---
title: "Chapter 473: Do Your Best"
slug: "ch-473"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 473
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1012
createdAt: "2026-04-13"
---

The scene turned apocalyptic.

The black flames surged like a rising tide, no longer flickering gently across undead flesh, but now consuming everything with ravenous hunger.

What had started as a quiet spread became an unstoppable wave—an infernal feast. Every undead, from the smallest reanimated ghoul to the towering behemoths, was caught in it.

The flames didn’t just burn—they devoured, tore through flesh, shredded soul remnants, and erased their very essence from existence.

The wyvern let out a soundless cry as its skeletal wings crumbled, its frame folding inward as if reality itself rejected its presence. The two-headed minotaur fought, clawing at its own chest as the flames seeped through its cracked bones, but within seconds, it collapsed—disintegrating from the inside out.

The Graveborn Colossus, once a towering fortress of death, staggered in place as the flames tunneled through its stone-laced flesh, boring holes through its chest, arms, and skull, until its massive frame imploded, reduced to nothingness.

The Spectral Basilisk shimmered desperately, phasing between spirit and flesh, trying to escape, but the flames found it, gripped it, and dragged it into oblivion, shattering even its ghostly essence.

Even the Bone Kraken, which writhed and twisted through the air like a serpent of death, was pinned down by the flames that danced on invisible threads of space itself—its tentacles scorched, shriveled, and vanished one by one before its entire body collapsed inward like a dying star.

And then the army—the thousands upon thousands of undead soldiers, monsters, and demons—began to fall like dominos. One blink, two blinks... entire lines of undead were gone, their ashes consumed, not scattered. Their bones didn’t remain. Their weapons didn’t fall. There was nothing left behind.

Just black flame, and then... nothing.

Not a single bone.

Not a single scrap of armor.

Not a single scream.

Only silence, and a field scorched black.

The undead didn’t die.

They were unmade.

And floating above the infernal crater, untouched, unshaken, Max stared calmly at the stunned William—who stood frozen mid-command, his lips parted, disbelief etched into every fiber of his face.

His entire army... was gone.

No revivals.

No reformation.

No second chances.

Only annihilation.

And then—

[Congratulations to Max Voidwalker for leveling up to Level 7 of the Adept Rank.]

[Congratulations to Max Voidwalker for leveling up to Level 8 of the Adept Rank.]

[Congratulations to Max Voidwalker for leveling up to Level 9 of the Adept Rank.]

The system notifications echoed like a chorus in Max’s mind, each one pulsing with raw, surging power. He could feel it—his strength growing denser, sharper, more overwhelming with each leap in level. His body became lighter yet heavier with power, his senses expanded, and his aura grew vast enough to pressure the very wind into silence.

Yet, despite the massive boost in strength, there wasn’t even a flicker of joy on his face. No triumphant grin. No sense of pride. Only a cold, deepening gloom. His brows knitted, his eyes dimming with thought.

And then—his figure vanished.

In the blink of an eye, Max reappeared behind William, who stood frozen in midair, his eyes wide and lifeless as they stared blankly at the battlefield. Or rather, what remained of it.

The place where his grand army of undead had once stood... now just a field of nothing. No bones. No ashes. No echoes of power. Nothing. His lips trembled, but no words came. He looked as though someone had reached into his chest and torn his soul out, leaving behind an empty shell.

"You..." Max began softly, his voice low and razor-sharp, like the whisper of death in one’s final moments. But before he could finish—

"Don’t you dare kill him!"

Drevon’s voice finally tore through the sky, filled with venom and command. The pressure in his tone would’ve shaken mountains, but Max didn’t even blink. He turned his head slightly, glancing back at the Young Monarch with a calm, almost amused smile playing on his lips.

And then—without a word—Max silently touched William from behind.

A single wisp of black flame curled from his fingertips, barely visible, like a shadow dancing on the edge of reality. It floated slowly, elegantly, and slipped into William’s body before the dazed boy even registered its presence. The flame disappeared within his chest, silent and subtle, embedding itself in his very soul.

William didn’t even flinch.

He was still too stunned to realize what had just happened.

"You know what?" Max said suddenly, his voice slicing through the tense air like a blade, a grin curling at the edge of his lips. "I’ll let him go," he said, nodding toward William, who was still stunned by the failure of his undead army.

"I’ll spare his life. But..." Max raised a single finger, his eyes narrowing, sharp as daggers. "You have to take one sword attack from me. Just one."

The battlefield froze.

"If you can do that," Max continued, his grin widening, "I’ll gladly let him live. But if you can’t... well, then he dies. Imagine that, Drevon. Imagine hiding your precious little student in the shadows for all these years, raising him like a secret weapon—only to watch him get erased the very day he reveals himself to the world." He leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into a mock whisper. "Now wouldn’t that be tragic?"

For the first time since he had descended from the clouds, Drevon’s expression changed. His usual smug composure faded, replaced by something darker—something colder. His jaw clenched slightly, and a shadow passed over his crimson eyes as he frowned. Not a word left his lips for a long moment. But then, slowly, he replied, his voice low and even. "Do your best."

Max grinned even wider. But instead of preparing the attack, he turned his head slightly, pointing down toward the battlefield below—the field where chaos had erupted not long ago.

Where the armies of the Lost Continent, humans and elves alike, stood shoulder to shoulder in a tense standoff against the Monarch’s army—the same army that had come across the ocean, destroying everything in their path.