Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat!

Ethan braced himself for the fight.

Across from him, the ape-like creature—now mid-transformation—began gathering its energy. Around them, the scattered and disoriented onlookers started chanting praises, voices trembling with forced reverence.

Listening to their sycophantic murmurs, Ethan felt disgust bubble in his chest. He wanted to crush them where they stood. These people were worse than the mindless fanatics back on Earth. This wasn't genuine admiration. It was groveling. Pathetic, hollow submission.

He couldn't believe humans could fall this low. He actually began to question if such people were even worth saving.

A low hum rippled through the air. The ape-creature's aura grew heavier, more oppressive by the second. The desert seemed to still in its presence.

Ethan had intended to let the thing strike first, get a sense of its power. But patience? That had run out. This wasn't a battle—it was a damn drama production.

"You done yet?" Ethan snapped, his voice cutting through the tension like a whip. "Even show-offs know how to wrap it up. Look at you, hunched over like you're on the porcelain throne, trying to squeeze one out!"

The beast roared, fury erupting in its throat. It lunged forward, weight suspended unnaturally mid-air, and raised a massive fist. Five fingers curled, forming a hammering blow aimed straight for Ethan's face.

Thump!

The air cracked as the blow tore through it. Wind shrieked. Dust and sand exploded outward. It was a punch loaded with raw power. Ethan's taunt had clearly hit home.

"I've decided," the beast snarled mid-strike. "Once I make you my slave, I'll sew your mouth shut!"

"Slave?" Ethan scoffed. "A half-evolved beast like you thinks it can keep someone like me on a leash?"

He snorted and raised one palm with casual confidence.

"Battle Embodiment—activate."

"Bear Form."

"Heavy Strike."

BOOM!

Fist met palm with a deafening crash. The ground trembled. A wave of energy burst outward, kicking up another sandstorm. A sharp crack rang through the chaos.

The crowd, now blind in the dusty haze—both humans and hybrids alike—erupted with cheers. They believed the human boy's arm had just been pulverized by the Venerable One. That is, until a scream tore through the noise.

A geyser of blood erupted, high and vivid, bursting through the fog like crimson fireworks.

When the dust finally settled, the battlefield revealed its horror.

Ethan stood tall, soaked in blood. In one hand, he held a mangled, still-dripping arm. In the other, a massive, severed head.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. All eyes turned to the ape-like pure-blooded beast. Or rather, what was left of it. Its arm was gone—ripped clean from its body—and its beastly head, once transformed into something primal and terrifying, now hung lifeless in Ethan's grip.

This creature had been a Venerable One. A sacred warrior of the beast tribes. Pure-blooded, with a body said to be tougher than forged steel. Especially their arms—those were supposed to be their greatest weapons. Yet here was a human, standing calm and breathing steady, having torn one off like it was nothing. And the head—twisted off like plucking fruit.

"It's over…"

"We're dead…"

"Run!"

"What's the point of running?"

Panic and hopelessness erupted at once. Some shouted. Some fell to their knees. But in the end, none fled. They all collapsed under the crushing weight of despair. If a sacred warrior could be killed so easily, what chance did they have?

Ethan, meanwhile, looked down at the broken creature and smirked.

This is what they call a pure-blooded beast? Weak as dirt.

He tossed the arm and head aside like garbage and turned his gaze on the stunned crowd. They remained frozen, eyes wide in disbelief.

Ethan considered wiping them all out. They were pitiful. Their cowardice was a stain on the human race. But then he paused. Their blind devotion—this wasn't really their fault. It was the result of generations of beast-tribe dominance. Centuries of fear. Centuries of submission.

And besides… wiping them out would make sneaking into Beastfall City a lot harder.

Not that it mattered. He was going to unify the Sea of Death. Whether quietly or by force. Starting with these arrogant beast tribes was as good a place as any. It would be the perfect test of his current strength.

