Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1625 Sword Art of the Sword Saint!

Max's gaze intensified.

The young man noticed this and offered a subtle nod.

"Indeed. Even someone originating from a mortal realm should grasp the significance of the title 'Sword Saint'."

"It's not merely a title denoting a realm; it is recognized by the heavens and by countless generations of swordsmen. It signifies one whose comprehension of the sword has transcended ordinary paths and ascended to a sacred level."

His eyes seemed to gaze into the distance as he elaborated.

"Legends tell of the Sword Saint emerging during an epoch of relentless conflict, where factions clashed violently, empires crumbled worlds, and sword cultivators blanketed the heavens like a myriad of stars. In that age, innumerable supreme swordsmen arose, each proclaiming their unmatched prowess."

"Yet, with the advent of the Sword Saint, every blade across the land seemed to lose its brilliance."

Max remained in silence, absorbing every word.

The young man's voice dropped, tinged with the reverence one might use for a forbidden existence.

"Some tales suggest he wielded no renowned weapon, instead using a simple iron sword from a village blacksmith. Others claim he employed a mere wooden branch, yet vanquished divine blades. Still others insist he drew no sword at all, and that the very fabric of the world became his weapon."

"The truth of these narratives remains unknown."

"However, all records concur that wherever he journeyed, the essence of swordsmanship transformed."

He gestured towards the massive boulder.

"It is said this stone once rested at the heart of an ancient battlefield where millions perished. When the Sword Saint arrived, he did not annihilate everyone with a single, overwhelming technique as exaggerated tales might suggest. Instead, he stood before this very boulder and practiced his sword arts."

Max's brow furrowed slightly.

"Practiced?"

The young man affirmed with a nod.

"Precisely. He practiced."

"This is what instills the greatest dread in subsequent generations."

"These markings were purportedly not inflicted during life-or-death struggles. They are said to be casual imprints left behind as he refined and evolved his sword art."

Max's pupils constricted.

The young man's voice escalated in awe.

"Each slash represented a novel variation. Every thrust embodied a shift in fundamental principles. Every superficial cut mirrored a flaw that had been overcome. Each deep scar contained a complete metamorphosis of intent."

"In essence, the boulder is believed to chronicle the evolution of the Sword Saint's ultimate sword art, progressing from imperfection towards transcendence."

Max instinctively shifted his gaze back to the myriad of marks.

They now appeared even more formidable.

The young man continued his explanation.

"That sword art bears numerous names across different eras. Some refer to it as the Heaven-Cutting Scripture. Others call it the Nameless Saint Sword. Some know it as the Path of One Blade."

"However, its most revered designation is the Saint Origin Sword Art."

"This is because many believe that every contemporary sword inheritance can trace a fragment of its philosophical underpinnings back to this source."

His tone shifted to one of bitter admiration.

"Do you comprehend the implication of that?"

"It means that countless sword lineages may proudly safeguard their so-called supreme arts, yet those very arts could merely be derivative fragments born from these very markings."

Max's breathing steadied.

The young man directed his attention to the foremost ranks, where formidable cultivators sat in silent contemplation.

"Observe those individuals positioned closest to the boulder?"

"Some have remained here for hundreds of thousands of years, striving to comprehend the secrets contained within. Among them are experts of the Divine King Realm. There are also tyrants from the Holy Lord Realm. Even existences within the Holy King Realm can be found here."

He shook his head slowly.

"Any single one of them possesses the capability to establish a second-rate sect, dominate celestial realms, amass boundless resources, and live lives of unparalleled luxury."

"Yet, they have chosen to remain stationed here."

"For what reason?"

"Because should even a single fragment of the Sword Saint's sword art be truly grasped, its value could exceed that of ruling ten thousand worlds."

He let out a soft chuckle.

"Nevertheless, none have achieved complete comprehension."

"Some have attained heightened sword intent. Others have devised new techniques inspired by a solitary mark. Some have shattered cultivation bottlenecks after meditating before the stone for millennia."

"But not a single individual has ever confidently proclaimed mastery over the complete sword art concealed within."

His eyes returned to the boulder, alight with fervent yearning.

"This is the reason why this location is perpetually occupied."

"Generations arrive, only to face failure. Then, new generations emerge, harboring fresh aspirations."

Max remained quiet for an extended period.

His gaze remained locked upon the countless inscriptions etched across the ancient stone.

If these traces genuinely chronicled the genesis of a Sword Saint's supreme art, then the opportunity now before him surpassed any inheritance he had ever envisioned.

And with sudden clarity, he understood why the Perfect Grade reward had guided him to this very place.

Max continued to gaze at the ancient boulder, yet his mind no longer solely fixated on the innumerable sword marks adorning its surface.

A recollection had surfaced from the depths of his being.

The Tower of Truth.

Within that tower resided a place he would never forget.

Tomb of the Sword Saint.

Gradually, Max's narrowed eyes perceived the increasingly clear connection.

"I previously entered the Sword Saint's Tomb within the Tower of Truth when I sought to comprehend my Severing Sword Concept."

Back then, he had merely considered the name grand and enigmatic. Numerous ancient inheritances boasted exaggerated titles, so he hadn't pondered it too deeply.

Yet now, he was present in a location where Divine Kings, Holy Lords, and ancient experts had remained seated for hundreds of thousands of years before a stone marked by a Sword Saint.

The title now carried a fearsome significance.

Could two entirely separate places coincidentally share the name Sword Saint?

The more Max contemplated this, the less probable it seemed.

The Tower of Truth was once the domain of a Primordial, and Primordials were beings intrinsically linked to the deeper historical tapestry of the Divine Realm itself. If such an entity had intentionally preserved a location known as the Sword Saint's Tomb, then the Sword Saint mentioned there was almost certainly not a fabricated individual.

Max slowly shifted his gaze back towards the colossal boulder.

The Sword Saint whose sword marks still held sway over contemporary experts.

The Sword Saint whose residual traces caused his own concepts to tremble.

The Sword Saint whose legacy continued to ensnare generations of swordsmen in obsession.

A profound possibility began to solidify within his heart.

They were, in fact, the same individual.

Merely this realization was enough to stir his emotions, but then another thought struck him with even greater intensity.