Chapter 1: The Trash King Awakens
The day Arin turned eighteen, the entire city gathered in the Grand Plaza for the Soul Awakening Ceremony. Massive statues of legendary heroes lined the streets, and banners fluttered in the crisp morning wind. Every teen here dreamed of being chosen for a glorious class: warriors who could crush mountains, mages who could bend fire to their will, healers who could mend the dead, or assassins whose speed was unmatched.
Arin, however, stood at the very edge of the plaza, his arms crossed, trying to hide his nerves. Unlike the others, he didn't have a powerful family or flashy gear. He had only himself—and a knack for noticing things everyone else ignored.
When his name was finally called, the spotlight swung to him. A golden light enveloped his body, searing warmth coursing through every vein. The crowd held its breath. And then… a small plaque appeared above his head:
Class: Scavenger
A hush fell over the plaza. Then, laughter erupted. "A Scavenger? Are they serious?" a warrior-class boy shouted. "He's going to die in the first dungeon!"
Even Arin's so-called friends snickered, shaking their heads. "What kind of class is that? Picking up junk?"
Arin's stomach tightened, but deep down, a spark ignited. He didn't care if the world mocked him. If this is how they see me… I'll show them something they can't ignore.
By noon, the new classes were allowed to enter the Trial Forest, a place where young heroes tested their skills against monsters and challenges. Arin stepped into the shadowed woods, sunlight glinting off the towering trees. Around him, swords clashed, spells burst in rainbow-colored arcs, and arrows flew like lightning.
And then he saw it: a broken shield, a cracked sword, and a pile of discarded items left behind by careless adventurers. He knelt down, brushing off the dirt, and his fingers tingled as the items glimmered faintly.
A voice echoed in his mind, faint but firm:
"Potential… hidden… awaken."
He picked up the shield. Rusted metal, cracked leather, worthless to anyone else. But when he held it, it molded to his grip like it remembered someone worthy. The cracked sword shimmered, edges sharpening as if eager for a fight.
Arin's eyes sparkled. "Not bad… not bad at all," he muttered, a grin spreading across his face.
Before long, a small pack of forest wolves leapt from the shadows, snarling. The warrior-class teens would have charged headfirst, swinging swords or blasting fire spells. Arin? He placed the cracked sword in his hand, held the shield, and waited.
As the wolves lunged, the shield shifted shape, expanding into a spiked barrier. The sword vibrated, cutting through the ground itself, sending a shockwave that toppled the wolves. One by one, the discarded items revealed powers the world had forgotten.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Arin stood alone in the clearing, untouched, surrounded by the fallen beasts. His heart raced—not with fear, but exhilaration.
He was no ordinary Scavenger. He was something else entirely.
The first whispers began to spread through the city:
"The Trash King…"
And so, the legend began.