During my journey to the Palace of the Herb Sovereign, I had copied several detailed maps from an old wagon driver named Qongqor. Unfortunately, these maps were primarily focused on important caravan routes. The Heroes Domain was vast, containing hundreds of empires and thousands of kingdoms, so it wasn’t possible for these maps to show the location of every small border town and minor outpost.

However, while Qongqor’s maps were of little use, during my stay in the Palace, I had acquired a regional map that was limited to just the Spearmarch Kingdom, where we were currently located. By comparing its contours to the mountains on the horizon, I was able to figure out the direction we needed to go to reach Broken Spear Outpost.

If we had been a bit farther to the east, in the territories that were being torn apart by some Hero, matching the terrain to a map like this might not have been possible. But this was one of the reasons that I had been so careful when choosing where to establish our new sect.

Still, even with a map, finding our way out of the wilderness that we had been dumped in took time, and it didn’t help that we didn’t have a proper beast tamer to control the carriage’s horses. Because of this, while we should have arrived at the Broken Spear Outpost around noon, we didn’t manage to make it there until just before dusk.

Upon our arrival at Broken Spear’s paddocks, I was forced to submit a passenger manifest and hand over a few silver to stable our horses, but that was all. No one asked how we had come into possession of the carriage, and no one questioned us about what had happened to its previous owner.

Once this was done, we entered the outpost and made our way straight to the Sect Affairs Bureau. It was already late, but we needed to get registered as soon as possible. This was the only way to ensure our safety.

The Broken Spear Outpost wasn’t all that different from Iron Spear City. It was a run-down, out-of-the-way settlement that was clinging to life at the edge of the Heroes Domain. Its streets were lined with weathered wooden buildings, and the stale scent of dust and smoke hung in the air. Only those fleeing the Nine Rivers Domain or hiding from their past would choose to call such a place home.

The key difference lay in its status: an outpost was not a city. This small distinction allowed cultivators to walk its streets freely, unbound by the Saint’s laws.

If any of these cultivators belonged to a six-star, Lord-level sect, the karmic energy they generated would flow to the appropriate person within their sect’s hierarchy. But for most residents of Broken Spear, the energy flowed to the Lord of the nearby Black Point City. Despite this, the Lord of Black Point paid little attention to Broken Spear. Nearly everyone was a member of a sect, and sects were expected to manage their own.

We were only a few weary mortals, hardly worth a second glance in a place like this. Even so, I couldn’t shake the worry that JiuLi or Meng LuYao might catch the eye of some hot-blooded young cultivator. So, I kept us moving at a steady pace, hurrying while still being careful to maintain just enough composure that my haste didn’t create the very trouble I was trying to avoid.

Relief came only when the Bureau appeared before us. It was a red-and-gold monolith that sat atop a foundation of white stone.

Every branch of the Sect Affairs Bureau that I had studied had its own quirks, but they all shared the same basic layout. So, even with dozens of desks crowding the great hall, a single glance was enough to tell me exactly where we needed to go.

After guiding my group to the far right-hand side of the hall, I bowed to the clerk seated behind one of the Bureau’s many desks. “Greetings. We wish to register a new nine-star sect.”

The clerk blinked several times before fumbling through his papers. “Of… of course. Before registration can proceed, you’ll need to complete a mission for the domain. There are several minor requests from nearby merchants that might be suitable for new—”

I raised a large, bloodstained rucksack and dropped it onto the counter with a dull thud, cutting him off mid-sentence. “On our way to the outpost, we eliminated a small group of bandits. This should be sufficient, no?”

“N… No. I mean… yes.” The clerk’s voice cracked as he stared at the bloodstained rucksack for several heartbeats too long. Then, moving with forced precision, he reached under the desk, retrieved a white truth stone, and placed it directly between us. “Do you swear that all those you killed were engaged in banditry? Do you swear that it was your group who slew them? Do you swear that no outsiders assisted you, either directly or indirectly?”

“Yes,” I replied with a slight nod. “They stopped our carriage, demanded our possessions, and attacked. Their leader went so far as to order his men to kill us. We slew them in self-defense. No one else was involved.”

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The young man peered into the white truth stone carefully, watching for the telltale gray of falsehood. Eventually, he nodded.

“Okay. You are qualified to form a nine-star sect. What classification will you be applying for?” he asked, flipping through the stack of papers in front of him.

I held up a single finger. “First-Class.”

The young man froze, his hand hovering mid-turn, then slowly flipped to the very last page in the stack.

“O… of course.” The clerk’s voice wavered as his gaze swept over the five of us, disbelief written plainly across his face. “Who will serve as Sect Master?”

I stepped back, rested a hand on Kan’s shoulder, and gave him a light shove. He stiffened but stepped forward without protest.

“Your name?” the clerk asked.

“Suliang Kan.”

“And, what is your age?”

“20.”

