---
title: "Chapter 658: Thunder Beast Roc"
slug: "ch-664"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 664
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1290
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

Elder Kian stood tall at the center of the grand arena, his sharp eyes sweeping across the thousands of spectators and the exhausted but hopeful participants below.

His voice, calm yet authoritative, rang out clearly through the arena’s amplification formation. "These are the fifteen participants who have made it into the final round," he declared, raising a scroll and unrolling it slowly as silence fell upon the arena. All eyes locked onto him with burning anticipation.

He began to read aloud, each name echoing like a drumbeat. "Jay Rider. Steph Carry. Lena Ashcroft. Rian Velor. Dregan Yue. Sorin Talon. Iris Lorn. Viktor Grae. Niko Elsen. Mira Quin. Haden Tor. Cassel Brine. Veron Shard. Quinlan Drex. Felice Yorn."

As the names fell from his lips one after another, cheers erupted from the stands—some loud, some small, as families, friends, and guild members heard the names of their chosen ones being called.

Each of the fifteen geniuses stood tall, bearing the bruises, blood, and sweat of five consecutive battles but still wearing the pride of having overcome nearly four hundred others. Their eyes gleamed with fierce determination, their hearts burning with desire for the final reward.

These fifteen now stood on the threshold of glory, where the true clash for the Great Ruler Empire’s favor—and the legendary Myriad Conceptual Cave—would begin.

"Now, the last round will be conducted." Elder Kian said before turning towards the area where the seed participants of the assessment were standing. "All the seed participants, gather with final round participants."

The entire arena seemed to freeze.

Just as Elder Kian finished his words, announcing the final round and summoning the seed participants to join the fifteen finalists, a wave of excitement and awe swept through the crowd.

All eyes were drawn to the five figures walking with calm steps—each one cloaked in the aura of superiority. But one of them stood out in the eyes of many. His strength was only at the 8th level of Expert Rank and people were surprised to see him among the seed participants. But nobody said anything.

No one voiced a word of protest. No one frowned in dissatisfaction. The people had seen this tradition before—how the Great Ruler Empire always selected certain "chosen ones" to directly enter the final round. It was the way of the empire.

A value to its status and power. Even the fifteen who had fought their way through five grueling battles simply nodded in acknowledgment. They may not like it, but they accepted it. After all, to be favored by the empire was the highest form of honor.

And then—an earthquake, not of stone, but of sound.

"Hahahaha, Lyra, is this the so-called group of geniuses you’re accepting into the Great Ruler Empire? Pathetic!"

The voice was sharp, mocking, and laced with such brazen arrogance that for a moment, the air itself felt like it had been pierced. The laughter echoed, cold and biting, and then silence reigned.

A chilling silence.

Thousands of spectators blinked, stunned. Some mouths hung open, frozen mid-cheer. Others turned their heads, looking around in disbelief, wondering if they had heard wrong. But they hadn’t. That voice was real. And it had just insulted the Great Ruler Empire—openly, shamelessly.

More than just a gasp, it was a collective shudder that ran through the crowd. Faces paled. Some couldn’t even bring themselves to breathe.

Mocking the Great Ruler Empire was not just arrogant—it was unthinkable. To mock them on their own stage, during their own grand assessment, and before the face of none other than the Second Princess herself?

That was suicide.

No one dared to speak. The shock was too great. Just the name of the Great Ruler Empire could shake the Middle Domain. Entire first-class forces bowed before them. Just being noticed by the Empire was an honor so many longed for, generations even dedicated their lives toward earning a sliver of recognition. To insult them?

There were people who would rather die than commit such sacrilege.

Princess Lyra’s expression froze. Not with surprise—but with icy calm. A silence surrounded her like a storm just before the lightning strike. The elders beside her narrowed their eyes, their auras rippling with restrained killing intent.

Elder Kian turned his head slowly, his sharp moustache fluttering slightly as if even the air around him had gone tense.

Even Max’s eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting toward the direction of the voice.

Everyone waited for what would come next—for no one dared to believe that this transgression would go unpunished. Not here. Not in the Empire’s arena.

Just then, all heads turned skyward.

A strange shadow blotted out a portion of the bright sky, vast and fast-moving, gliding across the clouds like a phantom. People squinted upward.

What they initially thought was a passing cloud soon began to descend rapidly toward the grand arena, revealing a massive creature soaring through the air with unimaginable grace and speed.

The closer it came, the clearer its shape became—until gasps broke out in waves across the arena.

Even Max, who rarely showed much emotion, widened his eyes in disbelief.

High above them, a colossal beast loomed. Its wings stretched wide like the sky itself had grown feathers. It descended with a thunderous force, wind howling like a storm as its figure became fully visible.

And then it landed, right atop the grand arena’s domed roof—its talons digging deep into the stone, cracking it like dried earth under a storm.

It was a roc.

No ordinary bird. No common flying beast.

A Thunder Beast Roc—a legendary creature known only in myth. Its body shimmered in pure blue, glowing like polished crystal, while its massive wings—tinted a rich, deep purple—flared outward majestically.

Lightning danced wildly around those wings, arcs of blue and violet crackling in the air like nature’s fury restrained.

The very presence of the beast warped the space around it. The ground rumbled. The sky flickered. Its roar hadn’t even sounded, and yet its aura pressed down on the people like a mountain dropped from the heavens.

Everyone froze.

All the participants in the arena, no matter their cultivation, felt their knees weaken. Spectators gripped the edges of their seats or one another for balance. Some fell, trembling. This was no simple flying mount—this was a beast of myth.

The kind spoken of in ancient scrolls, associated with emperors and primeval wars. Even the air seemed to submit to its will.

Max stared at it with a dazed expression. "A roc... that’s really a roc..."

He had read about such beings. He had imagined them in ancient ruins or in sealed bloodline memories. But to see one—here, alive, right in front of him—was a different matter entirely.

The only time he had ever felt such pressure from a creature was when he faced the true dragon in the Nine Dragon Paintings. But the pressure was immediately swept away by his own Black Dragon Chaotic Bloodline.

"Which force could command a roc?" Max muttered before instantly recalling a name of the top force he had read about it in the diary given by Old Saintess.

Only that force could command a Thunder Beast Roc.

A real roc. Not an illusion. Not a statue. Not a projection. A living, breathing legend that shimmered with primal lightning.

Terror.

Awe.

Excitement.

All emotions swirled together in the hearts of those gathered. No one dared to speak anymore. No one laughed. The mockery from earlier had turned into something else entirely.

Because they all understood the one who came knocking the doors of the Great Ruler Empire was none other than the Thunder Monarch Hall.

Only the Thunder Monarch Hall, one of the seven top 1st class forces could employ such a monstrous beast.