The first time Li Chen opened his eyes, the world felt wrong.

Not in a dreamlike sense—though the tightness in his chest, the sharp tang of copper on his tongue, and the disoriented thrum of his heartbeat might have suggested otherwise—but in a deeper, irrevocable way. The city before him shimmered with life. Lanterns swayed though no wind stirred. Streets pulsed like veins, carrying the rhythm of countless souls. And above it all, the towering spires of the Spirit Academy scraped the sky like ancient claws.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

A week ago, he had been just another ordinary teenager—lonely, unnoticed, mortal. And yet now, as sunlight struck his hair and cast long shadows across his thin, unfamiliar arms, he had no doubt: he had transmigrated. Some cosmic joke—or punishment—had flung him into a world where survival wasn’t measured by effort or courage, but by the spirit soul you awakened.

And he hadn’t awakened one yet.

His new body was fragile, light, and narrow. He could feel his pulse in his throat, in his temples, in the tips of his fingers. That fear—the primal, bone-deep kind—wasn’t just from the body swap. It was from knowing what awaited him in three days: the Spirit Awakening Ceremony, where adolescents across the city would discover the spirit that would define their life, and their worth.

Worth.

In this world, mythical beasts and elemental spirits dominated. They were the darlings of the academies, the children of destiny. Plant spirits, rare and slow, were often pitied, yet they carried subtle powers and long lives. And then… there were the tool spirits.

Swords. Spears. Hammers. Daggers.

Whispers called them “broken paths,” relics of a bygone era. Powerful, yes—but incomplete. Dangerous. Most who awakened a tool spirit died. Those who survived were mocked, feared, or quietly discarded.

He hadn’t even awakened yet, and his chest already ached.

A sudden shiver ran down his spine as a faint warmth stirred in the center of his chest—a pulse that wasn’t entirely his own. A voice, mechanical yet resonant, whispered in a language he didn’t consciously know:

“Dao Spirit Sword system detected. Activation pending upon awakening. Spirit path incomplete. Survival uncertain.”

Li Chen froze. Survival uncertain? That wasn’t comforting. And yet… there was something instinctual about the system, something alive, that made him feel ready, even as his body trembled.

He took a shaky breath and rose to his feet. The streets were filling with teenagers, their postures proud, their faces set with confidence—or smugness, depending on the predicted strength of their spirits. From a distance, he could see the glow of spirits reacting to their owners, ethereal and magnificent. A phoenix soared above the plaza, its flames streaking the morning sky. A silver dragon coiled around the tallest tower. Below, human faces shone with the pride of those who believed themselves already destined for greatness.

And then there was him.

Just a boy. Weak. Unknown. Terrified.

He clenched his fists tighter. Tomorrow, they would see him awaken. And whatever the world chose to call him—trash, pitiful, or irrelevant—he had made a decision.

I will survive. No matter what.

Even if the spirit he awakened was a broken sword.

Even if everyone else said he couldn’t.

The plaza was alive with anticipation. Hundreds of teenagers lined the marble steps of the Spirit Academy, their hearts pounding as the elders took their places on the elevated dais. Sunlight reflected off polished armor, embroidered robes, and the faint glimmer of spirit auras already reacting to their owners.

Li Chen stood at the very back, hands clenched, trying to make himself invisible. He could hear whispers ripple through the crowd:

“Did you see the boy with the pale hair? Probably a plant spirit…”

“Don’t waste your time looking. It’s a tool spirit if anything—trash path.”

“Tool spirit? Ha! Last one I knew died before reaching Core Formation.”

He swallowed hard.

A bell tolled, deep and resonant, vibrating through his chest. The elders raised their hands, and the ceremony began. One by one, students stepped onto the central platform. Flames, wings, lightning, and swirling vines appeared around them as their spirits responded—mythical beasts, elemental spirits, even ancient plant spirits. The plaza erupted with awe and applause.

Li Chen’s turn came sooner than he expected. His legs felt like lead as he stepped forward. Heart hammering, he raised his hand toward the ceremonial altar.

“Awaken!”

A faint pulse surged from the altar, crawling up his arm, sinking into his chest. He felt a tug, a pull at the center of his soul, as if something deep inside him had been waiting centuries for this moment.

Then—nothing.

A whisper tickled the edge of his consciousness.

“Dao Spirit Sword system… activation possible… warning: path incomplete.”

Li Chen’s eyes widened. He pressed his palm harder against the altar. Suddenly, pain lanced through his chest. The world blurred. He fell to one knee as a spectral shape formed before him—a sword, fractured, jagged, glowing faintly with silver light.

The plaza went silent.

The elders leaned forward. One of them muttered under his breath:

“Tool spirit… a broken sword… low-tier mortal…”

Gasps spread through the crowd. Disbelief, pity, and suppressed laughter rippled outward.

