Chapter two: Spirit Awakening ceremony.

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.

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