Spirit's Awakening: The Path of Lightning and Water-Chapter 346: The Storm’s Arrival

The waiting chamber was quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling and quickly filling arena just beyond.

Lassim leaned casually against the cold stone wall near the corridor leading to the arena floor, his halberd resting across his back. Despite the tension of the duel about to occur, his demeanor was as calm and unshaken as ever.

Nearby, Dorian paced, a mixture of anxiety and disbelief covered his face. He paused every few steps, glancing toward Lassim as if searching for some reaction—any sign of the nerves or pressure Lassim should logically be feeling.

"Eighty-two companies," Dorian muttered, shaking his head. "I can’t believe you convinced that many. Every single one of them is betting everything they have on you. Do you even understand the kind of pressure that puts on you? If you fail…"

"Stop worrying. I won’t fail," Lassim interrupted, his tone calm but absolute. His swirling purple lightning-filled eyes turned toward Dorian, pinning him with a steady gaze. "Pressure isn’t anything new to me. And I’ve faced and will face much worse than Joryk Vrel. Plus, I need the Astrium Veinstone for my device anyways."

Dorian frowned, skepticism flickering across his face as the stakes were high, and even his reputation as the one that listened to Lassim’s crazy idea to move forward with all of this was on the line.

Dorian opened his mouth to argue further, but the distant roar of the crowd cut him off. The sound carried even into the waiting chamber, a swelling wave of noise that spoke to the sheer scale of the audience gathered for today’s spectacle.

"You’ll see soon enough," Lassim said simply, pushing off the wall and adjusting the halberd on his back.

Without another word, he stepped toward the corridor.

The floating arena was packed to capacity, the stands a sea of grim and worried faces juxtaposed with the Nobles lounged in their private boxes, sipping from gilded goblets as servants hovered nearby with trays of delicacies.

Below, the merchants, workers, and common citizens crowded the lower tiers, their voices a cacophony of anticipation and rising anxious tension.

At the far end of the arena, a raised platform shown with a man posed to begin his role. Lord Verant Arven, the Master of Ceremonies once again stepped forward, his richly adorned silver-and-blue robes glittering in the light. His green hair was slicked back, and his sharp voice carried a smirk of refined confidence and proper manners fitting a noble.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Verant’s voice boomed, amplified by the arena’s arrays. "Welcome to the Floating Arena of Starpoint City once more! Today, we shall witness an unprecedented event—a duel that will decide the fate of not one, not ten, nay not even thirty, but a grand total of eighty-two companies!"

The unaffected common crowd erupted into cheers, the sheer volume rattling the air, while the companies who put everything on the line just grit their teeth or clenched their fists with anxiety as they shared glances.

"On one side, we have the unshakable champion of the Steel Snake Sect," Verant continued, gesturing toward the center of the arena. "The unbreakable fortress—the indomitable Joryk Vrel!"

Joryk stood motionless at the center of the arena, his towering frame already gleaming faintly with the metallic sheen of his [Fortress] technique. His arms were crossed, his posture almost radiating a tinge of boredom as he waited for the match to begin. The faint ripple of his metal mana covered him like a liquid, dancing around him as he did his best to play up his role as champion.

"And on the other side…" Verant paused, the dramatic effect stretching the moment. "Your lone champion—a single challenger daring to stand against our great champion on behalf of eighty-two of Stellanora’s backbone, our mining and merchant companies! I present to you… Lassim Rohese Vanthar!"

The name echoed across the arena, met first by murmurs of surprise. The crowd leaned forward, straining to see the corridor where the challenger would emerge as the name was unfamiliar, but the family names seemed to carry some weight; particularly the Rohese family as they were quite famous for their architecture and gorgeous designs.

For several tense seconds, nothing happened.

Then, a faint blip and trail of storms at the challenger’s feet broke the stillness.

Lassim, from the shadows and with a single motion, Lassim activated [Storm’s Dance].

The air around him seemed to ripple, bending as space condensed. In an instant, he disappeared, reappearing directly in front of Joryk in less than a blink of an eye. In that instant he fully summoned and began rotating his cultivation to the max.

Lassim let his fused mana slip free of his control for that brief moment of his arrival, the divine weight of it crashing down on the arena like a tidal wave with one individual as the focus. The oppressive force bore down hard on Joryk in his heavy metal mana armor, pinning him beneath an invisible pressure that made his own spiritual pressure flicker.

Joryk, for all his confidence, stiffened slightly. For that briefest moment, the sight that seemingly magically imprinted itself in his spiritual sense made him forget Lassim’s slightly smaller height and thinner, but still muscular frame. Joryk felt like he was suddenly an ant before an unstoppable typhoon headed directly towards him.

