Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1630 A Conflict?

After the hidden plane fell silent and the colossal boulder reverted to its ancient, motionless state, Max remained rooted to his spot for an extended period. His chest heaved with deep breaths, each inhale drawing in the residual tremor from the innumerable impacts he had withstood.

His palms were still slick with blood, and his arms felt as if they had been pummeled by mountains repeatedly. However, none of these physical sensations occupied his mind any longer. His entire focus had already turned inward.

His attention was fixated on the sword.

Max slowly raised Dragonheart.

He didn’t hastily resume his movements. Instead, he allowed the profound understanding he had acquired to fully permeate his being. Every parry he had executed, every subtle motion he had observed, every minute transition in the shadowy figure's fighting style replayed with crystal clarity in his mind.

The complete sword art he had meticulously assembled felt incredibly vivid, as though it had been etched directly into his very bones rather than simply committed to memory.

Then, he took a single step forward.

His foot alighted softly, yet with absolute firmness.

His waist rotated with meticulously controlled precision.

His shoulders aligned seamlessly, devoid of any stiffness.

Dragonheart descended in one exceptionally clean, sweeping arc.

The blade sliced through the very air.

There was no spectacular explosion of golden light this time, nor was there an overwhelming pressure bearing down on the surrounding environment. Nevertheless, the instant the sword moved, a subtle alteration occurred in the atmosphere around him. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but there was a distinct sense that space itself acknowledged the sheer refinement of that particular motion.

Max did not halt his sequence there.

His initial slash flowed effortlessly into the subsequent one. The downward cut smoothly transitioned into a diagonal movement, and that diagonal naturally shifted into a horizontal line. Within that horizontal line lay a concealed continuation, a pivot point from which it could transform into a thrust without disrupting its inherent rhythm.

The entire sequence unfolded with remarkable fluidity.

It was utterly continuous.

It was profoundly complete.

Max slowly brought his movements to a halt.

However, a subtle frown creased his brow.

The reason was that he sensed something amiss with the sword art. He couldn't precisely pinpoint the issue, but he distinctly felt that the sword art was resisting him.

He lowered Dragonheart slightly and gently closed his eyes. His consciousness turned inward as he began to perceive the sword once more, not through visual observation, but through pure intuition.

He meticulously retraced every movement he had just performed, scrutinizing the seamless flow between each action, the manner in which force was both gathered and released, and the invisible cadence connecting one strike to the next.

"Could this be the Saint Origin Sword Art?" Max whispered quietly.

The name surfaced naturally in his mind.

It conveyed a profound sense of origin, of something fundamentally complete and essential. The sword art he had acquired did not depend on intricate complexity or overwhelming brute force. Instead, it championed simplicity elevated to its absolute zenith, where every single motion existed solely because it was indispensable, and every transition was an integral part of a grander, unified whole.

His sword movements…

Max's brows slowly knitted together in concentration.

They were technically correct.

Yet, they felt fundamentally wrong.

He reopened his eyes and raised Dragonheart once more. This time, he deliberately infused his personal Concept of Severing Sword into the movement. The familiar, sharp essence emerged instantly, carrying within it the unyielding will to divide, to cleave apart, and to bring all things to a definitive, irrevocable end.

The moment his concept merged with the sword art, a subtle but significant shift occurred.

The flow was no longer entirely seamless.

It didn't shatter outright, but it faltered momentarily at specific junctures. The transitions lost a minute fraction of their innate continuity, as if an external, disruptive force had been carelessly introduced into a perfectly calibrated system.

Max ceased his motion mid-action.

He remained perfectly still, his eyes lost in deep contemplation.

"My concept of severing sword is clashing with the sword art," he murmured under his breath.

He raised the sword again and recommenced the sequence, this time deliberately slowing down each individual movement. He paid incredibly close attention to how the sword art guided his physical form. It placed immense emphasis on continuity. Every single action flowed directly into the next without any discernible interruption, forming an unbroken chain of motion.

Then, he infused his Severing Sword Concept once more.

The exact same confounding result manifested.

The sword art’s essence sought perpetual flow. It was a continuous sword art that inherently possessed no true end point.

His concept sought ultimate conclusion. It was designed to be employed as a decisive strike to bring matters to a close.

The sword art moved like an unceasing stream, where no motion ever truly concluded because it effortlessly became the genesis of the subsequent action.

His concept moved like a final, decisive cut, where every preceding action was merely a build-up toward that singular, conclusive end.

It was precisely because of this fundamental difference that a significant conflict arose between them when he attempted to utilize them simultaneously.

Max exhaled slowly, his grip on Dragonheart tightening subtly.

"It feels as though they were never intended to be paired."

The Saint Origin Sword Art embodied a path of unending cycles, a complete loop where each thrust was simultaneously a conclusion and a genesis. Its focus wasn't on sheer destruction or absolute dominion; rather, it was dedicated to the purest execution of the sword, leaving no strike superfluous and nothing extraneous.

His Severing Sword Concept, however, stood on fundamentally different ground.

It was founded upon the principle of severance.

Its very existence was to divide, to cut apart, and to bring matters to a decisive end.

Max closed his eyes yet again, allowing both comprehensions to coexist within his consciousness. He meticulously replayed the movements of the spectral warrior, observing that flawless continuity, that fluid rhythm, that stark absence of any wasted energy. He then contrasted this with his own swordplay—sharp, definitive, imbued with the resolute will to annihilate all it encountered.

A subtle dawning of understanding began to emerge.

"This isn't a deficiency," Max murmured almost inaudibly. "It's as if my concept is traversing a separate trajectory from the sword's path."

His Severing Sword Concept possessed its unique way.

The Saint Origin Sword Art followed its own distinct course.

At this juncture, they had not yet merged into a singular entity.

Max's eyes slowly reopened, the earlier bewilderment receding, replaced by an emerging clarity. The internal conflict he experienced wasn't a symptom of failure; it signified that his insight had evolved sufficiently to discern the divergence between two principles, both complete, yet inherently irreconcilable.

He lifted Dragonheart once more.

This time, he refrained from forcing the integration.

He performed the sword art as intended, letting its inherent cadence direct his movements. Subsequently, in the next sequence, he introduced a whisper of his Severing Sword Concept. The familiar subtle dissonance reappeared, yet Max pressed onward without hesitation.

His focus intensified.

"If they do not harmonize… then I shall compel them to."

Max's voice was serene, yet it resonated with an unyielding resolve.

Before he could delve deeper into this newfound apprehension, the surrounding environment warped. A familiar energy ensnared his form, drawing him away. In the subsequent moment, the mountain dissipated, and Max found himself reinstated within the very arena where he had battled the hundred automatons.

A stark, synthesized voice resonated through the expanse.

[Test of the Sword Art: Initiation]

The scenery transformed once more.

The arena dissolved, supplanted by an even more awe-inspiring vista. Max now stood before a colossal mountain, its immensity stretching boundlessly in every direction. Its sheer scale was staggering, and even with his Dimensional Sovereign Body, he could not grasp its full extent.

Another voice chimed in.

[Your score for the Weapon Trial will be determined by the extent of damage inflicted upon the mountain.]

Max listened attentively, offering a slight, acknowledging nod.

"I understand," he stated softly.

His grip on the sword tightened infinitesimally as his gaze grew intensely fixed.

"This implies my reliance is solely upon the Saint Origin Sword Art."