---
title: "Chapter 657: End of the fifth round"
slug: "ch-663"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 663
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1269
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

However, it was clear after a few more exchanges that Jay had the edge. His flames were gradually burning hotter, fiercer—his control of the Flame Concept deepening as he fought.

Each swing of his sword grew more precise, more forceful, while Gillian’s movements began to slow, ever so slightly, weighed down by exhaustion. Then came the turning point.

As Gillian charged in with both blades ready to slice diagonally across Jay’s sides, Jay suddenly stomped down, unleashing a circular burst of flame that sent Gillian off balance. In that instant, Jay surged forward, roaring, and brought his broadsword down with a flaming arc.

Boom!

Gillian crossed both his swords to block, but the overwhelming force sent him crashing to the ground, his weapons flying from his hands. Dust clouded the stage as silence overtook the arena. When it cleared, Jay stood panting, flames still licking the edges of his sword, while Gillian lay sprawled, unable to rise.

"Victory—Jay Rider!" Elder Kian declared.

The crowd erupted into cheers and murmurs of awe. It had been a fierce battle between two skilled concept wielders, but Jay’s mastery, raw power, and steady focus had ultimately given him the upper hand.

Just like that, many such battles continued to unfold one after another in the grand arena, each clash painting its own tale of talent, will, and ambition. The platform that once stood pristine now bore the scars of fierce determination—cracked tiles, burn marks, torn fragments of weapons, and traces of elemental forces that lingered in the air.

One by one, geniuses stepped forward when their names were called, each holding hopes of ascending the ranks and securing their place within the Great Ruler Empire. Blades met claws, flames danced against ice, lightning crackled through illusions, and the ground itself was shaken by brute force. Every battle was different.

Some were brief, over within seconds as overwhelming strength silenced the opposition. Others were hard-fought and evenly matched, dragging on until one combatant’s energy or focus slipped.

The crowd watched in rapt attention, their roars rising and falling like waves as they witnessed the spectacle of genius-level combat.

Elders observed from above with calm expressions, gauging potential, measuring composure, and noting down the names that stood out.

Meanwhile, Lyra occasionally nodded to herself, her sharp eyes following the battles with keen interest, occasionally murmuring something to the elder beside her.

With every passing round, the tension grew heavier. The weak were weeded out, the strong emerged, and from the sea of 443 hopefuls, fewer and fewer remained—each one proving their worth with sweat, strategy, and steel.

Max stood quietly, arms folded, his gaze fixed on the battles below—but there was no spark of interest in his eyes. The fights were average at best to him, useful only for passing time.

What truly intrigued him were the four others standing beside him—those who, like him, held the coveted seed participant spots. Their strength, their personalities, their intentions—he wanted to understand them before the real clash began. But that quiet curiosity was soon interrupted by a scoffing voice.

"I wonder what he had to pay to get the seed participant spot," sneered a dark bluish-haired young man, Nile Rotan, one of the four seed participants beside Max, his tone full of contempt as he cast a sideways glance at Max.

"I heard he was chosen by Second Princess Lyra," added another voice—softer, more calculating. It came from Francis Kaner, a slender young man with rimmed glasses, who looked more suited for a library than a battlefield. Another seed participant.

Ben Wier, the last of the talkative trio also a seed participant, smirked and joined in, "I bet he used every last resource his family had. That or maybe he just begged her on his knees." He let out a mocking laugh, clearly enjoying the act of tearing someone down before the battle even began.

Nile and Ben laughed together, their voices rising shamelessly in the presence of others, clearly not caring whether Max heard or not. In fact, they wanted him to hear it. After all, in their eyes, he was just some weakling at the 8th level of the Expert Rank—a level far beneath what a seeded genius should possess.

Their mockery wasn’t just ridicule; it was resentment, disbelief, and rejection wrapped in sarcasm. To them, someone like Max didn’t deserve to stand where they stood.

Francis Kaner, however, only sighed. He looked at Max and then at the two chuckling fools beside him. Though he said nothing, the hesitation in his eyes revealed his inner thoughts. He didn’t want to antagonize Ben and Nile—he wasn’t that brave—but neither did he think underestimating someone chosen by Lyra Shade was particularly wise.

The fourth seed participant, however, remained completely indifferent to it all. A silent girl with long black hair streaked with icy white-blue stood at the far end, her head slightly lowered, eyes closed as if meditating—or perhaps just bored.

She hadn’t spoken a word since they gathered. The air around her was sharp, cold, and quietly commanding. It was clear she had no interest in the petty bickering of the boys beside her.

Max stood quietly at the edge of the elevated platform where the seed participants waited. His arms were folded, his gaze distant, only half-watching the battles unfolding in the arena below. But the loud laughter and mocking voices beside him kept pulling his focus away.

"Some bugs are murmuring around me," Max said calmly, his voice not loud but sharp enough to cut through the air like a blade. "I can’t seem to concentrate on the battles because of them." He sighed lightly at the end, as though genuinely troubled by the background noise.

Ben Wier and Nile Rotan froze, their smirks fading for a split second before rage colored their expressions. They knew exactly who he meant. Max wasn’t hiding it—he’d just called them bugs.

"Humph, I’ll see you in the arena later," Ben spat through clenched teeth, glaring at Max.

"Ben, I don’t think he’ll make it that far," Nile sneered with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He’ll be crushed by the first actual genius he faces. You won’t even get the chance."

"You’re right," Ben said with a scoff, laughing again with false confidence.

Max didn’t even look at them. "These bugs just can’t stay silent, can they?" he muttered in pity, shaking his head slowly as if disappointed in their inability to restrain their egos.

Both Ben and Nile gritted their teeth in fury. For all their posturing, they hadn’t expected Max to bite back, let alone humiliate them so bluntly. But they couldn’t act now. Not in front of the elders. Not with Lyra Shade and so many others watching. The arena would be their answer. They would make sure of it.

As their quiet tension lingered, the assessment continued below without pause. One battle after another passed like stormwinds. Weapons clashed, blood was spilled, pride was shattered. Talents rose and fell with each brutal exchange.

And finally, after the fifth round concluded, only fifteen young geniuses remained standing from the original four hundred and forty-three.

The arena had quieted slightly, the audience on edge, sensing that the next phase—the one where seed participants would finally take part—was about to begin. The air grew thicker with anticipation, and the warriors who remained knew the real trial was just beginning.

But on that platform above, Max stood with a faint smile, calm as ever. If anything, he looked amused.

Ben and Nile, however, looked like beasts pacing in their cages—impatient, burning with the desire to strike.