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

The old man was fuming. Couldn't they see they were about to be surrounded?

And yet they were still moving closer!

But with age comes wisdom—and he immediately spotted Rook standing alongside Bobby. So he spoke with deliberate indifference.

Samuel Wynn had been watching Arena Three the entire time. Although Rook wasn't the Wynn family's main competitor in this tournament, he was still his son. The other two Wynn family participants were a and his older brother's son.

Though his son, in everyday life, didn't exactly make him proud. His abilities were mediocre, and he was always so timid!

When he was younger, whenever someone provoked or bullied him, he wouldn't make a sound—wouldn't even complain to his father, the head of the family. But there was one time when Rook was beaten up by his older cousin, Drake Wynn, Samuel's nephew.

When Rook returned home, no matter how Samuel questioned him, he wouldn't say a word. This infuriated the Wynn family head to no end. Two kids fighting—there wasn't much he could say about that. But seeing his son bullied for so long, he couldn't stand it anymore.

Late at night, he disguised himself, carrying a black cloth bag, and snuck into his older brother's house. He entered his nephew's bedroom. Once inside, he found the room empty, though the bed was still warm—clearly, someone had just been sleeping there.

Samuel took out the cloth bag he was carrying. He pulled back the covers and emptied the contents directly into the bed.

Hiss... hiss... hiss...

More than a dozen venomous snakes slithered out—though he had removed their fangs. Then, he carefully arranged everything, tucking the blanket back neatly to prevent the snakes from escaping.

He muttered to himself, "You little punk, you know how to bully my son, right? Let's see how you handle this."

After finishing, he hid outside the room. He waited for quite some time, but his nephew still hadn't returned.

"Why isn't he back yet? The drugs should have worn off by now," he muttered. He looked around carefully, then headed toward the outhouse at the back of the property.

Earlier that evening, to facilitate his nighttime operation, the mighty head of the Wynn family had slipped his nephew a laxative during dinner. Now, he was heading to the outhouse to see why his nephew hadn't returned yet.

Just as he turned the corner, he spotted a figure tiptoeing toward the back of the outhouse. This person was carrying a black cloth bag.

Samuel froze, looking down at the black cloth bag in his own hand.

They were identical.

And the figure's attire—all black. Just like his own. Except this person was much shorter.

As a father, how could Samuel not recognize his own son?

At that time, Rook was only ten years old.

"This little rascal…"

He finally understood why his nephew hadn't returned to his room. Apparently, Rook had given him another dose of laxative—which explained why his nephew had been stuck in the outhouse for so long.

Meanwhile, Rook climbed onto the outhouse roof. Holding the bottom of his black bag, with the opening facing downward, he aimed at Drake, who was squatting over the pit. Then, he started shaking the bag.

Hiss... hiss... hiss...

"Ahhh... snakes!"

Whoosh!

A figure darted out of the outhouse—it was none other than Samuel's nephew, Drake Wynn! Who knows if he had wiped himself or not, but his pants weren't pulled up. As he ran out, his stride was a bit too wide—

SPLAT! He face-planted spectacularly.

But he didn't make a sound. He got up and continued running, disappearing in a flash back to his room.

Another scream echoed:

"Ahhh... snakes!"

Then, silence.

Ten-year-old Rook, crouching on the outhouse roof, scratched his head and peered down.

"One... two... three… the snakes are all here, so why is he still screaming in his room?"

He muttered, "Did I miscount? Did a snake crawl into his pocket?"

The confused ten-year-old lingered briefly, then climbed down from the roof and scurried away.

Samuel witnessed the entire scene. He couldn't help but chuckle, muttering, "He really is my damn son!" With a swift movement, he vanished into the night.

From that day on, whenever he saw Rook being bullied, he no longer intervened. He knew his son wasn't the type to suffer without retaliating.

At times like these, he would recall how his nephew approached his father the next day, sporting a gap-toothed smile. He accused Rook, explaining that the face-plant from the night before had knocked out his front teeth. But they had no evidence. Rook adamantly denied any involvement. In the end, the matter was dropped.

However, as Samuel's older brother was leaving, he pointed at Samuel, then at Rook, and said,

"You... don't think I don't know it was you just because there's no evidence. You're exactly like your father!"

With that, he turned and walked away.

Rook looked at his father in surprise.

The latter just rubbed his nose.

It was no news that when Samuel was young, he had also frequently used underhanded tactics against his older brother.

…

From the start of the tournament, he had been focused on Arena Three, fearing that his son might encounter some trouble. At the same time, he was astonished by this Ethan fellow's strength. Against peers his age, not one could stand against him.

From the beginning until now, over half an hour had passed. Ethan had led Rook and the others in a wide circle, climbing stairs, and leisurely ascending the platform. They were a good fifteen minutes behind everyone else.

But since he stepped onto the platform until now, anyone who attacked him suffered at minimum a broken arm or leg. Of course, these individuals hadn't aimed for Ethan's vital points when they attacked, so they were spared their lives. Those who struck viciously, targeting vital areas, were all killed with a single blow.

Then there were the three people by his side.

One was skilled in mystical arts, conjuring paper figures, fire conjuring parchments, and formation cards in endless variety.

Another was the Mutant, whom Energy Users looked down upon as inferior—yet he was incredibly powerful, his claws able to cut through metal like butter.

The young girl's flying needle technique, though used somewhat naively, employed an extraordinarily profound method. Moreover, Samuel could tell that the girl's technique wasn't designed for killing. After her initial burst where she killed two people, each subsequent use merely incapacitated her targets. This behavior seemed more like she was saving lives. In the current situation, losing the ability to move meant avoiding being attacked.

Now, seeing Ethan's group surrounded, with Rook having joined them, Samuel's heart was in his throat.

Although Ethan's group was formidable, they were vastly outnumbered. Arena Three had three to four hundred participants. And he knew all too well what his son's capabilities were.

During the competition, outside interference was forbidden, so even though he was anxious, there was nothing he could do.

He hoped that among the crowd, there were those who recognized Bobby and Rook's identities—and would refrain from delivering fatal blows.

Otherwise…