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LEVEL EVERYTHING UP in my Eldritch Tribe

What if a power to level up or upgrade everything—your way of living, battle skills, military prowess, etc.—but this power is limited to your Eldritch tribe. Would you expand your tribe to rise above all adversaries, would you use it to gain more personal power or use it to toy with everyone? Lyerin wanted nothing more than peace on himself, but all he had was regret. He possessed a secret ability that allowed him to quickly excel at anything he chose, but he could only use it once. While others had to spend a long time to reach higher levels or master new skills, he only needed to complete a simple, specific task to level up. However, he had already used this ability to count a specific number of sand grains to save his own life. After that, his existence became a living hell. One day, he was unexpectedly sent back in time, where he would witness numbers appearing in the sky, signaling the end of the world again—an apocalypse he despised the most! But Lyerin realized he could use his ability once more, this time on a certain group of people. A TRIBE! ``` [ Ding! ] [ You have chosen to level up knife slash! As a Wildling of your tribe, you can level up your knife slash. ] [ Condition: Slash the knife 500 times. ] [ You have chosen a random tree to level up! The tree is part of your tribe; you can level it up. ] [ Condition: Water the tree 300 times. ] [ You cannot level up anymore due to your limited rank within the tribe. Raise your rank in the clan first. ] [ Condition: Give honor to the tribe. ] [ You have reached the peak level of your tribe. If you want to level up further, improve and level up your clan! ] [ Condition: Level up the Ancestral Healing Ritual, level up the Newborn Den, and level up the tribe's farm. ] ``` With this overpowered ability, can he still hold onto his selfish wish for peace within himself? Warnings: 1. Cold, Calculated and Cunning MC. 2. After 100+ chapters will be bloody.

Notorious_911 · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
284 Chs

Ramble!

Gorn Ironmaul stood at the highest point of the Ironmaul Clan's stronghold, surveying the landscape as the sun began to sink behind the jagged mountains. 

The air was still thick with tension, the ominous sensation from earlier gnawing at his gut. 

Around him, his Brutarian warriors prepared for battle, their armor gleaming in the fading light. 

Huge, powerful figures, the Brutarians were bred for war, their four-armed bodies built for crushing enemies and withstanding pain.

But something felt off tonight.

The Pig Orcs had attacked once already, but that was part of the survival game's natural flow. 

They had beaten them back, and it retreated for some unknown reason, maybe suffered losses, but survived as they always had. 

Now, as Gorn looked out over the valley below, he saw them again. 

The Pig Orcs. 

Forming into lines. 

Moving toward the Ironmaul stronghold like a slow tide of destruction.