From Trash to Lord of Thunder: The Rise of the Cursed Extra-Chapter 57: A Bit of Noise

The hours ticked by swiftly, and the sky, lightly clear in the afternoon, began to darken with heavy clouds as night approached.

At first, the rain was a steady, gentle drip, almost pleasant.

But as minutes passed, the drops grew thicker, faster, and fiercer.

Outside the Storm Clan’s main temple, Lira stood silently, watching the rain pound the fields around the building.

Beside her, a man in a black tunic moved his hands in a steady rhythm, tracing a circle in the air.

His gaze was locked on the sky, focused on controlling the intensity of the falling drops.

Whenever a surge of water got too close, an invisible gust pushed it aside, keeping Lira and her companions completely dry.

To Lira’s left, an assistant in a white tunic clutched a board full of notes, scanning them quickly.

"Miss Lira," he said, frowning. "The rain’s getting worse. We’ll need more wind controllers to keep the spectators dry during the fights."

Just then, a rogue drop slipped through the air barrier, landing squarely on Lira’s cheek.

The cold, intrusive sensation annoyed her.

The wind controller blinked nervously, realizing his mistake, and intensified his hand movements, redirecting a stronger gust to better shield the area.

Lira wiped her cheek slowly with two fingers.

"Have you spoken to Nora?" she asked, not looking at the assistant.

"She’s in isolated training right now," he replied, lowering his voice. "Apparently, she doesn’t want to be disturbed during this cycle."

"Perfect..." Lira muttered, clenching her jaw. "That’s a problem, then."

She turned slightly, crossing her arms.

"What about competent apprentices? Any available?"

The assistant shook his head almost immediately.

"No, miss. Most are already covering the north and east zones of the clan. Some are even deployed near the forest to keep the access paths from turning to mud."

Lira let out a long, heavy sigh.

This was a big issue.

"And Kain? Where the hell is he?"

"Last seen at the training field doing push-ups and weight routines."

Lira ran a hand over her forehead, brushing aside a wet strand of hair stuck to her skin. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

"Tell him I need him here," she ordered, her irritation clear. "Tell him it’s a personal favor to me. Get him moving."

"Understood," the assistant said, nodding before turning to leave.

A few meters away, groups of spectators began to arrive.

People in modern clothes—waterproof jackets, patterned shirts, sneakers, and collapsible umbrellas—looked around in awe.

Some whispered to each other, pointing at the clan members in black tunics with faintly white edges, who gestured like the wind controller beside Lira.

Near the temple entrance, a wide area had been cleared for the public.

Dozens of Warriors and Sorcerers worked in sync, ensuring no drop touched the newcomers.

Air currents deflected the rain with pinpoint precision, creating an invisible, dry corridor from the main gate to the courtyard inside.

The crowd’s murmurs were a mix of wonder and admiration.

"Did you see that? I told you this place is wild..." a girl whispered to her partner.

"Looks like a movie trick..." a kid commented.

"They’re doing that with their hands?" another girl whispered softly.

"If I stay here, can I learn to do that, too, Mom?" a boy asked her mother.

Lira clicked her tongue, glancing sidelong at the arrivals.

Her tone was dry.

"I don’t get why my father cares so much about impressing these outsiders."

But then, a sharp, booming sound cut through the air.

CRACK!

A lightning bolt crashed down from the sky, striking somewhere in the clan’s grounds.

The thunderclap that followed made several spectators cover their ears.

The sky lit up for an instant.

Everyone froze.

Even Lira’s eyes widened, caught off guard.

"What the hell...?" she muttered.

The assistant, who’d just turned to leave, stopped dead.

Lira muttered, to herself, "The clan bought a new shielding system a few months ago. It was supposed to stop lightning from hitting our facilities."

She ran a hand over her face, frustrated.

"Find someone from the tech team. Have them check what the lightning caused this time."

"Yes, miss," he said, hurrying off, splashing through forming puddles.

◇◆◇

Charles jolted awake.

THUMP-THUMP! THUMP-THUMP!

His heart pounded like he’d just lived a nightmare.

He opened his eyes to darkness, broken only by faint blue light streaming through a window.

The air smelled of dampness, smoke, and something... metallic.

Charles was tied to a chair.

He blinked, then tried to move, but the ropes dug into his wrists.

"What... what the hell...?"

He squinted until his eyes adjusted.

He was in Lira’s room, but not as he remembered.

The floor had a black scorch mark near the window.

A chair, split in two, lay toppled beside him.

The window frame was cracked, as if something massive had blasted through, and the curtain was singed.

The burnt smell was everywhere... even from his own clothes.

’Another lightning strike?’ he thought, his blood racing.

He felt... good.

It was the same rush he’d felt when lightning hit him with Nora.

’What the hell happened here?’

He glanced at the rope, noticing some was charred.

’Seriously, Lira tied me up?’ he thought, frowning.

With a grunt, he yanked his arms forward.

The rope groaned, then snapped at the third pull with a sharp Crack!.

"Well, looks like she’s not so great at knots," he muttered, shaking off the rope scraps.

Glancing out the window, he saw it was dark.

The sky was thick with clouds, and the rain, was starting to wet the room.

’I can’t waste time! If the fights have started and I’m not there...’

Charles bolted to the door and shoved it, but it didn’t budge.

’Shit!’ he thought, scowling.

He stepped back and kicked it hard.

Tas!

The door flew open with a dry crash, the lock shattering.

"Well... guess it was old," Charles muttered, surprised by his own strength.

He sprinted down the hallway, ignoring any servants who might spot him.

His boots echoed against the floor, each step spiking his pulse.

’Don’t be late, don’t be late, don’t be late...’