Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat - Chapter 702

Chapter 702: A Heist in Reverse

Seeing the two women successfully operate the mechs put Ethan’s mind at ease. It meant their neural synchronization was at least over fifty percent. The fact they could trigger attacks suggested it was even higher, probably pushing seventy or eighty. With that level of protection, their safety was pretty much guaranteed. Short of an absolutely catastrophic attack, nothing was getting through the armor forged from the otherworldly metals Shatterstar had used.

“Alright then, let’s move out. Lyla, why don’t you come with us?” Ethan invited.

“Huh?” Lyla was caught off guard.

“I need to find a bank to make a deposit. We’re probably going to need the cash flow tonight,” Ethan explained, then glanced at Amber. “I’m guessing you two won’t be back from your black market trip that quickly?”

“Best case scenario, we’re back tomorrow morning,” Amber confirmed.

…

On Crescent Isle, Ethan parted ways with Amber and the others, leaving just him and Lyla.

“Whew… finally,” he grinned, slipping an arm around Lyla’s waist.

“Hmph,” she feigned a glare but made no move to pull away.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

“First, we need to find some big bags,” Ethan mused. He was thinking of the massive haul of loose cash they’d seized from the Dissenter faction’s headquarters beneath Ashwick. It was all just sitting in his Mindscape. He couldn’t just walk into a bank and make a mountain of cash appear out of thin air; that would raise more than a few eyebrows.

“Bags?” Lyla questioned, confused.

“Scratch that. Let’s just get a truck,” he decided, realizing the sheer volume of cash would require something more industrial.

They found a rental company, and Ethan promptly rented a box truck. The moment the paperwork was done, he hit a snag.

Neither he nor Lyla had the commercial driver’s license required for it.

Frustrated, they had no choice but to hire a driver through the rental service. While they waited for the driver to arrive, Ethan slipped into the back of the truck. A few minutes of rustling later, he emerged. The truck’s suspension now sat noticeably lower.

The driver, a local man, showed up shortly after. Ethan directed him to a 24-hour branch of the Central Bank and asked him to pull right up to the front entrance.

“Uh… hey, kid, mind telling me what we’re doing at a bank with a rig this size?” the driver asked skeptically, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t worry, we’re definitely not robbing the place,” Ethan said from the passenger seat, offering a reassuring smile.

“Oh, I know. You booked me through the legit app. Only an idiot would pull a job this way. I’m just curious… what’s in the back that’s so damn heavy?”

The guy was sharper than he looked. Ethan and Lyla exchanged a glance and remained silent. The driver took the hint and didn’t press further.

After navigating the streets, they arrived at the bank, only to be immediately stopped by a security guard who waved them off aggressively.

“You can’t park that here! You’ll crack the pavement!” the guard shouted, his demeanor instantly condescending.

The driver, a hothead, rolled down his window and launched into a tirade so creatively vile it made Ethan’s ears burn. He insulted the guard’s ancestry, his future lineage, and everything in between without repeating a single phrase. The guard turned purple, his hand shaking so hard he could barely hold his radio.

“Whoa, whoa, big guy, that’s enough! I’ll handle it,” Ethan said, patting the driver’s shoulder and gesturing for him to roll the window up.

“No ven senta dalun, ka mi trema, zen si nokhavi!” the driver muttered under his breath in the local island dialect, something about the guard being an unworthy opponent.

Ethan, only catching every third word, just shook his head and got out. He ignored the sputtering guard and walked straight into the bank lobby.

A woman in her twenties wearing a bank uniform approached him. “What business are you here for today, sir?”

“I need to make a deposit,” Ethan stated.

“Oh,” she said, her tone instantly losing interest. “Deposits can be handled at the automated machines over there.” She pointed vaguely to the corner without making eye contact.

“The amount is… substantial,” Ethan said, his brow furrowing.

“The machines accept up to two thousand per transaction. If you have more, just make multiple transactions,” she dismissed him, then muttered under her breath as she turned away, “Vren ka tora ne!”

Ethan’s hearing was far beyond normal. While he didn’t understand the specific words, the derogatory tone was crystal clear.

“Shatterstar, translate that last phrase,” he commanded, his voice loud and clear.

[DING… Audio analysis complete. “Vren ka tora ne!” translates to: Hillbilly from the mainland.]

Shatterstar’s synthesized voice projected from his watch, echoing in the quiet lobby.

The bank clerk spun around, her face flushing not with shame, but with anger. “Security! This man is harassing me! Get him out of here!” she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at Ethan.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ethan breathed, his temper flaring.

At her cry, four or five guards converged on him, brandishing their batons and moving to physically push him out.

“Get lost,” Ethan said, his voice low. He didn’t even appear to move.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Five distinct sounds rang out. The guards cried out in unison, clutching their faces as they were thrown backward onto the floor.

“Ahhh! He’s assaulting people!” the woman screamed, her voice piercing the air. Even though she hadn’t seen him move, she knew it was him.

WHAP!

Her accusation was cut short as her head snapped to the side and she too was sent sprawling.

Everyone in the bank—employees and customers alike—stared in stunned silence. As far as any of them could tell, the man in the center of the lobby hadn’t moved a muscle. Even the high-resolution security cameras would show nothing but a stationary figure.

The bank’s internal alarm blared to life, its harsh wail echoing through the building and out into the street.

“Holy crap! You guys are robbing the bank!” the truck driver yelped, his eyes wide as dinner plates as he stared at Lyla, who was still sitting calmly in the passenger seat.

Inside, Lyla heard the alarm and sighed. Just a little surprised. When did Ethan not find trouble? She was almost getting used to it.

“Don’t worry about it,” she told the driver, giving him a sweet, disarming smile. She figured if she didn’t say anything, he’d probably abandon the truck and make a run for it.