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

Ethan stared at the creature before him, its eyes as large as bronze bells, yet entirely black, without a trace of white. The darkness seemed bottomless, swallowing his gaze whole.

"I'll ask you again," the monster rumbled, lifting its head. Its voice carried the weight of centuries. "Was it you who caused the commotion above?"

Creak… creak… creak…

The sound echoed through the hall as the creature shifted. How long had this thing been sitting here, unmoving? Ethan wondered if its very bones had rusted in place.

"The noise wasn't me," Ethan blurted, his eyes darting nervously. "It was a crow—some overgrown crow tearing apart your nest!"

At that, the bull-headed figure froze. "A crow?" Its tone grew colder, harsher. "I despise crows more than anything…"

It snorted, and a rush of white vapor burst from its nostrils. Ethan staggered back. That wasn't just hot breath—it reached him like a blast of icy wind. His body shivered as a chill stabbed into his soul.

And that was wrong. In Ethereal, the game never simulated true temperature. There was frost damage, sure, but it only ever registered as numbers unless you had resistance buffs. You didn't feel cold. You just lost health.

But this… this cold wasn't in his skin. It was in his bones, in the deepest part of him.

Even so, Ethan's panic eased slightly. The monster's reaction had revealed something useful: it really did despise crows. That might be leverage.

He forced a smirk. "So what if you hate crows? Your home's been shredded to pieces and you didn't even dare crawl out to do anything about it. All you can do is sulk in here like a coward."

Inside, his heart hammered. If he pushed too far, maybe this thing would snap and tear him apart. But he had noticed something important. It hadn't left its throne once. Yesterday, when he first stumbled into this place, he'd also noticed something strange: no name, no rank, no level floating above its head. Every monster and spirit in Ethereal carried a marker, unless… unless they weren't like the others.

Whatever this thing was, it was bound, restrained, different. And that gave Ethan ideas.

"Young one," the creature growled, its arm slamming down onto the throne's armrest. The sound rang out like iron striking stone.

Ethan jerked back, nearly stumbling, but then he saw it—chains. Thick, short chains fastened tight around its wrist, binding it to the throne itself.

The fear in him shifted into something else entirely. Boldness.

"Hah. That explains it. Throwing a tantrum from your chair because you can't do anything else. Why don't you break free, climb out there, and kill the crow yourself? Or is pounding the armrest all you've got left?"

His grin widened as realization hit him. This thing wasn't a warden of the hall. It was the prisoner.

The monster froze, staring at him with those eyeless, obsidian orbs. When it spoke again, its voice was colder, more arrogant. "Do you even know who I am? How dare you address me like this?"

"A prisoner, obviously," Ethan shot back without hesitation.

The creature blinked. Then, slowly, it began to laugh. The sound started low, before breaking into wild, echoing laughter that shook the chamber. Clatter, clang! Its chained arm slammed against the throne again and again.

Ethan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, you've definitely lost it."

The laughter stopped abruptly. Its voice turned steady, almost regal. "My family name is Aldric. My given name, Crowe. Two thousand years ago, the world once called me the Ancestral Dragon. Perhaps you know me by another title…" It leaned forward, lowering its tone. "First Emperor of the Iron Dominion."

Ethan almost choked, recalling a certain folklore. His lips trembled before a laugh burst out of him, uncontrollable. "Two thousand years? Aldric Crowe? Ancestral Dragon? What's next—you're going to tell me you're Aldric the First himself? Hahahahaha!"

Tears blurred his vision as he bent over laughing.

But the creature only stared, silent, until it asked in a low, dangerous voice, "You… you recognize me? You are not of this world, are you? You are from Earth?"

Ethan froze. That word—Earth.

The figure rose, iron chains screeching as they stretched taut. Stone dust crumbled from its body, flaking away as cracks spread across its form. Beneath the grime and dirt, a dark metallic light gleamed faintly. Even the horn jutting from its head split and fell, revealing not a demon's skull, but a helm—fashioned with bull horns, ancient and battle-worn.

The truth sank into Ethan's gut like a stone. This wasn't just some monster.

This might really be Aldric the First mentioned in those myths and legends everyone thought were nothing but fiction.

"You… you're really Aldric Crowe?" Ethan stammered. The name surfaced from the depths of half-forgotten history classes: the Crowe dynasty, son of Duke Robert and Lady Helena. Folk stories even claimed Aldric once carried his mother's surname in youth.

And now here he was, calling himself exactly that.

"It seems you truly are from Earth," Aldric said quietly, lowering himself back onto the throne. His gaze drifted away as though staring through time itself.

Ethan stood frozen, mind spinning. What was happening? Aldric the First—the founding emperor of the Iron Dominion—wasn't supposed to be alive. He'd died millennia ago. So why was he here? And what exactly was this world he spoke of? Was it really just Ethereal?

"What is Earth like now?" Aldric asked suddenly. His voice had shed its earlier arrogance; it was calm, almost wistful.

Ethan swallowed. "Well… let's see. After you, Earth went through more than two thousand years of history. Industrial revolutions, global wars, now it's a highly technological civilization."

"I wasn't asking about your world. I asked about the Iron Dominion," Aldric cut in sharply.

Ethan hesitated. His palms grew damp. "Do you… really want to know?"

"Speak," Aldric ordered.

"Alright. History says the Iron Dominion collapsed six years after your death," Ethan began carefully, watching for the emperor's reaction.

Aldric didn't rage, as Ethan expected. His expression only darkened. "Six years? Hah. I knew those fools couldn't hold what I built."

Ethan pushed on, dredging up what scraps of school history he could. "You died in 210 BC. A year later, Gates and Boone launched an uprising, peasants rallied to them, and the whole empire followed. Marcus Hale and another warlord raised armies against the Dominion. Eventually, it was destroyed, and in 202 BC, a new dynasty was founded by its first emperor—Founder Marcus Hale."

"Gates? Boone? Marcus Hale?" Aldric repeated the names with disdain, leaning back, chin in hand. "Never heard of them. Mere ants. To think such nobodies overturned my empire."

Ethan stayed silent, his mind racing. At last, he blurted, "Then… why are you here? History says you died of illness."

"Died of illness?" Aldric sneered. "Ignorant mortals. To believe such drivel…"

Ethan clenched his fists and waited. The man's eyes glinted with scorn.

"Do you even know what this throne is?" Aldric asked, his hand trailing along the carved armrest.

Ethan looked again. The throne was carved from what seemed like black jade, smooth and polished, but also exaggerated in its ornate design. For all its grandeur, he saw nothing especially mystical about it.

And yet, a knot of unease twisted in his chest.