Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 362: Demons
"Kid, give it a rest, will you?"
Blob's voice echoed inside his mind, sharp and dry as ever.
Max blinked, exasperated. "You've been quiet for hours."
"Yeah, well, I figured I'd give your brain a break after all the emotional trauma," Blob grumbled. "But seriously—don't push it. You look healed, sure. But your body's been torn apart from the inside out. Space storms, infernal energy—both at once? That's not something you walk off."
Max frowned slightly. "So… it's not over?"
Blob sighed. "Physically, yeah, your tissues are knit back together. Bones mended. Organs functioning. But there are residual scars. Energy distortions. Think of it like… poison still stuck in your bloodstream. It'll take time to flush out."
He paused, then added with a grunt, "Honestly? If it were anyone else, they'd be nothing but ashes and regrets by now. Be thankful you're even breathing."
Max gave a slight nod, his expression settling into something calmer.
"Alright," he said. "I'll rest."
He turned his gaze toward the canvas covering the top of the cart. Through the gaps, he could still see the night sky—its vastness a reminder of how far from home he was.
But even in that distance, something pulsed faintly in the back of his mind.
A heartbeat.
Familiar. Subtle.
It wasn't his own.
He could feel it clearly now—the trace of blood he had given Alice months ago… still resonating. Still responding.
She was alive.
Somewhere out there. Somewhere in this massive, dangerous continent—she was alive.
And Max knew what he had to do.
Once his body recovered…
He would find her.
---
The next morning, as the first rays of sunlight stretched across the sky, warmth touched the canvas of the camp where Max lay.
He stirred.
The Dragon Scales Transformation still coated his arms, the black scales glinting faintly with each breath he took. But something had changed—he could feel it.
The pain was gone.
The stiffness had lessened.
Max slowly sat up, his joints cracking with effort. He clenched his fists, flexed his fingers, rotated his shoulders. Everything moved, albeit sluggishly.
"Just a few more hours," he thought, feeling the familiar strength returning, "and I'll be back at my peak."
Then—
A small rustle outside.
The canvas flap at the front of his camp shifted slightly, and a tiny face peeked through.
A boy—no older than six—stood there, wide-eyed and curious.
Max recognized him instantly. The same child who had called for his father last night.
The boy had sharp features for someone so young—clear eyes, sun-darkened skin, and a quiet intelligence behind his stare. But he said nothing.
Max offered a soft smile and raised a hand. "Hey there."
The boy didn't smile back.
He just stared.
Then, without warning, he asked, "Are you strong?"
Max blinked at the unexpected question.
He chuckled lightly, brushing a hand through his dusty hair. "Well… I wouldn't say I'm the strongest, but yeah—I can protect myself."
The boy didn't nod.
Didn't blink.
He stepped in a little closer and asked, very seriously:
"Can you protect my family?"
Max's smile faltered.
His brow creased. "Protect them? From what?"
He glanced outside, confused. The camps looked peaceful. These people didn't seem to be living in fear. There were no obvious threats.
Before the boy could answer, the canvas opened wider.
"Barry!" A stern voice barked.
The boy flinched.
The man who stepped in was the same one Max had spoken with last night—the calm one. He looked from Max to the boy and frowned.
"What are you doing here? Go play with the others."
Barry cast one last look at Max—something between worry and hope—and then turned and ran.
The man turned back to Max and offered a polite nod. "Morning. How're you feeling?"
Max hesitated, his mind still on the boy's question, but he forced a neutral expression. "Better. Still a little stiff… my body needs time."
"Good," the man said, as casually as if he were commenting on the weather. "Don't make any noise. The demons will be here any minute."
Max's eyes sharpened.
"…Demons?"
He sat up straighter despite the strain on his muscles.
The man nodded absently. "Yeah. They come by this time every few days."
Max's heartbeat quickened.
Demons.
In the Lost Continent, demons and humans weren't allies. They were enemies—vicious, ancient enemies. When they met, it wasn't a conversation. It was a war cry.
"What… are they doing here?" Max asked, his voice low, tense.
The man looked at him like he'd just asked whether fire was hot. "What do you mean what are they doing here? It's their ranch."
Max blinked. "Their… what?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "Demon ranch. What else would it be?"
Max went still.
His mind turned cold.
The casual tone. The worn robes. The low cultivation levels. The peaceful, guarded lives. The complete lack of resistance or training.
These weren't just villagers.
They were cattle.
Cattle being kept alive. Watched. Managed.
"Wait…" Max whispered, horror creeping into his voice. "You mean… this is a demon ranch? For humans?"
"Of course it is," the man replied, puzzled. "Aren't you from one too?"
But before Max could respond, a shout erupted outside.
"The demons are here! The Demon Envoy has arrived!"
The man's head whipped toward the sound, then turned back to Max with urgency. "Don't make a sound. Don't move. Stay low."
With that, he rushed out of the tent, flap fluttering closed behind him.
Max sat frozen.
His hands curled into fists.
His blood turned to ice.
"A demon ranch…"
The realization sank in, heavy and horrifying. A ranch wasn't just a village—it was a place where animals were raised for slaughter, for use, for consumption.
And here… humans were the animals.
Suddenly, Max's Three Dimensional Body snapped to attention.
He pushed his senses outward—layer by layer—until he felt it.
A powerful, twisted aura. Cold, commanding… and familiar.
He didn't need to see them to recognize what they were.
Demons.
He focused on his Three Dimensional Body and saw them clearly now—tall, imposing figures, their skin dark, their eyes glowing faintly red, adorned in regal armor and robes that rippled with shadow. Some had horns curling from their foreheads. Others bore fangs and tails. Their energy rolled off them like waves of ash and blood.
They weren't just ordinary demons.
They were aristocrats.
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Supervisors.
A total of five of them.
And one of them—at the center—was a Demon Envoy.
Most importantly.
'This energy...' His breath quickened as he sensed the energy flowing their bodies. They were very similar to infernal energy but at the same time somewhat different.
If infernal energy was an energy depicted to be pure evil than their energy was just one or two ranks below it.
