The Last Disciple of Lightning Peak

⚡ The Last Disciple of Lightning Peak

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🌩️ Outer Trial Grounds — As the Stormbound Soul

Awakens

The awakening hadn't ended—it had only just begun.

Aarush stood at the center of the trial grounds, his palm still on the pillar.

The Stormbound Martial Soul hovered above him, not yet fully merged. Sword and

lightning clashed in the air, resisting unity as though the heavens themselves

questioned his worth. The entire sect held its breath.

But far beyond the sect, something ancient stirred.

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🩸 A Distant Land — Unknown Demonic

Sect

In a realm cloaked in crimson fog, far from the Uccot Sect, a black-feathered

demonic bird screeched and flew from a blood-stained tree. The skies darkened

unnaturally, and even the moon resembled a twisted eclipse. Bats screamed

through the air, fleeing toward a massive blood-colored gate that creaked

open.

Inside the sect's shadowy hall, a line of disciples stood trembling. Their

leader sat atop a high throne, draped in blood-red robes. Long black nails

curled like fangs ready to strike. He laughed—a sound deeper than the

abyss.

At the center of the throne chamber, a mirror artifact hovered in midair—its

frame wrapped in bone-like etchings and black crystal. Through it, a faint image

shimmered: Aarush standing beneath a storm, lightning entwined with a sword of

ancient qi.

The demonic sect master's eyes locked on the mirror.

His grin vanished.

> "A Stormbound soul… after ten thousand years…"

The room chilled. Even the torch flames seemed to bend away from

him.

One disciple beside him dared to whisper:

> "Master… what do you think of that Martial Soul's

awakening?"

The master snapped his hand around the disciple's neck.

> "You ask my thoughts?" he growled, voice like thunder in the underworld.

"If you want to live… follow my command, not my

curiosity."

Silence fell across the room. The disciple nodded rapidly, eyes

wide.

A scorpion crawled near the master's feet.

He crushed it without looking.

Its blood hissed in the air… then vanished.

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🌪️ Back at the Trial Grounds

The crowd murmured nervously. The thunder sword above Aarush still fought

against the lightning.

Confusion grew.

> "Is it rejecting him?"

"Maybe the Martial Soul sensed he's trash…"

More voices joined in now—some sneering, others openly mocking.

> "Tch… what kind of martial soul can't even recognize its master?"

"He touched the pillar like he knew something would happen. All that buildup—just

for this?"

"This is what happens when trash dares to dream."

"Hey, maybe the soul's trying to leave him and find someone

better!"

A few disciples even chuckled loudly, shaking their heads.

> "Rootless orphan with no clan or talent. What did he

expect?"

Mocking laughter rose—but one elder turned sharply.

> "Silence!"

The laughter stopped instantly.

Even Seriya's eyes widened as she watched. She didn't understand why, but she

was silently pleading for him to succeed. Niva stepped forward slightly,

whispering:

> "Come on, you can do this..."

The boy with the rare double-sword Martial Soul squinted.

> "Strange... it's also a sword, but not like mine. Everything about it

feels... different."

Aarush's aura pulsed wildly.

Sylara stepped closer, her voice steady and commanding:

> "Listen closely. This trial isn't a formality like it was for the others.

They absorbed their Martial Souls before arriving. Yours has only just

awakened. Now—absorb it, Aarush. Let it be yours. Control

it."

He nodded slightly, sweat rolling down his

temple.

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🌌 Within Aarush's Soul Sea

Darkness. Silence.

Then—crackle.

The clouds above his soul sea churned like storm-tossed oceans. Lightning arced

across the void, and beneath it floated a sword surrounded by glowing

runes.

A thick mist of spiritual pressure swirled around him, testing

him.

Suddenly—a deep voice echoed, as if spoken by an ancient being beyond

time:

> "Heh. You've got potential, boy. This is only the beginning."

The voice seemed to ripple across every inch of his consciousness, vibrating in

his bones, in his blood. The same voice he had heard long ago, the one that

first whispered when he discovered his spiritual root.

Then, from the storm clouds, a golden scroll descended—surrounded by chains of

crackling thunder qi. As it unraveled, bright silver characters blazed across

the parchment like they were alive.

> "This scroll holds the condensation rite of the Stormbound Soul. Read it.

Accept it. Stop doubting."

For a moment, Aarush felt like time stood still.

Then the voice lowered again, almost solemn:

> "I guided you from the shadows. But next time... we'll meet in reality. Not

memory."

The scroll flared in front of him—and his body began to

glow.

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Outside, his body trembled. He was on the verge of

unconsciousness.

But his senior sister's voice called out:

> "Wake up, Aarush! Don't give in now!"

He grit his teeth.

A final surge of will pushed him forward. He opened the scroll. The words

burned into his forehead like branded fate.

The sword and lightning above him roared—and then, merged.

A single burst of light exploded across the courtyard.

He fell to one knee, panting.

Sylara knelt beside him, steadying his shoulders.

> "You're fine. Breathe. You did it."

Tears welled in his eyes—but he smiled.

> "I'm all right… senior."

Niva exhaled in relief. Even Seriya clutched her robe, heart

racing.

The boy with the dual swords—Sybok—nodded slowly.

> "Interesting…"

One elder at the side sighed in relief, muttering:

> "Thank the heavens… if he'd failed, we'd have to face that senior

sister."

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