Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat - Chapter 267

Chapter 267: A Crushing Grip
The sound had come from Lachlan Silverwood’s hand.

Clearly, the information had struck a nerve. Rage surged through him—so much so that the cup in his grasp should have shattered. Realizing his lapse in control, he gently eased his grip. The cup appeared completely unharmed…

Ethan, curious, quietly extended his senses—and what he discovered shocked him. The entire cup had been crushed into dust, yet it still held its original shape. This Eighth Lord of the Silverwoods… his power was truly unfathomable.

At the same time, Ethan inwardly scoffed. The old man was obviously trying to cover up his momentary loss of composure.

He had actually used his internal energy to forcibly restore the cup’s form.

Still, Ethan couldn’t help but wonder—who was stronger: Lachlan Silverwood or Matriarch Whitmore? He’d heard the Whitmore Family’s individual combat abilities outmatched any of the other noble houses. Their lower rank stemmed only from their small numbers, not a lack of strength.

“I asked why he came here with your Whitmore Family!” William Langford snapped, his voice rising.

Melinda was a master of redirection. She clearly understood his question but deliberately led the conversation elsewhere, instantly diverting everyone’s attention.

“He walked in on his own two feet. What a strange question. Or has old age finally caught up with your eyesight?”

“Er… cough, cough, cough…” A ripple of restrained laughter passed through the assembly of family heads. Many nearly burst out laughing, forcing themselves into coughing fits to hide their amusement.

Not only had Melinda avoided answering, she’d also sharply rebuked William Langford. The veins on his forehead bulged with fury. He looked nothing like the composed figure he’d presented on the contest stage that morning.

“Melinda! It’s truly inappropriate for you to bring an outsider here…”

A man from the Wynn family section spoke up.

“Get lost! Call me Melinda again and I’ll cut out your tongue!” Markham’s aunt snapped, cutting him off cold.

The man rubbed his nose, embarrassed, and swallowed the rest of his words.

Ethan glanced at Melinda in surprise, then at the man, thinking, These two… huh!

Curiosity sparked in him. He was just about to whisper to Markham—who stood beside him—asking whether his aunt had something going on with the head of the Wynn family, but just as he turned his head and looked around the hall, he noticed something odd about the seating arrangement.

Earlier, he’d been too focused on his stare-down with Lachlan Silverwood to pay attention.

Now, observing more carefully, he saw that aside from the grand throne-like seat at the center, there were four seats arranged on either side below it. Eight in total—and every single one was currently occupied.

He had initially thought there were only seven seats below, with the central seat left empty because the Silverwood patriarch hadn’t shown up. But now he realized something didn’t add up.

From the arrangement, Ethan could infer the ranking of the Noble Eight families:

First: Silverwood Family

Second: Whitmore Family

Third: Langford Family

Fourth: House of Zane

Fifth: Hargrove Family

Sixth: Quinn Family

Seventh: Wynn Family

Eighth: Blackwell Family

So… Ethan turned his gaze toward the throne at the center. Who was supposed to sit there?

Markham, standing close by, naturally caught the shift in Ethan’s expression and leaned in to whisper—

“Hmph…” Lachlan Silverwood suddenly snorted.

The sound was clearly directed at Ethan. A sharp, piercing pressure surged through his ears, as if they’d been filled with water.

Ding…

Matriarch Whitmore, who had been resting with her eyes closed, tapped her cane against the floor. A metallic hum reverberated in the air. Instantly, the pressure in Ethan’s ears vanished.

“You old bastard… What the hell was that for?”

No sooner had Ethan recovered than he let out a curse. The whole exchange—from attack to Matriarch Whitmore’s intervention—had lasted barely a heartbeat.

Matriarch Whitmore had only just opened her mouth to speak after tapping her cane, yet—

Ethan’s exclamation, “Old bastard!” had already echoed through the hall.

“Uh…” Matriarch Whitmore was momentarily speechless.

“You!” Lachlan Silverwood looked as if he would leap to his feet in fury. But mindful of his dignity, he forced himself to remain seated.

Yes, he’d launched a sneak attack on a junior—an utterly disgraceful act that had already cost him face. He had used Soul Sense, his specialty. He hadn’t expected the boy to survive it, let alone react with such composure.

Even more unexpectedly, Matriarch Whitmore’s power was beyond anything he’d anticipated. Just a strike of her cane had created vibrations strong enough to disperse his Soul Sense.

At this moment, murderous intent flickered in Lachlan Silverwood’s eyes. He glared at Ethan with the desire to crush him right then and there. But with Ethan standing behind Matriarch Whitmore, he had no choice but to restrain himself.

“Haha… Serves you right! Shameless old coot, attacking a junior at your age—how pathetic!”

Matriarch Whitmore had meant to speak, but Ethan’s outburst had gotten there first. Now, watching Lachlan Silverwood suffer in silence, she burst into laughter.

She dared to laugh; the other six family heads were red-faced, struggling to suppress their own amusement.

“Hee hee…” Someone couldn’t hold it in any longer and giggled out loud.

Ethan looked over and saw a young girl standing behind a seat in the Quinn family’s section. A woman seated in front of her turned to glare.

The girl quickly stifled her laughter and stuck out her tongue. Catching Ethan’s eye, she gave him a cheeky smile and made a playful face.

That was… Kiara Quinn? Eighth place in the Academic Trials, a rumored prodigy of the Quinn family. He hadn’t expected her to be just twelve or thirteen.

Ethan didn’t linger on her. He turned back toward Lachlan Silverwood and glared.

To be honest, the feeling was mutual. Lachlan wanted him dead, and Ethan felt the same way.

From what Donovan had told him, it was clear the Silverwoods’ current machinations were all orchestrated by this old man.

Still, political marriages had always been a Noble Eight tradition. This was the cruel fate of daughters born into these families.

As for the benefits of such alliances, Ethan wasn’t sure. He had assumed it was about merging assets in the outside world, consolidating power and influence.

What he hadn’t realized was that Lyla’s family was part of the Supernatural World—and not just any family, but one of its most elite. What resource could they possibly need that would require such a marriage?

“In that case, we of the Silverwood Family will first settle our personal grievances with this individual,” said Liam Silverwood, standing behind Lachlan, his tone deliberately calm. He was clearly trying to rescue the old man from his awkward position.

Upon hearing him, Matriarch Whitmore closed her eyes again, returning to her meditative state as if he weren’t worth acknowledging.

Ethan could feel it now—the real drama was about to begin.

“Oh? And what exactly do you mean by ‘personal grievances’?” Melinda asked coolly. But before Liam could respond, she added sharply, “And who are you, again?”

“I am Liam Silverwood, current chief steward of the Silverwood Family,” he replied with a frown. Melinda’s tone dripped with mockery, but he still gave her a proper answer.