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

Just as Ethan was caught in the whirlwind, Yaya's startled voice rang out in his mind: "Brother, watch out! He's trying to escape!"

Ethan's stomach dropped. Damn it. He realized in that instant he had been played. Aldric the First had deliberately drawn him into this clash, only to use the momentum of his collision with the Crowling God to retreat at lightning speed, heading straight back toward the General's Hall.

Hovering above the ruins, the Crowling God lingered, its sharp black eyes full of suspicion as it stared at the gaping hole in the tomb. The hesitation said everything—it feared Aldric. And if Aldric truly meant to flee, he would not have left such a display of bravado behind. No, his retreat was a calculated feint.

With that realization, Ethan launched himself forward. He dove into the abyss below, calling out as his body shot downward like a comet: "Travel Form—Swift Flight!"

Air howled past him, the speed forcing his body into a streak of white. In a heartbeat, the General's Hall appeared below, torches still blazing with an unending flame that had burned for more than two millennia. It looked like the Hall had existed long before Aldric's imprisonment. Why it was called the General's Hall was a question Ethan shoved aside. Survival came first.

"I say, Your Majesty… betraying kindness with treachery doesn't suit the great First Emperor of the Iron Dominion!" Ethan's voice carried across the chamber as he slowed his descent, eyes fixed on the figure below.

Aldric the First was circling the Lord of the Underworld's Throne, hands itching to move it from its resting place. He looked up with an infuriatingly casual smirk.

"Oh? You're still alive?" Aldric said. "And I didn't betray you. I said I'd help you deal with that crow, didn't I? Didn't I land a punch?"

Ethan's face darkened. 'What the hell do you mean, still alive? Do I look like I should be dead to you?'

"I freed you from your chains," Ethan snapped. "Where's the thousand gold pieces you promised? The women, the treasures?"

"When you die," Aldric said smoothly, "I'll burn them for you."

"Aldric Crowe, you motherf—!" Ethan roared, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You conniving old fraud!"

For the first time in centuries, someone cursed Aldric the First to his face. The ancient emperor's eyes went crimson with rage, battle aura surging around him like wildfire.

"You dare insult me, whelp? You shameless, trickster brat! Had I lived longer, my empire would never have fallen to foreign dogs!"

Ethan only grew louder, hands on his hips, leaning into every word. "Foreign dogs? The only dog here is you! Two thousand years of scholars and keyboard warriors have cursed your name, but I'm the first to do it to your face! And let me tell you—it feels fantastic!"

Aldric's fists clenched, the marble floor trembling under the force of his rage. He was seconds from tearing Ethan apart when another voice intruded.

"Ancestral Dragon's Aura… the Throne of the Underworld… so it was you!"

The rasping words rumbled down from the shattered ceiling. Both men looked up. A massive black head thrust into the Hall, feathers bristling, eyes gleaming with malice. The Crowling God Anzu had arrived.

"Hmph. You damn bird," Aldric growled. "I'll deal with you after I crush this brat."

"Hold it!" Ethan raised his hands. "Even revenge has an order, doesn't it? I only insulted you a few times. That overgrown pigeon above your head? He destroyed your empire two thousand years ago. He raised a cult in your name, warped your descendants, twisted your legacy into ash. And yet you want to kill me first? Are you brain-dead?"

Ethan rattled off the history, voice sharp with challenge. "Think about it, Aldric. Do you really not know the debt this crow owes you?"

For a moment, the ancient emperor faltered. His killing intent wavered. Ethan sensed Yaya readying to act, but he quickly reined her back. He couldn't afford an all-out clash here. If he fought Aldric, the Crowling God would stand back and reap the spoils. He still didn't know the full extent of that monster's power. And if it escaped alive, it would hunt him for the rest of his life. No—the real enemy here was the feathered god.

"What you said… is it true?" Aldric finally asked, his aura dimming slightly.

"True as steel," Ethan said firmly. "And let's not forget whose fault this mess was to begin with. You chased immortality, remember? The thousands of boys and girls taken as tribute, their bloodlines twisted, their offspring stunted and broken in mind, bred only for war. You created a people doomed to be devoured. And you know what? Let me show you something."

Ethan's Soul Sense stirred. A simple, modern-looking wristwatch appeared in his hand. Aldric eyed it with suspicion but, sensing no dangerous energy, let it pass. Ethan slipped it on, tapped the face, and a projection bloomed in the air.

The Hall filled with flickering light as scenes of countless people appeared—men and women shouting battle cries, laying down their lives in waves, dying one after another yet never breaking, never surrendering. Their blood stained the earth, but their eyes burned with the fire of freedom.

"These are your descendants," Ethan said quietly. "The children of your Iron Dominion. They fought and bled for their homeland, their people, their freedom. The one who made them suffer, the one who turned their sacrifice into a cycle of death and oppression… is the feathered beast right above us. Tell me, Aldric—what do you think should be done about that?"

The projection faded, silence filling the Hall. Ethan lowered his hand, eyes narrowing as he studied the emperor. The footage, of course, wasn't conjured from thin air. He had tapped Shatterstar to pull history itself into view, crossing millions of light-years to Earth.

If Morzan could use stolen First Universe technology to fuse the Path of Ethereal with reality and create a game like Ethereal, then Ethan could just as easily bend those rules to his will.

And he knew something else: much of what the world believed about Aldric the First was propaganda. His infamy as a tyrant was built by later dynasties, stories rewritten to legitimize their own thrones. The truth was always more complicated.