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

The Beast-Wolf clutched the Sigil of the Wild Legion—its earth-toned glow dim under the heavy tension—but there was no triumph in its heart. The moment Ethan vanished, it realized something was off. He hadn't fled in panic. He'd planned this.

Still, the other monstrous beasts, newly arrived and oblivious to the trick, were transfixed by the Sigil. Their eyes—large as boulders—locked on the artifact in the Beast-Wolf's grip. Ethan's escape didn't concern them; the Sigil did. That one object could change everything. If it could awaken their long-lost King, if it could restore the one who once united beastkind… then whoever possessed it might rise with him. As the old legends echoed in their blood, they burned with a feral hunger. If the King returned, he might lead them away from this godforsaken Sea of Death once and for all.

"Beast-Wolf!" a shrill voice rang from above. "Hand over the Sigil of the Wild Legion!"

The Golden Falcon had arrived. It descended from the sky like a streak of gold lightning, eyes sharp and deadly. It had nearly caught Ethan earlier—almost. But Ethan had gambled on one simple truth: no avian could dive straight down at a perfect ninety degrees without losing control. That's why he'd shouted to Ormund to drop—hard and fast—just before the Golden Falcon could reach them. It had worked.

Now, the Sigil-holding Beast-Wolf hesitated. Its eyes darted between the Falcon and the other titans of beastkind, calculating its odds.

"Hmph… why waste time with that bird?" A deep, grating voice interrupted. "Give it to me!"

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The ground trembled as a massive bull—his left horn shattered from an earlier clash—charged forward with murderous fury. This was the same savage bull Ethan had struck with the Sigil earlier. Its temper, already infamous, was now volcanic. The other beasts scattered, unwilling to get caught in its path.

The Beast-Wolf, cunning and cornered, made its decision. "Fine. Here."

Whoosh—Thwack!

The Sigil flew through the air and smacked the charging bull right on the forehead. But instead of being empowered—or calmed—the Sigil cracked apart with a loud snap, its yellow glow dimming and dying.

The bull skidded to a halt, stunned. Its crossed eyes focused on the now-useless fragment sitting on its snout. "I didn't even hit it that hard…"

---

Elsewhere, Ethan emerged within the shattered remains of Golden Falcon City. The Divine Teleportation technique he'd used wasn't meant for long-distance—it had only jumped him to a point he'd previously marked when he first heard Julian's warning cry. He hadn't gone far; the Beast-Wolf and the others would catch up soon. But at least here, among the sun-bleached ruins, he had cover.

No trees, no hills. Just endless yellow sand outside the broken city walls. His only chance was to hide within the rubble. He ducked behind a collapsed stone arch and activated his stealth technique.

"Panther Form... Stealth…"

Just as he vanished beneath the crumbled debris, colossal shadows streaked across the sky. More pursuers. He swore under his breath. Coward. That damn Beast-Wolf gave it up without a fight.

The Sigil they'd fought over was fake. Swapped during a split-second pass by Ethan when he snatched the replica from Julian's belt.

He pressed himself against the ground, aura tightly suppressed. Being discovered now, surrounded by War God-rank monsters, would mean instant death. No room for heroics. He just had to survive.

Above, voices drifted on the wind.

"His trail ends here... his aura disappeared around this point."

They hovered. Ethan lay still, his heart pounding as wave after wave of powerful Soul Senses swept over the city ruins. Each one felt like a divine spotlight, and even with both his Stealth and aura-concealing Soul Technique active, he didn't dare exhale too deeply.

Despite the layers of protection, he wasn't confident. These were not ordinary foes. War God-ranked beasts didn't play fair. They were born of chaos and perfected by war. Every single one was a hunter of gods.

But something made his skin crawl even more.

It felt like someone—something—was watching him. Not from the sky… but nearby. He didn't dare use his own Soul Sense to check, and meeting the gaze of a beast that strong would give away everything. So he waited.

For three days.

For three agonizing days, Ethan didn't move. Different beasts would pass overhead or sniff around, but none found him. On the fourth day, no one came. The fifth passed in silence too. On the evening of the sixth, buried beneath wind-blown sand, Ethan's endurance snapped.

He hadn't eaten. Hadn't drunk a drop of water. His bladder had been on the verge of bursting for days. His muscles screamed. His mind teetered on the edge of madness.

He began to wriggle free inch by inch, rising up through the sand like a phantom. At the surface, he lay still for another ten minutes, eyes scanning the horizon. Stealth still active.

Finally, when he was sure—absolutely sure—he exhaled.

A slow, cautious breath.

He shuffled off toward a secluded corner among the ruins, unbuckled his belt, and… at last… relieved himself.

A long, glorious stream. Six days' worth of pressure released in an instant.

"Phew…" he sighed, buckling up again with a quiet shiver of relief.

But fate wasn't done with him.

Shhh...

The sand beneath his feet shifted.

Right where his… impure stream had landed, the ground began to collapse, forming a pit.

"No, no, no—"

Before he could react, the quicksand swallowed him whole.

The stream had triggered it. Somehow, by some insane twist of luck, he had urinated straight into a dormant sinkhole.

Within moments, the sand returned to stillness.

And then, a shadow appeared over the spot.

If Ethan had been conscious—if he'd seen the figure's gaunt, muscle-withered arms—he would've recognized the Beast-Wolf in an instant.

"Where is he? He vanished… even the aura I left on him is gone…"

The Beast-Wolf stood there, nose twitching, sniffing the air. It scowled.

It had known all along. It had sensed Ethan the moment he'd hidden. When they'd passed each other earlier, it had secretly left a mark on him—just in case. It hadn't told the others. It had wanted the prize for itself.

The gaze Ethan had felt? It was the Beast-Wolf's. And to avoid suspicion, it had kept its distance these past days, watching quietly from afar.

But now… the mark was gone. The aura had vanished completely. It had rushed back—too late. The quicksand had already swallowed its prey.

Had it arrived just moments earlier, it might've pieced it together.

Instead, it could only pace in frustration, unaware that Ethan lay just beneath its feet.

---

Ethan cursed the gods under his breath.

'Again? Seriously?'

He had the strength of a war god, but here he was—trapped like an idiot in a piss-triggered sinkhole.

It wasn't like the last time with the Predator Beast X. This time, the pressure came from all sides. His lungs were straining. His ribs ached.

I've fought monsters, nearly died fighting literal demigods… and now I'm gonna suffocate in a glorified litter box?

A sharp, humorless chuckle escaped him. It was so ridiculous, he almost wanted to laugh.

He considered teleporting. He still had one coordinate marked from earlier, a way out through Divine Teleportation.

But… using such a rare technique just to escape his own pee pit? That was almost insulting.

No. He wasn't that pathetic.

He gritted his teeth and began focusing, channeling his inner energy, pushing against the suffocating weight of sand. If there was a way to claw out of this mess without burning his trump card, he would find it.

Sand was sand. Dirt was dirt.

He'd already overcome monsters. What was one more challenge?

Even if it meant crawling out dirty, half-naked, and half-mad… he wasn't going to let a patch of wet sand bury him.

Not today.