From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra-Chapter 53: The Ceremony

Charles trailed Lira down the stairs of the Storm Clan’s building.

The echo of their footsteps bounced through the hallway, opening into a wide, well-lit space.

Polished stone walls reflected torchlight, and the air carried a faint scent of wood and wax.

Lira marched ahead, her black tunic with blue trim billowing with each purposeful step.

Charles, hands red and still sore from sparring with Varn, kept his tucked in his pockets, trying to look nonchalant.

But the tension was thick.

Lira hadn’t said a word since leaving the training floor, and it was making him antsy.

’What’d I do now?’ he thought, frowning. ’It was just a sparring match. No big deal.’

Lira glanced back slightly, her eyes a mix of irritation and concern he was starting to recognize.

Finally, she broke the silence.

"Rian," she said, half-question, half-scold. "Did you really fight someone up there?"

Charles scratched his neck, forcing a grin.

"Yeah, well... let’s say the guy was asking for it," he replied, shrugging. "Wasn’t gonna stand there and take it, you know? He had it coming."

Lira sighed deeply, pausing her steps.

She turned, crossing her arms, her face pure exasperation, like she was dealing with a kid who didn’t get the rules.

"Rian... you need to learn some self-control," she said, firm but not harsh. "You can’t go picking fights with everyone who provokes you. Or did you forget you’ve got a bigger enemy? Toren Vask won’t forgive what you did to his kids."

Charles raised an eyebrow, caught off guard.

The mention of Toren Vask stirred memories of his early days in the clan, when, as a mere servant, he’d humiliated Vask’s sons in a fight.

But he didn’t see why Lira was bringing it up now.

"Toren Vask?" he repeated, tilting his head. "Hold up. Those guys came at me first. I just defended myself. Not my fault they were so... pathetic."

Lira stared, a mix of disbelief and frustration.

She resumed walking, forcing Charles to keep up.

"You might be right, Rian," she said, not looking at him. "They provoked you, sure. But when you, a servant, beat them, that was a massive humiliation for the Vask family. You didn’t just win—you stole their arena matches. Those were their shot at Master rank, and now they’re stuck because of you. Trust me, they want payback. And they’re not the only ones gunning for you."

Charles let out a short, almost sarcastic laugh.

He couldn’t help it.

The idea of Toren Vask’s arrogant sons plotting revenge seemed laughable.

"Payback?" he said, still chuckling. "Lira, they were total pushovers. I crushed them without breaking a sweat. If they wanna try again, let ’em come. I’ll put them down again."

Lira stopped abruptly, turning with a glare so sharp Charles swallowed hard.

Her presence, though ahead of him, was commanding, like she could fill the whole hallway with one look.

"Don’t underestimate them, Rian," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "They may have been weak then, but they’re training. And they’re Toren Vask’s sons, one of the clan’s most influential Immortals. They’ve got resources, connections, and now a personal grudge. If you face them again, it won’t be as easy as before."

Charles crossed his arms, thoughtful.

He hated to admit it, but Lira had a point.

He didn’t know much about Toren Vask, but if he was an Immortal, he was probably a big deal.

And if his sons were that obsessed with revenge, they might be trouble.

But Charles wasn’t one to stress about the future—back in his old life, he barely studied for finals.

"Alright, I’ll keep it in mind..." he said, more serious. "But I’m confident I can take them if they come for me. I’m not the same servant I was."

Lira sighed again, more resigned than annoyed, and kept walking.

Charles followed quietly.

As they descended another staircase, the hallway grew busier.

Servants in white tunics scurried about, carrying food trays or scrubbing floors.

A few Warriors in black tunics passed, but none approached.

Lira seemed to radiate an aura that kept everyone at bay.

The hallway ended at a large double wooden door, like the one on the training floor.

Lira pushed it open without hesitation, revealing a massive inner courtyard.

The polished stone floor gleamed, and a raised platform stood at the center.

Around it, in two perfect lines, were over a hundred people in black tunics.

Men and women, mostly around Charles—or rather Rian’s—age, stood silently, hands behind their backs.

