A full year of training had passed since Bolt mastered the Fourth Form. He had achieved something only the rarest warriors could dream of. With the ability to channel thunder and the storm, he had learned to connect with the essence of nature. Lightning was no longer a force around him—it had become a part of him. But mastery was not the end.
When Bolt asked Master Thomas to begin the Fifth Form, the answer had stunned him: "No, you are not ready."
Though disappointed, Bolt accepted the verdict. And so began what would be the most humbling, grueling, and transformative year of his journey—a year without advancement in forms, but instead, a return to the foundation, where raw steel met the discipline of mind and body.
Chris and Leo, older disciples and fierce warriors in their own right, were assigned as his training partners. While Bolt had previously surpassed them in aura manipulation, they remained unmatched in technique, instinct, and close combat.
From dawn till nightfall, the trio trained under every condition imaginable. Whether it was sprinting across narrow cliff ridges with boulders strapped to their backs, or sparring on thin logs suspended over rivers, each day broke the limits of Bolt's body and rebuilt them stronger.
No aura. No shortcuts. Just steel.
They drilled the basics until Bolt could swing his sword in a hundred different ways without thought. His footwork, once sloppy under pressure, became fluid, sharp, and deadly. Reflexes were sharpened through blindfolded dodging exercises in forests where tree branches snapped at them like whips. Chris often leapt from the shadows without warning, testing Bolt's alertness.
Chris specialized in unarmed combat, with the precision of a tiger and the explosiveness of a storm. Leo, a master of dual swords, moved like wind and shadows, unpredictable and devastating.
Together, they taught Bolt one harsh lesson:
"Aura is nothing if your sword can't keep up with your will."
Midway through the year, Master Thomas presented Bolt with something extraordinary: a sword forged from the scales of the Thunder Dragon, a beast long believed to be extinct.
The blade shimmered like tempered silver but crackled softly, like static before a lightning strike. It was elegant, yet primal. The hilt was wrapped in sky-blue leather, and the edge bore ancient inscriptions that pulsed when Bolt held it.
Master Thomas: "This sword was made from the dragon that first brought lightning to this world. This sword has been passed through generations in our and I felt that only one, whose soul burns with thunder can wield it."
Bolt was speechless. The moment he grasped it, his aura surged—not wildly, but as if pulled into harmony. The blade didn't resist. It accepted him.
That day, something new awakened.
While sparring with Chris, Bolt focused his aura into the blade. Electricity danced along its surface, wrapping it in a sheath of thunder. When he struck, the ground beneath their feet split. It wasn't just lightning anymore.
Bolt had learned how to transfer his aura into material objects.
It was a breakthrough that elevated his control. Transferring aura into his sword gave him more precision. He no longer wasted energy in random bursts. Every strike became calculated, every movement clean.
Chris and Leo noticed.
Not to be left behind, Chris and Leo retrieved their own real swords from the mountain vault. Leo's blades were forged from shadowsteel, a rare metal that made him near-invisible in the dark. Chris wielded a tiger fang broadsword, heavy and powerful, reflecting his brute strength and close-range dominance.
The training intensified.
The trio would engage in three-way battles that lasted for hours. Bolt with his lightning-charged strikes. Leo, dashing in with phantom-like agility. Chris, countering both with raw power and iron defense.
Their sessions were no longer simple drills. They had become duels of art.
They clashed in thunderstorms, lightning raining around them. They fought in forests, balancing on branches. They sparred on mountain peaks with howling winds testing their balance.
Each time Bolt tried to overwhelm them with aura alone, Chris would counter with brute counters, or Leo would slip past his defense and tap his neck with a blade.
Aura made Bolt powerful. But Chris and Leo made him complete.
As the months passed, Bolt not only grew stronger but wiser. He realized that his earlier forms had taught him how to use his power—but this year had taught him how to control it.
He no longer needed to focus intensely to maintain his aura. His lightning didn't burst out recklessly. It was like a silent river flowing just beneath the surface, ready to erupt with purpose.
He began to understand what Master Thomas meant when he said:
"A swordmaster isn't one who swings fastest, but one who knows when not to swing."
Bolt developed discipline. Patience. Strategy. He could now feel the rhythm of battle. Anticipate movement. He didn't rush anymore. He didn't rely solely on lightning.
Instead, he combined it with reflex, instinct, and technique.
The last day of the year arrived.
Bolt stood in the center of the training ground, breathing steadily, sword in hand, eyes closed. Around him, thunder rolled in the sky. Chris and Leo watched silently from the edge.
He raised his sword slowly, and the blade lit up, encased in pure blue-white lightning. It didn't hum wildly. It glowed softly—controlled, mastered.
He struck forward once, a clean arc. The energy split a boulder in two, but the wind barely moved.
He had reached a state where power and control had become one.
Master Thomas arrived.
Master Thomas:
"Now... you are ready."
Bolt nodded, eyes focused.
The year of steel and thunder had forged more than strength.
It had forged a true warrior.