Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 345: Mark Vendor

'Why would it want me to take it?' Max wondered. 'Is this really the way forward… or a trap?'

His hand twitched.

Blob's warning echoed again.

"Do not take the sword out."

Max clenched his jaw, eyes darting between the sword, the dragon, and the swirling storm of infernal energy within the forcefield.

Something was buried here.

And it was still alive.

But he could feel nothing aside from the infernal energy around the sword.

Max's eyes narrowed as he looked at the little dragon.

It hovered near the sword again, wings buzzing faintly, never touching the blade but never leaving its side either. Every few seconds, it would glance back at Max—those bright, intelligent eyes filled with urgency.

It wasn't just circling the sword anymore.

It was beckoning him.

Inviting him to take it.

To draw it.

'It wants me to pull the sword out… but why?' Max's jaw tightened, a shadow falling across his face. The unease he'd been trying to ignore finally settled in his gut like a cold stone.

And then it hit him.

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His eyes widened slightly.

He'd walked into a trap.

His instincts screamed it. Everything about this place—the unnatural silence, the ancient statues, the pulsing forcefield, the sword that radiated power like a siren's call—it had all been too perfect. Too designed.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, a sharp sensation tore through his arm.

His infernal demon tattoo.

It flared to life, itching with a furious intensity. The kind that made his skin crawl, like something inside him was trying to tear its way out.

'Not again…!' Max hissed, gritting his teeth and clutching his right arm tightly. His fingers dug into his skin, but it didn't help.

The sensation wasn't just pain.

It was hunger.

A deep, primal hunger.

His eyes widened further as the feeling grew—wave after wave of gnawing need, all coming from the tattoo. It was no longer just a mark. It was alive. It wanted something.

It wanted infernal energy.

And it wanted it now.

'What the hell is going on…?' Max's heart pounded as he glanced around the hall, searching for signs—anything to show he wasn't alone in this.

But no one else seemed affected.

The other leaders—all of them bearing the same eleven-layered infernal demon tattoo—were moving normally, still searching the chamber. Calm. Focused.

Not one of them was clutching their arm.

Not one of them looked like they were losing control.

Only he was feeling this.

Only his tattoo was reacting.

Only he was being consumed by this infernal hunger.

Max's thoughts raced. Why him? What made his mark different?

Just then—

"A coward…"

A voice rang out—cold, quiet, but sharp enough to slice through the heavy air like a blade.

Every head turned.

It was Mark Vendor.

He stood still at first, his eyes fixed on Max. A faint smile played on his lips, but his tone was anything but amused.

Max furrowed his brows. He hadn't expected that from Mark. Not now. Not here.

He turned slowly, watching the man approach him one deliberate step at a time.

"I expected more from you," Mark said, his voice low, icy, each word laced with something darker than disappointment. "You're someone who could defy the world, aren't you? Your fate... isn't bound by it."

The words hit Max like a slap.

His face darkened. Defy the world? How did Mark know that phrase? It was something Max had only heard from the mouth of Blob and from the system.

And yet… Mark spoke it like it was common knowledge.

What the hell was going on?

"I gave you hints," Mark continued, still walking, still calm. "So many of them. I nudged you. Pushed you toward greatness. But you… you ignored every single one, didn't you?"

He came to a stop a few feet away, his presence suddenly overwhelming.

Max's eyes widened.

Hints…?

His mind reeled back—racing through memory.

The itching of the infernal demon tattoo that first time he met the others.

The strange vision of the dragon.

The little dragon's unnatural behavior, how it led them to the leaders… and now to this cursed hall.

And the tattoo again. Always the tattoo, burning, itching, hungering at all the right moments.

His stomach sank.

No...

It couldn't be.

Had it all been orchestrated?

Had he been led?

Used?

Mark hadn't just been watching. He'd been pulling the strings.

Max stumbled back a step, face pale, breath caught in his throat.

Then he bolted backward, putting distance between them, his voice trembling.

"Who… who are you?"

That question cut through the hall like lightning.

The others froze.

Confusion bloomed across their faces. What the hell was Max talking about? Had he lost it?

Mark tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Max turned to King Magnar and the other leaders, his voice loud, desperate. "Everyone! That man—he's not who you think he is! He's not Mark Vendor! He's something else, something evil! He's trying to awaken what's sealed in here!"

Gasps echoed. People exchanged stunned looks.

Was Max losing his mind?

Or was he telling the truth?

"Max," came a deep, composed voice. It was Palace Master Hugh. "That's my son you're accusing."

His tone was solemn. Heavy with disbelief. But beneath it… was a flicker of doubt.

Mark's smile widened just a little at that.

"Yeah, Max," he said softly, almost playfully. "What are you saying? Haven't you heard of me? You're the prodigy who stole everything from me—my spotlight, my recognition, my place. And now you call me evil?" He laughed gently. "How narrow-minded can you be?"

Max's face twisted in a mix of rage and horror.

Without another word, he activated the soul mark he had secretly placed on Mark.

A final confirmation.

But—

Nothing.

No reaction.

No feedback.

The mark felt as if it didn't even exist.

Mark stood still, perfectly calm, hands by his sides, watching Max's expression fall apart.

The silence in the hall grew oppressive.

And in that silence, Max understood one terrifying truth.

The man standing before him wasn't Mark Vendor.

At least… not anymore.

"But I have to give it to you…" Mark's voice was quiet—almost admiring. He raised his hand slowly, fingers drifting into a poised snapping position. His gaze remained fixed on Max. "To figure it all out… you did well."

Snap.

The sound echoed like thunder in the silence that followed.

And then it began.

A wave of pain rippled through the hall.

Every single leader clutched their right hand in shock, their eyes widening in confusion and alarm as an intense burning sensation surged through their skin.

From the tattoo.

The infernal demon tattoo.

"What the hell—my tattoo! It's itching like crazy!"

"Same here—what's happening?!"

"This… this isn't normal. It's getting worse!"

Grimaces and groans filled the air as one by one, the leaders doubled over slightly, gripping their arms. The eleven-layered infernal demon tattoo on each of them pulsed with a dull red glow, as though it had been awakened—triggered.

Even King Magnar and Azula were not spared.

King Magnar's expression darkened, veins popping along his temple as he fought the etching pain tearing through his arm.

His eyes locked onto Mark.

"What did you do?" His voice thundered through the hall like a war drum. It was clear—this wasn't coincidence. The pain had started the moment Mark snapped his fingers.