From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra-Chapter 42: So Close, Yet So Far

Charles was alone in the medical area’s room, the sound of rain battering the window and Lira’s words echoing in his mind.

He sank into the pillow, still holding the empty ice cream bowl, and sighed.

’Tomorrow’s the duel...’ he thought, eyeing his bandaged hands.

Facing two Master-rank opponents made him nervous, but a spark of excitement flickered too.

He wanted to see how far he could push himself, even if it meant risking too much.

But before spiraling further, he decided to check his progress.

"System, show my status," Charles muttered.

A blue panel appeared, casting a soft glow in the room:

Name: Rian Cole

Element: Lightning

Level: 5

Stats

Health: 100/100

Energy: 0%

System Intelligence: 3

Control Level: 2

XP: 1571/1600

Available Upgrade Points: 0

"Shit!" Charles shouted, unable to hold back.

’1571 out of 1600!’ he thought, clenching his fists despite the pain.

He was just 29 XP from hitting level 6, a milestone that could unlock crucial upgrades.

But there was no way to earn those points now.

He couldn’t fight anyone in his state—hands barely functional, body weak after four days unconscious.

"So close, but so damn far!" he muttered, smacking the bed in frustration.

’If I’d just beaten one more...’ he thought, recalling the Novice duels.

Though his health was maxed out thanks to medical treatment, his energy was at 0%.

’It’ll take forever to recharge that,’ he thought, rubbing his temples.

The doctor’s two-week recovery timeline felt like an eternity, especially with the duel tomorrow.

But then, an idea hit.

’The system might have answers,’ he thought, a glimmer of hope sparking.

"System, you think I’m in shape to fight tomorrow?" he asked, voice hopeful.

The blue panel flickered before responding:

[I lack sufficient data on your opponents to determine your odds of success in a duel.]

Charles sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Great, super helpful," he muttered sarcastically.

But he didn’t give up.

"What if you had that info? Could you tell me if I’d win?" he asked, leaning forward like the system was a person in front of him.

[Yes, with detailed data on the opponents, I could calculate your victory odds based on your current stats and their estimated skill level.]

Charles frowned, processing.

"Then why didn’t you do that the other day when I fought the Novices?" he asked, accusatory. "You could’ve told me if I was gonna win or not!"

[I didn’t receive a specific command to analyze your opponents during those duels. My function is to respond to your direct orders.]

Charles clicked his tongue, slumping back onto the pillow.

"You’ve got a point," he admitted reluctantly. "But, come on, you should be more... I dunno, smart? Proactive? Something like that."

He scratched his neck, frustrated.

"You’re a system, right? Think for me sometimes!"

[I don’t understand "think for you sometimes." Please specify your suggestion to improve my functionality.]

Charles groaned, shaking his head.

"Forget it," he said, but then another idea struck.

"What’d happen if I boost your intelligence next time I get an upgrade point? What’d I gain?" he asked, more serious.

The blue panel flickered, displaying a detailed response:

[Upgrading System Intelligence to level 4 would unlock:

Precise combat probability calculations, including win percentages against specific opponents, even without prior orders.

Automatic power regulation, allowing use of specific energy fractions to optimize damage and minimize physical strain.

Proactive combat analysis, offering tactical suggestions without your request.]

Charles raised his eyebrows, impressed.

"Power regulation?" he repeated, intrigued. "Explain that better. Give me a clear example."

[For example, your current explosions consume a fixed energy amount and cause consistent hand damage. With upgraded System Intelligence, you could order me to adjust each explosion’s potency—say, 50% energy for a less intense but safer attack, or 10% for a distracting flash. This would improve precision and reduce bodily harm.]

Charles blinked, taking it in.

"You mean I could control how much I hurt myself?" he asked, hopeful. "And I wouldn’t have to guess how much power to use?"

[Correct. However, your current Control Level (2) is insufficient for such precise manual adjustments. My automatic regulation would compensate for that limitation.]

Charles scratched his neck, thoughtful.

"That sounds... awesome," he said, a faint smile forming.

But then he frowned.

"Wait, what if instead of boosting your intelligence, I use my next point to raise my Control Level? Would that be safe now?"

The blue panel flickered, and the response was immediate:

[Upgrading Control Level to 3 in your current state carries a medium danger level. Reason: your body has lost physical conditioning after four days of inactivity, and your hands, your power’s primary catalyst, are severely weakened. Forcing an upgrade now could cause permanent hand damage, total power loss, or even death.]

Charles swallowed, a chill running through him.

"Death?" he repeated, voice shaky. "Why’s it so risky?"

[Your body isn’t ready to handle the stress of a Control Level upgrade. The process requires your hands to channel significant energy to integrate the new level. In their current state, the damaged tissue could collapse, causing systemic failure.]

Charles gritted his teeth, staring at his bandaged hands.

"Shit," he muttered, a knot in his stomach. "So how long do I have to wait to boost my control without risking it?"

[The doctor’s estimated two weeks is a suitable approximation. During that time, your hands should recover enough to handle the upgrade process.]

Charles let out a long sigh, sinking into the bed.

"Two weeks..." he muttered, defeated. "And the duel’s tomorrow. Awesome."

Frustration gnawed at him.

He was so close to a new level, but he couldn’t fight, and boosting control was too dangerous.

He felt trapped, like fate was mocking him.

But he wasn’t ready to quit.

"Is there any way to speed up my recovery?" he asked, desperate. "I dunno, something I can do to be ready sooner?"

The blue panel flickered, and for a few seconds, there was no response.

Charles frowned, waiting.

"System?" he pressed, a touch impatient.

Finally, the answer appeared:

[There is a method, but it is not advisable.]

Charles sat up, eyes gleaming with hope.

"There is a method! What do I have to do?" he asked, urgent.

But before the system could reply, a thunderclap shook the window.

CRACK!

’Damn thunder... why’s it gotta be so loud when it hits?’ he thought, annoyed, letting out a sigh.