Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat!-Chapter 343: Fury of the Scorpions

The man who had held Ethan back watched him charge into the fray. For a moment, he hesitated. But there was no point in running. Not from monsters like those. Still, with clenched teeth, he turned and sprinted after the fleeing crowd.

Ahead, Ethan met the first Deathstalker Scorpion head-on.

"Bear Form... Activate!"

[Ding... System Notification: Panther Form detected. Activate [Battle Embodiment] system to enhance human form abilities and enable multi-form capabilities simultaneously? Yes/No]

He blinked in surprise.

"...Yes!"

A faint shimmer—like the phantom of a panther—flashed and merged into him. Then, just as quickly, a phantom bear appeared behind him... and vanished into his body as well.

Immediately, his muscles surged with power. No slowdown. No strain. Just raw strength coursing through his veins.

His limbs thickened. Veins bulged beneath his skin. It was the first time Ethan had experienced such a transformation—and for a moment, it stunned him.

’Battle Embodiment...’

No time to dwell on it.

A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see a massive pincer, thick as a battering ram, swinging down.

Its dull yellow shell reflected the sun harshly. His Appraisal skill had failed to scan the creature. All he knew: this thing was big—and brutal.

Ethan dove to the side just in time.

Boom—

The pincer smashed into the sand where he had stood, leaving a wide crater. His face darkened.

This thing wasn’t just strong—it was fast.

Before he could regain his footing, the scorpion’s stinger came for him. A blur of blue light lanced toward his chest—its glow so vibrant, it stood out even against the blazing desert sun.

He twisted and rolled again, narrowly avoiding it.

"Damn it. Why won’t Appraisal work?" he growled, teeth gritted.

Everything about the Deathstalker screamed danger. One misstep and he’d be paste.

He hadn’t even landed a blow yet—and he was already dodging for his life. A hot, frustrated anger bubbled up in his chest.

When had he ever been this outmatched?

The stinger struck again—he ducked. This time, the pincers came for his midsection.

"Go to hell..."

Ethan snapped, no more running.

He planted his feet, coiled his body, and swung a full-force Heavy Strike straight into the oncoming pincer.

Boom!

Crack!

The scorpion’s limb recoiled violently, a deep fracture spreading across its armored surface.

The creature—nearly thirty feet long—was sent tumbling across the sand like a toppling truck.

Ethan lowered his fist, eyes narrowing at the damaged pincer. A grin spread across his face, all teeth and heat.

Then, without pause, he charged.

As he dashed forward, a faint flicker of a Owl Form shimmered behind him—awkward and small, but oddly present.

The sound of battle exploded across the dunes. The scorpion shrieked, high-pitched and furious.

And that was all it took.

A ripple passed through the swarm. The rest of the Deathstalkers—hundreds of them—pivoted as one.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

They stormed toward Ethan.

---

In the distance, the fleeing crowd heard it too—the impacts, the screeching, the rising rhythm of chaos.

The man who had shouted for Ethan to run kept glancing over his shoulder, torn between guilt and fear.

Three of the giant scorpions had broken off from the main group and were gaining fast.

He turned to the others.

"Keep moving!" he barked. "Don’t stop!"

Then he halted.

From his back, he pulled a crude weapon—just a long stick with a sharp stone tied to one end.

"Young men, stay with me! Women, children, elders—run!"

At his command, a group of able-bodied men hesitated, then stopped. Fear clouded their eyes, but they stayed.

"You scared?" the man asked, almost laughing.

No one answered.

"What, you think we haven’t killed one before?"

One of the men—the father of the little girl Ethan had met—spoke up, voice trembling.

"Uncle Jed... last time, we only managed ’cause Lucky was still—"

Jed cut him off with a glare.

"If we don’t hold them here, your wife and Dot won’t make it."

The man shut his mouth.

The group turned to glance behind them. The crowd was still fleeing, the shrieks of children piercing the wind.

When they looked back, something had changed. Their fear hadn’t vanished—but resolve had taken root.

Jed gave a firm nod.

"Junior, Spike—grab some men and prep the nets!

Rusty, you’re with the hooks. Control two of them—don’t get hit!

The rest of you, with me. We bring one down first!"

He jabbed the air with his makeshift spear as the three scorpions closed in rapidly.

Beyond them, dust boiled up from the battlefield where Ethan fought alone. Jed squinted toward the chaos, the ground trembling beneath his feet.

’That kid’s no ordinary fighter...’ he thought.

---

Back at the front, Ethan was a whirlwind of fury. He leapt from one scorpion to the next, fists slamming into armored bodies.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The scorpions’ exoskeletons were absurdly durable. Even his enhanced strength barely cracked them.

Strike. Dodge. Strike again. But no matter how hard he hit, none of the scorpions dropped.

Frustration burned in his chest.

’If only I were a Warrior... he thought bitterly. With a proper weapon, I could tear through these things.’

He had been fighting for what felt like hours—exhausting himself, scattering shells and cracking limbs. But none of the creatures died.

Their armor broke—but before he could follow up, others would lunge, forcing him to dodge again.

His breathing grew ragged. His limbs began to tremble. A chill ran down his spine.

He was getting tired.

That had never happened in Ethereal before. Not like this. Not even during the Dreamscape training. Not even in the Underworld.

This... battlefield felt real.

Was this Chaos Realm Ancient Battlefield... something more than a map? Was it between the real world and the game?

The line blurred in his mind.

Then, a memory sparked—his Soul Sense forging the miniature Twilight War Spear inside his Mindscape. Was that why it never showed up in his equipment slots?

Heart racing, Ethan called upon his Soul Sense. He reached inward, searching.

And something responded.

Buzz—

A beam of white light burst from between his brows, stretching and twisting in midair. Then, it solidified.

A weapon materialized in front of him, his Twilight War Spear.

But it had changed. The handle alone was five feet long. The blade—an eight-foot, triple-edged pyramid—glinted with chilling sharpness. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Blood grooves ran along each edge, gleaming a soft crimson.

Despite the nine burning suns above, the weapon radiated cold. It looked more like a monstrous spike than a traditional spear.

Ethan stared, dumbfounded.

’It used to be barely five feet long... what the hell?’

No time to question it. He grabbed the hilt.

Swing—

He struck the nearest scorpion charging in from the side. The impact reverberated up his arms.

’So heavy...’

In Ethereal, the spear had never felt like this, but now, he felt every bit of its thousand-pound weight.

Luckily, his strength was monstrous. He adjusted, gritted his teeth, and swung again.

The scorpion shrieked, Its massive pincers—like twin boulders—shattered under the blow. The spear drove through its shell like paper.

With a crack, Ethan ripped it upward, tearing open the creature’s carapace. It peeled back like crab shell, exposing pale flesh underneath.

The heat of the sun hit it instantly—turning it a milky white.

Ethan caught a whiff. He froze as his stomach growled.

"...Smells so damn good."

He nearly choked on his own tongue.

’This is not the time...’

But now that he had a real weapon, the tide turned. He didn’t know any spear techniques—he fought like a brawler with a club.

Swing. Chop. Lift. Thrust. Simple, brutal and effective. Every hit shattered something. Every strike tore limbs, cracked shells, spilled guts.

But still—they didn’t stop coming.

The Deathstalkers weren’t afraid of death, they didn’t retreat nor did they hesitate. Unless they were completely destroyed, they just kept charging.

And so Ethan fought, standing alone like a war god in the sandstorm of fury.

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