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| title | slug | novel | number | views | likes | wordCount | createdAt |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Chapter 481: Worst Case Scenario | ch-481 | Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 | 481 | 0 | 0 | 1045 | 2026-04-13 |
"...No way."
Max’s eyes widened in pure disbelief as an ominous surge of spatial fluctuations rippled through the air—originating from the exact spot where Drevon had been erased moments ago.
The tremors weren’t normal. They weren’t just residual energy or aftershocks from a collapsing attack. No—this was something else. Something deliberate. Controlled. Intentional.
And before Max could react, before he could even gather his drained mana or utter a warning—it happened.
A sudden crack split open in the void. Not like a clean tear in space as Max had created earlier—but a jagged, chaotic wound in reality, as if the very world was being torn apart by something it couldn’t contain.
And from within that spiraling darkness... a hand emerged. Pale, bloodied, trembling with raw power, fingers stretched wide as if clawing its way back into the living world.
Gasps echoed across the battlefield.
"What—" someone whispered.
Then, another hand erupted from the rift, and together, they gripped the edges of the spatial tear, forcing the crack wider, dragging it open like a curtain into a world no one wanted to see. And from within that abyss, a figure stepped out—slow, deliberate, each step pulsing with dread.
Drevon.
His body was a mess of ruin—gashes tore through his chest and arms, his robe was shredded, soaked in blood and dust, trails of infernal burns still lingering across his skin. His hair, once flowing and pristine, now hung wild and clumped with sweat and soot.
And yet... he walked with the same authority, the same spine-straight posture, the same burning eyes as if he had not just crawled out of oblivion—but returned from hell itself unshaken.
The leaders couldn’t believe it. Not even Max.
He had poured everything into that attack. Burned every ounce of mana. Summoned his domain, wielded two concepts, risked his life—and it still wasn’t enough.
Drevon stood tall, bloodied, broken... but alive.
And then—as if fate wasn’t done mocking them—golden flames began to flicker around Drevon’s battered body. At first they sparked faintly, dancing across his torn robes and bloodied skin like embers on a dying fire.
But then they surged, roaring to life, wrapping him in a radiant blaze of monarchic fire, divine and commanding. In that moment, the entire battlefield could only watch, frozen, as those flames began to heal him.
The open gashes stitched shut in seconds. The blood vanished into light. Burn marks, bruises, deep cuts—all erased as though they had never existed. Bone cracked back into place. Flesh regenerated. His armor reformed. His robes restored themselves, the golden embroidery gleaming brighter than ever.
And as the last scar faded from his cheek, his aura erupted, soaring to its peak in a single, blinding instant—so potent, so suffocating, it felt like the sky itself had lowered onto their shoulders.
Drevon stood tall once again, as if he hadn’t just been torn apart by a dimensional blade, as if he hadn’t been erased from existence, as if none of it had mattered at all. He looked at Max, calm and composed, and spoke in a voice so quiet yet full of terrifying certainty that it carried to the ends of the battlefield.
"Now do you see the difference between you and me?" he said lightly, voice almost gentle, as though speaking to a child who had just thrown their best punch and failed. "The difference between the strongest man and the strongest genius?"
He took a step forward, eyes glowing with faint amusement. "You are strong—incredibly strong. Perhaps the most talented individual I’ve seen in centuries," he admitted with a casual shrug, "but you are still too young. Too raw. You’ve not yet lived long enough to understand that strength alone... is never enough."
He raised his hand, flexing his fingers as golden flame coiled around his knuckles like silk. His smile deepened—not mocking, just certain. "You simply aren’t strong enough to kill me, Max. Not yet... anyway. Maybe in another three years or so but not now."
Max’s expression twisted into something ghastly and pale as he heard Drevon’s words. There was no denying it now—he had given everything, and it still wasn’t enough.
His body trembled slightly as he pushed Princess Lenavira away, sending her gliding gently back toward the other leaders. His eyes never left Drevon, but his thoughts were spinning fast.
’I can’t use any skills, no aura, no Concepts... My mana’s completely drained. Right now, I’m just a mortal shell.’ Max gritted his teeth, trying to stay upright despite the heavy pressure now radiating off the monarch. Every part of him screamed fatigue, but he knew—he knew—he couldn’t afford to falter now.
Drevon took a step forward, his voice still eerily calm, still carrying that same infuriating certainty. "Don’t think too hard. I’m not giving you another chance." It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t anger. It was simply a statement of death, uttered like a passing comment.
He raised his hand once more, flames dancing lazily around his fingers, preparing to deliver the final blow—
—but he was stopped.
A wall of presence, of sheer will and strength, rose in front of Max as eight figures stepped into his path.
King Magnar. Aurelia. Kate. Ralph. Klaus. Garrison. Elarion. Marcel.
The most powerful leaders of the Lower Domain stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking Drevon’s advance with grim determination written on their faces. Not one of them said a word, but their meaning was clear. You’ll go through us first.
But just as the pressure began to stabilize, something shifted—no, broke.
From behind, the army of the Sun Faction, led by Nova, suddenly moved. One by one, the soldiers began to fly forward—not toward Drevon... but around the leaders, surrounding them.
It happened so fast and in such coordinated silence that no one could believe it until it was already done. In moments, a complete circle had been formed around Max and the core leaders.
"What...?" Garrison growled, turning to see the betrayal.
And then it got worse.
The four Demon Lords—Envi, Angad, Zeal, and Kome—hovered into position without hesitation, joining the Sun Faction’s encirclement.
Their faces were cold, eyes locked on Max and the others like predators who had just cornered a wounded animal. There was no shame, no remorse—only survival, and allegiance to power.