The sword reflected his ambitious. The blade was sharp, carefully cared for and was the only thing that mattered. He'd gotten he sword forever ago, the memory still implanted in his mind. It was vivid like everything else he'd seen at that time. The sword itself was useless before the innocence crept into the blade but even still, it was powerful. Power was the one thing Kanda had plenty of—besides strength and health. He'd rarely gotten sick, it'd only happened twice in his entire life and his body healed whatever wounds he received no matter the damage. Dying didn't matter to Kanda.
Because in the end. He couldn't.