Dimensional Keeper: All My Skills Are at Level 100 Chapter 1519 Max's Plan

Entering the residence, Max moved steadily to the room's heart and eased himself onto the sofa. The home stood silent and expansive, gentle lights casting a warm glow over the space. One wall featured shelves stocked with cultivation manuals and resources, as training weapons lay arranged precisely on a rack at the distant end.

Isabella stayed upright next to him.

Her stance felt rigid and uneasy, hands gripped lightly at her sides. The usual arrogance of the Saintess in training had obviously been quelled by the bind she had gotten herself into.

Max cast a quick look her way before releasing a soft sigh.

He truly hadn't foreseen her arrival.

During that earlier wager, he'd figured Isabella would dodge such a harsh penalty somehow. For a figure of her stature and ego, serving as another's maid for a decade was a fate no genius would typically endure.

But here she was regardless.

One conclusion stood clear.

Her arrogance surpassed even his expectations.

Max reclined a bit on the sofa, scrutinizing her face.

'Looks like I misjudged her pride,' he mused inwardly.

Isabella lingered mute by his side, awaiting orders despite her face screaming discomfort.

Max averted his eyes and sank into thought.

Suddenly, an idea struck him.

'What if I could forge true loyalty from her toward me…'

The notion sprang up abruptly, yet it clung stubbornly once born.

Max had toyed with a like concept before.

Its roots had sprouted while he commanded Acaris's young prodigies in the Nullaria clash. There, he'd witnessed the might of talents bound by a shared purpose. Though a fleeting alliance, their combined strength had stunned.

Ever since, the dream of assembling his own faction had simmered quietly within.

Now, it sharpened into focus.

Max recognized the Black Dragon Clan's backing in numerous ways. As their fresh Saint, he commanded riches, counsel, and safeguards beyond most cultivators' dreams.

Yet one area might lack their endorsement.

Conflict with the Elven Race.

Max grasped this fully.

The Elven Race wasn't some minor power to provoke lightly. An age-old powerhouse, it wielded vast sway over the Divine Realm. Waging war on them would pull the Black Dragon Clan into strife exceeding its standing.

Even with their high regard for him, they'd balk at such peril.

Thus, Max grasped a vital truth.

When confronting the Elven Race arrived, he might fight solo.

This insight didn't daunt him, but it spurred deep reflection on what lay ahead.

To defy elves of such might, personal power alone wouldn't suffice.

Allies were essential.

An army was required.

Above all, a faction sworn solely to him.

Max leaned ahead a touch, mulling the notion further.

Gathering elite prodigies and skilled cultivators beneath his flag could render battling the Elven Race feasible someday.

His eyes gradually returned to Isabella. He'd not overlooked his core aims with her, but patience was key, so he opted for a gradual path.

She waited there in silence.

Isabella Lumin was no ordinary follower. As the Black Dragon Clan's Saintess in training, she bore an Imperial Bloodline on the cusp of awakening. Her gifts and promise were unmatched.

Should such a one pledge true fealty, she'd form a vital cornerstone of his envisioned power.

Max sat wordless on the sofa, his thoughts racing through endless scenarios as the still room grew heavy with contemplation.

"Do you know how to cook?" Max inquired abruptly, turning to Isabella.

The query startled her.

For an instant, she just gaped, unprepared for so ordinary a question from him. The subtle flush on her cheeks intensified with rising mortification.

After pausing, she nodded deliberately.

"Yes," she answered softly.

Max nodded approvingly at her response.

"Good," he stated evenly. "My residence holds numerous training chambers. After fixing a fine meal, feel free to use any for cultivation or practice."

Isabella's eyes widened in astonishment at his statement. She'd braced for menial chores or demeaning orders meant to mock her. Yet he addressed her stay as utterly routine.

Max rose from the sofa, still talking.

"I plan to practice the inheritance techniques I gained today," he explained. "It might take a day or two before I emerge."

With that, he pivoted and headed to the residence's depths, where cultivation rooms awaited.

Isabella observed his departure with bewilderment.

Right before he vanished into the corridor, her voice rang out.

"B-but what are you going to eat?" she questioned, brow furrowing faintly.

Max kept striding onward.

"Just prepare a good meal," he tossed back offhandedly en route to the training chamber. "I trust anything crafted by the lovely Saintess of the Black Dragon Clan will prove delicious."

Isabella stiffened upon hearing him.

Before she could retort, Max entered a training chamber and sealed the door.

The residence fell silent once more.

Moments later, Isabella stirred.

"How dare he order me to cook!" she grumbled furiously, stamping the ground.

Her cheeks burned as she scowled at the shut training door. Her status as the Black Dragon Clan's trainee Saintess rendered this acutely degrading.

Never had she cooked for another.

Yet she'd arrived of her own accord, thrusting herself into servitude.

Isabella folded her arms, pausing as irritation swirled.

Soon enough, though, she exhaled deeply.

She'd set the terms of the bet.

Having shown up, griping served no purpose.

"Fine," she whispered to herself.

Then she pivoted to survey the residence.

Navigating several chambers, she located the kitchen. It proved remarkably broad and orderly, brimming with ingredients and utensils readied for the palace's dwellers.

Isabella scanned the kitchen thoroughly.

Despite her earlier gripe, she inspected the supplies with grave focus.

Committed to honoring the wager fully, half-measures held no appeal for her.