The clerk’s brow creased, his pen hesitating above the parchment. “Twenty?” he muttered, then continued more formally, “Do you swear that you have never cultivated?”

“Yes.”

After marking this down, the clerk set his quill aside and leaned in toward the truth stone. The surface stayed pure and white. After a moment’s scrutiny, he exhaled and waved the next person forward.

JiuLi’s answers were as simple and unremarkable as Kan’s, but when YuLong stepped forward, our smooth progress came to an abrupt halt. The clerk asked the same routine question—whether he had ever cultivated—and, this time, a thin gray vein rippled through the truth stone’s surface.

The clerk flicked his fingers, sending a faint pulse of qi into the stone. The gray fissure retreated, leaving the surface smooth and pale once more.

“Explain,” he said, tone calm but eyes sharp.

YuLong rubbed his forehead, thinking carefully. “I’ve never cultivated… but I do have memories of cultivating.”

When the stone stayed pure white, the clerk’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Blessing or memory orb?”

YuLong glanced at me for confirmation, and I gave a small nod, signaling him to speak honestly.

“Memory orb.”

The clerk examined the stone one final time before jotting down YuLong’s information. “The memory orb you used will be classified as your sect’s legacy. Members of your sect may use this orb, but only this orb. If you or anyone in your sect is found to be using any other—”

I stepped forward, raising a hand to cut him off. “The orb he used is only one piece of our sect’s library. We have secured a rather extensive collection of cultivation knowledge, of which that orb is merely a fragment. This library is entirely under our control. It was not gifted to us by an outside force, and no outsiders have access to it. It is the product of our own efforts, and ours alone. This library is our legacy, and it is the reason we’re confident in establishing a First-Class sect.”

The clerk’s mouth hung open as he looked from me to the truth stone, its surface unblemished. “Al… alright. I’ll mark a cultivation library as your sect’s legacy, and you will not be required to list its contents. However, if you discover any further ‘knowledge,’ it must be reported to the Bureau before use. We will make sure that your sect is not provided with any unfair advantages. Furthermore, each year, your sect’s leadership will be screened by truth stone to ensure compliance with this restriction. Understood?”

I inclined my head in agreement, then waved Meng LuYao forward. Unlike YuLong, she didn’t have any difficulty saying that she had never cultivated. She spoke simply, the stone remaining clear throughout.

Then I stepped up and repeated her performance, honestly stating that I had never cultivated while not causing even the thinnest of gray lines to appear on the truth stone.

The young clerk studied us intently, then began talking with the rhythm of a well-rehearsed warning. “To maintain your First-Class status, your sect may not accept the aid of any higher-level sects or any rogue cultivators beyond the Martial Disciple realm. All resources, whether buying or selling, must pass through licensed dealers approved by the Sect Affairs Bureau. If you wish to conduct a private transaction, you may, but these must be witnessed by one of our officials. Failure to comply with these restrictions will result in your First-Class status being stripped away. Do you understand?”

I gave Kan a reassuring pat on the back, prompting him to nod. “Yes, sir.”

The clerk bent down and retrieved five white sashes from beneath his desk. “Wear these at all times,” he instructed. “They identify you as members of a nine-star sect. While you have them on, no cultivator above the Martial Disciple level may attack you. However, if you deliberately cause trouble, you will be summoned before a tribunal, and your sect’s status may be revoked.”

The clerk’s voice became a steady drone as he explained the Bureau’s endless web of regulations. There were rules for recruitment, land ownership, trade rights, and even the color of official banners. The rules for First-Class sects were both extensive and restrictive. There were a few advantages, such as the protection from more powerful cultivators, but nothing that I considered worth the hassle. However, by abiding by these rules, we would gain something nearly impossible to acquire by any other means: legitimacy.

Our biggest problem was that my clan and I had appeared out of nowhere. We had no history, no established ties, and no one could say where our loyalties lay. By establishing a First-Class sect and climbing the ranks step by step, we would be giving ourselves a background no one could question.

After reciting every rule and regulation imaginable, the clerk finally reached the important part. “To ascend to an eight-star sect, you must first complete five missions for the domain. Then, you must earn the right to advance during the yearly Heaven’s Ascension Tournament. If you fail your advancement, you will need to complete another five missions before being allowed to participate again. Should any member of your sect advance to Martial Master before earning that right through the tournament, the status of your sect will be immediately changed to that of a Third-Class eight-star sect. Understood?”

We all nodded. “Yes.”

“Very good,” said the clerk, lifting his brush. “Now, what shall your new sect be called?”

Kan glanced at me. I gave him a slight nod.

“The… Amorphous Blade Sect.”

The clerk’s brow twitched at the unusual name, but he wrote it down without protest. Then, he picked up a jade seal, pressed it firmly onto an ink pad, and stamped the parchment in front of him. “Congratulations, Sect Master Kan.”