Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1478 A Bet!

Mathew provided the response, displaying that relaxed, leisurely smile characteristic of an individual who had long accepted that his beliefs wouldn't always receive universal acclaim.

"If it were any other disciple, we would not be so certain," he stated, his tone infused with the relaxed assurance of a person drawing from gathered proof instead of mere emotional attachment, "but we have complete belief in Max. He should cross the eightieth floor mark without much difficulty."

The statement had scarcely landed when the remaining family heads started nodding in sequence, their consensus silent yet unwavering. Even Garry, who harbored no fondness for Max whatsoever, inclined his head in agreement.

This wasn't feigned excitement for the sake of others. Every one of them had reached this conviction via personal insights, and those insights had shaped a view of Max that transcended the standard molds they applied to evaluate clan disciples.

They had observed him overpower prodigies operating at the late stage of the Rebirth Realm, foes whose cultivation superiority ought to have overwhelmed someone of his stature during his Divine Rank days.

They had seen him achieve this not via fortune or some dismissible anomaly that might pass as chance, but via his raw power.

Having now advanced to the third level of the Rebirth Realm, the family heads deemed it perfectly logical to anticipate his smooth passage through the eightieth floor of the combat tower. Regarding potential heights above that, they chose not to venture guesses, a hesitation rooted not in lack of knowledge but in lessons etched by experience.

They had discovered the pitfalls of capping Max's potential. During the Path to Eternal Flames trial, they had formed their presumptions, subtle and inward, each silently settling on a point where Max would inevitably hit an unbreakable barrier, yet every presumption crumbled almost instantly.

He had breached obstacles deemed impenetrable, accomplishing it sans the intense battles that might have softened the sting of their misjudgments, and had positioned them beyond their forecasts with no retort possible.

That ordeal had irrevocably altered their perspective on him. Max defied measurement by the metrics applied to all others.

He operated outside familiar talent spectra, eschewing the rises and stalls that years had conditioned them to foresee, prompting them to jointly, wordlessly, abandon forecasts of his limits and instead observe the paths he elected to pursue.

"The eightieth floor?"

The astonishment in Joe's tone rang true, and briefly, he gazed at the family heads as if anticipating a chuckle and confession of hyperbole for dramatic flair. None obliged. He mulled over the assertion mentally and realized no angle made it plausible.

Had Max reached the ninth or tenth level of the Rebirth Realm, Joe might have considered the idea with minimal pushback. A cultivator at such an elevation facing the eightieth floor of the combat tower at least merited discussion, a hurdle lingering at the fringes of what prodigy and skill might feasibly conquer.

Yet Max stood at the third level. The third level of the Rebirth Realm offered no sturdy base for storming the eightieth floor of any structure.

In Joe's expert evaluation, a cultivator at that growth phase would encounter a harsh and taxing battle spanning the thirtieth to fortieth floors, the sort that compelled disciples to emerge from the tower with sharper awareness of their boundaries.

The idea of such a cultivator attaining the eightieth floor struck not as bold ambition. To Joe, it appeared utterly severed from actuality.

"Elder Joe," Mathew Grimes remarked, his smile reemerging with a casualness implying he viewed the elder's skepticism as more entertaining than insulting, "it seems you don't believe Max will cross the eightieth floor mark."

"I don't care what any of you say," Joe countered, affirming with the steady, deliberate resolve of someone seasoned by decades of witnessing cultivators rise and falter in towers of this nature, prioritizing his analysis over affection or allegiance. "In my assessment, Max is not crossing the eightieth floor."

Mathew Grimes allowed the assertion to echo, then flashed that distinctive smile reserved for one who had anticipated precisely that reply. It unfolded slowly, tinged with cunning, the grin of someone who had preordained the ensuing dialogue. "Then how about we make a bet?" he proposed.

Joe's gaze sharpened slightly. "What sort of bet?"

"It is simple," Mathew explained, his voice laced with the breezy, amiable vibe of advancing a perfectly sensible idea. "If Max manages to cross the eightieth floor mark, then each year from this point forward our two forces will hold an exchange meeting between our respective disciples. The meeting will be held annually regardless of its outcome, a standing arrangement between the Black Dragon Clan and the Violet Star Palace. And if Max does not cross the eightieth floor mark, then you may ask anything of the Black Dragon Clan, and we will do our utmost to fulfill whatever you demand of us."

Joe didn't commit right away. He pondered the proposal, scrutinizing it from key perspectives.

His primary wonder, which he circled back to repeatedly, concerned the source of the Black Dragon Clan's family heads' boldness in wagering on Max surmounting the eightieth floor with cultivation merely at the third level of the Rebirth Realm.

Something existed that they comprehended—or thought they did—something observed in Max that solidified their unshakeable faith, a logic he couldn't decipher leading to such an lofty figure as eighty.

However, the bet's downside, the penalty for defeat, posed far fewer concerns. Committing to yearly disciple exchanges between their factions amounted to no substantial concession.

In fact, it represented a deal that burdened the Violet Star Palace scarcely at all while implying benefits he grasped fully.

The Black Dragon Clan lingered low in the ranks of third-rate powers within the Divine Realm, among its feeblest, whereas the Violet Star Palace thrived among the elite of that category.

The disparity between them stood firm and universally recognized. For Black Dragon Clan disciples, routine sparring with Violet Star Palace cultivators would prove immensely beneficial.

It would acquaint them with superior methods and might, compel acknowledgment of the chasm separating their position from the tier's pinnacle, and enrich tangibly and uniquely their grasp of elite-level cultivation.

Joe discerned the intent plainly. The Black Dragon Clan wasn't suggesting the exchange from hubris. They advanced it because they recognized their disciples required such rigorous interaction for advancement, and they tied it to Max's tower feat due to their profound conviction—still disquieting to him—that Max would deliver the required success.

While he weighed the wager, Max conquered the 20th floor and stepped into the 21st. The swiftness of Max's floor progression in the combat tower left most disciples utterly perplexed.