Spirit's Awakening: The Path of Lightning and Water-Chapter 348: Senior Brother

Joryk’s eyes widened as Lassim’s halberd began its descent. The swirling tempest that had gathered above condensed into the weapon’s edge, a vortex of pure fused mana—lightning, water, and spatial energy—whipping the air into a frenzy.

Every breath in the arena got stuck in their throats as Lassim struck downward.

The raging storm, filled with the cute but terrifying lightning sprite fish, crashed against Joryk with a deafening series of thunderclaps. The shockwave rippled outward and causing the arena’s protective barriers to shudder violently. It held firm, but the vibrations made the crowd freeze, especially the nobles in their box seats.

The force drove Joryk into the ground, his knees buckling under the sheer weight of the attack. His already-battered [Fortress] shattered completely, the metallic sheen fading into nothing as his metallic mana reserves ran dry.

Blood sprayed from his mouth as he collapsed onto his hands, the once-proud champion of the Steel Snake Sect brought to his knees.

The storm above Lassim began to quiet, the lightning dimming to occasional flickers. His halberd rested lightly on his shoulder as he stepped back, giving Joryk a final moment to yield.

"Still fighting it?" Lassim said as he raised an eyebrow, "It’s best if you just stay down."

Joryk’s body trembled. His vision swam, the taste of copper filling his mouth. But his pride roared louder than his pain.

With an inhuman effort, he pushed himself up, his legs shaky as he managed to stand. His nine-layered halo flickered weakly above his head, a pale imitation of its former brilliance.

"I… don’t… lose…" Joryk growled through clenched teeth, raising a trembling fist as metallic spikes once more began to form on his arms, smaller and less dense than before.

Lassim sighed, shaking his head. "You should’ve stayed down."

In a blur of motion, Lassim activated [Storm’s Dance]. With a step, he reappeared behind Joryk, the movement seamless and nearly instantaneous.

With a fluid motion, he swung the blunt end of his halberd in a short arc, the weapon’s weight amplified by the lingering charge of his fused mana.

The strike connected squarely with the back of Joryk’s head, the sound of the impact echoing across the arena like a thunderclap. Joryk’s body stiffened before slamming head-first to the ground, unconscious. The spikes he had barely managed to form clattered harmlessly to the arena floor as his body lay motionless, blood pooling around him.

Lassim stood over him. His breathing was steady as if the entire duel had barely counted as a warmup.

With a wave of his hand, the storm above dissipated entirely, revealing a clear sky. The rain stopped, the silence of the moment more deafening than the storm’s fury had been.

The arena was silent except for the sound of the light chirping of birds returning to the skies, their noises loud as if complaining to the heavens about the sudden and terrifying storm that disrupted their lives.

Joryk’s unconscious form lay sprawled in the center, his once-impenetrable [Fortress] reduced to jagged remnants of silvery shards as the metal elemental mana dispersed into the air. The blood that had pooled beneath him was now mingling with the rainwater left behind.

For a moment, no one moved. The nobles in their gilded boxes leaned forward, their faces frozen in shock.

The representatives from the 82 companies sat in stunned silence, mouths agape as they struggled to process what they had just witnessed.

Then, as if someone had struck a gong, the realization spread like wildfire.

A single cheer pierced the air, followed by another, and then a cascade of voices erupted into celebration. The lower tiers of the arena were alive with unrestrained joy, a roar of relief and triumph that seemed to shake the very foundations of Starpoint City.

"He did it!" a man from the Silvesteri Merchant Group in the front row shouted, tears streaming down his weathered face. "By the heavens, he actually did it!"

"Lassim! Lassim!" another voice joined in, and soon, the chant swelled into a thunderous chorus. "LASSIM! LASSIM!"

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Representatives from the various companies that risked it all on Lassim stood and cheered, clapping each other on the back as tears of relief coursed down their faces. Many hugged their neighbors, overcome with emotion as the weight of their collective salvation hit them all at once.

"We’re saved! Our contracts—our families! He’s given us everything back!" an older woman cried out, clutching her company badge to her chest.

Amid the pandemonium, Dorian stood, his arms raised high as he shouted at the top of his lungs. "I told you all! I told you he’d win!" His voice cracked with elation as he turned to the representatives beside him, grabbing a frail older man by the shoulders. "Do you hear that? That’s the sound of no taxes! No penalties! Our businesses are back on track baby! It’s all thanks to him!!!"

The man nodded vigorously, his face red with emotion and eyes watery. "I thought it was over... I thought we’d lost everything when those snakes came…"

In the noble boxes, the reactions were far more subdued.

Lord Karvad sat stiffly, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of his seat. His normally smug expression was replaced by a look of dawning horror as he stared at the victorious Spirit Ascension warrior.

"A Spirit Ascension cultivator… defeated Joryk?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "This shouldn’t even be possible."

Two rows back from Lord Karvad’s position was a noblewoman that leaned closer to her husband, her jeweled headdress trembling with the motion. "Did you see the way he moved? I couldn’t even follow his movements and we’re both in the Spirit Ascension stage. How does one even fight against something like that?"

The husband, a rotund man with a gilded monocle, dabbed at his forehead with a silk handkerchief—unsure if it was wet from the rain or sweat from the situation’s outcome. "And those attacks… I’ve never seen anything so destructive. The spiraling storm and those lightning spite…fish?—what in the heavens was that? It cut through Joryk’s defense like it wasn’t even there."

