Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100-Chapter 341: Go Ahead and Kill Me

"You want to kill me, right?"

Max's voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Cold. Sharp. Final.

He stood there, surrounded on all sides by the leaders of the Valora Continent—men and women hailed as paragons, as pillars of power.

But his eyes held no fear.

Only fury.

"Go ahead."

He spread his arms ever so slightly, as if welcoming their blades.

"Do it."

The stillness that followed was suffocating.

"I'll die if I have to," Max said, his tone low and unwavering, "but I promise you this—"

His eyes burned with savage determination.

"If I go down… every single genius here dies with me."

His words landed like a thunderclap.

Gasps echoed around the clearing. Some of the leaders staggered back in disbelief, as if struck by a force they couldn't comprehend.

They hadn't expected this.

They hadn't expected him.

Not like this.

"A Yellow Soul…" King Magnar murmured under his breath, his face darkened with unease.

The soul pressure emanating from Max wasn't just powerful—it was violent, suffocating, unstoppable. It clung to the world like chains of divine will.

And as Magnar turned his eyes to the younger generation behind Max… his heart twisted.

Crown Prince Aelric—his own son—was kneeling, body trembling violently under the weight of Max's spiritual force.

His breath had quickened into frantic gasps, sweat pouring down his face as if he were standing in a furnace. His mind was fraying—cracking under the pressure.

Any more… and he might snap entirely.

Magnar clenched his fists.

"Stop, Max!" he roared, his voice echoing with the full might of a king.

Max turned his head slowly, eyes locking onto Magnar.

"Stop?" he asked, voice dripping with venom.

"So you can kill me afterward?"

"So you can dig through my corpse and snatch my secrets like vultures?"

He sneered, the rage in his expression raw and unfiltered.

"You call yourselves leaders… visionaries… pillars of the continent."

"But all I see are parasites in silk robes."

His voice began to rise, trembling with fury.

"You plotted against me like cowards."

"You watched your sons and daughters suffer and said nothing."

"And now you want mercy?"

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He raised a hand—black flame dancing along his fingertips.

"If this is the future of the Valora Continent…"

His gaze swept across the fallen geniuses, many still twitching beneath the soul pressure.

"…then maybe it's better if that future burns."

The leaders froze.

Max wasn't bluffing.

He had the power. The will. The fury.

He wanted to do it.

He wanted to kill them. All of them.

The geniuses, the leaders, anyone who had stood silently while a noose was being tied around his neck.

He wanted blood to calm the inferno in his heart—rage that surged like a tidal wave, unrelenting, howling for vengeance.

And that desire burned brighter when his eyes landed on Azula.

He took a step forward, his gaze locked onto hers.

"You," Max spat, voice ice-cold and shaking with fury. "You bitch… this was all your idea, wasn't it?"

Before she could answer, Max turned away from her, his feet carrying him steadily toward the back of the crowd—toward a crumpled figure lying in the dirt.

Veylin.

Azula's son.

Young Monarch's son.

The arrogant prince of the Valora Continent.

Now collapsed, helpless.

Foam at his lips. Eyes blank. Face pale as death.

Max stood over him like a shadow, then reached down—fist curling into the boy's hair—and yanked his head up.

Veylin's body didn't even resist.

"You—what are you doing?!"

Azula's voice cracked through the air, louder now.

Not out of fear for herself.

But for him.

Her son.

Max sneered, fire flickering in his gaze.

"What am I doing?" he echoed mockingly. "I'm going to kill him."

Azula's expression twisted, and her aura erupted—sharp, suffocating, furious.

"If you dare harm even a single strand of his hair, I swear—" her voice dropped into a snarl, "—I will flay the skin from your body and grind your bones into powder while you still breathe."

Max didn't flinch.

He just shrugged, almost casually.

"And that's exactly what I want."

His voice turned low and menacing.

"Veylin's the only one I can kill right now."

He leaned slightly, tightening his grip on the unconscious youth's scalp.

"If I kill him, you'll lose your mind, I know you will."

"You'll come at me with everything you've got."

His eyes swept across the circle of leaders.

"And I wonder… will the rest of you just watch Azula kill me?"

He chuckled darkly.

"What if in panic of her killing me... Then I might hastily unleash my yellow soul on the geniuses while I die?"

A shiver ran through the group.

Max's yellow soul had already nearly broken their heirs and disciples with just a fraction of its pressure.

If he were to explode that power in his final moments…

The consequences would be catastrophic.

"Imagine it," Max whispered, almost gently.

"A yellow soul ripping through dozens of red souls... What do you think would be left of your prodigies?"

A sick silence descended.

Even Azula, still trembling with rage, hesitated.

King Magnar's jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might break.

He hadn't expected this. Not this level of madness. Not this level of control.

And most of all—he hadn't expected to regret staying silent when Max was first surrounded.

Now he did.

Deeply.

"Max."

His voice was low, calm, almost pleading now.

"Stop this. We can come to terms. There's still room for reason."

Max slowly turned to face him.

His expression… was bitter. Ruthless. Hollowed by betrayal.

"Now you want to talk?"

He laughed once—short and joyless.

"When I was being surrounded like a criminal, you said nothing."

His eyes burned like coals.

"When they wanted to soul search me, kill me, butcher me for my secrets—you stood there and did. Absolutely. Nothing."

He stepped forward, dragging Veylin's limp body with him.

"And now that you've seen what I'm capable of—now you want peace?"

He spat on the ground.

"There are no 'good things' in this world, King Magnar. Just people like you."

"People who close their eyes when it's convenient…"

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"…and beg for mercy when the blade turns their way."

With those final, bitter words still echoing in the air—