Chapter three: First Training

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.

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