In the stands below, the citizens added their voices to the growing chorus of amazement. Groups of younger cultivators huddled together, their eyes alight with newfound admiration.

"That movement—," one of them whispered. "It was like he vanished and reappeared at will. How does someone even do that?"

"Do you think it’s a secret Lightning Sect technique?" another asked, his voice brimming with curiosity. "What do you think he calls it?"

"Whatever it’s called, it’s incredible," a third chimed in. "And those attacks—did you see the way they tore through Joryk’s armor? He made it look so easy."

"Did you see the lightning fishies?!" a young girl added, her voice filled with awe. "They were so cute!"

The gossip using the name Lassim Rohese Vanthar began to spread like wildfire through the crowd. Everywhere, people repeated it, most with appreciation for saving their companies, and others that had no stakes in the duel but their voices still blending into a cacophony of awe and excitement.

"Lassim! He’s from the Lightning Sect, right?" Someone said as they pulled out their communication disc to message a friend about what had happened.

A stranger replied, "Yeah and Lord Arvent said he’s the Sect Master’s personal disciple too!"

The gossip spread to the next person joining in, "A Spirit Ascension warrior defeating someone at peak Spirit Transcendence with such ease? I bet he could even take a Spirit Mystic down with that kind of power! Do you see that he’s not even breathing heavily!? He’s going to be a legend!"

To those who had witnessed the battle, Lassim was no longer just a name—he was a symbol of hope and defiance, a tempest that had shaken the undefeated winning streak of the Steel Snake Sect to its core.

As the celebrations continued, a figure in the noble box sat motionless, his eyes fixed on the arena below.

The senior brother of Joryk, clad in the dark and silver robes of the Steel Snake Sect, rested a hand on the hilt of his massive bastard sword. His face betrayed no emotion, but his narrowed eyes gleamed with a dangerous intensity.

Lassim, standing in the center of the arena, felt the glare in his direction and locked eyes with him for a brief moment. The cheers of the crowd around him seemed to still and disappear as he felt the weight of the man’s gaze.

As the crowd’s cheers reached their peak, most of the crowd seemed to follow Lassim’s gaze and all eyes turned toward the noble’s box.

The elder, Joryk’s "senior brother," stood slowly, the massive bastard sword resting across his lap now in his hand. The blade, nearly as tall as the man himself, gleamed faintly as he walked toward the edge of the box, his movements deliberate and measured.

Lassim held his gaze toward the elder. The moment he reached the edge of the box, the arena seemed to grow colder. The cheers quieted as the audience sensed the unspoken tension between the two figures.

The elder’s presence and leaking spiritual pressure was oppressive. Though his cultivation remained entirely restrained and hidden, the weight of his spiritual pressure seeped through the air like a sharp, suffocating mist.

He stared down at Lassim, his expression unreadable.

"Well fought," the elder said finally, his voice deep and resonant, cutting through the remaining murmurs of the crowd. "You’ve proven yourself worthy of the Lightning Sect’s name and deserved reputation."

Lassim tilted his head slightly, his storm-filled eyes meeting the elder’s gaze without flinching. "And you must be the backup plan for your greedy schemes," he replied evenly with a quiet accusation.

The elder’s lips curled into a faint smile. "Joryk was sure of himself and confident. He underestimated you, as did I. But he was smart enough to call me here. Do not think this victory secures you anything more than the fleeting favor of this crowd. The Steel Snake Sect does not take kindly to accusations of being involved in schemes—as you so kindly put it."

The crowd murmured at the veiled threat, but Lassim’s stance didn’t waver.

"If that’s your way of saying you want to fight, I’m right here. I’ll defend the common, hardworking folk’s rights for as long as I’m standing," Lassim said before gesturing to the pool of blood and flesh in front of him, "Though you might want to check on your ’fortress’ before you make any decisions."

The elder chuckled softly, a sound devoid of warmth—just cold, sharp steel. "Not today, boy. We must not be rash when involving Sects at our level. You’re still wet behind the ears, so I’ll allow you to act boisterous because of your backing, but know this—This is not over." He turned, lifting the giant bastard sword and resting casually on his shoulder as he walked away. His steps echoed in the silent noble’s box as everyone in the arena listened to the exchange.

Lord Arvent from his platform, sensing the need to break the tension, scrambled to his feet. At some point during the battle he’d hidden away from the intensity of the storm beneath his podium.

He adjusted his robes and raised his hands theatrically, his voice amplified by the arena’s arrays. "Ladies and gentlemen! The Steel Snake Sect acknowledges their champion’s defeat! All 82 contracts are hereby reinstated, free of additional taxation or stipulations!"

The crowd roared anew, their joy rekindled. The few representatives that had still kept it together suddenly wept openly, their relief palpable as they realized the weight of their survival had shifted.

"Duskvale Mining Company stands as proof of their skilled decision making and connections! What a wonderful pair of qualities to have for a business within our kingdom!" Verant continued with a dramatic flair and serious, upselling tone. "And their champion, the Lightning Sect’s Lassim Rohese Vanthar, has written a new chapter that will forever be inscribed in the annals of Stellanora’s history!"

The chant of "Lassim!" resumed, louder and more fervent than before. The citizens, the merchants, and even some lower-ranked nobles in the cheaper boxes joined in, the name spreading like a wildfire. First the arena, then across the city and then far away via a constant stream of messages left via communication discs.