His gaze shifted to the two figures who had arrived with the beast. Now they lay lifeless on the ground, blood seeping from every opening.

Ethan frowned.

A slave contract? So when the master dies… the servants die too?

Barbaric. Another way to control the weak.

He didn't spare the bodies another glance.

Without a word, Ethan turned toward the distant walls of Beastfall City. Those still conscious instinctively moved aside, forming a clear path.

Hunter's memories told him that the City Lord of Beastfall didn't openly resist the beast tribes… but he wasn't exactly on their side either. It would be interesting to see what attitude he'd take now, with Ethan walking through his front gates.

The wind picked up. Sand swept across the barren land. Ethan's silhouette faded into the storm.

Those left behind remained slumped on the ground, motionless. Until one figure slowly rose.

Clara.

She mounted her beast and followed.

Ethan walked at a relaxed pace, like taking a stroll. He knew someone was tailing him. The first to rise. The one who still had a little spirit left.

The beast tamer apprentice—Clara.

He didn't stop her. When the wind blows in the desert, sand always follows.

---

Inside Beastfall City, an old man stood at a high vantage point, eyes fixed on the sky.

"The sky…" he murmured. "It's changing."

From the shadows behind him, a voice replied, "Indeed. It's going to rain. First time in three years."

The old man didn't respond immediately. He kept his gaze upward, expression unreadable.

"What about the anomaly from that day?" he finally asked.

"Still no findings," the shadow answered. "When Nightwing arrived, he found only a shimmering wasteland."

"Has Junior reached the location yet?"

"Young Master Three left the city last night after getting word from Priest Gorr," the voice replied. "He went to support the operation. A Level Four Fire-Eyed Toad was laying eggs. If we succeed, we'll have enough to raise a full Fire Toad squad."

"If nothing went wrong, they should be returning now. City Lord, don't worry. Young Master Three will make it back before the Beastfall Festival."

The old man gave a small grunt in reply. His eyes, intense and sharp, locked onto the darkening clouds above. Thunder rolled in the distance.

Behind him, the man in the shadows watched with an unreadable expression, something dangerous flickering in his eyes.

A moment later, lightning split the sky with a brilliant flash.

Crack!

The old man finally spoke again. "Go. Arrange for water collection throughout the city."

"Yes," the voice replied. Then the shadow disappeared without a sound.

The old man turned, staring at the spot where the voice had just been. His expression shifted—just for a moment.

---

Ethan watched the sky. Lightning danced across the horizon.

He stopped and turned.

Behind him, the rider pulled her beast to a halt.

Then she dismounted and walked straight up to him. Before he could speak, she dropped to her knees.

"Please, benefactor," she said, voice low but steady. "Take me with you. I'll do anything."

Ethan chuckled, arms crossed. "Benefactor? I didn't save you."

He tilted his head, that mischievous glint flickering in his eye. "You'll do anything?"

Clara froze.

"Then take off your clothes," Ethan said flatly.

She trembled, eyes rising in disbelief. His smirk didn't fade. Nor did the heat in his gaze.

Clara slowly stood.

Ethan didn't look away. He watched her, arms still folded.

With trembling fingers, Clara removed her outer robe. Her face was pale, expression blank.

Ethan gave her a nod to continue.

A minute passed. The last piece of clothing dropped to the sand. Her bare form stood still in the wind, eyes shut tightly, bracing for whatever might come.

Then came his voice, distant but calm:

"If you're not afraid of death… then follow."

Her eyes flew open.

Ethan was already walking away.

Clara gritted her teeth, quickly pulled her clothes back on, and ran after him.

Lightning danced again. Darkness blanketed the desert. The howling wind… suddenly stopped.

Ethan paused once more and looked up at the sky—thick clouds hung low, unnaturally close to the earth.

"No wind… no rain…" he murmured. "So how hard's it going to pour?"

And just then, as if in answer, a fat raindrop splattered across his cheek.