Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat!-Chapter 843: The Scent

The three of them climbed out of the subterranean hideout into the stale daylight above. The Mad Engineer stayed glued to Ethan’s side, all his earlier bravado drained away, replaced by a nervous vigilance as his eyes kept flicking toward the bruised but still unmistakably dangerous young man.

He ushered them into a cramped bedroom upstairs, the kind that felt permanently cluttered no matter how much you cleaned it. Tools, half-finished gadgets, and loose wires littered every surface. He pointed at a dusty, waterproof backpack slumped against the bedframe, as if afraid to get any closer to it himself.

"It’s in there," he muttered, still not moving away from Ethan.

The young Mutant, whom Ethan had mentally dubbed the Direwolf, stepped forward without hesitation. He grabbed the pack, lifted it to his face, and inhaled deeply. His brow furrowed, confusion flashing across his sharp features.

"No scent?" Ethan asked.

The Direwolf grunted once in confirmation. Without wasting another second, he tightened his grip on the thick canvas and tore it open with raw, brutal strength. The fabric split apart with a harsh ripping sound.

A manila folder slid out and landed on the bed.

This time, when the Direwolf leaned down to sniff, his entire body locked up. His eyes widened, pupils dilating as shock gave way to a fierce, almost reverent excitement. Ethan did not need an explanation. He could see it written all over the young Mutant’s face. He had found it, the elusive, unmistakable scent of the Moonfrost Direwolf princess. The so-called ’Husky pup.’

Inside the folder lay the animal shelter’s paperwork. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

"Was it raining when you took her?" Ethan asked, turning to the engineer.

The man nodded quickly.

Understanding dawned instantly in the Direwolf’s eyes. Rain would have washed away any lingering external scent from the backpack, snapping the trail cleanly. The tension in his posture drained away, replaced by something far heavier and more complex than anger.

He turned to the engineer, his expression solemn. Placing his left hand over his heart, he bowed slightly, his movements deliberate and formal. "I apologize for my violence. And I thank you. For caring for our princess."

The gesture was clearly ritualistic, something ingrained deep in his culture.

"Uh... you’re welcome," the engineer stammered, caught completely off guard. "It was nothing, really."

Sensing an opportunity to be helpful, and more than a little eager to get this entire supernatural situation out of his house, the engineer cleared his throat. "Look, I can take you to the shelter myself. If you go alone, even with the paperwork, they might not tell you much. It’s been a couple of weeks. She could’ve already been adopted."

The Direwolf opened his mouth, pride clearly pushing him toward refusal. Then the words sank in. Worry flashed across his face, sharp and unguarded, overpowering his hesitation.

"Then... I would be in your debt," he said at last, his voice carrying a weight that made the words feel binding. "The Moonfrost Direwolves do not forget a debt. You will be repaid."

There was no exaggeration in his tone. It only confirmed Ethan’s growing impression that this was a proud and ancient people, bound by strict codes of honor. They avoided owing favors whenever possible, but once a debt was acknowledged, it became absolute.

’What kind of place is the Extreme South?’ Ethan wondered. He had always pictured it as nothing more than endless ice, penguins, and isolated research stations. Wolves surviving there seemed impossible at first. Then his mother’s parting words surfaced in his mind, unbidden and sharp. Her cryptic warnings about his so-called Vessel physique, the seal she had placed on him, and the true potential locked away inside his body, waiting... in the Extreme South. In the chaos of survival, he had nearly forgotten. That frozen wasteland might hold the key to breaking the limitations of his Energy Core.

But was that something he should even pursue? Morzan had chosen him precisely because he was a Vessel. If he stopped being one, would he still serve any purpose in the old entity’s plans? He needed answers.

"Go."

The single word echoed inside his mind, ancient and rasping.

Ethan jolted. "Holy shit, old man! You’re alive?" he snapped internally. "I’ve been calling you for days, and you show up now just to scare me to death?"

Morzan’s appearances were never timely, and never gentle.

"I am... weary. My appearances will grow fewer. Follow your own path."

The voice sounded thin, stretched to the brink, like fabric worn down to threads.

A sharp pang of concern twisted in Ethan’s chest. "What’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing fatal. Thirsty. A greedy wretch drank all my wine."

The answer was absurd, almost flippant, and clearly not the whole truth. Still, the exhaustion underlying the words was impossible to miss.

"Who stole your wine?" Ethan thought, irritation flaring hot and protective. "Point them out. When I’m strong enough, I’ll twist them into a pretzel for you."

Despite his casual tone and constant complaints, Ethan owed Morzan everything. His second chance, his power, his life with Lyla and the others, all of it traced back to that first desperate bargain. The idea that someone had taken advantage of the ancient being stirred a cold, dangerous anger in him.

The moment that thought fully formed—

BOOOOOOM!

Outside, the clear sky erupted with a thunderclap of impossible magnitude. The ground shuddered beneath their feet as if the planet itself had flinched, a deep, rolling tremor spreading outward in every direction.

"Hm?" Morzan’s tone shifted instantly, weariness replaced by sharp curiosity.

’What was that?’ Ethan pressed, alarmed.

There was no answer. Morzan vanished again, leaving behind only the fading echo of that celestial thunder.

---

Elsewhere, in a dimension of swirling, unshaped potential, a youth with ageless eyes stared upward in stunned disbelief. An immense, incomprehensible pressure had descended upon him, vast and silent as the space between galaxies.

"Impossible... it isn’t possible..."

"Ha! Seems possible to me! Now hand over my wine, or get twisted into a pretzel!"

A translucent figure materialized behind him. Morzan stood there with arms crossed, looking anything but weary, his expression smug with vindictive satisfaction.

The youth turned slowly, clutching a priceless, ancient looking green flask to his chest, the very one that usually hung from Morzan’s belt.

"It has slumbered for eons upon eons," the youth whispered, awe and terror bleeding into his voice. "It has no will, no consciousness. How could it stir? And over a threat from a mortal child? This... this cannot be a good sign."

Morzan snatched the flask back in one smooth, practiced motion. He took a long, indulgent pull, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Good, bad, maybe it’s just a new way to die," he said lightly. "Tell me, boy. How do you think the Divine Realm was born?"

The youth’s eyes snapped to his, realization crashing down with frightening clarity. "You mean..."

Morzan raised a hand, silencing him. He took another slow sip, savoring it, his gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the present moment. "Life, death, ascension, or maybe just one lucky soul climbing high enough and dragging all his friends along." A faint, knowing smile curved his spectral lips. "It all depends on how the kid grows, doesn’t it?"

The youth stared at him, the crushing pressure already fading from his awareness, replaced by a rising, electric sense of possibility.