Rebirth of the Weakest

9: The Trash Sword Nobody Wanted

Three days had passed since Ken shocked the entire Grand Le Clan by joining both the Pill Pavilion and the Forge Pavilion in the same afternoon.

His life had shifted again, though this time for a different reason entirely. It was not fear driving the change. It was curiosity. Suddenly, it seemed, everyone wanted to know him.

Walking through the courtyard with a basket of forging materials balanced on one hip, Ken found himself swarmed by a small cluster of younger disciples waving him down.

"Brother Ken!"

"Brother Ken, is it true you actually have a Beast Flame?"

"Can Panther spirits really move that fast?"

"Will you teach me something?"

Ken nearly laughed out loud. Not long ago, these same children had been steered away from him by parents whispering about a cursed trash spirit. Now they trailed behind him like a line of overeager ducklings.

"One question at a time," he said, holding up a hand in mock surrender.

A small girl with neat braids stepped forward, chin lifted with more courage than her age probably warranted.

"My name is Le Xia," she announced. "Can I still become strong, even if my spirit is not a good one?"

Ken crouched down to her level. "What spirit did you awaken?"

She dropped her gaze. "A Sparrow spirit."

The other children went quiet around her, the kind of silence that told Ken exactly how that answer usually got treated.

"When I first awakened my spirit," Ken said gently, "the whole clan called me trash too."

Le Xia looked up, startled.

"But look at me now," he said, grinning. Her eyes lit up. "You beat Wei Lin!"

"So never decide your future before you have actually tried," Ken told her, ruffling her hair before standing back up.

The children nodded seriously, as though he had just handed down ancient wisdom rather than common sense. From a distance, a few adults watched the whole exchange with quiet approval.

"He really has changed," one murmured.

"No arrogance in him at all."

"Lady Le Li clearly raised him well."

"He almost feels approachable now."

Ken rubbed the back of his neck, unused to being talked about like a success story instead of a cautionary tale.

Inside the Forge Pavilion, the hammering never seemed to stop.

*Clang. Clang. Clang.*

Elder Han stood with arms crossed, watching Ken work the metal with an expression that gave away absolutely nothing.

"Again," he said.

Ken wiped sweat from his brow. "I have already done this fifty times."

"Then do it fifty one," Elder Han replied, unmoved.

Nearby, a few other disciples exchanged pained looks.

"Master Han is unusually strict today," one whispered.

"Because Le Ken is here," the other murmured back. "He does not want the clan genius embarrassing him in front of everyone."

Ken lifted the hammer again despite his hands already aching. *In my old life, I spent years behind a desk arguing about spreadsheets. Now I am getting yelled at by an old man while hammering metal that could melt my fingers off. Life really does not do subtlety.*

"Forging is not about talent," Elder Han said, watching him work. "It is patience. One careless mistake ruins the entire piece."

Ken nodded, filing that away properly this time.

Beside him, another disciple grinned, a tall boy with a scattering of freckles across his nose.

"Brother Ken," he said, offering a hand. "Name is Gao Shen. Joined the Forge Pavilion last year. You have gotten pretty famous around here."

Ken shook it. "Trying my best not to be, honestly."

"Bit late for that," Gao Shen said, laughing.

The two of them fell into easy conversation almost immediately, and Ken realized somewhere in the middle of it that this was the first normal friendship he had made since stumbling out of the Canyon Valley. No power struggles. No hidden agenda. Just two guys complaining about sore hands.

It felt surprisingly nice.

Once lessons wrapped up, Ken headed for the clan marketplace, hunting for anything that might spark an idea for the blaster still living rent free in his head.

The market buzzed with noise, vendors shouting over each other from every direction.

"Fresh beast meat, still warm!"

"Spirit herbs, finest quality!"

"Protective talismans, guaranteed!"

"Forging ores, straight from the mountain!"

Ken drifted through the chaos, genuinely enjoying himself. *Markets like this did not exist back home. Everything came shrink wrapped and overpriced.*

He stopped at a skewer stall. "How much?"

"Two copper coins," the vendor said.

He bought a few and ate as he walked.

*You seem relaxed,* Mirinda's voice observed from inside his soul space.

"It is nice out here," Ken said quietly, mostly to himself.

*You can still find enjoyment in something this ordinary?*

"Of course," Ken said, taking another bite. "Why would that be strange?"

*My own life was always training, nothing else,* she admitted, something distant in her tone.

Ken considered that for a moment. "Then someday, we will go exploring together. Properly, I mean."

Mirinda went very quiet. *Together?*

"Yeah," Ken said, blinking, unsure why that surprised her so much. "You have never actually gone sightseeing before, have you?"

A pause, longer than expected. *No,* she admitted finally.

"Then I will show you everything worth seeing," Ken said simply.

*Focus on your forging,* Mirinda said quickly, retreating from the conversation entirely.

Her ears, somewhere deep in his soul space, had gone unmistakably red.

Ken wandered further into an older, quieter corner of the marketplace, where the shopfronts looked tired and half forgotten, business clearly thin. An elderly shopkeeper sat behind one counter, half asleep.

