---
title: "Chapter 631: Central Association"
slug: "ch-637"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 637
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1511
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

Max turned his gaze downward.

"Emperor’s Domain," he muttered. A black flaming crown appeared on his head, mirrored by a massive crown high above the Monarch. Its fiery black brilliance pulsed, heavy and suffocating.

Then came the next command.

"Emperor’s Judgment."

A rumble shook the sky.

And then hell was unleashed.

From the fiery crown, a barrage of weapons made of searing black flames began to rain down. Thousands—tens of thousands—swords, spears, axes, hammers—each one howling with vengeful power, descended like divine punishment upon the Monarch.

Screams tore through the air.

Cries of agony.

Begging.

Flesh was ripped apart. Buildings exploded into rubble. Blood splattered the once-proud halls. People tried to run—leaders, soldiers, even children of the inner court—but there was no escape. Every weapon found a target. The black flames did not discriminate. They fed on despair, on fear, on the very soul.

"NOOOO!"

"PLEASE—HELP—ARRGH!"

"STOP! I SURRENDER! I SUR—"

Flames silenced them all.

Max hovered above it all, unmoving. Unfeeling. His expression didn’t change as he watched them die. There was no joy. No sorrow. Just judgment.

"More," he whispered coldly. As if responding to his will, the flaming crown trembled—and from it, more weapons surged forth. Not just thousands this time. Hundreds of thousands. Spears of death. Swords like falling comets. Hammers that tore the wind apart with their descent.

A river of flame.

A storm of judgment.

The people below—once proud, once feared—were now screaming. Scrambling. Crying.

"HELP ME—!"

"I DON’T WANT TO DIE—PLEASE!"

"NO—NO—NO—!"

Their voices were drowned in fire.

Buildings collapsed like sandcastles. Every defensive barrier they conjured—shattered. Every technique they released—devoured. It wasn’t even a battle anymore. It was a massacre. A purge. The very ground cried beneath the weight of it all.

Some ran to the skies.

Max pointed.

Dozens of black flaming chains shot upward and pierced them in the air, dragging them back down into the flaming abyss. Their screams faded long before they hit the ground.

Noticing some were hiding within the buildings from his Three Dimensional Body, Max’s eyes narrowed.

From his flaming crown, dozens of gigantic black swords began to descend. Each one larger than houses. Each one moved with a single purpose—to destroy.

They landed across the ruins, crushing survivors into meatpaste.

Everywhere the gigantic swords would move, only destruction would follow.

Screams.

Begging.

Crackling fire.

Blood.

And above it all, Max stood like a sovereign of destruction, his black flaming eyes surveying the carnage without a flicker of hesitation.

Elias and Aria stood far behind, watching in stunned silence.

"...he’s not hesitating," Elias whispered. "Not even for a second."

Aria’s expression was grim. These scenes were common in the Middle Domain. There were sometimes war between two forces and if one of the forces won, they would eradicate the other forces completely. They like Max didn’t want to leave behind someone who would grow to seek revenge.

But even she couldn’t help the chill that crept up her spine as she watched Max incinerate yet another squad with a simple wave of his hand.

This was not revenge.

This was eradication.

A reckoning.

And when the final scream died away, when the last black sword faded into smoke, nothing remained of the Monarch.

No bodies.

No bones.

No walls.

Only a smoldering crater.

And Max still stood there—calm, composed, untouched by the horror he had wrought.

The world would remember this day. The day the Monarch fell—not to war, not to rebellion—but to the wrath of a single man who showed no mercy.

Max hovered in the sky, eyes closed, the crown of flames fading from above his head. His voice, when it came, was quiet. "Done."

The leaders of the Lower Domain stood in stunned silence, their throats dry, their minds numb, as they stared at the blackened ruins of the Monarch. The screams still echoed in their ears. The flames, though gone, still seemed to dance in their vision. Max hadn’t just defeated the Monarch—he had obliterated it, reduced it to nothing with the sheer force of his will and power.