Their faces showed a mix of anticipation and nerves.

Charles froze, stunned by the crowd.

’What the hell is this?’ he thought, scanning the scene. ’A ceremony? Or... a trial?’

Lira, noticing he’d stopped, turned and gestured impatiently for him to follow.

"Come on, Rian," she said. "Don’t just stand there."

Charles nodded, still confused, and followed as they moved between the rows.

The crowd’s eyes locked onto him—some curious, others tinged with envy.

At the end of the lines, on the platform’s center, stood Isuke, the instructor Charles remembered from his Novice days.

The man stood tall, posture flawless, his black tunic with red stripes pristine.

In his hands, he held a new tunic, black with red stripes at the hem, neatly folded.

’So that’s it,’ Charles thought, piecing it together. ’The ceremony those guys on the training floor mentioned. They’re really giving me my new tunic like this?’

Isuke looked up as Charles and Lira approached.

His eyes met Charles’s, and a faint smile crossed his face—not warm, but not hostile either.

It was like he was sizing up a student who’d exceeded expectations.

"Rian," Isuke said, his deep voice echoing across the courtyard. "Step forward."

Charles complied, climbing the few steps to the platform.

Lira stayed below, arms crossed, watching closely.

When Charles stood before Isuke, the instructor raised the tunic for all to see.

"Today, we gather to honor an exceptional achievement," Isuke began, his voice clear and commanding. "Rian has shown talent and determination few possess. He defeated ten Novices in combat, a challenge that earned him the rank of Warrior."

Charles blinked, thrown.

’Ten?’ he thought, frowning. ’It was eight. Why’s he saying ten?’

The discrepancy bugged him.

He knew he’d beaten eight Novices, not ten.

But Isuke spoke with such conviction that Charles wondered if he should correct him.

Still, the idea of the instructor inflating his feat felt odd.

’Is he doing it on purpose?’ he thought. ’To make it sound more epic?’

Isuke continued, oblivious to Charles’s thoughts.

"Rian’s skills, his combat sense, endurance, resilience, and spirit are worthy of a Warrior," he said, addressing the crowd. "This promotion isn’t just recognition for him, but an example for all of you. Most of you are Novices. If you achieve half of what Rian has, the Storm Clan will gain strong Warriors, and our future will be secure."

The crowd listened silently, some nodding, others eyeing Charles with a mix of admiration and envy.

Charles felt uneasy under the scrutiny.

He wasn’t used to being the center of attention, at least not like this.

Isuke turned to him, offering the tunic.

"This is your new tunic, Rian," he said, softer. "Wear it with pride. It represents your rank and commitment to the clan."

Charles took it, feeling the soft fabric under his fingers.

The red stripes gleamed in the sunlight, and for a moment, he felt genuinely proud.

But then he noticed Isuke staring, like he expected something more.

Charles leaned in, lowering his voice.

"Uh... do I have to put it on right now?" he whispered, a bit embarrassed.

Isuke raised an eyebrow but replied in an equally low whisper.

"Yes," he said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "It’s part of the ceremony."

Charles sighed, resigned.

He glanced at the silent crowd watching him.

No escaping this.

With a quick motion, he pulled off his old tunic, baring his torso.

His muscles, honed by training and fights, glistened with faint sweat.

The black undershorts he wore saved him from a more awkward moment, but he still felt every eye on him.

’This is ridiculous,’ he thought, slipping on the new tunic as fast as he could.

The fabric fit perfectly, and the red stripes lent an air of authority he hadn’t felt before.

When he finished, Isuke raised a hand to the crowd.

"Applaud our new Warrior!" he declared.

The courtyard erupted in applause.

The sound was deafening, and Charles’s heart raced.

He scanned the crowd, expecting the same disdain he’d seen on the training floor.

But it wasn’t there.

Some looked at him with admiration, others with surprise, a few with enthusiasm that caught him off guard.

’So not everyone hates me,’ he thought, a wave of relief hitting him.

A small, genuine smile curved his lips.