Li Chen’s knees shook, but the sword floated before him, trembling as if alive. Then, a sharp pulse, like lightning in his veins, coursed through him. Pain became clarity. The sword responded to his intent.

He clenched his teeth. He focused. He raised his hand—and the broken sword followed, slicing through the air with surprising precision. A faint silver trail lingered, and the elders’ eyes narrowed.

One whispered to another:

“This… shouldn’t be possible for a Low-tier tool spirit. Keep watching.”

Li Chen’s heart raced. He didn’t understand it yet, but a part of him knew: this sword was different. The Dao Spirit Sword system whispered again, feeding him understanding in flashes, guiding his movements, teaching him the rhythm of sword intent.

By the time the ceremony ended, Li Chen had stabilized the sword in midair, pointing straight at the sky. The crowd erupted in shock and curiosity—not applause, but a tense murmur of awe and uncertainty. A tool spirit had awakened… but not like the elders expected.

He stumbled off the platform, legs weak, chest burning. The whispers followed him. Some sneered, some stared, and a few, rare, intrigued eyes lingered on the boy with the broken sword.

Li Chen gritted his teeth, staring down at the fractured blade hovering before him.

“Low-tier mortal… broken path… incomplete spirit… whatever they say… it doesn’t matter. I’ll survive. I’ll become stronger. I’ll make this sword my own.”

The Dao Spirit Sword system hummed faintly in his soul, and for the first time since awakening, he felt a spark of hope—a dangerous, sharp, thrilling spark.

Tomorrow, the real work would begin. And he had a feeling the world was not ready for him.

The morning sun had barely risen when Li Chen found himself standing at the edge of the academy’s training grounds. Around him, other students warmed up in synchronized movements, their auras radiating confidence. Flames danced along the wrists of beast spirit users, lightning crackled around elemental cultivators, and even plant spirit owners exuded a serene power that made the grass sway in unnatural rhythm.

Li Chen’s chest tightened. He clutched the broken sword hovering in his palm. The spectral blade trembled faintly, as though it too was nervous.

From the shadows near the central pavilion, laughter trickled down like poison.

“Look at him,” a voice sneered. A tall boy with a silver fox spirit smirked, his hands resting on the hilt of an ethereal dagger. “A tool spirit? A broken sword at that? Even a child could overpower him.”

More students laughed, their whispers echoing across the training grounds. “He’ll never pass basic Body Tempering,” one muttered. “Waste of space.”

Li Chen gritted his teeth. The humiliation stung, hotter than the burn in his chest when the sword pulsed against him. He had no allies here, no reputation, no second chances. Yet beneath the shame, a spark of determination ignited.

I may be weak now… but I will survive.

The first exercise was simple—Body Tempering Basics. Students were instructed to circulate spirit energy through their bodies, strengthening bones, muscles, and meridians.

Li Chen closed his eyes and forced a calm breath. He reached for the center of his soul, where the broken sword waited. The Dao Spirit Sword system stirred faintly, humming in resonance.

“Activate stabilization protocol,” it whispered. “Compensate for incomplete cultivation path. Caution: risk of meridian strain.”

He nodded, following its guidance. As spirit energy coursed through him, pain lanced down his arms and legs, and the sword shivered in response. Unlike other spirits, it didn’t stabilize automatically—it required intent, focus, and will.

A nearby instructor, observing the class, frowned. “That boy…” He muttered. “Tool spirit… barely conscious… yet energy signature is… strange.”

Li Chen clenched his teeth and forced the energy deeper. The pain grew, burning through nerves and sinew, but the broken sword vibrated steadily in midair. He focused on one movement—one clean strike of intent—and the blade followed, cutting a clean arc in the air. The faint silver trail lingered, unnoticed by most, but enough to make the fox-spirit boy scowl.

“Pathetic,” the boy said, scoffing. Yet even he tightened his stance, a flicker of unease passing over his face.

Li Chen fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Sweat streamed down his face, his hands shook, and the broken sword hovered, almost as if comforting him. The Dao Spirit Sword system whispered again, offering tiny corrections, showing him the rhythm of energy flow.

“Meridians stabilized 23%. Sword intent improved. Low-tier Mortal Tool Spirit response adequate.”

It wasn’t much, but it was progress.

When the instructor called the session over, students around him chuckled, some shaking their heads in disbelief. But Li Chen knew something they did not—the blade was listening. It was learning.

And so was he.

Low-tier, broken, mocked… it doesn’t matter. I’ll make this sword mine. I’ll survive. And one day, they’ll see me not as a tool spirit, but as the weapon no one dared to wield.

For the first time, the humiliation didn’t crush him. It sharpened him. And in that quiet resolve, Li Chen felt the first pulse of something greater—a faint spark of potential that promised, someday, the world would regret underestimating him.