"Dharma does not descend from the heavens.
Soul is not granted by fate.
Every path… must be carved by one's own blood and doubt."
After breaking through the Voidless Formation, Lâm Mạc sat in silence beneath a withered tree.
The surrounding air still lingered with the remnants of countless fallen cultivators—souls who once dared to challenge the trial, only to perish in failure.
His body was torn, flesh in shreds.
Dry blood covered him like a crusted shroud.
But strangely… there was no longer a ripple in his heart.
"No more Dao force. No more parasitic will."
"Only me... and a final question."
"What... is my Dharma Soul?"
In the past, cultivators awakened their Dharma Souls through bloodlines, spiritual roots, or inherited legacies.
But he—had none of that.
No spiritual root.
No inheritance.
No master.
No deity to grant him favor.
Only… a mountain of unanswered questions, and the pain of being torn apart by the Heavenly Dao itself.
He closed his eyes.
For the first time, he did not seek the Dao—he sought himself.
"Who am I? A cripple?"
"A lost successor?"
"Cursed blood, cast aside?"
"The chosen? Or the discarded?"
No answer came.
But deep within the darkest depths of his mind, a single point of light began to form.
Not divine radiance—
But the glow of silent resistance.
BOOM—!!
A massive vortex erupted in the void.
It did not absorb Spiritual Energy.
Instead, it devoured memories, emotions—every scar Lâm Mạc had ever borne.
The revulsion in his family's eyes.
The screaming as his blood was drained for ancestral sacrifice.
The heartbreak when his fiancée broke their betrothal.
And… the bitter despair of still being alive after everything had been taken.
All of it was swallowed by the vortex.
And in that instant—
A Dharma Soul cracked open within the depths of his consciousness.
Its form? Undefined.
Its substance? Neither Qi nor Soul Force.
It was forged from pure thought, crystallized from what no one else dared to keep:
Pain. Rebellion. Despair.
Lâm Mạc had forged the first Dharma Soul in the history of cultivation
—one not born of power, but of defiant intent.
Its name: Thoughtborn Embryo (Niệm Nguyên Thai).
An embryonic will, born from resistance and unyielding defiance.
The moment Thoughtborn Embryo took shape, space itself trembled.
And within his mind, ancient script appeared:
"You are the first to forge a soul from the self."
"Henceforth, your path shall no longer be recorded in the Heavenly Dao."
"All records of Heaven… shall not bear your name."
Lâm Mạc opened his eyes. Fearless.
"Not to be recorded?"
"Good."
"For I do not cultivate to be remembered."
"I cultivate… to prove that even those rejected by Heaven can still survive."
His body began to resonate once more with the parasitic Blood Dao—
But this time, he was no longer the passive host.
He had become the origin.
The one to forge an entirely new system:
Cultivate through Will → gestate the Dharma Soul → transform into the Dao Body.
A faint smile surfaced on his lips.
"This… is only the beginning."
"My Dharma Soul—was never bestowed from above…
It rose from the abyss below."
"From this moment forth, the Primordial Genesis Dao (Thái Sơ Sinh Đạo) is no longer a passed-down inheritance..."
"…but a cultivation system born entirely from me."
Blood – the seed.
Will – the sprout.
Soul – the foundation.
And Dao – is what I shall write myself!