Thinking more won’t help now; a storm already crests over the ridge. I need to brace for the next strike.

As that thought settles, a commanding voice rolls from the sky like iron thunder: "Challenger of the Nine Cold Labyrinth, the trial of the Cliff of Thunder will begin. You have half an hour to rest and prepare. Each rotation of attacks also lasts half an hour, with ten minutes of rest between."

"A rotation of attacks?"

Bewilderment pricks, then memory clears like frost on glass. FrostyLily Dream said the Cliff of Thunder strikes in three waves: lightning, beasts, and this layer’s warden. So I hold for half an hour each time, then rest ten minutes, then repeat. Hah. There’s at least a sliver of mercy in this storm. I’d worried I’d have to endure everything in one breath. My chest loosens like an unstrung bow.

"Thirty minutes? I’ve got to recover fast."

I sit, slow as settling snow, and raise a veil of Sword Aura around me, a thin light-screen to keep stray bolts from biting. I shut my eyes and school my feelings first, then breath and pulse. I have to face this at my peak.

And yet the mind flickers like a candle in wind. Relax? It only tightens, knot by knot. No good. If I had cold water, a splash could chill the frenzy. Wait—if there isn’t any, I can make it.

Thought becomes act. I condense ice-aspected Sword Aura and shape a palm-sized shard, then kindle fire-aspected Sword Aura to melt it. As the ice turns to chilled water, I cup both hands and slap the cold across my face.

"Ah—so good." The head clears like dawn after rain. Forced calm doesn’t stick; better to let it flow.

I stand and stretch, bones popping like bamboo in frost. I finally drink in the scene—lightning veining a dark sky, thunder beating like war drums. The heavens look dim, yet every flash paints them bright. It’s a beauty born of ruin, a dance of destruction.

But this beauty cuts like a blade. One misstep, and you fall into endless calamity. My Sword Aura screen has only been up moments, and cracks already spiderweb across it. No choice—I feed more Sword Aura, a thin thread buying more time.

Time skims by like birds on a gale. Half an hour vanishes.

Before it begins, that stern voice tolls again from above: "Trial begins in ten seconds. Counting now—ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. The trial of the Cliff of Thunder, this king declares, officially begins."

Rumble—rumble!

In a breath, winds howl like wolves and thunder roars like drums. Countless silver-blue bolts narrow to lances, to serpents, to dragons, all diving for my cliff. Their speed and force dwarf the random strikes from before.

My mood sinks like a stone into deep water. Hey—weren’t the weakest supposed to be S-rank? These are all Sacred Realm-level!

I want to curse, but the words scatter like leaves. No time to waste. I must stop the first wave.

I raise the Shattered Light Sword. To spare my strength, I pull in the nearby lightning element, drawing it like wild rivers into my blade. The air here brims with pure thunder; leaving it unused would be a sin. I’ve got a new sword art—time to switch. I drink deep until the veins burn, then loose everything in one breath.

"Boundless: Sky‑Thunder Sword!"

A giant sword of lightning Sword Aura blooms around me like a storm-borne pillar. It sweeps the four directions, meeting the falling bolts like a pack of beasts rushing down the mountain.

Thunder answers thunder; like repels like. Flashes web the whole sky, and the roar hammers the ears without end. Layers of cloud tear away like old silk. If I hadn’t thrown up a defensive technique to brace the cliff, it would’ve shattered.

Sizzle—

After a dozen seconds, both tides cancel each other, sinking into thread-thin currents that fade into the void.

"So this is the boon of dense, pure energy here. A high-tier sword art barely drained me."

I roll my shoulders, surprised. The storm doesn’t grant time to muse. In moments, hundreds more bolts fall together, a shoal gathering into one. Hundreds of strikes with the power of an early Sacred Realm spell begin to merge. Just thinking of it chills the spine.

"Eh?"

A prickle crawls over my skin. I look up—merging, for real. The fused bolt swells colossal, broad as a mountain, weighty as a falling peak. Its bite rivals the Holy Peak. I can faintly sense the law of lightning humming within. And it’s born of heaven, not cast by a common Sacred Realm mage, so its force multiplies. Terrifying doesn’t cover it. Not good—but I won’t wait to die.

I draw breath, long as a tide, and haul in more thunder, harder than before. I rake my memory for a technique that fits this storm.

"The range is too wide. Ordinary arts won’t do—unless I unfold my Sword Domain... No. Save strength if I can. Fine—use that one."

Resolved, I whip the Shattered Light Sword at my body’s limit, sketching a vast net in the air, every strand woven from lightning Sword Aura streaming off the blade.

Half a heartbeat later, the mountain-sized bolt is almost upon me. I finish the weave and cast the art.

"Sky‑Thunder Sword Net!"

The net blazes, lightning swelling, spreading like a winged canopy. It wraps the falling giant bolt, binding it mid‑air.

Boom!

Thunder slams the heavens. Clouds blow apart in rings. Mountains buckle; forests topple like grass in flood. The cliff beneath my feet lurches, ready to split. I clamp down fast and steady it. One breath late, and I’d be dust—life and death on a knife’s edge.

"Hu—held it, right?"

I wipe sweat from my brow and glance up. Smoke veils the sky like torn gauze. I wait. When it thins, the bolt is gone. Only then does my chest ease. I watch the sky—no fresh gathering yet. I can snatch a few breaths.

Drawing lightning to fuel Sword Aura saves the limbs, but the mind still burns. Spirit frays like silk in rain.

So any window to recover—I take it. Even if it’s only a few heartbeats.