The Path of the Madmen

Jiang Chen strode through the towering gates of the Heaven Sundering Sect, his golden-amber eyes sweeping over the massive mountain range that loomed above like the spine of a divine beast. The very air in this place felt different—thicker, wilder, charged with a violent energy that seemed to hum through his bones.

The sect was unlike any he had ever imagined. There were no lavish halls decorated in gold, no grand pagodas stretching into the heavens like the Celestial Frost Palace was rumored to have. No, this place was pure, unrefined brutality. The buildings were solid and practical, carved directly from the mountain stone. Their jagged, towering peaks seemed to challenge the heavens themselves.

And everywhere he looked—madness.

Disciples brawled in open courtyards, their faces bruised, their knuckles bloodied, yet their laughter echoed like rolling thunder. Others engaged in contests of raw physical might, smashing boulders with their bare fists, wrestling atop precarious cliff edges, and sparring in brutal, no-holds-barred duels that left entire sections of the mountainside cracked and broken.

Jiang Chen smirked.

This place was insane.

And it felt like home.

As they walked, Elder Zhao Yan, still grinning from the spar earlier, began explaining the inner workings of the Heaven Sundering Sect.

"Listen up, brat," Zhao Yan said, stretching lazily as they passed a group of disciples currently engaged in a six-on-six all-out fistfight. "You're going to be spending a lot of time here, so you better learn how things work."

Jiang Chen nodded, listening carefully.

"There are three ranks of disciples in our sect. First, there's the ordinary disciples, the ones you just had a brawl with at the gates. These guys? They make up the backbone of the sect. They're tough, battle-hardened, and most of them are in the Foundation Establishment Realm. The stronger ones touch late-stage Foundation Establishment, but even they aren't considered anything special."

Jiang Chen raised a brow. "So what makes someone special?"

"The True Disciples," Zhao Yan said, smirking. "Now, these guys? They're the monsters of your generation. The cream of the crop. Only those strong enough to beat their way through the ranks and gain the recognition of an elder become True Disciples. Some are already at Core Formation, and the ones that aren't? They're close."

Jiang Chen smirked. "Sounds like my kind of people."

Zhao Yan snorted. "Don't get cocky, brat. True Disciples don't just cultivate techniques—they live for battle. Some of them were born in the sect, raised in combat since they could walk. Others are former warlords and prodigies who were dragged in kicking and screaming. Each one is a monster in their own right."

Jiang Chen's grin only widened.

Perfect.

"And then there's the Elders," Zhao Yan continued. "If a True Disciple is lucky—or unlucky enough, depending on how you see it—one of the Elders will take them in as their personal disciple. The weakest of the Elders are at Peak Core Formation, while the strongest have touched the Golden Core Realm."

Jiang Chen narrowed his eyes. "What about the Grand Elders?"

Zhao Yan scoffed. "Oh, those two bastards?" He laughed. "The Grand Elders are absolute monsters. Only the Old Man himself is stronger than them. The First Grand Elder—Eldest Uncle—is the strongest of the two, a peak Golden Core cultivator who hasn't lost a fight in decades. The Second Grand Elder, Second Uncle, is only slightly weaker, but he's got the sharpest mind in the entire sect."

Jiang Chen listened carefully, absorbing every word.

Finally, Zhao Yan smirked. "And then… there's the Old Man."

Jiang Chen raised an eyebrow. "The Sect Master?"

Zhao Yan's expression shifted—less humor, more respect. "The Old Man is a Nascent Soul cultivator, the strongest force in this entire province. But even more than that, he's what makes this sect what it is. You see, we don't follow the same rules as other sects. The Heaven Sundering Sect isn't just a place of cultivation—it's a brotherhood."

Jiang Chen remained silent, letting Zhao Yan continue.

"We don't have a rigid ranking system, we don't have disciples bowing every five steps, and we sure as hell don't have politics. Here, strength determines everything. But strength alone isn't enough." Zhao Yan's smirk returned. "Here, we fight each other like mad dogs, but we also watch each other's backs like brothers."

