Level 1 to Infinity: My Bloodline Is the Ultimate Cheat!
Chapter 290 - 290: Flaw in the Formation

The moment GapInDefense received the urgent report, his reaction was instantaneous, though a fleeting pause betrayed a flicker of shock before he barked out commands with the authority of someone used to having them followed without question.

"Everyone, spread out and flank it from both sides—no one moves behind it!"

"Shield Tanks, stay disciplined. Maintain strike timing exactly as drilled. Keep it pinned—no more rolling!"

The Obsidian Ridgeback, a monstrous force of nature, had already torn through a squad of melee fighters during its initial onslaught, leaving behind a gruesome trail of twisted bodies that resembled discarded marionettes.

Though those fighters hadn't made much of a dent in the beast's health, their role wasn't to harm—it was to hold. Their sacrifice bought time for the Shield Tanks to surround the creature. But with their numbers dwindling rapidly, the prospect of locking down a creature that stood seventeen meters tall and stretched forty meters in length became far more uncertain.

Members of Apex Predators Guild responded with the kind of lethal coordination that only came from endless hours of training and real battle experience.

Ethan, watching with sharp, calculating eyes, couldn't help but be impressed by how efficiently they moved, their synchronization almost inhuman. At the front lines, directly confronting the Ridgeback, stood GapInDefense, unmoving and resolute. His massive tower shield trembled with every crushing impact from the beast's jagged fangs, each collision resounding like a war drum echoing through the cavernous battlefield.

Flanking him on both sides, three other Shield Tanks locked shields and stance, bracing themselves against the dragon's sweeping claw strikes with the kind of timing that seemed rehearsed to perfection. Then it began—thud… thud…—a rhythmic cadence of shield bashes, so perfectly in sync that it sounded less like separate individuals and more like one giant being hammering in defiance.

Even Ethan, hardened by battles of his own, felt a twinge of awe pulling at the corners of his mouth.

'So this is what crushed the Survivor Faction during the Faction Wars.'

The Carnage Faction had forged their strength in clashes just like this—battles where survival wasn't about strength alone, but about discipline and absolute cohesion.

The Survivors, by contrast, had spent too long repelling frequent raids and guild fights, never facing threats that demanded this level of unity. The wall of shields that now pressed the Ridgeback down was more than just a tactic; it was a philosophy, one practiced by thousands. And it worked.

Each time the beast showed signs of curling its body for another devastating roll, the formation struck in perfect unison, slamming it back down with such force that its motion collapsed in on itself.

Recognizing the importance of what he was witnessing, Ethan activated his recording module, silently tagging the footage for Skyblade. He might still be a noob now, but studying GapInDefense—a player whose reputation had bordered on myth in Ethan's past life, could cut years off his development curve.

It was clear that Apex Predators had come fully prepared. They weren't improvising; they had already scouted the Obsidian Ridgeback extensively. Their ranged players had repositioned as a single body, clustering to the beast's left flank and concentrating fire on a large, ragged wound that gaped along its unarmored underside.

Ethan's mind ticked like a metronome—whatever had inflicted that damage wasn't in the room now, but its mark had created an opening that could be exploited.

Under different conditions, Hunters equipped with Aimed Shot would be topping the damage meters without contest. The exposed flesh lacked the Ridgeback's otherwise impenetrable scales, rendering it a glaring weak point.

Yet even in the absence of high-end Hunters, the guild's eighteen thousand ranged members were systematically reducing its health bar. Spellcasters rotated through their incantations with near-mechanical precision—short bursts of magic taking no longer than a second and a half, each contributing to a coordinated barrage that, by Ethan's estimate, would take fifty rounds of focused fire to drop the creature.

That translated to just over an hour of continuous assault. Maybe eighty minutes, if complications arose.

Ethan glanced at the clock.

There was still time—assuming nothing went wrong.

