushing off their venomous looks like mere chatter.

Still, the group displayed no signs of breaking up. They trailed him tightly, their steps resounding after his, their focus glued to his form like hunters eyeing quarry that could vanish in a moment.

Max breathed out once more upon seeing the masses refusing to dwindle even a bit.

Right when he started pondering ways to handle this without stirring up more trouble, a crisp and authoritative cry echoed over the space, slicing past the low talks and mutters like a keen edge.

"Everyone get away!"

The call belonged to a woman, ringing sharp and insistent, and as soon as Max caught it, a twinge of recognition hit him. That tone sounded familiar from before. Before he could linger on the thought, the dense cluster started splitting, followers pulling back on reflex as though an unseen force shoved them apart.

Quickly, a pair of forms appeared through the gap that opened. Leading was Carl, striding with poise and surety, his mere aura enough to make various followers look away. At his side was the speaker, Lucia Grimes, her face stern and commanding as her stare scanned the nearby followers.

"Damn, the Grimes Family is here," one hissed softly while drawing back further. "Get away from Max."

"I heard Max has connections with the Grimes Family, but I never thought Lucia Grimes herself would show up for him," another follower grumbled in astonishment. "This is insane."

"So does that mean we cannot touch Max at all now that the Grimes Family is backing him," a third tone fretted, the prior boldness vanished entirely.

"What do you mean touch him," someone shot back defiantly. "We are only asking for fair duels. If he cannot even accept a duel, then he is not fit to be a disciple of the Thirty Third Hall."

In spite of such talk, the faces of the followers encircling Max turned more taut as they registered Lucia's arrival. The boldness they'd flashed earlier started fracturing, giving way to wariness and discomfort.

Whatever designs they nursed for Dragonheart, it stood evident now that going after Max wasn't as straightforward as mobbing him and barking orders.