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

The Obsidian Ridgeback writhed, its massive forelegs trembling as it hauled itself upright, though its hindquarters remained pinned to the ground. Muscles rippled beneath its obsidian-scaled hide, and its horned head swayed in erratic arcs, eyes glinting with a feral, bloodthirsty light.

Just as the group braced for it to lunge at MelancholyEgg, the beast suddenly wrenched its neck sideways and slammed its skull into the cavern floor with earth-shattering force.

BOOM—

The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the hollow, dislodging ancient stalactites in a lethal rain. Ethan was hurled off his feet, landing hard on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs. For a moment, he just lay there, blinking through the dust, stunned into paralysis.

What the hell?

This wasn't normal behavior—not for a Ridgeback, not for any creature.

Ensnared by the Soulbinding Collar, it should've been single-mindedly chasing its tormentor with mindless precision. Instead, it was headbutting the ground like a deranged battering ram.

Now, as the haze began to lift and the tremors eased, the beast's frenzied gaze flickered—something almost like clarity flashing through the madness.

Then, a shriek split the air like a dagger through silence.

Ethan's head snapped upward. The creature he'd sensed earlier—the one lurking just beyond sight in the shadow-choked vault of the cavern—had finally revealed itself.

A Warhawk, wings spanning fifty meters edge to edge, perched atop a jagged outcrop. Its talons gouged deep grooves into the stone, and it screeched again, the piercing sound reverberating through the chamber like a challenge flung across a battlefield.

Below, the Ridgeback reacted instantly. With a roar that shook loose dust from the ceiling, it surged to its full, towering height, defiance burning in its narrowed eyes.

So that's where its injuries came from.

The Warhawk dwarfed the Ridgeback—sleek where the other was brutal, its feathers edged with an unnatural metallic sheen. If it descended now, the already-wounded beast wouldn't last ten seconds. And if the Ridgeback died, today's efforts—the sacrifices, the resources, everything—would be for nothing.

GapInDefense clenched his fists, teeth grinding as he stared at the avian predator with raw, rising frustration. He knew the math: if that thing joined the fray, casualties wouldn't just spike—they'd skyrocket. The Ridgeback had been mauled by it. What chance did a group of players have?

His jaw worked silently before he finally spat the order:

"Fall back. Now. All units, evacuate—"

The words felt leaden in his mouth, hollow as they left him—like he'd just signed the death warrant for their mission.

Murmurs of protest rose—"Captain," "Guild Leader"—but died just as quickly. They knew. He was right.

As the guild scrambled to disengage, Ethan stayed low, his Panther Form granting him an unusually low and clear sightline. And there it was: beneath the Ridgeback's belly, partially hidden in a shallow depression of earth and stone—three oblong shapes, faintly luminous in the gloom.

'Eggs.'

His pulse spiked. That's why it wouldn't move. That's why it had chosen to take the punishment, to bleed and remain grounded. This wasn't just a beast—it was a mother.

But the realization came a heartbeat too late. GapInDefense, already several strides into the retreat, glanced back one last time—and froze.

His eyes locked onto the clutch.

"Hold!" he bellowed, voice cracking. "Focus fire! Kill the Ridgeback before it—"

Too late.

With a final, desperate roar, the beast succumbed fully to the collar's corruption. Its pupils dilated into twin voids as its health bar surged from 1% to 10%—sixty thousand HP in a heartbeat.

GapInDefense nearly collapsed.

The Ridgeback pivoted. Its charge was already primed.

Its target?

MelancholyEgg, who'd just rounded the cavern's entrance.

The retreating forces of Apex Predators Guild had barely processed their leader's aborted command when the Obsidian Ridgeback struck. Its charge was a cataclysm of muscle, fury, and mass—a living avalanche barreling through the bottlenecked ranks near the cavern's entrance.

Chaos erupted in visceral detail:

Bodies were flung like ragdolls, limbs flailing, bones audibly snapping beneath the thunderous assault. Shield tanks—meant to be the immovable foundation of any defense—were caught mid-turn, their armor buckling like tin under the force of the Ridgeback's momentum. One warrior flew backward so violently his breastplate caved in, the indentation unmistakably shaped like the beast's horn.

Blood misted the air in crimson arcs, spattering across the stalactites above in macabre, blooming streaks.

GapInDefense watched in horror, his stomach twisted into a cold knot, as the charge carved a trench of death through his lines. Two thousand. Two thousand players, erased in the span of a breath. Their avatars dissolved into the sickly white haze of forced respawn.

All because he'd hesitated. Because he'd dared to hope—for those damned eggs.

At the tunnel's bend, MelancholyEgg skidded to a stop, his back pressed against the damp, jagged stone. The Ridgeback's skull slammed into the rock beside him, halting its rampage mere inches from his face. The impact cratered the wall, hairline fractures spiderwebbing outward as dust and pebbles rained down like ash.

Outside the entrance, the battlefield was eerily empty—just MelancholyEgg and a straight, three-hundred-meter stretch between him and the exit. If the Ridgeback charged again…

Four seconds? He'd be lucky to last one.

Back inside, the remnants of the guild were trapped, the Ridgeback's massive bulk sealing the passage like a living barricade. The only way out was through it—and right now, its attention was locked, laser-focused, on the figure who'd enslaved it.

---

Ethan crouched low, his Panther Form's obsidian fur merging with the shadows. His eyes darted between the Ridgeback, the distant clutch of eggs, and the true wildcard looming above: the Warhawk.

Its dive began.

The avian predator's descent was a masterpiece of lethal precision—wings tucked tight, talons extended like curved scimitars, its shriek peeling the air open like a blade drawn across steel.

But its trajectory wasn't aimed at the Ridgeback.

The eggs.

Ethan's thoughts raced, the truth snapping into place piece by piece:

The Ridgeback's injuries. Its refusal to run, even under the collar's agony. The way it had shielded that patch of ground with its massive body, refusing to budge even as its own blood soaked the stone.

This wasn't just a territorial fight.

The Warhawk was an opportunist—a scavenger swooping in to exploit the Ridgeback's postpartum weakness. And now, with the beast distracted by its own corrupted instincts, the eggs were completely defenseless.

Ethan was ten meters from the clutch.

The Warhawk, two hundred meters up and closing like a missile.

GapInDefense? Forty meters back, frozen mid-step, his face contorted in dawning comprehension—and helpless rage.

His fingers twitched toward his sword hilt… then fell slack. He knew. Even if he sprinted, even if he activated every movement buff he had, he'd never beat the Warhawk to its prize.