Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat!-Chapter 903: Six Months Held Together

What Ethan did not realize was that his estimate had been low, painfully low. The descent did not merely continue, it dragged on until time itself felt distorted, until thought dulled and the body moved on habit alone.

Then came the real grind: hours of mind numbing descent that felt endless, repetitive, and cruel in its sameness. At least they were not swallowed by total darkness. That pull, that calling force, the power of summoning drawing them downward, was always there, subtle but absolute, a constant presence tugging at their bodies and minds alike, whispering that whatever waited below was inevitable.

"Boss... how long we been falling?"

Blackie’s voice sounded thick and unfocused, like he was speaking through fog. His eyes were half lidded, unfixed, the strain finally catching up to him.

Ethan glanced at the watch on his wrist, the high tech model that had come from the First Universe. Even the numbers on its face felt surreal.

"Seven hours."

His own eyes burned, bloodshot from staring into the same unchanging darkness for far too long. Seven hours. He had long since lost track of distance, lost track of how many kilometers they had fallen. This place was not a shaft or a cavern. It was a bottomless pit.

"Boss... let’s speed up again," Blackie muttered, his words starting to slur. "I can’t take this slow crawl anymore."

"Fine," Ethan replied, the word coming out flat. He was done with it too.

He released his grip, with his claws pulling free from the rock, and let himself go.

WHOOSH.

His body dropped like a stone, the wind screaming past him as gravity finally had its way. Blackie waited until Ethan had fallen far enough ahead, then wrenched his own Qilin Arms from the wall and followed.

The speed built relentlessly, faster and faster, until Ethan’s flesh and blood body began screaming warnings at him. Blackie had already been forced to stop multiple times along the way, clinging to the walls to recover. Ethan did not stop. He pushed, teeth clenched, forcing himself deeper into the fall.

Until he could not.

Just as he was about to reach out and slow himself again, the air around him erupted.

FWOOM.

Five colored light burst outward from his body, flooding the shaft with a brief, radiant glow. His skeleton, every bone within him, lit up as the power of the laws embedded inside surged to the surface, the energy forcing its way outward and pushing back against the pull below and the crushing pressure of the fall.

"Body’s at its limit, huh?" Ethan murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he watched the light surround him.

Every time this happened before, when his Quintessence Bone reacted on its own, it meant one of two things. Either his body had reached its absolute limit, or he had taken damage that should have killed him outright. This time, it was the former, and honestly, he was impressed. At the speed he had reached, with the pressure compressing him from every direction, he was fairly certain a missile could detonate against him right now and he would walk away without a scratch.

The five colored light solidified into a protective shield, and the crushing pressure vanished as if it had never existed.

Ethan reached out slowly.

SCREEEEECH. SPARK. 𝑓𝘳𝘦𝑒𝑤𝑒𝘣𝘯ℴ𝘷𝘦𝓁.𝑐𝑜𝑚

His claws struck the wall and real sparks flew, sharp and bright. The sensation jolted him. The rock was cold, not just cool but freezing, the chill biting straight through his defenses.

"What the hell...?"

He frowned, staring down into the abyss below. The darkness seemed heavier now, more oppressive.

"The closer we get to the core, the colder it becomes?" he muttered. "And this stone... it’s harder."

There was nothing to see, no hint of an end or even a change in terrain. Just blackness, endless and consuming, a true bottomless pit. For a moment, an unpleasant thought crossed his mind.

’Please do not tell me this thing punches straight through to the other side of the planet.’

He glanced upward. Blackie was nothing more than a distant dot now, barely visible. Yet the opening of the well above them remained the same size as it always had, unchanged no matter how far they fell.

’Weird. So damn weird.’

---

Ironvale Mountains, Silverwood Family’s hidden territory.

The training grounds Ethan would have recognized instantly were now unrecognizable. The sparring rings were gone, torn down six months earlier. In their place stood rows upon rows of tents, each one housing one or sometimes several VR capsules. What had once been open land was now packed tight with people moving constantly, voices overlapping, footsteps never stopping.

The Silverwood Council Hall was no different, crowded to the point of discomfort.

The head seat, left empty for as long as anyone could remember, was occupied at last.

Lyla Silverwood sat there.

Below her stood Donovan Silverwood, the Ninth Granduncle, his posture straight but weary. Across from him sat the Whitmore family’s matriarch, a woman Ethan would have recognized instantly, and beyond them were dozens of faces unfamiliar to him, representatives of sects and families drawn here by fear, frustration, and necessity.

"Lady Silverwood," an old man said as he rose to his feet, his gaze fixed squarely on Lyla. "Six months. How much longer do we cower?"

If Ethan had been present, he would have been utterly confused. Lyla? As family head? When had that happened? Yet there she was, unmistakably in command.

Lyla raised an eyebrow. "’Cower’?"

The old man seized on it, emboldened. "Is that not what this is? Out there, the Divine Sea Temple has taken everything. Every territory, every mountain. And us? Energy users like us are prey now, hunted for sport. Your family and the other three hide away in pocket worlds, refusing to fight, refusing to engage. What would you call it if not cowering?"

He paced as he spoke, his voice rising, working the room. A few heads nodded. A few voices murmured agreement. Others shifted uneasily, clearly wanting to agree but not daring to speak.

"So that’s what cowering means," Lyla said calmly, her tone so even it made the words sting.

"Then please, Sir Gideon, take your disciples and do not cower here a moment longer. The outside world is vast, and your Zenith Cult is mighty. Surely you can match the Divine Sea Temple in battle."

She did not raise her voice or alter her expression. "Our Silverwood halls are small, and we cannot accommodate someone of your stature. Feel free to leave. Anyone else who wishes to join the Zenith Cult may do so as well. Our resources are limited."

She finished speaking, lowered her gaze, and said nothing more.

Donovan Silverwood and the Whitmore Matriarch exchanged a glance so subtle it could have been missed, the faintest twitch at the corners of their mouths betraying their thoughts.

’Flawless.’

No insult had been given, yet the message was unmistakable. Leave. And she had tied it neatly to the very issue they had gathered to discuss, the strain on resources. The girl had grown. In just eighteen months, Lyla had changed from a child into someone capable of carrying the weight of an entire family on her shoulders, and that weight had come down hard.

’Where the hell is that Ethan kid when she needs him?’

They both thought it, and when they looked at her, there was something like pain in their eyes.

Sir Gideon stood frozen, words caught in his throat. He looked to the elders who had nodded along with him moments earlier, and they all looked away, suddenly fascinated by the floor, the walls, anything but him. This girl, this child, had cornered him completely.

You want to leave? Then leave and stop talking.

Sheltering them was an act of kindness, not obligation. Forcing her to lead the remaining families against the Divine Sea Temple was never going to happen. And that final remark about limited resources, what did that imply? Cuts? Exclusion?

He had walked in expecting to be the voice of reason, the leader who rallied the room. Instead, he had become the fool who stepped forward first and paid for it.

They had planned this, all of them. Test the girl. Push her, provoke her into calling for war, into leading them to reclaim their lost territories. Everyone present had influence, cults, reputations, and they were sick of hiding. They wanted their homes back, but they could not do it alone.

Rumor said that Lyla, along with three other women, had formed a combat formation unlike anything else, something terrifyingly powerful. Even the Whitmore Matriarch could not defeat them. There were whispers that they had already clashed with the Divine Sea Temple once and managed to seriously injure one of its core figures, one of its most important individuals.

And now, standing there under Lyla’s calm gaze, Sir Gideon realized just how badly they had underestimated her.