---
title: "Chapter 1421: Corpse of Black Dragon!"
slug: "ch-1428"
novel: "Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100"
number: 1428
views: 0
likes: 0
wordCount: 1062
createdAt: "2026-04-15"
---

The moment the aura pressed down on him fully, Max felt a deep tremor ripple through his body and soul, as though something ancient had turned its gaze upon him. His breathing remained steady, yet his heart thumped once with heavy force as recognition struck him.

’This is the aura and the pressure of the Black Dragon,’ Max said silently, his thoughts sharpening.

He had felt something similar before.

His mind was pulled back to Obsidian Dragon City and the Nine Dragons Painting, to that vast painted world where he had come face to face with a true Black Dragon.

Back then, the pressure had been overwhelming, primal, and domineering, a presence that demanded reverence and fear from every living being that stood before it. That aura had been etched into his memory so deeply that he could never mistake it for anything else.

Yet the feeling washing over him now was different.

Similar in nature, but far heavier.

As Max focused on the aura pouring out from the dome, a chill crept along his spine. The oppressive presence felt more dreadful, more suffocating, as if it carried the accumulated authority of countless eras.

It was not the aura of a single living Black Dragon, but something deeper and more absolute, as though the very concept of the Black Dragon had been condensed and embedded within the structure itself.

’Similar, but the aura here is more powerful and dreadful,’ Max thought, his expression growing solemn.

That realization unsettled him.

The Black Dragon he had encountered within the Nine Dragons Painting had been real, an authentic being whose existence alone was enough to crush weaker cultivators into submission.

And yet, the pressure emanating from this dome felt heavier than that encounter. It made no sense at first. How could a structure, no matter how mysterious, release an aura that surpassed the presence of a living Black Dragon?

As he walked forward, Max felt the aura probing him, not physically but at a deeper level. It brushed against his bloodline, his soul, and the foundations of his existence, as if attempting to determine whether he was worthy to stand before it.

He realized then that this was not a simple pressure meant to overwhelm through force. It was a suppression aimed directly at bloodlines, especially those tied to draconic origins.

Max glanced around him.

The reactions of the surrounding disciples were immediate and obvious. Many of them had slowed their steps, their faces paling as invisible weight bore down on them. Some clenched their fists, others grit their teeth, and a few even swayed slightly as if their legs might give out.

None of them understood what they were facing. They only knew that something inside the dome was suppressing them at a fundamental level, causing their bloodlines to feel sluggish, restrained, and heavy.

The suppression reached Max as well.

He could feel it clearly.

But unlike the others, it did not crush him.

The suppressive force pressed against his bloodline, only to meet an unyielding resistance. His Black Dragon Chaotic Bloodline reacted instinctively, standing firm like immovable pillars. Rather than being weighed down, Max felt as though he were standing before a roaring tide that could not quite wash over him.

For him, the pressure did not turn into suffocation.

It remained an aura.

A heavy, solemn presence that demanded respect, but not obedience.

Max understood then that it was not because the suppression was weak. It was because his bloodline was too strong.

Soon, led by Grand Elder Waller, the disciples crossed the threshold of the dome, and the moment their vision fully adjusted, a deep chill ran through every spine present.

At the very center of the vast interior lay the head of a Black Dragon.

Not flesh. Not scales. Only bone.

Yet even reduced to a skeletal form, it was unimaginably enormous.

The skull alone was larger than a mountain, its jagged fangs rising like ivory towers, each one longer than a city street. The eye sockets were cavernous voids, deep and unfathomable, as if they still retained the memory of a gaze that had once ruled the heavens.

The structure of the skull was both brutal and majestic, every ridge and curve carved with the unmistakable authority of a supreme lifeform that had once stood at the apex of existence.

The disciples felt their throats tighten.

Even without eyes, the skull felt alive.

An invisible pressure poured out from the skeletal head in endless waves, heavy and suffocating, crashing against their bodies and bloodlines without mercy. This was not an aura born of life, but something far more terrifying. It was the lingering will of a Black Dragon that had once dominated the Divine Realm, condensed into bone and memory, refusing to fade even after death.

The pressure intensified with every step closer.

Many disciples felt their knees tremble as their bloodlines reacted violently, some boiling in resistance while others shrank back in fear. Their breathing grew labored, chests rising and falling as though the air itself had become thick and unyielding.

A few cultivators even felt a sharp pain bloom in their cores, as if the mere presence of the dragon skull was attempting to crush their cultivation into submission.

The dome itself seemed to exist solely to contain that presence.

Ancient runes glowed faintly along the walls and ceiling, reinforcing the structure, as if restraining a force that would otherwise tear the surroundings apart. Without those runes, it felt certain that the pressure alone would have been enough to shatter weaker cultivators instantly.

Max stood among them, his gaze locked onto the skeletal head.

Now he understood.

This was why the aura felt heavier than the Black Dragon he had encountered in the Nine Dragons Painting. That dragon had been alive, its power restrained by form and will.

This skull, however, was the remnant of a Black Dragon that had reached an unfathomable height before its death. Its will had fused with its remains, turning the bones themselves into a vessel of suppression and authority.

Death had not weakened it.

It had only stripped away restraint.

The disciples could feel it instinctively. This was not merely a relic. It was a declaration. A reminder carved into bone that the Black Dragon Clan once stood above all, and that even in death, their dominance could not be denied.