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

These two beastkin clans weren't supposed to be part of the plan.

But if they left now… the whole region would hear about it.

The chieftain of the Gilded Flame Crocodile Clan, a stocky beastkin named Gilded Blaze, bowed politely after being introduced. He didn't say a word, but his attitude was surprisingly respectful.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Vogemoth, of the Thundercloud Mystic Tortoise Clan, opened his mouth to answer—but before he could speak, the massive form of Blackscale Tyrant stepped forward, voice grating with irritation.

"Vogemoth, Gilded Blaze—aren't you here for clean water? Kill this brat, and I'll give you a thousand tons!"

The moment those words dropped, the atmosphere shifted. Ethan's expression sharpened, but it was nothing compared to the reactions around him.

Gilded Blaze and Vogemoth tensed, visibly stunned. Yet it was Blackscale Earth-Eater—Tyrant's own kin—whose face went pale.

Out here in the Sea of Death, fresh water was everything. More valuable than gold, more guarded than treasure. No one could casually offer surplus water unless they were insane—or well-connected.

There were only two powers known to sell clean water in this desert wasteland: Clearspring City, and the controversial Hurricane Sect. The latter was comprised solely of wind-channeling monks, or as locals called them—Wind Priests. Though technically a small organisation, Hurricane's water allotment from Clearspring was suspiciously large. They had more water than they needed, and they used it to buy loyalty—especially from the beastkin tribes.

Everyone knew it. No one dared to challenge it.

Now, Blackscale Tyrant had just openly admitted his clan had sold out to Hurricane.

Ethan's gaze darkened.

"A fine little serpent from the Southwest Domain," he said coldly, "yet you collude with outsiders. You've just signed your clan's death warrant."

Then, without warning, he turned sharply toward Vogemoth and Gilded Blaze.

"You two—Thundercloud Mystic Tortoise, Gilded Flame Crocodile—you'll stand as witnesses for this City Lord today. That stingy snake offered a measly thousand tons of water. When I turn his whole clan into snake stew, the water underneath will be yours."

Vogemoth and Gilded Blaze froze.

At first, they'd assumed this 'Ethan'—who claimed to be the new City Lord of Beastfall—was just another arrogant human throwing his weight around. When he'd shouted from above, they hadn't even bothered to look up.

But then... he revealed the Sigil of the Wild Legion.

Their blood turned cold.

That Sigil wasn't something you could just wave around. It wasn't a trinket—it was a sacred artifact, bonded to Beastfall's ruler. Passing it down required a grueling ritual of inheritance and recognition by the will of the City itself. No outsider could activate it without being chosen.

And yet, this kid had used it effortlessly.

That meant only one thing: he was legit.

Now, he was offering them a deal. Not a threat, not a demand—but a share of the spoils. Water for loyalty.

Vogemoth and Gilded Blaze exchanged glances, then bowed deeply. They floated back several thousand meters, taking neutral positions along the perimeter.

Beastfall City might not seem powerful at a glance, but it was still the official ruler of the Southwest. And besides—who could say what hidden cards the humans held?

The Blackscale Serpents weren't exactly close allies either. If they took offense, so be it. Both clans were strong enough to stand their ground.

And besides... what was this "snake stew" the kid mentioned? Could it really be that delicious?

Ethan saw their silent acceptance and smiled faintly.

"Uncle Jed," he said, glancing sideways. "You're up."

Uncle Jed, currently sipping wine from a battered old flask, looked mildly surprised.

"Aren't you going to warm up first?" he asked.

Ethan rolled his eyes and sent a thought directly into his mind: 'Warm up my ass. We've got two beastkin elders watching—and I can't fly.'

That last part was critical.

No one could tell what Ethan's rank truly was. As far as they could see, he was just a kid with a loud mouth. If he left Ormund's back, he'd plummet straight down like a stone. And out here, anyone beneath the rank of War God was basically cannon fodder in aerial combat.

So instead of showing his hand, he'd let Uncle Jed make the move. Let them guess.

One versus two, Ethan asked telepathically, 'you good?'

Jed didn't answer. He just gripped his flask tighter and stepped forward.

Boom.

His boot hit empty air and made a strange cracking sound—like stepping on ice.

Then he stumbled. Literally stumbled. He nearly tripped.

