Having dealt with Carlos, Thundrous was in high spirits. Even the grasshoppers darting through the fields seemed adorable as he strolled along.
These grasshoppers were plump and energetic, leaping great distances with each bound. Thundrous plucked some blades of grass, wove them into a small cage, and caught a dozen grasshoppers to toss inside. Humming to himself, he made his way back home.
Upon returning, he spotted Serene dozing in the courtyard—likely sleep-deprived, her head bobbing as she struggled to stay awake.
Choosing not to provoke the little menace, Thundrous set the cage by the outer wall and moved to another area.
Since his breakthrough with the *Heavenly Phantom Steps* in the Bretton Forest, he hadn't had time to refine his practice. Now, with a rare opportunity, he wasn't about to waste it.
Recalling the sensation of that breakthrough, Thundrous began moving slowly through the courtyard. The *Heavenly Phantom Steps* were all about rhythm—controlling the tempo of battle meant controlling the fight itself, dictating an opponent's movements.
Back in the Bretton Forest, his breakthrough had come in a life-or-death moment, spurred by Serene's peril and aided by a wind-enhancing spell.
Reaching that level again wouldn't be easy, but having experienced it once, true mastery was within reach.
His movements grew faster. To an observer, he might seem to flicker—one moment here, the next there.
*Swift as a fleeing hare.*
When a rabbit flees an eagle, its speed reaches life-or-death extremes—a blur of motion few could match.
After an hour of practice, Thundrous finally stopped, drenched in sweat.
*Not perfect.*
He hadn't fully entered the first stage again—just brushed against its threshold. Compared to his fluid performance in the forest, his movements now felt stiff and forced. *No desperation to push me this time.*
But touching the threshold meant that with enough practice, true mastery would come. Once he reached that stage, his speed would surpass most assassins and thieves in this world.
The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Tifa continued teaching the Lightning Class about meridians, while Thundrous holed up in his study crafting scrolls, occasionally meditating in the garden to absorb the world's spiritual energy.
He was acutely aware of his strengths and weaknesses.
His strengths? A vast mana reserve, unparalleled recovery speed, and rapid cultivation progress.
His weaknesses? More glaring. The *Spirit Suppression Pearl* limited him—even with an archmage's mana pool, he could only cast first or second-tier spells. Though his versions of basic spells were anything *but* basic, they remained single-target attacks.
If not for that dark scroll during their last crisis, the Lightning Class might have been wiped out. That near-disaster had been a wake-up call.
*Scrolls are useful, but relying on them is dangerous. True strength comes from within.*
No one could guarantee he'd always have enough scrolls in battle. If he ever exhausted his stock without resupply and faced another threat… *That'd be embarrassing.*
The thought spurred him to action.
*Time to improve.*
Learning new spells? Too slow—not something achieved overnight. Until his mana capacity grew further, advanced magic was out of reach.
That left one option: *mastering control over lightning elements.*
A true master mage could effortlessly manipulate ambient magic, precisely regulating mana output to sustain prolonged combat.
*Precision control.* The realization struck him like lightning.
Sitting cross-legged in the garden, breathing in the floral-scented air, Thundrous raised his hand. Mana surged within him, calling forth the surrounding lightning elements.
In an instant, his modified *Palms of Thunder* took shape.
Crackling arcs of electricity danced across his palm, forming a searing, unstable sphere of light that flickered wildly, resisting containment.
Lightning was the most volatile of elements. To truly command it demanded *absolute* control.
Had anyone witnessed this, they'd have marveled at the impossibility—even some archmages couldn't sustain a spell without release.
But Thundrous aimed higher.
Staring at the chaotic sphere, he channeled more mana, *forcing* it into shape.
He wanted a *perfect sphere*—not this writhing, rebellious mass.
It was a crude training method, one only he could attempt.
*Compress. Control. Dominate.*
With a sharp *crack*, he hurled the spell forward, blasting a crater into a nearby rock.
*First attempt: failure.*
Lightning was too wild. Adding more mana only destabilized it further. Had he hesitated, the backlash might have electrocuted him.
Reflecting on the experience, he summoned another *Palms of Thunder* and tried again.
*Second attempt: failure.*
*Third attempt: failure.*
But Thundrous wasn't discouraged.
*Victory comes to those who endure.*
And so, he continued.
**Will relentless practice lead to mastery—or disaster?**