Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

The old man's eyes glimmered faintly as he spoke, reflecting the light of the distant constellations.

"Crownbearers are extremely rare, even among the countless worlds scattered across the heavens. Each world has only one, chosen directly by its will. Their existence is meant to ensure stability, to maintain the flow of life, and to act as guardians against destruction from outside the mortal sphere. However," he continued, his voice dropping slightly, "there is one rule that binds every crownbearer. They are forbidden to interfere with the affairs of mortals using their divine powers. The crown does not belong to them—it belongs to the world itself. They are merely its vessel."

He turned his gaze fully back to Max, his expression now tinged with quiet regret. "The one from your world—the being you called Mark—has clearly gone rogue. That is not only rare, it is nearly impossible. The crown's selection process is absolute. For one to turn against the balance it represents... it means something profoundly wrong has occurred. Hardly any crownbearer turns evil."

Max's eyes narrowed slightly. His thoughts raced as he processed the old man's words. He finally understood why Lucien once called Mark a god—because he was one. A true god in the mortal sense, carrying the authority of the world itself. But if what Old Man First said was true, then Mark's corruption went against the very foundation of existence.

"What did you mean," Max asked carefully, "when you said that hardly any crownbearer turns evil?"

Old Man First nodded, as if he had expected that question. His tone remained calm, but his eyes reflected an ancient weariness, the kind of heaviness that comes from witnessing countless eras pass. "It is because the crown does not choose arbitrarily," he explained. "The crown is not an object—it is a living embodiment of the world's will. It seeks out a soul that mirrors the essence of balance, a being who carries within them both compassion and restraint, strength and humility. The process of selection is beyond any mortal understanding. Only those whose hearts are pure and a soul full of compassion are enough to withstand the weight of divine authority are ever chosen."

He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the shimmering stars. "Once chosen, the crownbearer becomes something greater than a ruler or protector. They become an extension of the world's consciousness itself. They are meant to be incorruptible—immune to greed, hatred, or fear. The crown enforces this purity by fusing its will with that of the bearer. That is why it is so rare for a crownbearer to fall into evil. The very crown that grants them godhood also safeguards them from corruption."

Max listened intently, every word sinking deep into his mind. "But if that's the case," he said slowly, "then how did Mark fall? How did he become what he is now?"

Old Man First sighed softly, the sound almost blending into the stillness of space. "That, Max, is the troubling part," he said. "If your crownbearer has turned corrupt, then the fault does not lie solely within him. It means something—or someone—tampered with the balance of your world. It could be that an external force corrupted the crown's connection, or that the crown itself was forced into resonance with a darkness beyond mortal comprehension. Either way, such a thing can only occur when a higher power interferes."

He turned his head slightly, his voice carrying a trace of sorrow. "When that happens, the harmony between the world and its protector is shattered. The divine energy that once sustained the crownbearer begins to twist. What was once creation becomes destruction. The immortal no longer serves the world's will—they devour it. That is what has likely become of your Mark. He is no longer a protector, but a corrupted vessel of power feeding upon his own world's essence."

Max stared at Old Man First, his mouth open but no sound coming out. He had never imagined that Mark, the man who seemed to be the very embodiment of evil, had once been pure of heart and soul until something had happened to a crown. The idea that a single object could turn a once-honest being into a monster lodged in his mind like a shard of ice.

"How do I kill him?" Max asked at last, the words forced out of him with effort. "Only after killing him and stabilizing the situation in my home world can I ascend to the Divine Realm."

Old Man First did not answer immediately. He folded his hands and let the question hang in the air for a moment as if testing the weight of it.

"Did the crownbearer have his crown atop his head?" he asked simply.

Max frowned as the memory sifted through his mind. He realized with a sudden, cold clarity that in all his encounters with Mark he had never seen a crown perched on the man's head. "No," he replied. "He did not have a crown atop his head."

Old Man First smiled then, and the smile brought no comfort. "That explains much," he said. "The crown is not merely a symbol or an ornament, it is the living embodiment of a world's will, and when it rests upon a bearer it does two things at once: it grants absolute authority and immortality by anchoring that bearer to the world's essence, and it binds that bearer to the laws and necessities of the world itself giving him power and authority of a god. But at the same time because it ties the crownbearer so closely to the world, when the crown is worn the bearer becomes vulnerable in an unexpected way. The crown creates an anchor point, a locus of metaphysical law where the world's own rules can touch and judge the bearer, and it is through that anchor point that a true death can be enacted."

He paused and let the meaning settle. "But there is another rule that binds them. Only a being who belongs to the crown's origin world can sever that tie with a killing blow while the crown is worn. The crown and the world it came from are like two halves of a blade. A stranger's strike will glance off the metal, no matter how mighty he is. That is why crownbearers can seem invincible to outsiders."

Max felt his hope shrink. The words landed harder than any blow. If only a native of the crown's world could kill Mark when the crown was atop him, then Max's chances were slim because his blood and fate belonged to the Divine Realm, not to Acaris.

He turned the possibilities over in his mind. He was not a man to yield to fate, but the old man's rule was absolute enough to slow his blood. 'That means I cannot kill him myself,' he thought, the truth tasting bitter. He was not of Acaris. His origin lay in the Divine Realm and that origin cut him off from the one direct way to fell a crownbearer when the crown was worn.

Still, resignation did not take root. Old Man First's mention of alternatives lit a thin, stubborn ember inside Max. With the secret domain closing, the halls of Acaris would soon fill with geniuses whose strength would climb to the peak of Divine Rank.

Allies could be found among them, and there was Lucien to consider as well, someone at the same level as Mark himself.

'At least he can be killed.' Max found relief in this. Though it was a pity that he couldn't kill Mark himself. But as long as Mark was killed, everything would be over.