Joryk’s bored smirk faltered.

Then, just as quickly as it had come, the pressure receded as Lassim completely reigned in every ounce of his power and slowed his cultivation to the minimum, just enough to maintain the storm above.

Lassim stepped back, the faintest smile tugging at his lips as he watched Joryk recover.

His instincts screamed at him to retreat and Joryk’s anxiety betrayed him at that moment, causing his eyes to dart toward the noble’s box, locking onto a figure seated near the back.

Lassim caught this and followed his gaze, his enhanced eyes and spirit sense catching the older man dressed in Steel Snake Sect robes. The man sat cross-legged, a massive bastard sword resting across his lap. His long beard swayed faintly in the wind caused by the rain that was pouring down, his cultivation entirely restrained but no drops of water touched him.

To Lassim, the man felt like a sword resting on a rack—dormant, but ready to be wielded.

Lassim’s instincts flared. "A backup plan," he thought as his eyes returned to Joryk. "Good. I knew this was a possibility, but now I know who it’ll be. Let him come after I deal with you. Mari, Zaphy, keep an eye on him just in case."

Lassim received the mental nods from his elemental companions.

Lord Verant’s voice cut through the tension and the now deadly silent crowd, his usual confidence and prim and proper pose shaken as he stammered, "Ah, w-well, I suppose the combatants are ready?"

He quickly composed himself, raising his arms theatrically. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you our champion, Joryk Vrel, and his challenger, the bold disciple of the Lightning Sect, Lassim Rohese Vanthar! Let the duel begin when the contestants are ready!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement suddenly kindled by the dramatic entrance and face off.

Joryk smirked, regaining his usual facade of confidence as a champion, spreading his arms wide as he spoke loud enough for the audience to hear. "You surprised me, I’ll give you that much. But you’re so young. What are you, only Spirit Ascension 8? How generous of the Lightning Sect to send a child to entertain me. You don’t stand a chance, but let me, your older Steel Snake Sect brother, humor you since you came to play. Go ahead—take the first shot. I won’t even move if you want to take a moment or two to warm up. Let’s see what you’ve got, Kid."

Joryk then rotated his cultivation, the nine-layered halo of his Peak Spirit Transcendence Stage manifesting above his head in a dazzling display. Metal mana surged outward, enveloping his body in liquid silver before solidifying into his [Fortress] technique.

He held his arms out, the steel sheen of his armor gleaming under the sunlight. "Ready when you are, brat."

Lassim’s smile didn’t waver.

As he rotated his cultivation fully this time, unlike the small leaking of his mana from before, the world and heavens responded.

Dark clouds instantly began to coalesce above the arena, spiraling unnaturally as thunder rumbled in the distance. The air grew heavy with the scent of rain and lightning ozone, a palpable charge that made the hairs on the spectators’ arms stand on end.

And then, the storm broke as it suddenly expanded to cover the entirety of the capital of Stellanora, Starpoint City.

Rain poured in sheets, hammering against the arena’s protective barriers as lightning split the sky. Everyone recognized that the storm seemed to radiate from Lassim, a tempest born of his cultivation. The lightning also had a strange, iridescent quality to it as each bolt streaked amongst the clouds, causing the storm cloud to momentarily shatter before it quickly reformed in the tiny spaces the lightning passed through.

Above him, the mythical nightmare, the subject of countless tales of sailors and horror stories for children that lived near the seas, Leviathan the demi-god, appeared.

A massive, lifelike image of the progenitor sea beast materialized in constellation form, its crimson-tinged eyes gleaming with a hunger that once more silenced the crowd. The sight of the ancient demi-god brought an unspoken terror to the superstitious citizens of Starpoint City that frequently worshiped and said their prayers to the Goddess of Water, Ava.

What made this situation even more terrifying was that there were countless numbers of water cultivators within the crowd, consistent with the city being built on top of the Sapphire River for generations now.

All water cultivators that reached peak Spirit Transformation and prepared for Spirit Ascension knew the one rule that came when choosing what to use as your symbol for your constellation, and that was to never, under any circumstances, use the demi-god Leviathan.

There were countless horror stories telling of failed ascensions and breakthroughs and mangled bodies, ripped apart from the inside, all because this unruly demi-god would suddenly notice your attempt to use her likeness.

This was fact, and yet… Here was a strange cultivator that got away with it and somehow had the most realistic and lifelike constellation they’d ever seen?

In the noble’s box corner, the Steel Snake Sect elder suddenly sat upright from his meditation position, his eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on Lassim.

The storm raged on, and Lassim’s voice cut through the chaos.

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"Don’t regret giving me a free shot."