Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

King Magnar’s gaze met Max’s next, and for a brief second, the old king gave him a slight, approving nod—acknowledging Max not as a child to protect, but as a warrior standing on the same field.

Then, without wasting another breath, Magnar turned his sharp, commanding eyes toward Nova, the leader of the Sun Faction, who stood idly with his forces, just like the demons—watching, doing nothing.

”So,” Magnar said coldly, ”you’ve joined him.”

”I did what’s best for the human race,” Nova replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, his expression calm and arrogant as he gestured casually to his unmoving army. Without any shame, he took his forces and positioned them alongside the demons, simply watching the battlefield, waiting like vultures for the chaos to thin the herd.

King Magnar’s expression tightened, but he said nothing further to Nova. There was no point arguing now. The battlefield would decide everything. Instead, he turned back to Elarion and Marcel, the leader of the Moon Faction, who stood firm and ready.

”Looks like it’s just the three of us,” Magnar said grimly, his tone steady but with a dangerous edge underneath.

”Huh, no problem,” Marcel said with a wide grin, his short dark grey hair lifting slightly in the howling wind. His eyes gleamed with mischief and savagery as he cracked his knuckles. ”Let’s teach this arrogant bastard a lesson he’ll never forget.”

”I was already planning to,” Elarion said with a cool smile, his figure already beginning to float upward, surging toward Drevon with steady, deliberate power.

King Magnar grinned too, an ancient fire burning in his chest. Even with the world collapsing around them, even with the battlefield stained in endless blood, there was a part of him—an unyielding warrior’s soul—that felt alive. It had been too long since he had unleashed his full strength. Too long since he had faced an enemy worthy of everything he had to give.

”Let’s see,” he muttered under his breath, his armor gleaming as he rose into the skies beside his allies, ”what a man whose strength has already stepped halfway into the Master Rank truly looks like.”

The clash that would decide the fate of continents was about to begin. And the world held its breath.

”You three are no match for me,” Drevon said with a calm, confident smile as he hovered higher and higher into the sky, his blood-red hair whipping around him like a banner of war. ”But...” he added with a faint chuckle, his crimson eyes gleaming with excitement, ”I would like to see the extent of my current strength. So, I’ll entertain you three.”

His words, spoken so lightly, carried a terrifying arrogance, as if he already saw the battle as nothing more than a casual warm-up. Without needing to say another word, King Magnar, Marcel, and Elarion rose after him, the three leaders ascending higher and higher into the sky, soaring above the battlefield below. They knew the devastation their clash would bring—and none of them wanted to rip apart their own armies in the crossfire.

The air grew colder and heavier as the four figures climbed into the heavens, their auras swelling with such intensity that even the raging war below seemed to momentarily fade into insignificance. Soldiers paused mid-swing, bloodied and exhausted, their instincts forcing them to glance upward. Even those locked in mortal combat couldn’t help but look, a deep, primal fear stirring in their hearts.

And then, only a moment later—

BOOM!

A deafening roar shook the entire world as the four powerhouses clashed in the skies. The force of their collision cracked the very air itself, sending shockwaves rippling down across the battlefield like invisible tidal waves. Dust, debris, and even entire bodies were swept away by the sheer pressure.

Everyone fighting below—elves, humans—lifted their heads toward the heavens, their battles forgotten for an instant. What they saw made their hearts seize in awe and terror.

High above, golden light flashed wildly like the birth of new stars, streaking across the sky in violent explosions.

The growls of ancient beasts echoed through the heavens, their roars shaking the ground as massive golden projections of titanic creatures materialized, clashing and tearing at each other.

Projections of weapons—giant swords, spears, and axes of unimaginable size and craftsmanship—floated around the combatants, slashing and stabbing through the air with devastating force.

The heavens had become their battlefield, a realm where only the strongest dared to tread, and every clash between the four sent tremors of fear and awe into the hearts of those below. It was not a fight that mere mortals could interfere with. It was a war of kings, a war of legends, and its outcome would determine the fate of everything they knew.

Max watched with clenched fists, feeling the sheer weight of the battle above him sink into his very bones before he turned to look at the remaining Experts Rank warriors from the Monarch. There were still many Expert Rank warriors left and they were all eying at him.

Just then, a few figures swiftly descended in front of Max, forming a protective arc around him. Leading them was a silver-haired elf woman, her presence calm yet commanding, her aura radiating the unmistakable strength of a peak Expert Rank warrior.

Beside her stood Princess Lenavira, her face tense with worry, and around them gathered many other Expert Rank elven warriors, their weapons drawn and their eyes locked onto the battlefield with unwavering resolve.

Lastly, Klaus landed firmly beside Max, his armor gleaming darkly, his expression steady and full of quiet determination.

”I will protect you,” Klaus said with a reassuring smile, his voice calm but firm, a silent promise carried in his words. ”So you don’t need to worry about anything.”

”You’ve already done enough for us, Max,” the silver-haired elf woman added, her voice gentle yet strong. ”Let us take care of you now.” Her eyes softened slightly as she looked at Max, and he noticed immediately—the resemblance between her and Princess Lenavira was striking. Her features carried the same elegance, the same proud sharpness softened by kindness. ’She must be Lenavira’s mother,’ Max realized inwardly.

Max nodded lightly, appreciating their goodwill, but there was a fire burning in his chest—a refusal to simply stand by while others fought and bled for him. ”I will also fight,” he said, his voice steady, his eyes blazing with resolve.

”Max, don’t!” Princess Lenavira said quickly, her voice filled with worry, stepping closer as if to stop him. ”You can’t possibly fight against an Expert Rank warrior!”

Max gave a faint smile, his gaze firm. ”We’ll see,” he said simply, turning his attention away from her and toward the new threat.

From all sides, Expert Rank warriors from the Monarch’s army were converging on their position, surrounding them like a tightening noose. Their faces were twisted with disdain and bloodlust, confident in the overwhelming advantage their cultivation granted them. One of them sneered, stepping forward with a murderous glint in his eye.

”Aside from Max, you’re all going to die,” the lead warrior said coldly.

At his signal, they attacked without hesitation, their bodies exploding with terrifying speed and power, skills and blades flashing toward Max and his protectors with the intent to slaughter.

The battlefield around them erupted once again into brutal, close-quarter combat—an explosive clash where every moment teetered on the knife’s edge between life and death.

And Max, instead of stepping back, leaned forward, his expression fully calm and focused as his eyes locked on to the enemies and their attacks.