And he hadn’t blinked. Not once. He had done it with a terrifying calmness, as if erasing a kingdom was no different from swatting a fly. That ruthlessness, that emotionless execution of justice—it struck fear into them. Deep, bone-chilling fear.

For the first time, they truly understood the scale of strength Max possessed. He wasn’t just the strongest in the Lower Domain—he stood above them all like an unshakeable force of nature. A storm that couldn’t be stopped.

Once it was done, Max didn’t linger in the destruction. Instead, he called for King Magnar. Calmly, clearly, he made a request—no, an order. The Lower Domain needed a unified force. A coalition. A united army drawn from every major faction across both continents. Not something symbolic or weak—a true powerhouse.

A force that would stand above all others, capable of crushing any threat that dared rise again. The others could only nod in agreement, too shaken to argue, and in truth, none of them dared oppose the idea. If Max had wanted, he could have ruled them all alone. But instead, he chose to strengthen the world they shared.

Max named the newly formed force Central Association.

He didn’t stop there. He also instructed King Magnar and Elarion to establish a joint academy—one that would nurture the strongest geniuses from both continents under one roof. A place not just of learning, but of challenge, of fire-forged growth, of rivalry and discipline.

The future of the Lower Domain depended not on its walls or weapons, but on its people. The roots of any civilization were its youth. Max knew that. And so he gave the Lower Domain something more powerful than his own protection—a path to survive without him.

Once his work was done, Max didn’t wait for praise or applause. He simply turned away from the ruins of Monarch and walked toward the horizon. His figure disappeared into the winds, heading quietly toward the Lost Continent.

In a quiet garden tucked within the grand estate of the Human Saint Alliance’s Sun Faction, Lucas sat alone, sipping tea under the soft golden light of the afternoon sun. Birds chirped, the flowers swayed, and the world felt calm—peaceful, almost perfect. Lucas let out a satisfied sigh, momentarily forgetting the past chaos. But peace, for men like him, was a fleeting illusion.

"Are you enjoying your day, Lucas?" came a voice—smooth, casual, and absolutely the last one he ever wanted to hear again.

His body jolted. His eyes shot wide open as he turned and saw Max descending calmly from the sky like death given form. Lucas’s cup slipped from his hand and shattered on the stone path. "W-what are you doing here?!" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but the tremor gave him away.

Max landed with unhurried grace, brushing some imaginary dust off his robes before sitting across from Lucas. "I just wanted to see you," he said with a half-smile. "Catch up. See how your days are going. Are you enjoying life?"

"I—what do you want?" Lucas snapped, but the fear was already gnawing at him. The last time Max came to the Lost Continent, he had nearly killed Drevon, forced him to flee in disgrace. Lucas remembered the sight of Drevon battered and bloodied too well.

Max’s smile vanished. "I want to kill you, of course. What other reason would I have to visit you?"

Panic turned to rage. Lucas roared, "Die!" Earth shook as dozens of massive stone dragons burst from the ground, all rushing toward Max to crush him in a vicious pincer strike. But it was pointless.

Swish—

A single blue light flashed.

Lucas’s body froze. His mouth still hung open. And then—with a soft thud—his head rolled to the ground. His lifeless body toppled moments later.

Max stood where he had sat, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder again. "You never learn, do you?" he muttered, almost disappointed. With a flick of his finger, black flames consumed Lucas’s corpse entirely. Nothing remained. No bones, no ash. Just a faint smell of smoke in the garden breeze.

But Max wasn’t done.

He made his way to the Sun Faction’s central estate and found its leader—the very man who once stood proud beside Drevon. And without ceremony, Max killed him too. No speeches. No questions. Just judgment.

But it didn’t end with the humans.

Max moved on, crossing the boundaries into demon territory. He didn’t hold back. City after city, outpost after outpost, he hunted them all. With sword, with flame, with lightning and space, he tore through the demonic race. They tried to resist. They failed. They tried to escape. He caught them. They begged. He gave them silence.

By the time he was done, the Lost Continent had been cleansed.

Only humans and elves remained. The demons, who once spread fear and chaos, who allied with monsters like Drevon, were no more.

Max had turned them into a Chapter of history—one that would never be written again.