Then Ken stopped walking entirely.

Near the shop's entrance, propped up and being used as a footstool of all things, sat a massive black sword, rusted, coated in dust, ugly in every way a weapon could possibly be ugly.

The old man sat on it casually, feet up.

"Why," Ken asked slowly, "is there a sword under your backside?"

The shopkeeper shrugged. "No one wants it. Sturdy stool, though."

*Young Ken,* Mirinda's voice cut in, suddenly serious.

Ken's attention sharpened instantly. "What?"

*Touch it.*

He approached carefully. The old man chuckled, clearly enjoying himself.

"Careful now. Rumor says that thing is cursed."

Before Ken's fingers reached the handle, a familiar voice cut through the crowd behind him.

"Well, well."

Everyone turned. Weaving through the market with the confidence of someone who had never once been told no, walked Wei Zha, Wei Lin's older brother, dressed in robes worth more than most of the stalls around him combined. Unlike his brother's temper, Wei Zha carried himself calm, calculating, and irritatingly composed.

His eyes landed on Ken immediately. "If it is not the clan genius himself."

Ken sighed. "Can I shop in peace for once?"

Wei Zha ignored the question entirely, his attention snagging on the sword instead. "And what is this."

"Old junk," the shopkeeper offered. "Nothing special, Young Master."

Wei Zha's smirk widened. "If Le Ken was eyeing it, it must be worth something after all." He dropped a handful of coins onto the counter without hesitation. "I will take it."

Ken said nothing, watching quietly.

*Do not interfere,* Mirinda warned.

Wei Zha gripped the handle confidently.

His expression froze almost instantly. "What—"

A strange force surged outward, the black blade flickering with faint light.

His Beast Qi tore loose from his body, uncontrolled. "What is happening to my Qi!"

His face drained pale. He tried releasing the handle, and could not. His knees buckled beneath him.

"Someone, help me!"

The crowd gasped collectively as the sword drank greedily from him, until he finally wrenched free and collapsed, gasping on the ground.

"It drained him completely," someone shouted. "What kind of cursed thing is that!"

Wei Zha glared at the sword, then at Ken, humiliation burning bright across his face. "Damned cursed junk," he spat, storming off while the marketplace dissolved into open laughter behind him.

Silence eventually returned.

The old shopkeeper blinked slowly. "Well now. Interesting."

Ken stepped closer.

*This blade,* Mirinda said, quieter now, almost reverent. *It carries demon origin. Fortunately, your Panther spirit shares that same origin, and it devours as well. Using its power, you could devour the devourer itself. In the right hands, this sword becomes something extraordinary.*

Ken reached out and wrapped his fingers around the handle.

Nothing happened. No pain. No draining pull.

Instead, warmth spread through his palm, steady, almost like a heartbeat. The rusted blade shivered faintly in response.

The old man's eyes widened. "It accepted you."

Ken lifted it. The weight was staggering, yet somehow manageable in his grip, and he could feel exactly what it wanted to do, absorb Beast Qi, hold it, then return it doubled.

"This is," Ken started, trailing off.

*It doubles power output,* Mirinda said, clearly stunned. *This is a genuine treasure, young Ken.*

Ken turned to the shopkeeper. "How much?"

The old man scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Twenty silver."

Ken blinked. "That is absurdly cheap for something like this."

"No one wanted it," the shopkeeper said simply.

"Deal," Ken said, already counting out coins.

The old man smiled as the payment changed hands. "Perhaps fate brought you here today, young man."

Ken glanced down at the ugly, rusted blade resting in his grip. Unwanted. Rejected. Overlooked by everyone who ever passed it by.

*Sounds familiar,* he thought, a small smile tugging at his mouth.

"I will take good care of you," he murmured to the sword.

It hummed softly in response.

By the time the sun started sinking low, Ken walked home with the enormous blade balanced across his shoulder, drawing stares from every disciple he passed.

"What happened to Brother Ken?"

"Why is he hauling junk around?"

"That thing looks absolutely awful."

Gao Shen nearly choked when he spotted it. "You actually paid money for that?"

Ken just grinned. "You will see."

Inside his soul space, Mirinda watched him quietly.

*You seem happy,* she observed.

"Feels like finding an old friend," Ken admitted.

She smiled softly at that. *Then give it a proper name.*

Ken looked toward the horizon, tightening his grip on the handle. The blade pulsed once beneath his palm, almost eager.

"I will call you the Devouring Beam Sword," he said.

The black steel vibrated faintly, as if approving of its new title, and its new master.

Ken grinned to himself, mentally stacking up everything still waiting ahead. The Beast Blaster, still half an idea. This sword, now fully his. The Sect Examination, one year out. Three years remaining on the bet with Wei Zhan.

A long road, no question about it.

But for the first time since waking up in this world, Ken actually felt ready for it.

Because legends, he was slowly starting to realize, rarely started out looking impressive. Sometimes they started out looking exactly like something everyone else had already thrown away.