Jiang Chen smirked. "Sounds like my kind of place."

Zhao Yan laughed. "That's the spirit, brat. But remember this—once you're in, you're in for life. If someone insults you, you punch them in the mouth. If someone attacks you, you beat them to death. And if someone threatens your sect?" His grin sharpened. "You wipe their entire bloodline off the face of this continent."

Jiang Chen chuckled. "Brutal."

Zhao Yan grinned. "Loyal."

As they walked through the sect, Jiang Chen observed the unique abilities of its disciples.

Unlike the other sects he had encountered, where cultivation techniques were revered and refined, the Heaven Sundering Sect's methods were raw, untamed, and ferocious. Disciples were practicing techniques that didn't focus on elegance or spiritual enlightenment—they focused on devastation.

Jiang Chen watched as one disciple punched a training boulder—and it exploded into fragments.

Another disciple struck the air, and a shockwave erupted, shattering the trees a hundred meters away.

Elder Zhao grinned as he caught Jiang Chen watching. "Our sect doesn't waste time on useless flowery techniques. Every move we make is meant to break something—whether that's bones, mountains, or the very sky itself."

Jiang Chen nodded. "And what techniques will I be learning?"

Zhao Yan laughed. "Don't be impatient, brat. You'll get your techniques directly from the Old Man."

Jiang Chen smirked. He was looking forward to that.

As they reached the peak of the sect's central mountain, Jiang Chen stopped.

Before him stood a massive stone tablet, inscribed with a single phrase.

"We Do Not Bow."

Jiang Chen read the words, something in his chest stirring.

He had walked a long road, from the lawless wilderness to the blood-drenched battlefields of Ironhollow. He had fought, killed, and survived. He had seen the strength of the powerful and crushed the arrogance of the elite.

And now, he stood here.

At the threshold of something greater.

A storm was coming.

And Jiang Chen would be at its center.

Zhao Yan clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome home, brat."

Jiang Chen grinned.

This was only the beginning.

Jiang Chen stood atop the central mountain of the Heaven Sundering Sect, his golden-amber eyes scanning the towering peaks that surrounded him. He had seen many powerful sects in his lifetime, but nothing quite like this.

The air was thick with the scent of battle, the mountains echoing with the sounds of sparring disciples exchanging blows, the occasional roar of a Heaven Sundering Technique shaking the earth. This was a land of warriors, not scholars. A sect of men who fought first and talked later.

He smirked. This is where I belong.

Zhao Yan led him through the vast sect grounds, stopping occasionally to introduce him to various places—the massive combat arenas, the Hall of Sundering Techniques, and the towering Bloodstone Altar, where disciples engraved their victories into the very mountain itself.

And finally, Zhao Yan brought him to the gates of the Sect Master's hall.

A massive, ancient temple stood before them, its doors carved from a single slab of black stone. The words "Heaven Sunders Before Us" were inscribed across the archway, emanating a power that made even Jiang Chen's Chaos Qi tremble slightly.

Zhao Yan grinned and patted him on the shoulder. "Alright, brat. Time to meet the Old Man."

Jiang Chen cracked his knuckles. "Hope he doesn't disappoint."

Zhao Yan laughed. "Oh, you'll see."

He pushed open the heavy doors, and the two of them stepped inside.

The hall was dimly lit, the flickering torches casting long shadows across the floor. At the very end of the massive chamber, sitting upon a stone throne carved into the mountain itself, was a single man.

He was old—very old—with wild gray hair and a beard that looked as if it hadn't been trimmed in years. His robes were simple, black and red, but the sheer weight of his presence made the air feel like it could shatter at any moment.

This man wasn't just strong.

He was terrifying.

Jiang Chen's golden-amber eyes locked onto him.

For the first time in a long while, he felt pressure.

The Old Man grinned. His teeth were sharp, his eyes filled with madness and wisdom in equal measure.

"So, you're the little bastard Zhao Yan's been raving about."

Jiang Chen smirked. "And you must be the Old Man."

