Journey to Become the Zenith

The Thunder’s Judgment

The noble who had stepped forward moved slowly.

Too slowly.

Heavy steps moved one after another - no boldness behind them, only what built up inside. Not far off stood the sword, close enough to touch, though it played tricks on space... warped each reach ahead like willpower ran thinner by the foot. A breath before had been easier than this.

Footsteps dragged, soft at first - yet in the yard’s hush, even a whisper of leather on stone rang out too clear. Quiet swallowed everything else, so the tiny scrape grew heavy, stretched thin across empty space.

Sound had nothing to do with it.

It was presence.

A weight no one can name bends the atmosphere, making it dense. Each inhalation feels harder now, like pulling through syrup. Air resists, though nothing shows.

His eyes flickered.

Away from the blade -

But toward Videl.

There she was next to Principal Max, just like her words promised. Quiet in her stance. Not moving a muscle. Her eyes stayed fixed on what unfolded before her.

Her body stays loose, without tightness showing. A quiet ease fills the way she holds herself.

No anticipation.

No interest.

Just quiet observation.

Stillness filled the air. Silence held every corner. Nothing stirred at all.

Nothing suggested she’d get involved.

And that -

Made it worse.

Besides, had she felt no concern...

What, then, was pulling him forward?

A bead of sweat crept along the noble’s hairline, inching downward without hurry. From there it traced a narrow path beside his cheek, barely breaking rhythm. Near the edge of his jaw it wavered, then continued, pulled by weight alone.

Still nothing from her... why?

A lump sat deep in his throat. Still he tried to swallow, though it helped not at all.

Footsteps slow, a tightness grew behind his ribs. The near he came, the deeper that weight pressed.

Something else sat beneath it. Not only fright shaped how things felt.

Fear wore a face. It followed rules. Moved with purpose.

This -

Was something else.

Something slipped beneath his skin, slow and unseen.

He felt it tight against his skeleton.

Whispered without words.

Don’t touch it.

It was instinct.

Something deep, primal -

Warning him.

He stopped.

Abruptly.

His pride kept pushing, yet the body just stopped listening.

A breath held tight as his fingers stayed just above the sword’s grip. Close enough to feel its edge, yet frozen mid-motion. Not touching, but ready. The space between skin and steel almost nothing at all. A twitch would close it. Stillness ruled instead.

So close.

Fingers near enough to trace the thin lines carved into the handle.

A shiver creeps near, too close to ignore - the air bites with a stillness that shouldn’t be, sharp as iron soaked in rain.

And yet -

He couldn’t move.

His fingers twitched.

Hovered.

Shook.

He stood still while murmurs rose among the lords at his back. Quiet footsteps echoed as they grew restless behind him.

Frayed nerves began to show. Their calm had started slipping away.

Their pride - pricked.

What is he doing?

A blade, nothing more.

A soft laugh came from one. The second folded his arms, showing little interest.

Yet no one moved ahead just then.

Besides what they believe -

Something shifted. A quiet understanding passed between them. Not a word was needed. Just a glance - enough.

A quiet pressure hugs the edge of the steel. It sits heavy, just beneath the surface. Not loud - just there, like breath held too long. Cold weight without sound. Sharp air that never cuts loose.

Close enough to feel the drop below, though it vanished into nothing. A step nearer and the ground just stopped.

Then -

Out of nowhere, someone spoke. Stillness cracked under the sound.

”Come on, pull it already!”

”Are you going to pull it, or are you just a coward?!”

”How about you move aside so someone else can try, you coward!”

Laughter followed.

Harsh.

Mocking.

Cuts like a blade just honed.

A muscle near his mouth pulled tight.

A small shake ran through his fingers, hovering just above the ground.

His ears burned.

Breath caught in his throat - no trace of fear left, just a sharper heat burning behind the ribs.

Ugly.

He knew.

If he pulled away at this moment -

So that’s the end of it.

No recovery.

No redemption.

Whatever reason he gave -

Even if he tried a hundred ways to clarify -

Sound never reached them. Silence stayed put.

This one thing stuck in their mind. Nothing else stayed.

A coward.

Forever.

His reputation -

Shattered.

He started breathing deeper.

Shallow. Uneven.

Damn it...

Fingers biting into skin, his hand tightened just a bit. The pressure built where nails met flesh, quiet but sharp.

Inside, pride roared past instinct. Quiet warnings got drowned out by ego’s noise.

Then -

It was settled then. The choice stood firm without another word.

A flash of movement -

The man took hold of the blade.

That instant his fingers closed on the handle -

Nothing happened.

No reaction.

No resistance.

No surge.

No rejection.

Silence.

For a heartbeat -

Then another.

The noble blinked.

His breath hitched.

A shadow lighter passed through his eyes, thin... like it might break. Then came a breath - hesitant, quiet - that didn’t quite trust the moment.

Behind him, several nobles smirked.

Laughter slipped out, quiet but clear.

Turns out that move had no real weight behind it.

Nothing more.

The tension loosened.

Shoulders relaxed.

Blur crept into the edges of sight. Vision softened like worn paper left too long in sunlight.

Confidence returned.

For just an instant, everything felt unsteady

The air settled back into its usual rhythm. Quiet returned, piece by piece. Sunlight lay flat across the stones. Nothing pressed too hard anymore.

But -

For just a second, it hung there.

Because something changed.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Subtly.

The air shifted.

The sword -

Answered.

Crack.

Bang cracked the silence wide open.

Dry. Violent. Absolute.

Then -

Lightning.

Brilliant.

Violent.

Unforgiving.

It didn’t gather -

It exploded.

Out of nowhere, lightning clawed from the metal edge, jagged streaks tearing through space as if something caged had finally broken free. Cracks split the silence, thunder rolling thick in the wind, while sharp air burned every breath.

A flash of time passed. Then stillness returned

The world turned white.

The noble stood still, like ice had crept into his bones.

Then -

Convulsed.

” - AHH!!”

A sound ripped out of him, jagged and uncontrolled, when the bolt hit. Every muscle snapped tight - his spine bent like a bow, hands jerking without warning. The charge burned along each nerve, sudden and total.

There was no control.

No resistance.

No dignity.

The strength of it broke his hold apart.

His grip gave way.

He couldn’t.

It wasn’t strength he could carry -

Something pushed back when he reached out.

Violently.

Absolutely.

A sudden snap -

Back he flew, sudden and sharp.

Not pushed.

Not knocked.

Thrown.

Down he crashed, the fall driving every breath out of him. Rolling - once, then again - the dust caught his weight as motion gave way to stillness. Limbs gone loose, shaking faintly where they lay.

Silence.

A hush followed the storm’s sudden shout. Silence rolled in where noise once stood.

No lingering echoes.

No fading rumble.

Just -

Absence.

Heavy. Suffocating. Absolute.

Leaving only -

Fear.

Shaking, the noble stayed put, muscles frozen against his will. A spasm ran through his arm - fingers jerking as if reliving the agony, the sudden blow... the brutal strength that cast him aside.

His vision blurred.

Breath caught, his chest lifted in jagged bursts.

His entire body felt... wrong.

As if the thing had slipped away from his grasp.

His eyes widened.

Shaking.

”What the hell have you done, Videl?!”