The Last Disciple of Lightning Peak

The air around the central courtyard still crackled faintly from the lingering echo of Aarush's awakening. A pale light shimmered on his skin, fading slowly, like the last flicker of a storm that had raged in silence. He sat cross-legged, breath steady but shallow, as if the act of summoning his martial soul had drained his very core. His robes clung damply to his back, sweat trailing down his temples. His fingertips trembled subtly, and his spiritual sea churned as if recovering from a mighty wave.

Suddenly, Niva rushed toward him, worry etched across her face. "Are you alright?" she asked, her tone more urgent than anyone had heard before.

Aarush offered a faint smile, but his voice was faint. "Yes… I'm fine."

But Niva didn't seem convinced. She knelt beside him, hands hesitantly touching his shoulder and upper arm, checking for signs of injury or internal backlash. His body felt hot to the touch, qi flow erratic—she could tell he had nearly overdrawn his essence.

The proximity made Aarush a little awkward; her concern felt overwhelming, personal.

Realizing her actions, Niva blinked rapidly, cheeks flushing. She withdrew her hands. "S-sorry. I didn't mean to—"

Aarush gently placed his hand over hers. "And you? What about your awakening?"

Niva avoided his eyes, shaking her head. "Forget about mine. Your condition matters more right now."

A soft voice joined them. "She's right."

Everyone turned. It was Sylara—Aarush's senior sister. Calm, composed, and authoritative, she stepped forward, her presence immediately commanding attention.

"Look at your body," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "You've drained nearly all your energy. Meditation and restoration are your priorities. Don't worry about the others. Niva, I believe you've brought something for him?"

Niva nodded, quickly taking out a small vial of energy-replenishing spirit essence.

Not far behind, Sariya, the Phoenix-Emblem girl, stepped forward slowly. Her gaze fixed intently on Aarush, her crimson eyes narrowing.

"That aura…" she murmured, mostly to herself. "Could it be…?"

In the crowd, many onlookers were still processing what they had just witnessed. Whispers traveled like wind among dry leaves.

"I swear I'll remember this day," said a young boy proudly. "That guy—he's from the town just five hours from mine!"

Another smacked the back of his friend's head. "Then why didn't you cheer for him earlier, huh? Why didn't you support him when others mocked him?"

The boy shrank in his seat, lips pressed into silence.

Yet not all reactions were joyful. A particular group within the crowd stood out—their robes darker, a cold pride in their bearing. One of them scoffed.

"So what if he awakened a martial soul?" he sneered. "He'll always be trash in our eyes."

Another stepped forward from their ranks. A boy with a half-burned face and one eye that glowed faintly like a cursed ember. His voice cut through the murmurs.

"What… what… if trash awakens a martial soul?" he said, repeating the words as if savoring them. "Doesn't mean he's a genius. Let him celebrate this moment. I have a gift for him too—one I'll deliver soon."

His hand flickered, revealing a sliver of something dark and unnatural. His three lackeys laughed quietly beside him.

Suddenly, Elder Mohrak's voice rang out again.

"Attention! The Martial Soul Awakening test is now complete. The next phase will be the Survival Trial. Prepare accordingly. You'll be tested in real combat and strategy."

The crowd began turning, some talking, others preparing to leave the courtyard.

"Hey!" the elder snapped, his voice booming like thunder. "I'm not finished! Are you all dumb?"

A hush fell over some of the disciples. A few exchanged glances, trying to hold back laughter, but the murmurs began regardless.

"He called us dumb?" one whispered with disbelief.

Another scoffed under his breath, "I think he's old… and honestly, he looks like the dumb one."

A third disciple—tall, burly, and annoyed—immediately slapped the second one on the back of the head. "Stop talking nonsense! If he hears what we're saying, forget about the sect selection—he can make life difficult for us in this country!"

The group went quiet, eyes darting to the elder who, despite seeming distracted by the crowd, missed nothing. His eyes flicked sharply in their direction.

"Ahem—continue, Elder," someone mumbled nervously.

Elder Mohrak resumed, his voice calmer. "What we witnessed today is rare—perhaps once in a generation. I've spoken with the other elders, and we've decided… this young man shall be admitted into the sect directly, without needing to participate in the Survival Trial."

Gasps erupted. The courtyard went still.

"That's not fair!" someone shouted. "We all struggled to get here! Just because he has a rare martial soul—?"

"We worked hard too!" another added. "You can't just skip protocol!"

As discontent stirred among the crowd, Aarush slowly walked forward. All voices stilled at his approach.

He bowed respectfully before the elders. "I'm honored, and I appreciate your offer. But I came this far through struggle and persistence. If I accept this shortcut… I'll fall in my own eyes. That's not who I am. I will take the Survival Trial with everyone else."

One of the elders raised a hand, about to protest, but the other stopped him.

"No. Let him speak," the second elder said. "I like this boy. He's going to reach the top—not because of his martial soul, but because of his spirit."

Sylara nodded approvingly from the sidelines, her arms crossed. Niva gave a proud smile, and even Sariya raised a brow, intrigued.

As the group began dispersing to prepare for the next trial, Sylara smirked at the elders.

"You two tried to bribe my junior? Hmph. Good thing his backbone is stronger than your position."

The Twin-Edge Warblades wielder, Sybok, also stepped forward from the crowd, his gaze respectful.

"I'll wait for you in the next trial," he said to Aarush. "Let's see whose soul shines brighter."

Aarush nodded.

Nearby, Niva glanced back toward the test platform, then whispered to Sylara, "Senior Sister… I didn't sense my martial soul fully… it was strange."

Sylara rested a hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure it out later. Right now, let's help our junior prepare."

And above it all, the faint glow of fire lingered in the air—as if the heavens themselves had recognized the awakening of a soul destined to burn through fate.

But fate rarely burns clean—was Aarush's choice strength, or pride?

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