Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat - Chapter 695

Chapter 695: A Brick to the Face

Ethan’s roar was so sudden and unexpected that it actually made the Steward of the Divine Sea Temple flinch. The man froze in confusion, his hands instinctively flying up to feel his own swollen face. His furious charge, fueled by rage, had been completely broken by a single shouted taunt.

The spectators below could only look on in disbelief.

Uncle Jed shook his head in profound disappointment. “Ethan’s right. The man’s a fool. His raw power isn’t bad, but… ah… he has zero combat instinct. Utter trash.” Having delivered his verdict, he turned away, no longer interested in the spectacle.

Regis nodded in silent agreement.

The so-called Steward, now halted mid-air, peered through the slits of his swollen eyes but saw no sign of Ethan. A moment later, he felt a chilling gust of wind whistle past the back of his head. He tried to turn, but his pummeled head refused to pivot. Forced to spin his entire body, he was met not with an enemy, but with a dark blur slamming directly into his face.

THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!

“AGH—!”

A fresh wave of agony erupted as he was sent flying backward. He stumbled through the air in a pathetic, flailing roll. Right in the center of his face, a perfect, square-shaped indentation was now stamped into the flesh. His once-prominent nose was crushed deep into his skull, rendering his entire visage a flat, bloody mess.

The younger generation, like Victor and the others, watched with wide, horrified eyes. Their gaze was fixed on the object now held casually in Ethan’s hand: a square, jet-black block.

“Is that… the Mark of Oblivion?” The one who spoke was Blackie. He had been there when Ethan acquired the Mark in the Sea of Death. But this soul artifact, a treasure of significant grade, was now being gripped in Ethan’s fist like a common piece of pavement rubble. Looking back at the perfectly square imprint on the Steward’s face, they all realized the truth: Ethan had just used the sacred Mark as a blunt-force brick.

“Your face is so damn big,” Ethan remarked with a disdainful click of his tongue, lightly tossing the Mark of Oblivion in his hand. “This stamp could only cover your nose.”

Everyone below facepalmed in unison. ‘His face is big because you’re the one who pounded it into that shape!’

“You little beast…!” The Steward, an ancient monster who had lived for who-knows-how-long, was so enraged he was nearly incoherent.

“Old beast is calling who?” Ethan retorted, eyes narrowing.

“The old beast is calling you!” the man snapped back without thinking, his anger overriding his reason.

“Well, well… at least you have some self-awareness and know you’re an old beast,” Ethan said, a pleased smile spreading across his face as he looked at the man with an expression of mock approval.

“You… You… YOU… Guh—!”

Steward Seventy-Nine of the Divine Sea Temple, an Energy user of considerable rank, was driven to such a fury that a torrent of blood erupted from his mouth. His entire presence here had been one colossal mistake, the beginning of a tragic comedy. First, a series of humiliating slaps. Then, getting smashed in the face with a brick. Now, he had been verbally tricked into publicly declaring himself an “old beast.”

“You wretched little bastard! This esteemed one will kill you today!” The man seemed to have a one-track mind, even now still clinging to the delusion of defeating Ethan.

“‘Esteemed one’ again. I hate those two words!” Ethan’s voice turned cold. He took a single step and vanished from the Steward’s limited field of vision.

This time, the man was slightly wiser. Before his body could fully turn, his longsword was already whipping backward in a wide, desperate arc. With his head too swollen to pivot, and the recent memory of being smashed in the face fresh in his mind, he defaulted to the assumption that Ethan would attack from behind.

“He’s finished,” was the unanimous thought of everyone watching.

“Panther Form… Spirit Summoning! Pathfinder’s Guidance… right up your ass!”

Ethan’s voice drifted lazily through the air. The Steward’s backward slash met only empty space, causing him to stagger off-balance. Hearing Ethan’s words, he glanced down in panic—just in time to see a gleaming, incandescent spear materialize. It shone with a blinding, holy radiance that seared his eyes.

“Ah—!” The cry of pain was cut short after a single syllable as an excruciating sensation erupted from a very specific, very vulnerable part of his anatomy. A cold, sharp point burst out from within his own mouth—the tip of the Twilight War Spear.

Ethan gave the spear a sharp, twisting flick. The Steward was hoisted into the air like a suckling pig on a spit, skewered from below and emerging through his mouth.

“Devour.”

HUM—

Ethan had no intention of letting this resource go to waste. The man might have been a brain-dead moron with the combat sense of a rock, but his Energy base was, without a doubt, the most potent and dense that Ethan had ever encountered personally. (The one vaporized by Shatterstar’s cannon back in the Blood Clan world didn’t count).

A vast, roaring river of pure energy flooded into Ethan’s core. While his body was still a sieve, incapable of retaining energy on its own, the nascent star-seeds within his core were the perfect vessels. During his earlier introspection, Ethan had noticed that after their reorganization, the seeds seemed to have exhausted all the energy they had previously absorbed. This was especially true for the central 10,800 star-seeds containing the lightning runes; they glittered with potential but were completely empty of power.

In an instant, the entirety of Steward Seventy-Nine’s Energy was converted into nourishing fuel for them.

Ding… Ding… Ding…

As the massive influx of energy poured into the celestial orrery of his core, the star-seeds reacted like cats sensing prey. They began to shimmer and pulse, truly resembling a galaxy of distant suns flaring to life. It wasn’t just the seeds; the two intersecting golden rings that formed the orrery itself also began to spin faster, their rotations accelerating wildly. Ethan could feel them hungrily absorbing the energy flowing through him.

These two visible golden rings were peculiar. Though clearly perceptible, they weren’t physical entities. As they spun, they passed straight through the phantom image of the Tree of Life’s trunk as if it weren’t even there, behaving exactly like beams of pure, intangible light.

“You dare destroy my physical form?! The Divine Sea Temple will hunt you to the ends of the earth!”

Just as the Steward’s body crumbled to dust and was fully consumed, a milky-white apparition shot out from the dissipating energy. It was the man’s soul form, his Spirit Phantom. It wasted no time, screeching that final threat before attempting to streak away into the distance.

“I knew you were a Soul-Wielder all along. I’ve been waiting for you to pop out!” Ethan bellowed, completely unsurprised. “Ryan… Bag him!”