Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat!-Chapter 888: The Reckoning

When the Feathers made their announcement, every Dark Web expert nearby turned their gaze toward the Nine-Color Lake.

What they saw only deepened the confusion.

Straight ahead, the milky lake had frozen solid. Its pale surface was smooth and opaque, like polished jade sealed beneath glass. A white Qilin stood atop the ice, perfectly still. Its posture was so rigid it looked less like a living creature and more like a statue carved by some ancient hand.

To the right, the black lake was pure chaos.

Explosions of light erupted one after another as spells detonated in rapid succession. Raw energies clashed and collided, flashing so brightly they turned the sky into an endless storm of fireworks. Whatever violent battle raged within was completely obscured by the glare.

And yet, it was the milky lake that unsettled them most.

A deep furrow scarred the frozen surface—a long trench carved straight through the ice, as though something had been dragged across it with unimaginable force. Within that gouge, milky-white liquid flowed steadily, moving like a river trapped beneath crystal.

Of the man they were supposed to be hunting, there was no sign at all.

Days earlier, when the colossal catfish had blocked their advance, they had briefly glimpsed two figures in this area. Since then, all attention had been consumed by the black lake. The battle there had never ceased.

Someone was still fighting.

Almost without thinking, they surged toward the distant chaos as one.

They hadn’t even covered half the distance when something burst out of the riot of color—hurled backward like a cannonball.

The figure slammed through the air and crashed down directly in front of them. The man; if he could still be called that, was a wreck.

His black robes had been burned into ragged strips, barely clinging to his body. Smoke curled from more than a dozen smoldering holes. His hair was half-charred, sticking out at odd angles, and his face was so thoroughly blackened it looked as though it had been shoved headfirst into a furnace.

He spun once more, skidded across the ground, then staggered upright. Still facing the black lake, he instinctively gathered himself, ready to charge back into the fight.

Then he sensed something behind him, causing him to stop and turn slowly.

Dozens of faces stared back at him, and for a split second, silence reigned.

"Holy shit!"

The words burst out from both sides at once.

Up close, the burned figure was genuinely horrifying—like something that had clawed its way out of a grave. When he opened his mouth, the contrast was almost absurd: perfect white teeth gleaming against a face blackened beyond recognition.

But the figure; Blackie—was just as stunned. Where the hell had all these people come from?

Recognition flickered through his scorched, half-fried mind, and instinct took over before logic had a chance.

He raised a hand and struck first.

A blade of light tore free, spinning with four distinct colors. Its arc was wide enough to engulf the entire group.

The experts reacted instantly. Shields flared into existence. Barriers snapped shut as they braced for impact.

The blade reached them, and vanished with a soft pop.

It had disappeared, just like that.

Blackie’s expression shifted beneath the soot-blackened mask. Aggression drained away, replaced by sudden embarrassment... then creeping dread. His knees almost buckled, but he locked them in place, forcing himself upright through sheer stubbornness.

The experts stared at the empty space where the attack should have landed. Then they looked back at him.

Confusion hardened into anger.

"You think this is funny?"

"He’s with that Ethan guy," someone spoke. "He knows where the target is!"

Just then figure lunged forward, causing Backie’s heart to sink.

He had emptied everything he had in that last exchange with the Void Qilin—only to get kicked out of the fight entirely. He hadn’t had time to rest or recover, and now this.

Still, his body moved on instinct. Relying on brute strength alone, he stepped into the charge and met the incoming energy user fist to fist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he searched desperately for Ethan.

Where the hell was his boss?

The last time Blackie had seen him, they’d been fighting side by side. That had been days ago. He’d been so consumed by his own trial that he hadn’t noticed Ethan being blasted away, and hadn’t seen him dragged beneath the lake’s surface.

The opponent fought like a brawler, having overwhelming power and minimal technique. Strong, sure, but crude. Blow after blow slammed into Blackie, failing to breach his natural defenses. They traded hits in a brutal exchange, and despite having nothing left in reserve, Blackie refused to give ground.

"What are you waiting for?" the boxer shouted over his shoulder. "Jump him!"

The others hesitated.

"I’m not ganging up on a kid," someone muttered.

Blackie’s form hadn’t changed. Beneath the soot and burned rags, he still looked twelve—maybe thirteen at most. And for all their ruthlessness, reputations still mattered. Somewhere deep down, a faint echo of old-world chivalry lingered. Beating a child to death in broad daylight, with witnesses everywhere, was the kind of stain that never washed clean.

As the boxer struggled, a few others drifted toward the black lake, curiosity gnawing at their caution.

One man with sharp, angular features broke away completely and stepped toward the frozen surface.

Blackie noticed immediately and his is lips twitched.

’Idiot. You’re about to have a very bad day.’

The man stepped onto the ice.

"Non-participant enters trial grounds. Execute."

The voice struck everyone at once—ancient, absolute, vibrating through bone and blood. The final word drove a spike of terror straight into their veins.

The black ice beneath the man’s feet shimmered.

Seven colors flashed in perfect unison.

A beam of light erupted upward, piercing through his body from sole to crown in less than a heartbeat. There was no time to react, not even a chance to scream.

He froze mid-step, then his entire body crystallized, transformed into a statue of prismatic glass.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The sound rang out sharp and brittle.

Shatter.

The statue collapsed, disintegrating into a cascade of glittering dust that drifted gently across the ice.

A wave of silence followed.

The man who had just died was Mike.

The blonde woman who had taunted him earlier stared at the drifting dust, her expression hollow. She knew his strength better than anyone. They were both from Germany and longtime rivals who had clashed countless times for Dark Web rankings, trading kills among subordinates, mortal enemies in every sense.

And yet, watching him be erased so casually twisted something in her chest. A loss she hadn’t expected to feel.

Blackie grinned beneath his charcoal-black mask. The boxer seized the opening and drove a fist straight at Blackie’s face.

This time, Blackie didn’t dodge.

Crack.

The punch smashed into his nose, blood spraying outward. Blackie grunted, then wrapped both arms around the boxer’s waist. With a planted foot and a sharp twist, he hurled them both forward in a tangled heap.

They crashed onto the black ice together.

"Execute."

Boom.

Two sounds merged into one—the ancient sentence of death, and a beam of mixed energy slamming straight into Blackie’s chest.

The boxer crystallized instantly, shattering just like Mike.

Blackie was blasted backward, tumbling off the ice and across the rocky ground. But even as he rolled, laughter tore from his throat, wild and unhinged. He sprang back to his feet and lunged at the nearest expert.

"Come on!" he shouted. "Hit me!"

The man stumbled backward in panic, his memory screaming warnings. Sweat burst across his forehead as he twisted away, putting as much distance as possible between himself and the grinning demon-child.

Blackie hit the ground running and immediately switched targets.

By now, everyone understood. This monster was trying to drag them onto the ice.

He was in the middle of his own trial. Anyone else who entered the battlefield was executed instantly by the lake’s guardian. The trial-taker himself took a hit every time—but it never killed him. It only sent him flying.

Who in their right mind wanted to play that game?

The crowd scattered, retreating from Blackie as though he carried the plague. And then, almost at the same moment, their attention shifted to the white ice.