Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 460: Reinforcements

Max’s eyes gleamed sharply as he recognized them immediately—King Magnar, with his royal golden armor shining brilliantly under the sun; Aurelia, her white robes fluttering as her powerful life force lit up the sky; Kate, her sword already drawn donning her knight armor, her aura sharp and merciless; Klaus, exuding a cold, oppressive strength that seemed to chill the very air around him; and the two leaders of the super Thorne and Ashford Families, their presences dignified and immovable like ancient mountains.

’The combined forces of the East and West are here...’ Max thought, a fire igniting in his chest. Reinforcements—not just anyone, but the true powerhouses of the East and West of the Valora Continent—had come. And they weren’t here for diplomacy. They were here to fight.

"After I destroy the Lost Continent," Drevon said calmly, his voice drifting across the battlefield with an unsettling stillness, "I was going to do the same to the Valora Continent as well... but it seems you all are too impatient."

His crimson gaze swept over the newly arrived leaders from the Valora Continent—King Magnar, Aurelia, Klaus, Kate, the Thorne and Ashford Family heads—with an expression of mild amusement, as if their defiance was little more than an annoying delay. "But it won’t change anything," he added, his smile cold and sharp like a blade. Then, raising his hand with effortless ease, he gave a single command that echoed like a death knell through the heavens. "Attack."

The moment the word left his lips, the entire army behind Drevon moved like a living wave of destruction.

"Kill!"

"Kill them all!"

"Slaughter them all!"

Roars of war erupted from the massive force, shaking the air itself. Skills ignited, thousands of magical arrows blossoming to life like burning stars.

Arrows of black energy rained down, deadly beams of condensed mana ripped through the skies, and enormous war beasts howled as they charged across the waters and into the air.

Techniques, skills, secret abilities—everything the Monarch’s army had been drilled to perfect—were unleashed in a roaring torrent of destruction aimed straight at the defenders of the Lost Continent.

The skies lit up with a chaos of flashing lights, roaring winds, crackling thunder, and rivers of fire that split the heavens apart.

Seeing the tsunami of destruction bearing down on them, Elarion, King of the Elves, stepped forward, his golden staff gleaming as he raised it high above his head. His voice, imbued with ancient magic and authority, roared across the battlefield. "Elves!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the howling wind and roaring skills like a spear. "Hear the call of your leader—attack!"

At his command, the elves, who had been surrounded and locked in place by the demon forces, suddenly broke free in unison with a coordinated surge of power.

"Kill them all!"

Their bows, glowing with vibrant green and silver light, fired a volley of enchanted arrows that tore through the skies like meteor showers.

Mages summoned walls of ancient trees and storms of thorns to intercept the incoming attacks.

Warriors clad in silver armor surged forward, riding on constructs of wind and light, clashing head-on with the incoming human horde.

The battlefield became a swirling storm of magic and steel. The elves unleashed their full might, skills and techniques woven through millennia of tradition, their attacks graceful yet devastating, meeting the brutal charge of Drevon’s army with fierce resistance.

Meanwhile, the demons simply stood back and watched the carnage unfold with indifferent expressions. They had no intention of helping either side. They didn’t care about Max. They didn’t care about the elves, the humans, or even the stability of the continent itself.

Their only ambition was simple—to watch their enemies bleed each other dry, to seize the Tower of Truth once all opposition was crushed, and to claim the Lost Continent for themselves.

As far as they were concerned, the more chaotic and bloody the battlefield became, the easier their conquest would be.

And so, as the skies darkened with the fire of skills and the thunder of clashing armies, the greatest battle the Lost Continent had seen in centuries began, with Max standing at the heart of the storm.

Max observed the unfolding chaos, his expression solemn, his eyes cold and sharp as he stood slightly above the battlefield, watching the clash between two worlds.

It was the first time in his life he had ever truly witnessed a fight on this scale, a real war—not a small skirmish, not a battle between sects, but a full-blown conflict between continents. Thousands of warriors hurled themselves at each other with wild abandon, skills and techniques illuminating the sky in blinding flashes of light, swords ringing against swords, arrows screaming through the air like banshees.

The scent of blood and burning magic was already beginning to stain the wind. Yet, even amidst the roaring storm, Max’s sharp mind noticed something critical almost immediately. No Expert Rank warriors from either side had participated in the battle yet.

He scanned the battlefield carefully, and it became clear that despite the terrifying strength of the armies, none of the true powerhouses had moved.

There were no flashes of overwhelming auras, no signs of the ground-shattering strength that a true Expert Rank warrior could unleash.

Max quickly understood why. Both continents, despite their massive populations and fearsome reputations, didn’t abound in Expert Rank warriors. They were powerful—yes—but they were also rare.

Expert Rank warriors were the foundation stones of any major force, and their deaths would be considered a catastrophic loss.

How strong an empire, a kingdom, or a guild truly was could be measured not by how many ordinary soldiers they had, but by the number of Expert Rank warriors they could command. And for most organizations, even the strongest among them, the number of true Expert Rank warriors often didn’t even reach ten. For some, having even one or two was a cause for pride.

Thus, whenever a massive war broke out—whether between guilds, empires, or entire continents—it was always the experts below Expert Rank who clashed first. They were the soldiers, the tide of battle, the expendable frontline meant to weaken and exhaust the enemy.

Meanwhile, the Expert Rank warriors held their positions like mountains, only stepping forward when absolutely necessary, acting as the generals who could change the entire tide of a battle with a single move.

It was a cold, brutal truth of the cruel world, and seeing it unfold before him, Max’s heart grew heavier. freёwebnoѵel.com

Just then, the atmosphere shifted once again, turning even heavier as three terrifying auras descended from the skies above, pressing down on the battlefield like a mountain ready to crush everything beneath it.

Max immediately turned his head upward, his senses sharp, feeling the crushing pressure that screamed of danger. Three figures appeared, each cloaked in a dark, overwhelming might that easily matched King Magnar and the other leaders who had arrived from the Valora Continent.

They hovered in the air, radiating power at the very peak of the Expert Rank, their eyes gleaming with a murderous light.

"I always wanted to conquer both the Lost Continent and the Valora Continent," Drevon said calmly, his voice floating lazily across the battlefield as if what he was saying was already an inevitable truth. His crimson gaze remained fixed on Max, burning with a strange mixture of hatred and cold ambition. "And Max’s situation only made me hasten my plans," he continued, his words falling like heavy stones. "So, whether you give Max to me or not, it changes nothing. I will first annihilate you all... and then take care of Max myself."

As soon as those chilling words were spoken, the three newly arrived Expert Rank warriors—Drevon’s personal elites—began moving forward, their killing intent locking onto the leaders of the Valora Continent like a pack of wolves scenting blood. Their approach was slow, deliberate, and filled with the promise of death.