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

Ethan was starting to lose his patience.

The survivors who hadn't fled yet were stubbornly clinging to the fight. Four Shield Tanks stood in formation at the front, while three healing Shamans hovered behind them, ready to mend every bruise and cut. The barbarian Shield Tanks braced their massive shields against him, but each time he struck, they went flying through the air—only to be fully restored seconds later by the Shamans' relentless healing.

It was like trying to squash cockroaches. They just wouldn't stay down.

Ethan's eyes flicked past them toward the distance, where twenty-five players were already fleeing. Those were the ones he truly wanted. He recognized the emblem on one of their chests and, even more clearly, the smirk on his face. That was IronSeraph, guild leader of the Judgment Guild. In his previous life, this very man had obtained the [Immortality] Divine Ability.

Ethan also knew what IronSeraph and his crew didn't. Just as he had received his quest, the opposing Carnage Faction would have been issued a hidden system announcement of their own. The details didn't matter; the result was obvious. Their mission would be the opposite of his, a rallying cry for every Carnage player to hunt him down, sweetened with rich rewards.

But there was one advantage Ethan held that most of them wouldn't realize. City guards never intervened in wars between opposing factions. If a hostile faction's attack was triggered, the guards withdrew entirely, leaving the players to tear each other apart. IronSeraph's plan to regroup with the guards outside the city wall was doomed from the start.

The Shield Tanks before Ethan were masters at their craft. Every time he tried to blast one over the wall, they shifted their shields in midair, converting the outward force into backward momentum that kept them within the fight. Ethan couldn't help but admire their skill.

"The Carnage Faction's adaptability really is on another level," he muttered under his breath.

The more he fought them, the clearer it became. In his last life, even with the Survivor Faction's overwhelming numbers and higher levels, they had still been crushed by the Carnage players. Only when Survivors improved their individual combat skill did they claw back lost territory, but they had never managed to truly pierce the Shadow Realm.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "I'm done playing with you."

He stepped back, and the sudden movement made the Tanks hesitate. Fear rippled through them. The Druid God's power was monstrous—his strikes stronger than any dungeon boss they had faced. Every clash rattled their bones and sent their shields ringing. Normally, getting knocked back as a Tank was a death sentence. The only thing keeping them alive was the favorable terrain and the tireless Shamans.

Still, discouragement seeped into them. Compete over who could kill him first? What a joke. Surviving even one encounter with him was a miracle in itself.

As main tanks, they knew better than anyone the role they played. A team's survival depended on their decisions, their judgment of when to advance or retreat. After a handful of exchanges, they already knew the truth: this fight wasn't worth it. They would need to warn their guild leaders not to risk everything chasing after Ethan.

And besides… he could fly. They couldn't. At their current levels—forties at best—none had reached the sixties required for aerial combat. Even then, they would still need to tame flying mounts before they could properly engage in the sky. Meanwhile, Ethan didn't need cast times or mounts. He could simply take off whenever he pleased. Agile, unpredictable, unrelenting. Was this truly what Druids were capable of?

No one knew. In this era, no Druid had even reached level 60. The class was poorly understood—awkward in dungeons, unreliable in duels. Their only saving grace was the Feral path, capable of delivering brutal burst damage when ambushing a target in the wild. A tank might barely survive the five-second onslaught, but if the combo failed to kill, the Druid's strength collapsed. They had no stealth like Rogues, no clever tricks to escape—only speed to run away. Versatile, but also maddeningly inconsistent.

And yet, in sheer flexibility, nothing compared. Instant stag form to sprint, instant owl form to take flight—it was freedom no other class possessed.

The Shield Tanks had been battered, healed, and battered again. At this point, they were alive only because of the Shamans. So when Ethan suddenly leapt back and declared he was finished, a wave of relief passed through them.

The two in front cautiously peeked out from behind their shields.

"Charge—"

The word made them flinch.

"Didn't he just say he was done?" one whispered, shivering.

But before the thought finished, white light seared their vision. Ethan, now in owl form, unleashed a Solar Flare. Their eyes burned, their heads snapped back behind their shields, and in that instant his massive form slammed into them.

Thud.

Both Tanks were sent flying, but this time they couldn't angle their shields properly. One was blasted back into the city, the other flung out into the open plains.

"Still got time to warn each other? Then you two can go down as well!" Ethan roared.

He pivoted to the rear line. His fists hammered the remaining two Tanks' shields. They tried to adjust, having clashed with him before, but even their perfect technique couldn't stop his power. Both were knocked off balance, shields ripped wide.

With a mocking grin, Ethan shifted again, his bear form melting into a rotund bird. He lifted his wings in a strange gesture, almost like a priest offering prayer. At that moment, thick vines burst from the ground beneath the Tanks, wrapping around their legs and dragging them back down before they could be hurled away.

Snap. Snap.

The vines broke from the sheer force of their bodies, but not before pain surged through their systems, stunning them as if they'd been struck with a control skill.

"Off you go. Typhoon."

The plump owl beat its stunted wings, summoning a furious gale that lifted the helpless Tanks and tossed them in opposite directions. One crashed inside the city, the other outside the wall.

All four Shield Tanks had been dismantled in three seconds flat.

Ethan straightened and set his eyes on the last obstacle. Only three Shamans remained, frozen in place at a distance of forty meters.

"Uh… we'll just go ourselves!" one of them blurted. He exchanged a glance with his companions, then without hesitation leapt from the city wall. The others followed suit, dropping off rather than risk being slaughtered directly by Ethan. Better to lose a little experience than be humiliated.

Ethan ignored them. His gaze had already shifted back to the twenty-five guild leaders, who were still sprinting around the outskirts of the town.