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

Ethan soared into the Eye of the Hurricane, his gaze locking onto the solitary mountain ahead.

Direction didn't matter—he took a single step into empty air and shot upward like an arrow, straight toward the summit.

The Windspirit Faction's gatekeepers could only stare in exasperation.

Their mountain gate might as well not exist.

But what shocked them more was the sheer number of powerhouses striding through the skies today. In all their years guarding the faction, they'd rarely glimpsed their War God-ranked elders, who spent lifetimes secluded in meditation atop the peaks. Even when not in retreat, those legends never descended to the lower slopes, let alone mingled with lowly disciples like them.

Ethan reached the summit platform in the blink of an eye. The shimmering water barrier around him dissolved just as his feet touched stone.

"We greet the City Lord—"

Regis, flanked by Julian, Quinn, and Hank, rose from their seats and bowed deeply.

Ethan barely had time to register their position before his next step nearly sent him stumbling. The sudden formality threw him off balance—if not for Red Widow yanking his arm, he'd have face-planted in front of everyone.

"Giggle… Thank you for saving my life, City Lord. I'll take my leave now!" She winked, then shuffled away with exaggerated frailty toward the Forgotten City's encampment, playing up her "injuries" with melodramatic flair.

Ethan coughed, awkwardly eyeing the still-bowing quartet. Their usual dynamic was casual—modern sensibilities didn't prepare him for archaic courtesies. But the charged atmosphere made it clear: this was political theater.

He waved a hand, channeling soul energy to lift them upright. "Did I miss anything?"

"No. There's still time before the ritual," Regis said, gesturing to the three Sigils orbiting the sky in a fixed pattern.

Ethan nodded. Around him, the other City Lords rose in unison as he stepped forward.

First, he clasped his hands toward the Clearspring delegation. "Gratitude for your aid earlier—"

Baelor Wane acknowledged with a serene smile.

Next, Ethan turned north and repeated the gesture. Shaw Zilo—a mountain of muscle barely contained in his armor—blinked in confusion as he heaved himself up. The man was a blunt instrument; his earlier "rescue" had been purely about keeping the ceremony on schedule.

Ethan's lips twitched. He pivoted south, took one deliberate step toward the Windspirit Faction…

And watched their faces darken. Auren Galewright's already-horse-like features stretched tighter.

Every spectator held their breath. This was the moment—the Sigils would unlock the Sanctum, revealing vistas of emerald forests and crystalline lakes straight out of legends. None here had ever seen such beauty firsthand.

Ethan raised his hand—

—and conjured a rocking chair with a giant parasol instead.

"Julian, cut me some watermelon. I'm exhausted." He flopped onto the chair and lobbed a thirty-pound frost-chilled melon toward Julian.

The crowd's collective gasp could've powered a small town.

Julian froze.

Regis froze.

Uncle Jed and Quinn exchanged bewildered glances.

Thousands of spectators from the eastern, southern, and northern factions collectively gaped.

Less than fifteen minutes until the ritual… and he wants to eat watermelon?!

Watermelon? That green ball thing?

The Sanctum could've been activated three days ago. They'd waited all this time—only for the City Lord of Beastfall City to arrive, ignore the Sigils of the Wild Legion, and lounge on a damn rocking chair like he was on vacation.

The awkward silence curdled into palpable resentment. Muttered complaints spread through the crowd.

"Talk about arrogance…"

"Arrogance? This is next-level audacity."

"For fuck's sake—" Someone outright snarled.

Then—whoosh—a figure materialized at the southwestern platform's edge.

"So it really is you…"

While everyone else fixated on Ethan's theatrics, only the Red Widow noticed the newcomer. Tears welled in her eyes instantly.

It was Jed—Jedediah

After leading the army into the Hurricane's Eye, he'd ordered them to set up illusion arrays and hide in the foothills. Now, he'd ascended alone, scanning the summit with tense urgency. His gaze darted past Ethan and his four delegates , then locked onto the weeping Red Widow in the Forgotten City's ranks.

Their eyes met.

Jed flinched and looked away, cheeks burning.

"Tch. A few stray dogs barking won't change anything. Just open the damn Sanctum already!"

"Hah. No need to rush, Eamon. Let the poor bastards have their moment—they can't even afford to field proper contestants."

Earlier grumbles had been hushed, but these taunts rang loud and clear from the south. Two junior disciples of the Windspirit Faction, clad in ash-gray robes, smirked openly.

The Beastfall City delegation had grown, though they were still outnumbered.

Ptooey.

Ethan spat a watermelon seed and scratched his ear. "Anyone else hear a couple of dogs barking?"

Regis and Julian blinked, unprepared for their lord's improv.

Jed strode over, snatched a watermelon slice, and took a messy bite. Ptooey. Ptooey. He spat two seeds at the ground. "Don't insult dogs. At least they're tasty when roasted."

Ethan blinked. "Wait—what? Who the hell eats dogs?"

Jed shrugged like it was obvious. "You get used to it."

Ethan made a face. "That's seriously messed up."

Jed grinned. "Messed up is thinking barking's bad."

Ethan scoffed. "It is bad. Keeps me up all night."

"That's nothing." Jed's eyes slid toward Shaw Zilo. "Ever heard a turtle bastard screech?" His lips curled as he casually glanced at Shaw Zilo.

Ethan gasped in mock astonishment. "You have?!"

"Nah. But I once chopped off an old turtle's head. The noise it made…" Jed shrugged, devouring the last of his watermelon. "Figured the little ones sound about the same."

"Wait—it kept screaming after decapitation?" Ethan sat bolt upright, eyes wide.

Jed wiped his mouth and stared directly at Shaw, who was glaring back with enough venom to melt steel. "Shame I only got one head that time. Didn't finish the job."

Their "private" conversation carried perfectly to the enhanced hearing of every elite present. The Windspirit disciples flushed crimson, realizing they'd just been likened to noisy pests.

But the real punchline? Jed's not-so-subtle implication about someone missing a certain… appendage.

Dozens of eyes swiveled toward Shaw Zilo.

Rumors once painted the Forgotten City's lord as a devastatingly handsome man—a heartthrob who'd seduced women from age eight to eighty.

Reality?

A mountain of blubber in armor.

The crowd collectively reevaluated the Forgotten City's standards for "beauty."