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

As Eamon spoke, his presence surged, power swelling around him like a storm held barely in check. Ethan could feel it clearly now—this man was connected to the Blood clan.

From behind him, Micah's voice rang out, laced with urgency and hatred. "Brother… he's a half-Bloodline! You must kill him!"

Ethan's brow furrowed. Micah—whoever he really was—seemed to know far too much. It was like he had a personal vendetta against anyone tied to the Blood clan. But this wasn't the time for questions. Whatever Micah's secrets, Ethan would deal with them later. For now, he had a threat in front of him.

Eamon's expression twisted into something feral. "Since you know my secret… all of you must die!"

With a snarl, he stomped down mid-air. The sky cracked around him, lines spidering outward as though reality itself was breaking apart. Then he lunged at Ethan like a cannonball, both fists barreling forward—now coated in thick, jagged scales, each punch like a hammer swung by a god.

Even before they struck, the pressure in the air screamed, a shrill sound of space itself groaning beneath the force. The sky trembled violently.

Ethan's eyes sharpened. That punch... it could tear through solid stone like parchment.

But he didn't retreat.

"Close combat?" he bellowed, stepping forward, his voice carrying through the air. "I've never feared anyone up close!"

With that, Bear Form erupted around him. Muscles bulked, power condensed, and beneath it all, the Battle Embodiment system flared to life. Though Ethan wasn't truly at WarGod rank, he could overlay multiple combat forms. With Swift Flight Form layered over Bear Form, he met Eamon's airborne assault head-on—his agility in the air rivaling a Golden Falcon, and his strength surging far beyond his rank.

Below, chaos raged.

Julian was already locked in a brutal struggle against seven monstrous opponents, each one more relentless than the last. But his gaze flicked skyward as he sensed Eamon's overwhelming aura pressing down like a tidal wave. His heart clenched. He remembered something—something from before the trial even began.

It was on the peak of Hurricane City, right before the sacred assembly.

At first, Julian hadn't intended to join the trial at all. But after explaining his reasoning to Uncle Jed, the old man simply gave a nod. Then—without a word—Jed's spear flicked.

Two disciples from Hurricane City, already mid-step toward the glowing pillar of light, were impaled before they could react, pinned to the ground like broken dolls. Gasps swept the crowd.

The entire peak froze.

No one expected that. Contestants still waiting their turn to step into the pillar stared, half in fear, half in outrage. Regis stood there, dumbfounded. What the hell is he doing?!

If he hadn't known Jed's character so well, even Julian would've suspected sabotage. But this was Uncle Jed—unpredictable, yes, but not treacherous.

A voice thundered across the mountaintop.

"Jed! You're a WarGod and you interfere with the assembly? Do you take us for fools?!"

It was Shaw Zilo, the bloated City Lord of Forgotten City, leaping from his seat like an overturned barrel. But Jed barely glanced his way. He tossed aside a half-eaten watermelon rind and said casually, "Fat pig, why are you squealing? Did I kill your people?"

He sat back down and adjusted his posture like nothing had happened.

"We agreed—five from Beastfall City can enter the trial. We've only sent in one. Yet here you all are, scrambling to steal the rest of our slots without even asking. Where does that leave us? Do you think Beastfall City's just a doormat now?"

The way he said it—calm and direct—left Shaw Zilo red in the face, trembling with rage but unable to refute a single word. The facts were on Jed's side.

They had agreed to five slots. Beastfall had only used one so far. The moment Zilo saw Jed kill someone, he pounced on the opportunity to stir up trouble. But now? Now he regretted it. Badly.

'Why didn't I send someone else to test the waters?'

Everyone knew the unspoken rules: during the Sacred Assembly of the Four Domains, Wargod-level powerhouses were only permitted one-on-one combat atop the peak. The Sigil of the Wild Legion hung suspended above them, inert until the trial concluded. Picking a fight with Jed now would accomplish nothing but his own humiliation.

And worse—he'd rushed out before the people of Hurricane City themselves could even react.

What a damn mess...

Then, a cold voice broke the tension.

"You killed our Hurricane City disciples. You owe us an explanation."

Zilo turned with relief—Auren Galewright, head of the Windspirit Faction, had finally spoken. Let him deal with Jed now.

Jed grinned lazily. "Oh? I already explained it to the fat pig. What more do you want?"

The sarcasm wasn't lost on anyone. Auren's expression darkened.

"Even if we were in the wrong," he growled, "my disciples won't die for nothing. Today, Beastfall City stays where it is."

He raised a hand. "All disciples, prepare to annihilate them!"

Dozens of his followers stood at attention.

But Jed only chuckled from his rocking chair, legs crossed, gazing at the sky like he had all the time in the world.

"I knew you wouldn't follow the rules. You forgot the old laws already? On this peak, Wargods fight one-on-one. You made the rules. Now you break them."

He leaned back, utterly relaxed. "So be it. I'll destroy your Windspirit Faction myself. Any objections?"

The words echoed like thunder.

Everyone stared.

Destroy the Windspirit Faction? Alone?

People around the mountaintop exchanged glances. Baelor Wane, City Lord of Clearspring City, didn't even try to intervene. He just crossed his arms and observed, curious.

Just him? Just one city? Against the Windspirit Faction?

No way.

Everyone knew the truth: though the Windspirit Faction wasn't large in number, they were the most dominant force among the Four Great Powers. Hurricane City alone was protected by an endless cyclone barrier—no one could breach it, let alone raze it. And there were whispers… whispers that the Windspirit Faction harbored Saints among them. No one had seen one, but the legends persisted.

Auren laughed coldly. "Today, I'll see how you destroy my faction. Attack!"

With that, he surged forward, disciples trailing behind him.

Because of the sanctum's activation, a no-fly field covered the peak. Even Wargods couldn't fly. As Auren charged across the open ground, power swirling, something changed.

Jed's aura exploded.

First Wargod mid-stage… then late-stage… then peak… then—

Half-step Saint.

Then...

Boom!

A sharp thunderclap echoed across the clear sky. Clouds materialized out of nowhere, rolling in with unnatural speed. For a moment, a pressure like a god's will weighed on the world.

Then—just as quickly—it faded. The clouds trembled, then dispersed. Jed's aura retreated, settling quietly at Wargod late-stage.

But that was enough.

Auren and his disciples froze mid-step. Cold sweat beaded on their skin. Their legs quivered as they stared at the old man still lying in his chair, utterly unfazed.

Jed turned his head slightly, his voice calm and almost… gentle.

"You. Come here."

He beckoned to Auren Galewright with a slow wave and a faint smile.