Zhao Yan coughed loudly. "Show some respect, brat."

The Sect Master laughed. "Hah! No, no, I like this one." He leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing. "You've caused quite the storm in this province already, boy. Killing disciples of the Crimson Blade Sect, making enemies of the Whitefang Family, running around like a mad dog, and then walking right into my sect like you own the place." His grin widened. "I like it."

Jiang Chen crossed his arms. "I came because I was invited."

The Old Man's grin didn't fade. "Aye, that you were." He leaned back into his throne, tapping his fingers against the stone. "You've got Chaos Qi, the Starshadow Body, and from what Zhao Yan tells me, a real knack for fighting above your level."

Jiang Chen nodded. "That's right."

The Old Man let out a slow breath. "And now you're standing in my sect."

Silence filled the hall.

Then—

BOOM!

The Old Man vanished from the throne, appearing right in front of Jiang Chen in an instant. A monstrous pressure descended upon him, making even his bones groan in protest.

Jiang Chen's instincts screamed. He barely had time to react before a fist came crashing down.

"HEAVEN SUNDERING FIST!"

BOOOOOOM!

The entire hall shook from the impact.

Jiang Chen was sent flying backward, his feet carving trenches into the stone floor. His hands buzzed, his bones aching from the sheer force behind that strike. Before he knew it, he slammed into the wall behind him, and three more after that, each shattering from the force of the blow.

He slowly stood up from the pile of rubble.

He grinned. He knew this old bastard held back but laughed.

"Not bad, Old Man."

The Sect Master howled with laughter. "You've got guts, brat!"

Then, he charged again.

The next few moments were a blur of movement.

He could barely even process what was happening as he was sent flying in every direction with firsts that felt like they were made from iron. Every time he thought he would be flung to the sky, the Old Man would appear behind him in a flash and blast him into another direction. 

Jiang Chen could feel it.

He was being beaten to death and this old bastard probably wasn't even using a thousandth of his strength. 

This wasn't just Core Formation or Golden Core pressure.

This was Nascent Soul Realm power.

Finally, the Old Man stopped, laughing as he shook his hands.

"Good, brat. You might actually survive in this sect."

Jiang Chen exhaled, rolling his aching shoulders. "Survive? I plan to thrive."

This certainly sounded ironic as he was currently covered in bruises and swollen from head to toe, but neither the Old Man nor Elder Zhao looked down on him for it. 

The Old Man grinned. "We'll see about that."

The Sect Master turned and walked back to his throne. "Alright, brat. You're officially a disciple of the Heaven Sundering Sect now."

Jiang Chen raised a brow. "Just like that?"

The Old Man laughed. "Hah! You already survived Zhao Yan, brawled with my other disciples, and took a punch from me without dying. What else is there to test?"

Jiang Chen smirked. "Fair enough."

The Old Man's expression turned serious. "Now, let's talk about your training."

He gestured toward a massive wall of stone tablets at the far end of the hall. Each one was inscribed with powerful martial techniques, their aura alone enough to make the air tremble.

"These are the Heaven Sundering Techniques," the Old Man said. "Techniques meant to break through defenses, shatter mountains, and destroy anything in their path."

Jiang Chen's eyes gleamed.

The Old Man grinned. "Normally, disciples have to earn the right to learn them, but you? You're already stronger than most of the True Disciples."

Jiang Chen's smirk widened. "So what's the catch?"

The Old Man chuckled. "Simple. If you take one, you have to master it. Half-assed learning ain't tolerated in this sect."

Jiang Chen stepped forward, his eyes scanning the ancient inscriptions.

One in particular caught his attention.

"Heaven Sundering Palm – A strike that ignores all defenses, reducing anything in its path to dust. It does not push, it does not pierce—it simply annihilates."

He touched the tablet.

Power surged through his body.

His Chaos Qi roared in response.

The Old Man's laughter echoed through the hall.

"Good choice, brat. Let's see if you've got what it takes to master it."

Jiang Chen clenched his fists, his golden-amber eyes burning with determination.

The real training was about to begin.

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