Chapter 549: The Weight of Hidden Laws
Whoosh—five figures shot into the air, only to tumble headfirst like stones dropped from the sky.
Ethan instinctively raised his hands to shield his face.
"Ah—what the hell! You scared the life out of me!" Blackie’s voice cracked into a roar as his body surged outward, swelling and reshaping in midair. In the blink of an eye, the man was gone and in his place hovered a massive black-scaled beast. His Qilin form rippled with raw strength as he wavered twice, then steadied, floating effortlessly above the ground.
The others weren’t so lucky. Uncle Jed and the two beastkin plunged straight into the shallow river below. The stream wasn’t deep at all, its bed lined with jagged cobblestones and boulders the size of cartwheels. The three men struck them headfirst with uncanny precision.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Four dull crashes rang out as the rocks shattered beneath them.
Ethan barely spared them a glance. He knew their bodies could shrug off far worse than a few sharp stones. What truly caught his attention was Blackie. The moment he returned to his true form, the oppressive force that had dragged the others down no longer seemed to apply. He could hover freely, while in human form he had been no different from Uncle Jed and the rest, leaping high only to plummet back down.
So this wasn’t some hidden barrier in the Whitmore clan’s territory after all. The restriction wasn’t on flying itself—it was on human shapes. A law of this world, perhaps. Was this the way Earth itself enforced its order?
"Oh my... what kind of childish stunt are you pulling now?"
A voice rang out, deep and mocking.
"Jed, you’re old enough to know better. Why follow along with this foolishness? And Hank, still not sober? Fishing in the river with kids now?"
"Damn you, old geezer..." Hank, dripping wet, hacked up a mouthful of river water and spat. The drunkard had clearly sobered from the fall. Before, when Ethan had drawn him from his Mindscape, Hank had been half-asleep and unsteady. He hadn’t said a word, simply collapsed against a rock until Ethan called on him again. But now, after a freezing plunge, his first instinct was to curse.
The man he cursed stood calmly above the river, hands clasped behind his back as though strolling through a courtyard. City Lord Regis looked down on them all, his expression equal parts amusement and disdain.
Ethan’s chest tightened. The old City Lord was unaffected. He walked on air as though the restriction didn’t exist.
"What the... what’s going on? My strength—why did it drop to Transcendent-level?" Micah’s panicked voice cracked across the water as he scrambled upright.
That drew Ethan’s full attention. When they’d last parted ways, Micah had already broken through to War God-rank after devouring the Energy Cores Julian left behind. He could fly without effort, without runic talismans, just on raw Energy alone.
Ormund, too—the Greatfang Tiger who had sprouted wings and forced his bloodline to evolve—had reached War God-rank. Yet both now radiated the aura of Transcendents, their strength suppressed.
Blackie had once wallowed in his lack of progress despite consuming more cores than either of them, drunkenly complaining to Ethan of being a failure. Now, impossibly, he was the strongest among them, still firmly in the late War God stage.
And Uncle Jed... Ethan frowned. That man had long since surpassed even the ancient serpent-turtle of the North, his strength rivaling early Void-levels. Yet the aura that clung to him now was only that of an early-stage War God. His fall was the most severe of them all.
The only one untouched seemed to be Regis. His aura was... nothing at all. He looked like an ordinary old man, but even so, the force he exuded couldn’t be measured.
"Each world has its own order," the City Lord said at last, gazing skyward. "Here, the laws are heavier. I can feel an oppressive will pressing down from above, and something else besides—an unfamiliar power this world possesses that Umbral Star does not."
Ethan could only listen, baffled. There were too many mysteries he couldn’t grasp, and the records of Earth’s past were already lost to time. Perhaps no one alive truly understood.
By the time they returned to the Whitmore family grounds, dusk had settled. Torches lit the courtyard, and Markham had already set up his grill in the open square, the smell of smoke and spice thick in the air.
"Tonight we’ve got grilled vegetables! I hear they’re rare where you lot come from, so eat until you can’t stand them!" he bellowed, working the skewers with infectious energy.
Ethan introduced his companions one by one as Markham laughed and busied himself. "Maria! Bring out all the fruit from storage!"
Even Matriarch Whitmore had come to sit outside, cane resting across her lap as she watched the festivities. The courtyard had never been so alive with noise. But when her eyes fell on the six strangers at Ethan’s side, the light within them sharpened.
Her gaze lingered longest on Uncle Jed. Slowly, she rose to her feet, leaning on her cane as she approached. Then, with surprising solemnity, she bowed—not to Jed, but to Blackie.
"You’ve traveled far, honored guests. This old woman failed to welcome you properly." She bent as if offering the courtesy of a junior.
Blackie’s eyes went wide. He reached out quickly to stop her, stammering, but she stepped back to finish the bow before straightening.
"May I ask, senior... your level of ...?" she asked carefully.
It was considered rude to ask outright, but her tone was too respectful to ignore.
"War... War God-rank. Late stage," Blackie muttered, still dazed. He had never once been treated with such reverence, and the weight of it nearly made his chest swell.
"War God-rank?" Matriarch Whitmore’s brows knit. After a pause, she pressed, "What is the difference between War God and Transcendent? Does one need to reach unity with the heavens to ascend that far?"
Ethan, attuned now to auras after his trial in the Sea of Death, could sense her strength clearly. She was mid-Transcendent, yet her presence felt solid and unyielding, befitting her reputation as the strongest among Earth’s Eight Lineages. For all their weakness compared to Umbral Star, it was clear her foundation was formidable.
Blackie, however, was hopeless. "Uh..." He blinked, completely lost. He had no idea what "unity with the heavens" even meant.
He shot Ethan a desperate look.
Ethan sighed and stepped forward quickly. "Grandma Whitmore, please, these are all my friends. There’s no need for such formality."
"Nonsense." Her glare was sharp enough to cut.
Ethan froze, caught off guard, scratching at his cheek in embarrassment.
And then a sharp, feminine voice cracked across the courtyard.
"Old hag! What are you yelling about?"
A blue flash burst from Ethan’s brow as the Dragon Child manifested without warning. Her eyes burned with hostility as she faced Matriarch Whitmore, and her cry rose with the roar of a dragon. The very stones of the Whitmore compound trembled.
The courtyard fell silent. Every eye turned toward the small figure brimming with fury.
Matriarch Whitmore, who had always been the one to intimidate others, was left staring in stunned silence.
"You—you scared me..." Ethan muttered under his breath, biting back the curse on the tip of his tongue. She in human form, after all, though why she loathed Matriarch Whitmore so instantly was beyond him. Even against the Blood Clan she hadn’t bristled like this.