Ethan smacked his forehead.

'Old man… are you even sober?'

Jed didn't care. He turned back, brows furrowing seriously. "This snake stew," he asked, "is it really that good?"

Ethan blinked. Then nodded. "Delicious. Nutritious. Pairs perfectly with wine."

Jed nodded with solemn conviction, then crooked his finger at the two serpentine elders across from him.

"You two," he said, "come together. I'm getting hungry."

Before he could finish, the brothers struck.

They let out twin roars and exploded into their true forms—each transforming into massive, two-hundred-meter-long black serpents. Their tails lashed forward like battering rams, aiming to crush Jed from both sides.

Boom.

The air trembled with the impact. Behind Ethan, Dana winced and covered her eyes.

Even Ethan's heart jumped.

Uncle Jed hadn't dodged.

Across the battlefield, Gilded Blaze turned to Vogemoth, whispering, "Could your tortoise shell survive that?"

Vogemoth considered. "Probably… but I'd cough blood afterward."

"So, then—"

"He's dead. That drunk got flattened."

Or so they thought.

But something was off.

The two serpent tails had stopped. They hadn't rebounded. No recoil, no shudder.

They were just... stuck.

A golden light burst from the point of contact—blinding, intense, and sudden. Like a nuclear flash in the night sky. Ethan shielded his eyes as the golden radiance flared, swallowing everything in a ten-mile radius.

When his vision finally cleared, he saw it.

And he almost forgot to breathe.

A giant stood in the air—a thousand meters tall, armored in gleaming gold. Uncle Jed's Battle Embodiments.

The two monstrous serpents now looked like garden worms by comparison.

In the distance, Gilded Blaze and Vogemoth froze in disbelief.

"A thousand-meter projection…" Gilded Blaze muttered, voice dry.

"Peak War God rank," Vogemoth whispered.

Sweat rolled down both their backs.

They'd been this close to siding with the wrong team.

The golden giant's lips moved. A deep, buzzing voice rolled across the sky.

"Little worms... where do you think you're going?"

Its massive hands moved into a clapping gesture—like swatting a bug.

The serpent brothers panicked. Their combined power might overwhelm a mid-rank War God. They might even slow down a high-rank one.

But this… this was no ordinary War God.

This was peak-level.

They turned to flee—but they couldn't.

Jed's hands clapped together, sealing off the space around them. Reality warped. The air cracked.

Pop. Pop.

Two sickening sounds erupted, and just like that… the serpent brothers were gone.

Ethan stood still, dumbstruck.

When the hell had Uncle Jed gotten this strong?

With power like that, why sneak in? Why act drunk? Why not just wipe out the enemies from the start?

Then the golden giant swayed, shrinking rapidly until it vanished entirely. Jed, back in his human form, landed on Ormund's back and took a long swig from his flask.

"Ugh... I'm wiped," he grumbled. "Kid, give me a tent. Need a nap."

Ethan obliged. With a flick of his wrist, a tent formed on Ormund's back.

Jed crawled inside.

From within came a muffled shout: "You two down there—Gilded Blaze, Vogemoth—go eat some snake stew with our new City Lord! Save me some, will ya? I'll have it after I sober up!"

Then his aura faded.

Ethan realized… the old man had actually passed out.

Not asleep. Out cold.

He clenched his jaw, his expression unreadable. "We're descending."

Ormund began his slow descent.

Below, the town was in chaos. They'd all witnessed the golden-armored titan flatten their clan leaders like pancakes.

And now? They were running.

No orders. No resistance. No leaders.

Vogemoth and Gilded Blaze, still in shock, rushed to the ground ahead of Ethan. They didn't dare float above him now. Not after that.

They glanced at the tent on Ormund's back. They knew. Something had happened to that old man. But no one said a word.

Ethan kept up the act, riding Ormund like a conqueror returning home.

Then—

Boom.

A thunderclap cracked the skies.

From ten thousand meters high, a black cloud appeared out of thin air. It swelled rapidly, lightning flickering within like an awakening monster.

The air grew heavy, the sky dimmed as a booming voice echoed.

"World-Ending Thunder Art… Infinite Thunders Unleashed!"

Ethan looked up, face twisting.

'Damn it, he cursed silently. I forgot about that guy…'