Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 306: Bored
To him, this trip wasn't about treasure.
It wasn't about domains.
Not even about survival.
This was his golden chance to marry into power.
If he could win Amara's favor—
even a little—
Then everything else?
Every lucky chance, every secret, every hidden ruin?
All of it was garbage by comparison.
He just needed the right moment.
And if Old Man Grey thought some "infernal being" could scare him out of it?
He was sadly mistaken.
Max gave the red-haired genius a long, cold glance.
'Did this guy… only come here for Amara?'
The thought itself was ridiculous.
This wasn't a banquet or a martial arts exhibition.
This was the Mourning Depths.
Infernal Beings were the baseline danger—the bare minimum threat you were expected to face.
And this guy didn't even know that?
'He's already doomed.'
Max didn't say it out loud.
He didn't need to.
The way the guy spoke, the arrogance in his tone, the delusional gleam in his eyes—
It was clear.
He wouldn't last long.
Old Man Grey kept walking, but his pace slowed.
His voice was gravelly, but sharp—cutting through the fog like a blade.
"Around the Mourning Depths, there are many strange beings."
He didn't sugarcoat it.
"Infernal Beings. Creatures born from the thick infernal energy. Bizarre. Enigmatic. Unnatural."
He glanced behind him at the group.
"No one knows where they come from. No one understands their biology. They simply exist—bred by the rot of this cursed land."
Then, his voice lowered, becoming darker.
"In normal times, they're buried deep within. Dormant. Unmoving. We wouldn't fear them."
He paused.
"But during the eruptions… some of them get projected to the outer layers."
"If you encounter one of those—"
His next words were flat and terrifying.
"—you run. Far. Fast. You run and pray it doesn't follow."
A long silence followed.
The young geniuses—the ones who had joined just to impress Amara—
All stood silent.
Some clenched their fists.
Others looked at the ground.
They were proud.
But they weren't stupid.
They understood now—no matter how great their backgrounds were,
no matter how talented—
Their flashy martial techniques and elemental combos would mean nothing here if they made the wrong move.
One mistake. One wrong step. And they'd never walk out of the fog.
Old Man Grey wasn't finished.
His eyes scanned them again, his face hard.
"Good. If there aren't any more questions…"
He paused deliberately. No one spoke.
"Then let's move. But before we begin—one more thing."
His voice took on a colder edge.
"Avoid fighting whenever possible. But if you're truly forced…"
He raised a single finger.
"Then suppress your strength."
He turned his hand over, palm to the sky.
"Use no more than thirty percent of your power. Not forty. Not fifty."
"If you flare up your full aura—if you unleash a wave of mana or soul force—"
He stopped walking.
"You'll stir the depths. And the Mourning Depths… will respond."
The tone he used made the temperature feel like it dropped several degrees.
Everyone listened.
Except one.
The red-haired guy furrowed his brow, his mouth twitching with irritation.
He looked like he was barely listening.
A kid who didn't like being lectured.
Old Man Grey's eyes narrowed.
He fixed his gaze directly on him.
"This isn't playtime for children."
A sharp, piercing tone.
"Hey. You. Can you hear me?"
The red-haired genius looked up, face tight with annoyance.
"I heard you," he replied shortly.
A nod—perfunctory, dismissive.
"I'm not a child."
Old Man Grey didn't argue.
He just stared for a moment longer—then turned around.
"Let's go."
His tone was final.
No one else said a word.
The squad moved forward into the thickening mist—step by step—toward the death-wrapped silence of the Mourning Depths.
As one, the group moved forward.
Ten people, one guide, and a path leading into the mouth of a world no one understood.
The first 8,500 miles were known to be relatively safe—by the Mourning Depths' standards, at least.
There were no ambushes.
No betrayals.
No genius slaughtering another under the pretense of an accident.
Not this early.
With Old Man Grey leading the way, even the few natural dangers that did appear were swiftly avoided.
He never explained how he spotted them, but he did.
And no one questioned his judgment.
Of course, with so many people together, and the Divine Palace demanding a cut of any gains, the rewards were pitiful.
Any lucky chance they encountered—be it herbs, bones, broken runes, or lost trinkets—was either split into insignificance, or claimed by the Divine Palace outright.
So yes, they were safe…
But it was the kind of safety that suffocated ambition.
As the days passed, the world around them didn't change.
It remained gray. Bleak. Lifeless.
The mist had a weight to it, like it clung to their clothes and thoughts.
The sky above was clouded in dark fog, but the stars—glimmering faintly—served as their only compass.
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They walked on ground littered with jagged, red stone, uneven and sharp.
Max occasionally glanced down at the surface.
There were no patterns. No formations. Just a scarred, broken land, as if something ancient had clawed through it.
Sometimes, he spotted broken stone tablets half-buried in the dust.
Old things. Cracked.
Faint etchings of long-forgotten languages etched across their surface.
But time had erased most of it.
The runes were just fragments of a civilization that no longer remembered its own name.
The first day or two?
Everyone behaved.
Quiet. Focused.
But after six days, things began to unravel.
The silence was too much.
No infernal beings. No danger. No action.
Nothing but walking.
Endless walking in a dead land that refused to even acknowledge their presence.
The group was made up of young geniuses, after all.
They had grown up with conflict, power, challenge, and prestige.
Here?
They were just ten ants wandering through the fog.
And ants get bored.
Some started muttering under their breath.
Some sharpened their weapons for the tenth time that morning.
Some kicked rocks aimlessly, or stared at the gray sky, searching for meaning.
A few had started to hope—desperately hope—that something would happen.
A beast.
A battle.
A lucky chance.
Anything.
Even danger, now, would be welcome.
