Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100

Chapter 1109  Battle Style of Giant Dwarves!

ʼThe wolves are pressing in.ʼ Max saw the situation was getting worse for them.

The circle of wolves grew tighter, their glowing eyes glinting with bloodlust as they prowled just beyond striking range. The dwarves held their formation, weapons raised, their heavy breathing mingling with the low growls of the beasts. The tension felt like a drawn bowstring ready to snap.

At this moment, Chief Igris suddenly lifted his war hammer high above his head. His voice boomed across the square of battle, so deep and powerful it silenced even the wolves for a moment. ”Form the Ancestral Ring!” he commanded.

The armored dwarves moved instantly. Their discipline was absolute, their bodies shifting as though guided by one mind. The front line slammed their clubs into the ground, drawing runes of fire and stone with every strike.

The second line raised their shields, locking them together until they formed an unbreakable wall of iron. The third line began to chant, their deep guttural voices rising in perfect unison, the sound vibrating through the ground like the heartbeat of the earth itself.

The wolves sensed the change and lunged, their claws tearing against stone as they rushed forward with terrifying speed. But Chief Igris was faster. He brought his hammer down with a thunderous strike that shook the wasteland. At the point of impact, a wave of violet energy rippled outward, connecting with the runes carved by the first line of warriors.

In an instant, the runes blazed to life. A circle of fiery symbols spread across the ground beneath the dwarves, glowing brighter with every chant. The energy of the entire formation converged into a single pulse, ancient and primal, born from the inheritance of their tribe.

”Unleash it!” Chief Igris roared.

The warriors bellowed as one. Their voices merged with the runes, and the ground erupted. From the glowing circle, jagged pillars of stone burst upward, wreathed in flames that carried the scent of burning iron.

They shot straight into the pack of wolves, piercing bodies, breaking bones, and setting fur alight. The screams of the beasts echoed into the wasteland, shrill and guttural, as the fiery stone pillars tore through them with merciless precision.

The wolves tried to retaliate, leaping over the rising stone, but the second line of dwarves struck with their axes, each swing enhanced by the inherited energy of the tribe. Blades of fiery stone shot outward from their weapons, slicing through the air and tearing into the wolvesʼ bodies. Blood sprayed across the cracked ground, staining the violet soil with black ichor.

Chief Igris himself charged forward, his hammer glowing with runes so bright they looked like molten metal. With one swing, he brought it down upon the largest wolf, its head exploding into shards of flesh and bone under the crushing force. The shockwave of the blow rippled outward, toppling two more wolves that tried to flank him.

The chanting of the third line reached its peak. With their final verse, the runes on the ground flared like a miniature sun before collapsing inward. A column of fire and stone erupted skyward, engulfing the center of the wolf pack in a storm of molten energy.

When the flames cleared, charred corpses lay scattered across the battlefield, their twisted bodies smoking, their glowing eyes extinguished forever.

The silence that followed was broken only by the heavy breaths of the dwarves, their weapons dripping with blood and fire. The last of the wolves, those who had not been instantly incinerated, lay broken and twitching on the cracked ground. One by one, they fell still.

Chief Igris lowered his hammer, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths, but his expression remained composed. ”This is the inheritance of our tribe,” he said, his voice steady as he turned to Max. ”Hammer and flame, stone and blood. Alone we may fall, but united our strength is absolute.”

The dwarves struck their weapons against the ground as one, the sound echoing like thunder, marking their victory.

Max stood in silence, his eyes lingering on the smoking battlefield. He now understood why the dwarves had endured for so long in this hostile land. They were not merely warriors. They were a living forge, their every strike an echo of their ancestors.

ʼThey are true warriors who had their teachings form the ancient times.ʼ Max thought calmly recalling the earlier battle.

The battlefield still smoked with the stench of burned flesh and shattered bone. The giant wolves, once so fearsome in their movements, now lay lifeless across the cracked violet ground.

The dwarves stood silently for a moment, weapons raised in acknowledgment of their ancestors, before returning to their ranks with the same disciplined precision as before.

Chief Igris gave a single nod, his voice calm but heavy. ”Letʼs continue.”

The formation reassembled, the dwarves carrying their cages once more, the faint hum of the black insects returning to stillness.

Max walked beside Chief Igris again, his mind lingering on the display of power he had just witnessed. Their inheritance was terrifying in its unity. The combined will of the dwarves had turned the wasteland into their forge and the wolves into nothing more than slag.

But as they pressed forward, the air began to shift. The violet wasteland seemed darker than before, as though the sky itself was dimming. The distant volcano still glowed, but its light no longer seemed a comfort.

The ground grew harsher, littered with jagged stones that jutted up like teeth, and the fissures they passed exhaled thicker plumes of mist that clung to their armor and left an acrid taste in the air.

Max could feel it in his skin. Every step forward made the land feel heavier, the air denser, as if they were walking into the belly of some slumbering beast. Even the dwarves, steady as they were, walked with more caution, their eyes scanning every ridge and shadow.

Chief Igrisʼs voice broke the silence, low but sharp. ”We are drawing close. The territory of the Devouring Ants does not announce itself with signs of life but with the absence of it. Soon you will notice the change. The ground will bear no bones of fallen beasts, no trace of predators, no whispers of storms. There will be only silence. That silence is the shadow of the ants.”