Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat - Chapter 622

Chapter 622: Blood of the False Gods

Ethan felt a sudden lightness in his body as his feet landed on jagged rocks. A swirl of color flashed before his eyes, dizzying and brief. When his vision cleared, he realized he was standing in an unfamiliar place.

Around him, people still looked disoriented, some even swaying slightly as they struggled to steady themselves. Ethan knew this was the lingering effect of teleportation. In that instant, he dismissed his combat mech and slipped into the crowd, blending in like any other traveler.

“Huh?”

A puzzled voice sounded beside him. Ethan turned and found himself staring into a familiar pair of eyes.

“Brother… you…”

It was Fatso — the chubby man with Soul Sense. He had recovered his senses faster than most, and naturally, he had noticed Ethan’s sudden appearance.

“What are you looking at? Who’s your brother? Get lost.”

Ethan shot him a glare, his tone sharp and dismissive.

By then, the others were beginning to come to their senses as well. Fatso rubbed his nose awkwardly but caught on immediately. Ethan clearly wanted to keep a low profile. There was no point in drawing attention here.

Then came the sound.

A deep, resonant roar tore through the air, so powerful it made the ground tremble. The very sky seemed to shudder as an overwhelming aura spread across the island.

Ethan looked up, his expression tightening.

Just as the woman had described, the island was completely surrounded by vast, churning waves — like a colossal waterspout that rose straight from the ocean, stretching endlessly between sea and sky. But what Ethan saw next nearly made his heart stop.

This wasn’t a dragon at all.

It was a nest of Wyrms.

He had never seen one before, yet his Soul Sense swept instinctively across the massive vortex, revealing their shapes — enormous serpents coiled within the swirling waters, each bearing a single horn on its head. They perfectly matched the ancient legends: Wyrms, the forerunners of dragons.

But there was something off about them. Each Wyrm carried a faint draconic aura, subtle but unmistakable.

Ethan frowned. Could Wyrms really evolve into dragons? The thought sounded absurd even in his own mind.

He had once asked Dragon Child about it, and she had looked at him with pure disdain. “Do you think different species can just evolve into the same bloodline?” she had said.

She never gave him a direct answer, but Ethan knew what she meant — Wyrms couldn’t become dragons.

So where did this draconic aura come from?

Was Dragon Child mistaken because she wasn’t from Earth? Could the evolutionary rules here be different? Could Wyrms on Earth truly transform into dragons?

Before he could think further, the roar echoed again. The vortex at the top of the waterspout began to glow, shedding countless specks of crimson light that drifted downward like rain made of blood.

Yet the droplets didn’t fall to the ground. Instead, each one hovered in the air before the people below.

“A drop of Sacred Blood for each of you,” a hollow, echoing voice declared. “A worthy reward for reaching this place.”

The crowd erupted in excitement. Many hurriedly pulled small glass vials from their robes and bags, collecting the glowing red drops with practiced ease. It seemed everyone had come prepared.

Everyone except Fatso.

He looked around, clearly flustered. He probably hadn’t planned to come here at all — maybe he’d just tagged along after hitting it big with Ethan at the casino.

“Brother, if you don’t have a container, why don’t you let me take that drop?” someone beside him offered with a grin.

But before the man could finish his words, Fatso simply reached out, caught the hovering drop of Sacred Blood in his palm, and, under everyone’s stunned gaze, stuck out his tongue and licked it clean.

“I paid a hundred thousand to get in here. Why would I hand it over to you?” Fatso said, jutting his chin out defiantly.

The man beside him sighed and gave him a helpless look. “I’ve been watching you. You’re not sick, so you’re just wasting it. You know, once the Sacred Blood Ritual ends, those who didn’t win the bid will pay a fortune to get their hands on a drop like that. Forget a hundred thousand — they’ll pay two or three hundred thousand easily.”

Fatso froze, eyes widening in disbelief. “Wait, you’re serious?” His face twisted in regret as he realized what he had just swallowed. “So you’re saying… I could come here every month and get rich?” His expression shifted instantly, eyes practically glowing with dollar signs.

“Buddy, don’t even dream about it,” the man said, shaking his head. “The second time you come, the entry fee is ten times higher. And the third time? Another ten times after that.”

Fatso’s jaw dropped.

Ethan, standing nearby, couldn’t help but feel a flicker of surprise. If people were coming back multiple times, that meant there were plenty of fools rich enough to keep paying — and plenty more being exploited. By the third visit, the price would be too absurd.

He exhaled quietly. ‘So many rich idiots in one place.’

With that thought, Ethan reached out and caught the drop of “Sacred Blood” hovering before him. He brought it close to his nose and sniffed lightly. His brows drew together almost immediately. Something was wrong.

A cold light flickered in his eyes as he flicked the drop from his hand, letting it splatter on the rocky ground. His gaze shifted toward the heart of the island, where a dark suspicion began to take root.

“Hey, Brother, don’t just throw it away!” Fatso’s voice called out. “You’re wasting it worse than I did!”

Ethan turned toward him, irritation creeping into his tone. “Do you even know what that is?”

Fatso blinked. “What is it?”

“Human blood,” Ethan said flatly. “And not just any human blood — it’s corpse blood.”

“Huh?”

This time Fatso didn’t bother whispering. His voice came out loud and clear, drawing the attention of those nearby. He turned pale, gagging as he clutched his stomach and bent forward, looking ready to vomit.

“Hey, don’t waste it!” the man beside him shouted, jumping in alarm. “Do you have any idea how valuable—”

Before Fatso could retch, the man grabbed his face, clapping a hand over his mouth and forcing his head back. Ethan watched, stunned, as Fatso’s cheeks bulged. Despite his sharp Soul Sense, he clearly hadn’t trained his body at all. Against the man’s grip, he was helpless.

Then came a loud gulp.

“Ugh… hiss…”

A wave of disgust rippled through the crowd. Several people turned away, covering their mouths. A few women gasped and clutched their chests, struggling not to be sick themselves.

The man who had forced Fatso to swallow patted his back with a grin. “I know it’s disgusting, but it’s better than wasting it. If I hadn’t been quick…” He wiped his hands with a tissue, still speaking proudly, as if he had just done a favor.

Fatso’s face turned red with fury. The urge to strangle the man right there was almost irresistible.

Before he could react, a shift in the atmosphere drew everyone’s attention.

A group of figures appeared in the distance, slowly approaching. All of them were dressed in flowing white robes that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. Even with his Soul Sense, he couldn’t see through those robes. Whatever they were made of, it completely blocked any attempt to probe their true forms.

He was certain of one thing though — beneath those robes were the Wyrms, taking on human shape.

The robed figures didn’t even glance in his direction. They moved in eerie unison, walking past the crowd and ascending a high stone platform that loomed ahead — an altar, ancient and solemn, radiating a strange and oppressive power.