But "wrong" wasn't just a possibility in Ethereal. It was a guarantee. For now, the Ridgeback remained subdued beneath the iron discipline of the Shield Tanks. But if it lashed out again—if the formation cracked even slightly—the frontlines would collapse, and the vulnerable rear ranks would be reduced to slaughtered prey. Time, like blood, would pour from the guild's grasp.

Ethan crouched low, wedged in the buffer zone between melee and ranged fighters, unmoving. Then, slowly, he shifted back against the jagged edge of a broken pillar. The stone was cold, and it bit into his spine, but he remained still, his gaze darting across the field.

The beast's screams filled the cavern with a dreadful melody—shrill, furious, and weakening. Yet despite the guild's flawless execution, something kept Ethan on edge. His hands wouldn't stay still.

He felt it again.

A tingling at the base of his skull. That primal sense that someone—or something—was watching. Twice now, he had spun around, searching the periphery of the fight for signs of another presence. Each time, he came up empty. No movement where there shouldn't have been. Just chaos, and the soldiers navigating it.

Still, he moved. Carefully. Quietly. He slipped into another shadowed crevice near the cavern wall just as flickers of motion began to manifest at the entrance.

The Hunters had returned.

First a trickle, then a stream, then a flood—dozens, then hundreds of them, fresh from the graveyard, faces set like stone. The Ridgeback's health bar flashed ominously as it edged closer to oblivion:

545,215 / 6,000,000 (9%)

The returning Hunters wasted no time. The first volley was like a thunderclap tearing across the cave. Four thousand bows loosed in one deafening wave.

Twang—

A storm of black-feathered arrows soared through the air in a deadly arc, every one aimed with grim accuracy at the wounded flank.

ROOOAAAR—!

The Ridgeback's howl made the cavern quake as the arrows punched into its flesh, turning the exposed wound into a forest of embedded shafts. Red numbers exploded above its body in a blizzard of damage notifications:

-15… -16… -18…

-85… -85…

The smaller numbers came from standard Aimed Shots, exploiting the weakened flesh. But those devastating double-eights?

Specialty arrows.

Ethan's breath caught. The Hunters weren't just back—they were armed for war. Apex Predators had supplied their entire division with true-damage ammunition. Although not legendary tier, they were powerful enough to bypass the beast's defenses completely. That single synchronized volley had probably burned through a mountain of gold.

And it paid off.

Four hundred thousand HP—erased.

The Ridgeback's life total collapsed into a sliver:

54,785 / 6,000,000 (1%)

Ethan exhaled sharply, whistling low under his breath. If these Hunters hadn't died earlier, they could've finished the boss off in just a few more volleys.

But there was a catch.

True-damage arrows only worked when the target's armor could be bypassed. Earlier in the fight, when the Ridgeback's obsidian-scale hide was still intact, even enchanted projectiles would have bounced off. In Ethereal, if a physical attack couldn't break through armor, it didn't deal chip damage—it dealt nothing. Just a "MISS." Spells, at least, always landed for a point or two.

And these arrows?

They were banned from most dungeons. Strictly for open-world use. Otherwise, the richest players in the game would be soloing bosses with their wallets instead of skill.

The effectiveness of the volley jolted Ethan to life. He hadn't positioned himself properly. No access to the corpse once it dropped.

One percent remaining. Still time to reposition.

He tensed—ready to move—

"HOLD! FUCKING HOLD FIRE!"

GapInDefense's voice tore across the battlefield, hoarse and urgent, his face glistening with sweat. Even he hadn't expected the volley to hit that hard. The Ridgeback wavered, bleeding from every pore, a single strike away from collapse.

Ethan stopped mid-motion, eyes narrowing. What the hell are they doing—?

And then it came again.

That feeling.

The hairs on his neck rose like wires pulled taut. He dove sideways, flattening himself against the ground behind a half-shattered column. His chest rose and fell like a drumbeat.

This time, it wasn't a false alarm, something was watching. And now, they were close.

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