Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 - Chapter 585

Chapter 585: King Magnar’s Faction
The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation. Everyone there was aware of the truth: not all of them could enter.

The Citadel’s rules were strict—one key only allowed ten individuals to pass through, regardless of rank or status. And though the Sun Palace was now filled with tens of Expert Rank masters, only a few would follow Magnar into the Citadel itself.

“I have already informed you of the names that will accompany me into the Citadel,” King Magnar declared, his voice cold and absolute. “There will be no changes. The decision is final.”

His gaze swept over the hall with authority. “The rest of you will remain on standby at the borders of the Central Region, in case the Monarch’s side attempts something foolish in Drevon’s absence. I believe it unlikely—but it never hurts to be prepared.”

The moment his words fell, unrest rippled through the crowd.

“What about us? We also want to enter the Citadel!”

“Yeah, I’ve served you for years—you can’t just ignore that now!”

“Magnar! I’ve traveled here all the way from the East—surely you could make an exception!”

“What about this gentleman from the South Region? He’s brought rare information and support!”

One after another, voices rose in frustration and disbelief. The throne hall, once unified under the anticipation of the Citadel’s arrival, now trembled with dissatisfaction.

These were not nameless experts—they were leaders of both small and large factions from across the Valora Continent, men and women who had fought, bled, and allied themselves with Magnar for years.

And yet, even among them, only a handful would be chosen to enter the Citadel. For the rest, the doors remained closed. A reality as harsh and unyielding as the Citadel itself.

“This is my final word,” King Magnar declared, his voice echoing through the grand hall like a divine command. It wasn’t just loud—it was majestic, carrying with it an undeniable weight that pressed down on every soul present.

The moment those words rang out, all the murmurs and protests vanished. It was as if the very air had been silenced, the sheer authority in his tone freezing every thought of dissent. His golden eyes scanned the room, unwavering, daring anyone to speak against him.

“If anyone still has complaints,” he continued, his tone sharp like the edge of a blade, “you can bring them to me—after I return from the Citadel.”

The message was clear: his decision was absolute, and any challenge would have to wait until he held the power the Citadel promised.

A tense silence followed, and one by one, the dissatisfied expressions around the hall began to fade. The leaders of great and small forces alike lowered their heads. That single sentence had shattered all objections. It wasn’t just fear of Magnar’s strength—it was fear of the man himself. His presence, his aura, his commanding dominance—it left no room for arguments.

“You are all dismissed,” Magnar said finally, his voice calm now, but still carrying that underlying force that brooked no refusal.

Without a word, the crowd began to disperse. Dozens of Expert Rank masters, faction leaders, and high-ranking guild members turned and walked away, their ambitions temporarily buried beneath the shadow of the king’s will.

Footsteps echoed through the chamber as cloaks swayed and doors opened, the tension slowly fading with each departing figure.

Eventually, only ten individuals remained in the Sun Palace, their expressions solemn yet determined. These were the chosen—those who would follow King Magnar into the Citadel of Atherion.

Among them stood Kate, her calm gaze focused; Ralph Thorne, eyes filled with quiet anticipation; and Klaus, his posture remained calm as always.

Kheonne Evernight, with her cold and aloof demeanor, stood silently beside them. James Garfield of the Lionheart Guild of the East, known for his unrivaled ferocity in battle, rested one hand casually on the hilt of his massive saber.

Garrison Ashford, of the Ashford Family, and Nortan Blade of the Blade Family. Finally, there were two Warlords from the Union Vanguard, both wrapped in heavy cloaks that could not conceal the dangerous aura they exuded.

Together, these ten formed the strike team that would enter the Citadel.

“What happened to Aurelia?” King Magnar asked, his voice carrying a hint of frustration beneath its usual calm. His sharp gaze turned to Kate, who stood quietly to his left.

Of all the people he had expected to be at his side for the Citadel expedition, Aurelia’s absence troubled him the most. Her strength was undeniable—one of the absolute best in the entire continent—and having her within the Citadel could’ve significantly tilted the balance in their favor.

“She didn’t even send a message,” he added, clearly agitated.

Kate sighed softly, her expression conflicted. “She told me she’s busy with some other things and couldn’t come,” she said, shaking her head. “But to be honest… I don’t know what could be more important than entering the Citadel of Atherion.”

Despite knowing Aurelia for many years, despite understanding her pride and independence, even Kate couldn’t fathom what could make someone willingly pass up this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Her recent actions had already been questionable, yes—but this? This was beyond reason.

King Magnar shook his head slowly, disappointment flickering in his eyes. “What a waste,” he muttered.

Before the silence could linger, Ralph stepped forward and asked abruptly, “What about that? Is it fully charged?” His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

King Magnar turned to him, a rare smile forming on his face—calculated and cold. “Yes. It’s fully charged,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “We’ve got one shot against Drevon, and I’ll make sure we don’t miss it.”

There was a heavy weight behind his words—a promise. The weapon, whatever it was, had been prepared in secrecy, and its activation was meant to be a turning point. One move. One decisive blow. The kind that could reshape the future of the Valora Continent.

Suddenly, the air outside shifted, a subtle change that only the most attuned could feel. The weight of the Citadel’s descent had finally reached its end. The world had stopped shaking. The Citadel of Atherion had fully settled upon the land.

“Let’s go,” King Magnar commanded, rising to his full imposing height. His cloak billowed behind him as he stepped down from the dais. “The Citadel has finally settled. It’s time.”

Without another word, he turned and began walking toward the grand exit of the Sun Palace, his golden armor gleaming under the radiant glow of the palace lights.

The other nine chosen leaders followed in silence, their expressions grave, their hearts steady.

***

After watching the Citadel of Atherion finally settle in the far distance, casting its towering shadow across the world like a slumbering titan, Max vanished from the peak of the Tower of Truth and reappeared in the hidden chamber below. His gaze was calm but resolute as he stood amidst the quiet glow of ancient runes.

‘It’s time,’ he thought, reaching into his spatial ring and pulling out the golden key—the one granted to him after clearing the final floors of the Nine Dragon Painting.

The moment the key was out, it shuddered in his hand, vibrating with a divine energy, and then broke free, rising into the air and beginning to shine with radiant gold light.