From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra-Chapter 51: An Explosive Element

The elevated ring was encircled by a semicircle of Warriors, their black tunics with colored stripes gleaming under sunlight streaming through the windows.

The air buzzed with tension, and the crowd’s murmurs filled the space.

Charles, or rather Rian, climbed onto the ring with steady steps, adjusting the bandages on his hands.

He felt every stare—some curious, others hostile—piercing him.

Varn, the ponytail guy with red stripes on his tunic, stood at the opposite end, stretching his arms with a smug grin.

’This’ll be interesting,’ Charles thought, keeping his face neutral.

Before stepping up, Neymar and Joren had pulled him aside for a warning.

"Watch out for Varn," Neymar had said, serious. "He controls fire, like you, but likes getting close and touching opponents with his hands. He can incinerate what he grabs."

Joren nodded, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, he’s fast," he added. "Don’t let him catch you."

Charles had smiled, though inwardly he was chuckling.

’Seriously, he gets close to touch people? Perfect,’ he thought.

If Varn came near, it’d be a cakewalk.

His explosions—those lightning bursts that looked like fire—were ideal for close range.

Best of all, the glitchy system, with its dumb restrictions like [No authority to attack], didn’t seem to mind the explosions.

It was like the system saw them as an "accident" rather than a direct attack, which suited Charles just fine.

"I’ll be good," he’d told Neymar and Joren, clapping their shoulders. "Just keep your eyes peeled."

Now, on the ring, Varn stared from across, arms crossed.

"Done chatting with your buddies?" he taunted, voice dripping with mockery. "Thought you wanted to fight, not get pep talks."

Charles raised an eyebrow, settling into a stance.

"Yeah, I’m done," he said, a crooked smile forming. "How ’bout you start moving, Ponytail?"

A guy with white stripes, acting as referee, stepped to the ring’s center.

He raised a hand for silence.

"Listen up," he said, voice firm. "This is a sparring match. It ends if someone’s incapacitated or surrenders. Got it?"

"Got it," Varn said, eyes locked on Charles.

"Yeah, sure," Charles replied, shrugging.

The referee nodded and stepped back.

"Begin!" he shouted, dropping his hand.

The crowd fell silent, expectant.

Charles noticed some Warriors seemed to back Varn, likely due to his cocky confidence.

But others, like a blue-striped girl near the ring, muttered to her friend.

"Hope this new guy teaches Varn a lesson," she said dryly. "He’s so full of himself it’s gross."

Another voice, a brown-striped guy across the crowd, grumbled, "Put that novice in his place. Thinks he’s hot stuff."

Charles tuned out the chatter, focusing on Varn.

The guy didn’t waste time. He charged, hands glowing with a faint orange shimmer.

’Fire,’ Charles thought, bracing himself.

But he wasn’t waiting for Varn to close in.

He clapped his hands together, channeling lightning into a controlled explosion.

BOOM!

A burst of bluish light erupted in front of Charles, shaking the ring.

Varn reacted fast, leaping aside to dodge the direct hit.

The explosion grazed his tunic, scorching a corner.

He hit the ground, rolling to his feet.

The crowd gasped, stunned.

"What the hell was that?" Varn yelled, eyes wide.

He pointed at Charles, who stood with a calm smile.

The bandages on Charles’s hands had shredded, revealing reddened skin dotted with small burns.

The damage was minor, but noticeable, and Charles didn’t seem fazed.

"What?" Charles said, raising his hands. "Scared already, Ponytail?"

He caught the crowd murmuring—some laughing, others confused.

"Was that fire?" a guy asked. "Or did it look like an explosion?"

"It’s a variant," a red-striped woman said, impressed. "His fire’s explosive. That’s rare."

Varn growled, clearly pissed.

"Don’t make me laugh!" he said, forming fireballs in his hands.

He hurled them at Charles from a distance. "Try some real fire!"

FWO!

FWO!

The blazing orbs streaked across the ring, trailing heat.

Charles moved fast, dodging the first with a lateral jump.

The second grazed his shoulder, singeing his tunic.

"Hey!" he shouted, glaring at Varn. "Work on your aim!"

But the fireballs kept coming.

A third shot out, wildly off-target, sailing past the ring.

CRASH!

It smashed into a nearby wall, making several Warriors dive to avoid it. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

"Varn, you idiot!" a girl in the crowd yelled. "You’ll burn us all!"

Charles, dodging, couldn’t help but laugh.

"That’s fire, you say?" he shouted, sprinting toward Varn. "Lemme show you mine again!"

His voice was mocking, but his eyes were locked on target.

He clapped his hands again, prepping another explosion.

Varn paled.

He glanced at Charles’s damaged hands, and his expression shifted.

’What kind of lunatic uses a power that hurts himself without a second thought?’ he thought, a chill running through him.

He backpedaled, tossing more fireballs to keep Charles at bay.

FWO!

FWO!

But Charles was quick, zigzagging through the attacks with agility that stunned the crowd.

"Stop running!" Charles yelled, closing in.

Varn, panicking, backed up faster, nearly tripping at the ring’s edge.

It was almost comical: arrogant Varn, so cocky moments ago, now fleeing from a guy with burned hands and a maniacal grin.

The crowd didn’t know whether to laugh or gape.

"Look at that!" a blue-striped guy said, laughing. "Varn’s running like he saw a monster!"

"Makes sense," a white-striped girl muttered. "That Rian’s not normal. Who uses a power like that so casually?"

Charles ignored them, zeroed in on Varn, who kept lobbing desperate fireballs.

’Time to end this,’ he thought, clapping his hands again, channeling lightning.

BOOM!

Another explosion detonated, this time closer to Varn.

The shockwave hit his back, singeing his hair and tearing a scream from him.

His tunic ripped, the smell of burnt fabric filling the air.

Varn dropped to his knees, gasping.

Before Charles could prep another blast, Varn raised a hand.

"I surrender!" he shouted, voice cracking. "Stop, I’m done!"

A dead silence followed.

Every Warrior stared, some with mouths agape.

Charles lowered his hands, breathing hard.

Adrenaline still surged, but a grin spread across his face.

Not just for the win.

A message had popped into his vision:

[Congratulations, you’ve leveled up]

’Yes!’ he thought, stifling a laugh. ’Finally hit level 6.’

Satisfaction flooded him, widening his grin.

To the crowd, though, that smile wasn’t relief.

It was the look of someone who loved crushing opponents.

’He’s a lunatic,’ some thought.

But to others, a combat prodigy had joined their ranks.