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

Ethan felt an immense pulling force the moment he stepped into the pillar of light.

Before he could react, gravity flipped him upside down, sending him hurtling downward. His vision blurred with streaks of green—an endless ocean of towering trees stretching beneath him. The air was thick with the crisp scent of foliage, and the temperature had dropped sharply, leaving his skin damp with moisture.

Compared to the desolate Sea of Death, this place was a paradise. The oppressive weight in his chest eased, replaced by an odd sense of calm.

That is, until he realized just how fast he was falling.

'If this keeps up, I'm going to splatter across the forest floor.'

Without hesitation, Ethan activated Swift Flight Form. His body jerked mid-air, wings of pure energy snapping open as he stabilized just above the canopy. The wind howled in his ears, but at least he wasn't about to become a bloody stain on the landscape.

Then he spotted them—two figures plummeting from the sky like stones.

Eamon and Baleron.

They'd appeared in different locations, confirming his suspicion: this sanctum scattered arrivals randomly. Even the two of them were far apart, with Baleron drifting closer to Ethan's position.

Perfect.

Ethan's lips curled into a cold smile. Before entering, he'd learned Baleron's identity—son of White Werox, the bastard who'd orchestrated the massacre of Regis family.

Time for a little payback.

He adjusted his trajectory, gliding silently toward Baleron. If Werox wanted a war, Ethan would give him one—starting with his heir's corpse.

But before he could close the distance, the sky erupted with movement.

Dozens of figures tumbled from above, their forms twisting as they tried to stabilise their bodies. Ethan's eyes narrowed.

'Idiots. Did they think this was some kind of tourist expedition?'

Then he noticed something interesting.

Baleron's body shimmered as a swirling gust of wind enveloped him, drastically reducing his descent. Around him, others followed suit—crushing enchanted stones, chanting spells, or unfurling magical artifacts.

'So they came prepared.'

A bitter laugh escaped Ethan's throat. Of course they had. He'd been the reckless one, charging in blind while these bastards had planned ahead.

One figure, clad in the distinct robes of Hurricane City, locked eyes with him mid-fall. The man's face paled.

"Y-You're… War God-rank?!"

The realization hit him like a hammer. A War God in their midst? That changed everything.

And not just any War God—the new lord of Beastfall City, so he was a monster who'd reached the pinnacle before turning thirty-five…

This was a death sentence for all of them.

Panic flashed in the man's eyes as he fumbled for a wooden artifact. Ethan recognized it instantly—a communication charm, similar to the ones used by the Central Dominion Guard. But where their versions bore dull, gray runes with limited range, this one blazed with intricate golden sigils.

High-grade. Far more powerful.

The moment the man's lips parted to speak, Ethan moved.

"Die."

He pivoted mid-air, wings flaring as he shot forward. A beam of white light erupted from his forehead—Twilight Warspear materializing in his grasp before streaking toward the man like a bolt of lightning.

The spear struck before the word even left the man's throat.

"Wa—"

THUNK.

The spear punched through his chest, its powerful energy obliterating his mind before his body even registered the pain. His slow-fall enchantment didn't dissipate—instead, it carried his limp form gently into the embrace of the trees below, where the forest swallowed him whole.

Ethan didn't wait to watch. He yanked the spear free with a flick of his wrist, already turning toward Baleron.

By the time Ethan finished dealing with the Hurricane City scout, the sky had cleared. The last of the falling figures had vanished into the forest below, their slow-fall enchantments carrying them safely to the ground.

Ethan had been skimming just above the treetops, hidden beneath the dense canopy. If that unlucky bastard hadn't appeared less than ten meters away, he would've gone completely unnoticed.

With the threat eliminated, he turned back toward Baleron's last known position—

—only for a massive shadow to blot out the sky above him.

Instinct kicked in. Twilight Warspear flashed back into his grip as he whirled, driving the weapon upward in a vicious arc.

CLANG!

The impact reverberated through his bones like a thunderclap. Pain exploded in his hands—hot, sharp—as the force split his skin at the thumbs, blood slicking the spear's haft.

'What the hell—?'

His arms trembled. That strike had been fueled by Force Resonance, his raw physical power amplified to its absolute limit. And yet, whatever had hit him hadn't just blocked it—it had nearly disarmed him.

Then he saw it.

An eagle, with wingspan barely three meters, hovering in the air with an almost insulting ease. Its talons gleamed, unbroken, where they'd met the spear's edge. Not a scratch. Just a faint white mark where steel had failed to pierce flesh.

Since when does a bird tank a War God's strike?

The creature let out a piercing shriek, its beady eyes locking onto Ethan with something disturbingly close to annoyance. Like it was offended he'd dared to fight back.

Then things got worse.

The eagle's cry triggered movement across the canopy. Dozens—no, hundreds—of identical shapes burst from the trees, their wings slicing the air as they encircled him.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

Since when did eagles hunt in packs?

Ethan's grip tightened on the spear. The sky was a death trap. No wonder the others had waited so long to activate their slow-fall spells—they must've known about these things.

He needed to get to the ground. Now.

But before he could dive, a new sound rolled across the forest—a deep, guttural bellow, more suited to a bull than any creature of the air.

The effect was instantaneous.

The eagles scattered like leaves in a storm, their formation breaking apart in sheer panic. Ethan didn't waste time questioning it. He dropped like a stone, plunging through the canopy—

—just as something enormous slid into view above the treeline.

A serpent.

Thirty meters long, thick as a barrel, its obsidian scales shimmering with an unnatural sheen. By all rights, it should've been prey for those eagles. Instead, the mere sound of its roar had sent them fleeing.

And its aura…

Ethan's blood turned to ice.

Uncle Jed at his peak—a War God on the cusp of Saint-rank—had never radiated pressure like this. Not even close.

This thing wasn't just stronger.

It was Saint-rank. Possibly higher.

A hysterical laugh bubbled up in Ethan's throat.

'They sent us in here?'

A sanctum that allowed only those under thirty-five to enter… and then filled it with monsters that could shred a seasoned War God like paper?

This wasn't a trial. It was a slaughterhouse.

And for the first time in years, Ethan felt the crushing weight of true, inescapable fear.