Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1436 Isabella's Pride!

"Are you Max, the one who claimed the Sword of the Sword Sovereign?" Isabella inquired, halting a brief distance away from him. Her tone stayed even, but a clear spark of interest lingered underneath. The nearby flames wavered gently while she remained there, her aura peaceful yet far from fragile.

Max lifted his hands in a light, relaxed motion. "I guess that's me."

His voice held no trace of arrogance. He addressed it like the incident was just another thing, not overly important or minor. Still, everyone in the outer halls knew the gravity of it. Claiming the Sword Sovereign's inheritance wasn't for regular disciples to even touch, let alone take.

Isabella examined him closely. Her eyes stayed firm and searching, like she was trying to see past his composed surface into the core of his being.

"How were you able to pull that off?" she questioned softly. "How did you get the sword to yield to you? Even my Imperial Bloodline couldn't manage it."

Max shook his head gradually.

"There's a key distinction between compelling a sword to yield and letting it recognize you," he answered. "I didn't force it down. I didn't crush its spirit. I just positioned myself in front of it and let it choose."

Isabella's eyebrows furrowed just a bit.

"So you're saying the sword recognized you on its own, instead of being overcome by you?" she pressed, a touch of doubt in her voice.

Max nodded steadily.

"The sword possesses its own essence," he went on. "If you try to control it forcefully, you conflict with its core. But if you let your purpose align with it, it decides if you deserve it."

Isabella stayed quiet for an instant. The surrounding flames popped quietly, throwing dancing shadows over her reflective face. She didn't challenge his view right away, even though his explanation clearly shook her grasp of what happened.

Her Imperial Bloodline was designed for ruling and overpowering. That defined its power. But maybe that same overpowering had sparked a quiet pushback between her and the sword.

Following a short break, she breathed out softly and steered the talk elsewhere.

"What if we compete in a race?" she suggested, a subtle grin reappearing on her face. "Let's find out who can push further into this test."

Max glanced at her with a touch of unexpectedness.

"Why would you want to race against me?" he wondered, letting out a small breath. "Check out Zain Heron. He's nearing the fourth pillar already. If you want to test your limits, go after him."

Isabella's grin widened, but her gaze turned keener.

"I get that he's strong," she confessed. "His Blazing Dragon Sovereign Body is impressive, and his link to the Source Bloodline is almost flawless."

She held back for a second before pressing on, her words dropping a notch.

"But looking at him, he seems like a roaring fire. It's fierce and commanding, but easy to read. Looking at you, though, it's another story."

Max kept his face neutral, but his focus intensified.

"When I see you," Isabella continued deliberately, "it's like facing something that hasn't shown its true side yet. There's a hint of threat. It's quiet, but real. Even without showing massive power on the surface, you come across like a hunter lurking in the dark."

Her statement was steady, not blaming, but insightful.

"Zain doesn't make me feel that way," she noted. "He's powerful, but direct. You aren't."

Max offered a slight smile, laced with a bit of sarcasm.

"You're putting me on quite the pedestal," he remarked easily. "I'm flattered."

Inside, though, a small wave moved.

Her senses were keener than he'd expected. She couldn't detect the exact essence of his bloodline, but she picked up on it. She sensed the concealed sharpness under his tranquility.

Isabella cocked her head a little.

"Well then," she repeated, her smile back with a soft dare, "want to race?"

The flames danced between them, seeming to wait for his response.

"No thanks, I'm not into it," Max answered evenly while shaking his head.

His rejection came without pause and without any sugarcoating. His manner was laid-back, nearly uncaring, as if her idea didn't matter much to him.

Isabella's face tightened for a quick second.

On the outside, she held her poise. Her stance didn't waver, and her calm presence didn't burst into obvious frustration. Still, a brief flicker crossed her eyes before she steadied her look.

Deep down, though, it hit harder.

Isabella had always held her head high.

Even prior to awakening her resonance with the Imperial Bloodline, she'd possessed an innate assurance from her gifts and heritage. She'd towered over her equals with minimal strain. Once named the Saintess in training for the Black Dragon Clan, that assurance had solidified into near certainty.

The Imperial Bloodline wasn't just about promise. It marked fate itself. Elders honored her. Disciples looked up to her. Even veteran cultivators showed her deference beyond her current realm.

With time, that esteem molded her self-view. She became used to being the focal point. She became used to others gauging themselves by her measure.

And now, a disciple faced her who had turned down her offer with total ease, without a hint of worry.

To Isabella, it wasn't mere lack of interest.

It felt like rejection.

A subtle warmth built in her core, unrelated to the Path to Eternal Flames.

She'd nursed a quiet ache long before this meeting. When word got out that the Sword of the Sword Sovereign had chosen a mortal realm cultivator while she, the prospective Saintess, couldn't secure it, a quiet shame had settled in.

She'd never voiced it outright. She'd kept her grace and control. But the truth lingered.

A sword that ignored her had picked him.

That by itself had rattled her ego.

Here in the Path to Eternal Flames, she'd aimed to turn this challenge into a platform to highlight the clear divide between them. She wanted to prove that even if the sword chose him, her pure power and base outshone his.

Yet his denial cut sharper than she'd thought.

It suggested he saw no reason to compare with her.

It suggested her dare wasn't worth his time.

Isabella's hands clenched lightly at her sides before loosening. Her face evened out to serenity, but her eyes now carried a fiercer glint.

"Fine then," Isabella stated, her voice shedding its prior playfulness for gravity, "what if we make a wager right here?"