Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 539: Collison of Emperor’s Domains

"Come on then," Max said, a flicker of excitement flashing through his eyes, his voice resonating with the black flames that burned like a crown above him.

The man across the arena—majestic, still, and regal—responded with a quiet smirk. He raised a single hand, fingers curling slowly, and another crown of black fire bloomed into existence, overlapping Max’s own Emperor’s Domain crown in the sky.

The second crown was vast and dense, ancient in aura, as though it had ruled over countless worlds long before Max had taken his first breath. The moment the two crowns merged in the heavens, the very fabric of the space beneath them trembled.

With a low humming sound, the domain around them stabilized, and the real battle began.

"Emperor’s Domain," the man commanded, his voice calm and absolute.

"Emperor’s Domain," Max echoed, his voice filled with challenge.

Black flames surged. Weapons formed instantly—towering swords, needle-thin spears, heavy war axes, flails, scythes—all carved from pure will and forged in fire.

The two Emperors clashed, summoning and destroying in equal measure.

Max hurled a jagged glaive from above. The crowned man countered with a flame serpent—it bit down midair, snapping the glaive apart.

The man raised his hand. A storm of black arrows rained down, each one warping into spears mid-flight.

Max spun a mirrored shield of obsidian fire, deflecting them in a pulse of cracking energy.

He stepped forward, swung his hand. Twin sabers sliced the air. His opponent blocked with a wall of flaming steel. A moment later, the man summoned chains tipped with blades and whipped them forward.

Max dodged low, then responded with a spinning mace of black flame that collided with the chains and burst into sparks.

Each strike followed another—blade, shield, wall, spike. The battlefield shifted with every move. Max launched a wide axe, then summoned a whip from the same hand and lashed it forward. The man answered with a dome of flame, forcing the attacks to scatter.

A second later, he slammed the ground with his palm, raising a forest of burning spears.

Max jumped, twisting midair, and dropped a hammer of fire down on them, breaking them apart.

It was like attacks creating from the two crowns in the sky and landing on where the two commanded.

The fight didn’t stop. It never slowed. One created. The other answered. Black fire ruled the arena—and their imaginations were the only limit.

But what the man did not realize—what none watching could have known—was that Max wasn’t aiming to win.

Each of Max’s constructs, blades, and spears, though fast and furious, always arrived just a fraction too late.

A curved dagger would slip beneath a shield, only to graze past the robes of the man.

A flying sword would pierce the air an inch beside his throat before dissolving.

Every slash, every strike, bypassed the defenses—but never struck true. Max moved as if landing a hit was never the objective.

Meanwhile, the man’s attacks struck with focused precision. Some Max parried with summoned barriers. Some he dodged narrowly. But others—fast, unpredictable, and brutal—struck his shoulders, pierced his leg, or burned across his side.

A black halberd of flame scraped past his ribs; a twin-bladed scythe caught him in the side. Blood dripped, his body weakening slowly under the relentless weight of the barrage.

And yet, Max kept fighting.

He smiled even as his shields cracked under pressure, even as a whip of fire lashed across his back and drove him to one knee.

The Emperor opposite him did not smile in return—his eyes narrowed, watching Max’s strange lack of aggression with growing suspicion. Why didn’t he hit back? Why weren’t his blades landing?

"I don’t know what games you are playing but this ends here." He said raising both hands, and the black flames in the arena responded like loyal subjects to a sovereign’s call. The burning fog above churned and twisted violently, spiraling into a vortex of pure, condensed will.

Max felt the pressure shift—dense, suffocating, regal.

Then came the silence, so deep it swallowed breath. The man’s voice rang out, low and absolute. "Emperor’s Judgment."

In that instant, the black crown above the arena pulsed once—and the sky cracked open.

From that rift descended an endless legion of black flame weapons, countless in number, stretching across the entire dome of the Emperor’s Domain like a curtain of death.

Spears longer than ships, greatswords glowing with runes, jagged axes, hooked scimitars, curved daggers—all forged from burning black fire—hovered in perfect stillness above Max, covering the heavens like an eclipse.

The sheer magnitude was terrifying. They floated, suspended, unmoving... yet every single one trembled with power, waiting for a command, thirsting for blood.

Max looked up, his eyes reflecting the infernal brilliance of the sky. The ground beneath him quaked from the pressure of the hovering arsenal.

The crowd of weapons cast a monstrous shadow over the arena, turning white tile to darkened ash under its looming weight.

It wasn’t just an attack—it was a declaration. A final decree of an Emperor to a subject.

And then the command came.

The weapons dropped.

Thousands of black fire constructs plummeted toward Max like a divine rain of destruction, trailing streams of flame behind them. The sky screamed. The air warped. Space bent under their collective fall.

It was as if the will of an empire itself sought to erase Max from existence, burning everything in its path.

And yet—Max smiled.

As the infernal storm of weapons descended upon him, as the very sky cracked and space screamed under the weight of the Emperor’s Judgment, he simply spread his arms wide.

Black flames billowed behind him, his crown flickering brilliantly atop his head. There was no fear in his eyes. No panic. Only wild, thrilling anticipation.

His smile stretched wide across his face, madness and acceptance dancing together in his gaze like twin flames. He looked up into the oncoming storm as if greeting an old friend, as if this was the moment he’d been waiting for all along.

"Come," he whispered, voice full of reverence. "Show me the true weight of an Emperor."

And then it came.

The weapons struck—first one, then hundreds, then thousands. A spear tore through his chest. A greatsword slammed into his side. Axes buried into his limbs. Scimitars carved through the air around him, slashing into flesh and bone.

The entire arena lit up in an eruption of black fire and destruction, engulfing Max’s figure in a world-ending tempest of blades and burning will.

There was no room to dodge, no path to escape—only acceptance. His body was torn apart piece by piece, each wound a signature of defeat, each blade a lesson in power. And yet that smile never left his face.

Finally, as the last weapon struck, his form scattered into glowing embers, vanishing silently into the smoky air of the arena.

The Tower of Resonance dimmed—and Max was gone. The trial had ended.

The Emperor’s Domain had judged him... and claimed his life.

Following the overwhelming collapse of flame and steel inside the Tower of Resonance, Max’s figure reappeared outside the tower gates in a ripple of fading black light.

A soft breeze swept past him as the shimmering digits etched above the gate stabilized—"9%"—quietly glowing for all to see.

It was a solid number, impressive by normal standards, but far from attention-grabbing.

Just as Max intended. He glanced up at it, expression neutral, lips curling into the faintest trace of a smile, more amused than proud.

Without a word, he turned and began walking away, each step light, composed, effortless.

’That should be enough to keep me under the radar,’ Max mused inwardly, weaving through the soft murmur of whispers from nearby geniuses watching the gate.

He paid them no mind. His path led straight toward the Crimson Reaper dome—his final destination among the three Supreme Hall Totem Stones.

This was all calculated.

He’d already revealed too much during his Flame Tyrant trial. The 99.99% score, the inherited dominance, the raw potential he couldn’t quite hide—it had stirred too many eyes.

But the Black Sun? That he could veil. Let them think his bloodline, or perhaps his rare class, only gave him an affinity for physical flame-based inheritances.

That way, if anyone came questioning, he could deflect attention, claim he was uniquely suited for one and merely passable in the others. It was a story that made sense, and more importantly, it gave him breathing room.

Max had no interest in becoming the target of the Divine Realm’s political monsters before he was ready.

And so, as he calmly approached the entrance of the Crimson Reaper dome, shoulders relaxed and eyes steady, he played the long game—brilliant enough to be taken seriously, but just restrained enough to be underestimated.