A path without names.
A truth too wild for the heavens to tame.”
— Inscription on the stone of dusk, where the Pathless first gathered
In a forgotten valley where spirit beasts once roamed freely, where no Sect dared claim ownership because “there was no profit,” Li Fan placed a single stone.
No banners.
No ancestral bell.
No divine inscriptions.
Just one stone, upon which he carved two words:
“Walk Free.”
And the land awakened.
Qi, unfiltered by sect formation arrays, flowed in natural rhythms.
Mountains sang with old echoes.
The sky bent lower, not in suppression, but curiosity.
Disciples came.
Not thousands, not yet. But dozens.
Wounded. Disillusioned. Exiled.
And with each, the air grew heavier—not with power, but with purpose.
Among them:
- Yueh Lin, a former prodigy of the Azure Cloud Sect, branded “tainted” after breaking through the Nascent Soul realm without the sect’s divine pill. She now taught swordplay through silence and instinct.
- Bo Yao, a crippled alchemist once discarded by the Grand Crimson Pavilion for questioning the purity of their “immortal recipes.” He had begun experimenting with herbs that defied classification.
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- Little Hui, a child born during a tribulation storm, untouched by Qi yet able to see the flows of fate. She became the first to sense the Divine Chain as it wrapped around others — and snip it.
Li Fan taught them nothing.
He watched, waited, and listened.
And in their struggle to understand their own power, they learned faster than any heaven-fed genius.
It didn’t take long.
The surrounding sects, threatened by this quiet rise, gathered a coalition.
Nine Sects.
Nine Peak Lords.
Each sending one disciple to crush the Pathless Sect in a trial of power.
They arrived with fanfare and mockery.
Golden robes. Ancient treasures. Spirit beasts.
They demanded a duel.
Li Fan did not answer.
Yueh Lin stepped forward instead — barefoot, her blade still in its sheath.
“We don’t fight to prove who’s right,” she said.
“But if you insist…”
The Nine disciples charged.
None made it past the first strike.
Not because they were weak — but because the Pathless disciples did not fight by the rules.
No choreographed stances.
No Qi channeling through sect techniques.
Just freedom. Pure, flowing freedom.
Unpredictable. Undeniable.
Word spread.
A sect that taught nothing.
A master who named no techniques.
And yet — those who left it came back stronger, clearer, untouchable by divine retribution.
Even Celestial Realm cultivators began to pause. To question.
And in the upper realms, a whisper started to take shape:
“What if they’re not heretics?
What if we are?”