Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 564: A True Dragon

Max exhaled deeply, the cool breeze brushing against his skin as he finally broke the silence. "I understand now... The Mark of Divinity only chooses those with a fate too vast to remain ordinary. It’s like a signpost, one that fate leaves behind for people like you, to say—’watch this one.’"

He paused briefly before continuing, his voice firmer. "But there’s something I don’t get. The elf master told me to hurry up and grow stronger. Ragnar told me the world is teetering toward something dangerous. Why? What did they mean by that?"

Kane didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he smiled softly, as if fondly amused by Max’s keen observation. "Ah... those two," he said, chuckling under his breath. "They always worry too much, even though they hide it behind riddles and riddles wrapped in fire and light. Don’t let their words cloud your heart. They see things... through different eyes."

He turned to Max then, the starlight reflecting in his calm, ancient gaze. "They’re anxious, yes. But don’t mind them too much. They have their reasons, and their burdens."

Max opened his mouth to press further, but Kane raised a hand gently to stop him. "Come," he said warmly, motioning toward the shimmering edge of the grassy field. "Let me show you something."

No sooner had Kane’s words left his lips than Max’s surroundings blurred and shifted, and in the very next moment, he found himself transported to a place that felt ancient and boundless.

The sky above was void of stars, as if the heavens themselves had been swallowed by an eternal shadow, and a deep, cosmic silence hung in the air.

Then Max saw it—and what he saw nearly stole the breath from his lungs.

Towering in the distance, coiled across a blackened expanse of earth and sky, was a dragon. But not just any dragon. It was a Black Dragon—so massive that Max couldn’t comprehend its true size.

Its scales gleamed like polished obsidian dipped in cosmic fire, every shift of its body echoing across the plane like distant thunder.

Just looking at it was like standing before the embodiment of divinity itself. Max’s knees nearly buckled from the sheer pressure emanating from the beast. It wasn’t mere strength—it was sacred, reverent, overwhelming.

His entire being screamed to kneel, to worship, to fall prostrate before this godly creature whose aura pierced the soul.

But then, in the depths of that overwhelming presence, something stirred within Max.

A pulse.

A roar.

His bloodline awakened like a sleeping titan roused from slumber. A storm of golden and shadowed energy surged through his veins, his heart pounded like a war drum, and with it came power—unshakable, defiant, ancestral.

In that moment, the weight of divinity pressing down on him shattered. The awe, the trembling reverence, the urge to kneel—all vanished like smoke in wind.

Max stood tall, his eyes steady and unflinching. No longer did he feel small before the godlike dragon. Now, he saw it not as a being to worship—but as a being to understand, perhaps even challenge.

His bloodline had spoken—and through it, Max understood. He was no lesser being. Whatever destiny lay before this dragon, his own was just as great... if not greater.

"You carry the bloodline of my ancestor..." The dragon’s voice rumbled like the echo of an ancient mountain collapsing, each syllable drenched in gravity and ancient power.

Max stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. ’Ancestor?’ he echoed silently, the word reverberating in his mind. And then, in a quiet moment of clarity, the truth struck him like lightning.

Of course. It made perfect sense. His bloodline had always been different—purer, stronger, more potent than any variant of the Black Dragon Chaotic Bloodline he had ever encountered or heard about.

It hadn’t come from some distant offshoot or diluted line—it had come from the origin. The ancestor. The source of all. His bloodline wasn’t just special; it was primal. An inheritance from the progenitor of dragons itself.

That explained its overwhelming dominance, the effortless suppression it carried, the authority that rivaled even the strongest bloodlines of the Black Dragon Palace.

But just as that truth settled into his chest, something else stirred—violently. His blood roared once more, burning in his veins, and he turned, sensing a pull so fierce it was as though every drop of blood in his body was being drawn toward something.

His gaze landed on it. Tucked away in a basin of soft, ancient earth—cradled by bluish natural energy and surrounded by softly pulsing spirit essence—was an egg.

A dragon egg. Black, about the size of his two clenched fists, and covered in tiny, jagged markings that shimmered faintly under the glow of the surrounding spirits. Max’s eyes widened in astonishment.

The sheer vitality emanating from the egg was staggering—it was alive, not dormant, and it pulsed in rhythm with something deep inside his own body, something ancient and buried.

’A dragon’s egg...’ Max thought in shock.

Today had already overwhelmed him—a legendary trial, battles that tested his limits, the truth of his two bloodlines—and now, standing here, face to face with a true dragon and staring at a living dragon egg, Max realized one thing with stark certainty. His day couldn’t get anymore shocking.

Just then dragon’s deep, ancient voice lingered in the air like a vibration of the heavens. "This egg is from the Primordial Era, an era where gods truly walked the world." The words carried weight—so heavy they seemed to press down on the very space around Max, as if the truth they contained defied the present reality.

Max’s heart skipped a beat. ’Gods?’ he muttered, mind whirring as thoughts tangled together. His gaze shifted from the colossal dragon to the softly pulsing black egg that rested like a slumbering titan in the nest of glowing natural energy. Spirits drifted lazily around it, not guarding it—but revering it.

Max had seen divine power before. Mark, the so-called god who almost manipulated him, had once called himself such. But even Mark—powerful as he was—had been bound, scattered, imprisoned. His soul was split and sealed all across Acaris.

What kind of god was that?

Max now realized. Mark was a god only by the standards of Acaris or other small worlds. In the Divine Realm? He would be a footnote, another ancient relic in a sea of stronger, truer beings.