Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 459: Confronting Young Monarch

Drevon stood alone in the air, his figure steady and commanding, with an army so vast behind him that it swallowed the horizon, covering the endless ocean like a dark tide of death.

Their numbers were countless, stretching so far and wide that it looked as if the sea itself had turned into an army, moving with chilling precision under the silent command of the man with blood-red hair.

His armor, deep black with faint crimson patterns etched across it like living veins, shimmered under the pale sunlight, giving him the appearance of a nightmare born into the world.

His crimson eyes swept lazily over the armies gathered on the edge of the Lost Continent—humans, elves, demons alike—all standing united, but to Drevon, they were nothing more than insects trembling before a storm.

Then, slowly, his gaze sharpened, focusing with deadly clarity onto a single figure amidst the countless faces. His eyes locked onto Max.

"You..." Drevon said, his voice low, almost casual, yet it echoed across the skies as if the world itself carried his words.

Despite having never met face-to-face, Drevon recognized Max instantly. After all, he had seen him before—through images of his soul, through reports, through every whisper that spoke of the one who had destroyed something precious to him.

"You killed my son," Drevon said quietly, and for a brief, fleeting moment, a trace of genuine sadness flickered across his otherwise unreadable face.

But that emotion vanished almost instantly, replaced by a coldness so profound it felt as if the sun itself dimmed.

A terrifying pressure exploded from Drevon the moment he spoke those words, a pressure so overwhelming, so absolute, that the ground seemed to crack, and the very air trembled.

The combined armies of demons, humans, and elves—all of them, from the lowest soldiers to the most seasoned veterans—felt it instantly. Their bodies stiffened, their souls recoiled. Many of the weaker ones stumbled backward or fell to one knee, gasping for breath under the suffocating weight of it.

"This..." Elarion, standing at the forefront of the elves, felt his face drain of all color, his body instinctively locking up as a cold sweat broke across his back. His soul itself shivered under the might bearing down on them. "This is no peak Expert Rank..." he muttered, his voice barely audible, laced with disbelief and fear. "He’s already halfway into the Master Rank!"

The words sent a fresh wave of shock rippling through the ranks of the elven army behind him. Frowns deepened, hands tightened around weapons, and fear crept into the eyes of even the bravest.

Even the four Demon Lords—Envi, Angad, Zeal, and Kome—who had carried themselves with pride and arrogance moments ago, now wore solemn expressions, their bodies tense as they reassessed the monster standing across from them.

In the Lower Domain, the peak Expert Rank had always been the ceiling, the final wall that none had been able to break for countless ages. It was a limit that even kings and ancient sect masters could only dream of surpassing.

Yet standing before them now was Drevon, the Young Monarch of the Valora Continent, who had not only reached the peak of the Expert Rank but had already found a way to step into the legendary Master Rank—a realm so far above them that even imagining resisting him felt like a foolish dream.

And he wasn’t here for conquest.

He was here for revenge.

And Max... Max was the reason this storm had come.

"Yeah? Maybe because you and your Monarch have tried to kill me countless times," Max said, his voice sharp and sneering, cutting through the suffocating air like a blade.

Despite the monstrous pressure Drevon was releasing, Max stood tall, his back straight, his eyes locked onto the Young Monarch with a fearless glint. "Why? What have I ever done to you?" he spat, his words brimming with disdain. "So it’s only natural I pay you back for your actions."

He took a step forward, the wind whipping around him, his aura refusing to bow even as the ground cracked beneath others from the pressure. "You think you can do anything in this world just because you’ve got a bit of power?

Max continued, his voice growing colder, sharper. "Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can. But I’ve always liked revenge... and killing Veylin?" Max smirked, his expression cruel and unyielding. "That was just the beginning."

A stunned silence fell over the armies gathered from the Lost Continent. Elves, humans, even the demons—each and every one of them stared at Max with wide eyes, not just in shock, but in disbelief.

How was he able to speak so calmly, so arrogantly, in the face of the monstrous, world-shaking pressure coming from Drevon? Even Elarion’s expression shifted slightly, a glint of admiration flashing in his solemn eyes.

"Revenge, huh?" Drevon finally spoke again, his voice low, almost pitying as he shook his head slowly. "You won’t get the chance." His crimson gaze bore into Max, as heavy as mountains. "Though you should feel blessed," he added coldly, "that I still want you alive. Otherwise... you’d already be dead."

With that, Drevon turned his head slightly, his face indifferent, almost bored, as he raised a single hand toward the massive army behind him. His voice rang out, clear and commanding, cutting across the armies like a decree from heaven.

"Go ahead," he said casually. "Bring me Max."

At his command, the endless sea of soldiers behind him surged forward like an unstoppable tide, weapons drawn, war cries tearing through the sky. Drevon himself remained where he stood, perfectly calm, as if sure beyond a shadow of doubt that Max’s fate had already been sealed.

Max stood calmly, utterly still, facing the oncoming tidal wave of warriors from across the ocean, their battle cries thundering through the skies, their killing intent thick enough to suffocate the world.

Humans from the Valora Continent—an army vast enough to drown the Lost Continent—flew towards him with unrelenting momentum, their blades and spells poised to tear him apart the moment they reached him.

Yet Max didn’t flinch. His eyes remained cold and steady, his body unmoving like an unbreakable mountain.

Because he could feel it—the slight trembling in the air, the subtle instability in space itself. And with his newfound Level 1 Concept of Space and his deep understanding of how teleportation and spatial manipulation worked, he immediately realized what others hadn’t noticed yet—someone else was coming.

A small, knowing smile curved Max’s lips.

And just as the vanguard of Drevon’s army was about to clash with him, a blinding beam of light descended from the heavens, cutting cleanly between Max and the approaching enemy like a blade forged of pure brilliance.

The air trembled violently as spatial ripples expanded outward, forcing the charging soldiers to halt mid-flight, their formation thrown into momentary chaos.

When the intense light finally faded, a colossal ship appeared—no, not just a ship, but a floating fortress, the size of a small island, looming majestically in the sky between Max and Drevon’s forces. Its hull gleamed with ancient runes, its sails billowed with energy, and its very presence exuded overwhelming dominance, like a bulwark against the coming storm.

From the ship descended several figures, each one exuding terrifying auras, all standing firmly at the peak of the Expert Rank.