"And you’re good at it," Wu Shuan said. "But there’s a limit to what you can do barehanded or with a borrowed blade. Especially against higher-level beasts or cultivators. You need something reliable. Something you’re proficient with."
"Plus," Fatty Kui chimed in, "if you get a sword or spear, you can finally stop using your old broom!"
"I’m just used to it," Han Yu muttered.
"It’s no proper weapon and will break..." Kui corrected. "Even with my pinch."
But he did feel the logic behind it. Maybe it was time to get a real weapon. He had the spirit stones for it now. And with five hundred merit points, he could even access the Outer Sect’s Armory or have something custom made.
He imagined himself with a long blade, coated in qi, cleaving through enemies with dramatic flair.
Then imagined stabbing himself by accident during practice.
"...Yeah, I’ll go browse the armory later."
With the sun setting behind the Twin Leaf Peaks, the trio lay back on the grass, the scent of pine in the air and a long day’s weight finally lifted.
They had survived. They had earned their keep. And—for once—none of them were actively on fire or being chased by spiritual poultry.
Han Yu grinned at the sky.
"Let’s do it again sometime."
Fatty Kui groaned. "Don’t ruin it."
Two days after collecting his reward, Han Yu found himself standing in front of the Outer Sect’s Armory—a squat, granite building nestled beside the old sparring ground, perpetually manned by a bored-looking disciple whose robes were slightly frayed and whose expression was somewhere between "half-asleep" and "existential crisis."
The disciple perked up just a little when Han Yu approached.
"Name and ID badge," he said, already fishing for a register.
"Han Yu, outer sect disciple," Han Yu said, handing over his identity token.
The disciple looked at it, then at Han Yu. "You’re the guy who blew up that salamander’s head with his fist, right?"
"...I mean, yes, but let’s not phrase it that way."
The disciple nodded and gestured him in. "Come on. Let’s get you something that won’t require you to punch reptiles to death."
Inside the Armory, the air smelled of oiled metal, old incense, and faintly of roasted walnuts for some reason.
Rows of weapon racks stood in organized lines, displaying everything from simple swords to enormous hammers, fans, tridents, and even a very questionable whip that buzzed with pink lightning.
"I’m Lan Bo," the disciple said as he led Han Yu through the racks. "I manage weapon requisition for the outer sect. So—what kind of weapon you looking for?"
"Uh... not sure," Han Yu admitted.
Lan Bo arched a brow. "You came to the armory not knowing what weapon you want?"
"I usually use my fists."
"Ah," Lan Bo said, stroking his chin. "One of those guys."
Han Yu coughed. "Also, I’ve been using the Falling Leaf Strike."
Lan Bo’s expression changed. "Oh. That’s a decent technique. Not restricted to one weapon type. Works well with spears, swords, even a staff if you’re creative."
He turned, leading Han Yu down another row.
"So? You got a preference?"
"Swords are flashy," he said. "But spears have that reach."
"Staffs are good too," Lan Bo said. "Underestimated. But they do lack that... dramatic ’slice through the heavens’ vibe."
Han Yu gave a thoughtful grunt.
"I’m torn between a sword and a spear."
Lan Bo grinned. "Then how about something that sits between them?"
He pointed to a rack near the back. "Try a glaive."
The glaive section was smaller but had a certain elegance to it. Long shafts with curved blades, varying in weight and style. Some had crescent heads; others had leaf-like blades etched with patterns of clouds, flames, or waves.
Lan Bo pulled out a few for Han Yu to try.
"Here. This one’s a Cloudmetal Glaive—simple but balanced."
Han Yu swung it experimentally. It was nice—but felt heavy at the tip.
"Too top-heavy," he muttered.
Lan Bo nodded. "How about the Wind Fang?"
He handed over a sleeker weapon, with a thinner blade and an elegant blue shaft.
"Lightweight, good for mid-range strikes. A bit fragile, though. Don’t try to block a flying boulder with it."
Han Yu tried a few swings. The Wind Fang was fast, graceful—but felt brittle, like it would snap in half if he punched a rock again.
The next few glaives he tried were either too heavy, too light, poorly balanced, or outrageously expensive.
"This one?" Han Yu pointed to a crimson one with embedded talismans.
"Limited edition," Lan Bo said. "Forged using Emberbone Steel. Mid-grade spiritual weapon. Eighty mid-grade spirit stones and one thousand merit points."
Han Yu wheezed. "I only have ten of the stones and five hundred merit points!"
"Then look away before you cry," Lan Bo said, placing it gently back.
Han Yu sighed, wiping his brow.
"None of these feel right."
Lan Bo tilted his head. "What do you want in a weapon?"
Han Yu leaned against the wall. "Something I can use up close—but also has reach when I need it. Something I can swing around without tripping over myself. Durable. Preferably doesn’t snap if I sneeze near it. And it needs to feel right."
Lan Bo blinked. "You want a weapon with emotional resonance?"
"I want a weapon that doesn’t feel like it’s going to betray me mid-battle," Han Yu replied.
"Okay. Let me show you one last thing. It’s in the clearance rack."
Han Yu blinked. "There’s a clearance rack?"
"Oh yeah," Lan Bo said. "We call it ’The Wall of Misfit Weapons.’ Stuff no one wants."
They walked to the far end of the armory where dusty racks held odd, unused weapons—hybrids, rejects, or plain weird ones that had failed to impress former disciples.
Lan Bo reached up and pulled down a dusty sheet that was covering the shelf. And from the middle compartment, he drew out a strange long weapon.