Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 253  Old Saintess

Max acknowledged him with a small nod—but his attention was elsewhere.

His gaze shifted toward the old woman.

Something about her made him hesitate.

Perhaps it was the way she sat—completely at ease, yet carrying the weight of someone who had watched lifetimes pass before her.

Still, he spoke.

"And you are?"

A sudden cough from Klaus.

"Max—"

He barely got the word out before—

SLAP!

A sharp sting ran through Max's palm.

His brain stalled.

'What the hell?'

The old lady had smacked his hand.

The strike wasn't just fast—it was perfectly timed, impossibly precise.

"That's how you talk to an old lady?" she scolded, her tone unimpressed, almost bored.

"Don't you know how to respect your elders?"

Max's eye twitched.

Even with 300 Dragon Scales reinforcing his body—he 'felt' that slap.

This wasn't just an ordinary elder.

This woman had technique.

For the first time, he took a proper look at her.

Long black hair streaked with white. Wrinkles tracing across her face.

But her eyes—dead calm.

Emotionless. Unshaken. Unreadable.

They weren't eyes that held rage, amusement, or arrogance.

They were eyes that had seen too much.

Perhaps even everything.

Max rubbed his palm, suppressing the urge to curse aloud.

Fine.

If that was how she wanted to play it—

He straightened his posture, his voice even.

His voice polite.

"I am Max. It's nice to meet you."

Then—

SMACK!

Pain flared through his other hand.

Another perfectly placed slap.

Max's teeth clenched.

What. The. Hell.

The old woman clicked her tongue.

"Kids these days," she muttered, shaking her head in clear disappointment.

"They just don't know how to respect their elders."

Max exhaled slowly.

His palms burned, a low sting pulsing through his skin.

His mind was a storm of disbelief.

'This old hag!'

He wanted to say something. To protest.

But some deep, instinctual survival sense warned him—

If he talked back, he'd get slapped again.

So, for now—

He endured.

The old woman leaned forward, her piercing gaze locking onto Max like a predator sizing up prey.

For the first time since entering, he felt it—a shift in the air.

A presence so heavy, so absolute, that the very space around her seemed to thicken.

"I am the Old Saintess of the Black Lotus Guild," she said, her voice even, yet carrying a weight that left no room for doubt.

"And you have already met the current Saintess, so let's not waste time. Let's get straight to the topic."

Max's frown deepened.

Saintess?

Callie?

The word echoed in his mind.

He had no idea what she was talking about.

Noticing his confusion, Klaus chuckled lightly.

His stance remained relaxed, but his tone carried an unmistakable reverence.

"Max, our Black Lotus Guild has existed in this world for a very, very long time."

He spoke as if recounting a fact of nature—an undeniable truth.

"We have seen the birth of Sovereigns and Emperors, watched their rise, their fall, their ascensions, and their ultimate declines."

Max's expression didn't shift, but inwardly—he was listening.

Carefully.

Because if what they were saying was true—

Then the Black Lotus Guild wasn't just another powerful underground faction.

They were something else entirely.

Klaus continued, his voice steady, his words carrying the weight of history.

"Because of our history, our ways of power may seem a bit… traditional."

At that, the Old Saintess shot him a glare so sharp it could cut through steel.

"Traditional?" she echoed, her tone laced with irritation.

The air seemed to grow colder.

"You young ones just don't understand the importance of traditions."

Klaus coughed awkwardly, shifting slightly but refusing to be thrown off track.

"A long time ago, our guild wasn't even a guild."

He paused.

Then—his next words came with deliberate weight.

"It was a power known as the 'Black Dragon Palace'."

Max's brows furrowed.

He had never heard of it.

Black Dragon Palace.

There was something about the name. Something that felt too ancient, too distant.

Klaus continued, his voice growing more solemn.

"But as the world changed, so did we. We adapted, evolving both inside and out."

His words settled in the dimly lit room, each syllable carrying the weight of something far older than any empire.

Then, after a beat, he added—

"To the outside world, we are just another guild, one of the many forces in the East Region."

A slight pause.

Then—his next words shook Max to the core.

"But the truth is—we existed long before the four great families and the five top guilds were even a thing."

Max's eyes narrowed slightly.

Before the four super families? Before the five strongest guilds?

That wasn't just a claim.

That was a rewriting of history.

Max had always known that the Black Lotus Guild operated in secrecy, its movements unseen, its influence stretching into places others dared not reach.

Why?

But this?

This was something else entirely.

This wasn't just an old guild with deep roots.

This was an ancient force, one that had deliberately hidden its true strength.

And the bigger question?

Why?

Why had a power this old remained in the shadows?

Max exhaled slowly, processing every word.

The Black Lotus Guild—or rather, the Black Dragon Palace—wasn't just another faction.

It was a relic of a forgotten era.

And relics only stayed hidden for one reason.

Because their existence threatened the present.

Max's eyes narrowed, his mind racing.

Then, the question surfaced.

A question so absurd, so unbelievable, that even saying it felt surreal.

"Does that mean… you experienced the war from ten thousand years ago?"

His voice held an edge of disbelief, his eyes locked onto the Old Saintess, searching—for what, he wasn't sure.

The room fell into silence for a fraction of a second.

Then—

A low chuckle.

Not just amusement.

Disdain.

The Old Saintess shook her head, lips curling slightly.

"Experienced it?"

The way she said it sent a chill down his spine.

Then—

"Heh. I 'fought' in that war myself."

The world seemed to slow.

Max's breath hitched.

His mind reeled, grasping at logic, at reason, at anything that made sense.

"You 'fought' in the war?"

He barely recognized his own voice.

A slight tremor.

An involuntary reaction to the sheer weight of those words.