Strongest Family System

The meeting room of the Walker Clan was softly illuminated, casting uneven shadows on the black stone walls. With the exception of the slight rustle of banners swaying in the mountain wind, the night outside was quiet.

Harvey Walker knelt before his father, Clan Head Ziltion Walker. Between them stood a long table carved with battle marks and clan emblems. The faint smell of iron and spiritual ash lingered in the air—a scent that had long become familiar in the Walker household.

Ziltion's gaze was cold, his hands clasped behind his back as he stared at the open map of the competition grounds. Like a blade, his voice sliced through the quiet.

"Tomorrow, the city will roar," he said slowly. "Ten stages. Ten chances to claim victory before all of Celestial Brook."

Harvey kept his head bowed. "We will not disappoint you, Father."

Ziltion turned, the firelight catching the sharp planes of his face. "Do not just win, Harvey. Crush them. Especially the Osborn Clan." His tone deepened, laced with venom. Their appearance has sparked numerous whispers. Those whispers end tomorrow.

Harvey's eyes flickered with cold amusement. "Shall I end them in the first match?"

"No." Ziltion's expression hardened. "Do not kill them until the final. I want the crowd to see their hope rise—and then fall. Let every clan witness what happens when a forgotten name dares to stand beside ours."

Harvey's lips curved into a thin smile. "And if the Grey Shadow Hall interferes?"

"They will not," his father replied calmly. "Make it appear to be an accident if it occurs."

Harvey's smirk sharpened, a flash of dark confidence crossing his eyes.

"Understood."

Ziltion stepped closer, resting a heavy hand on his son's shoulder. "Inform the others. Injure the Osborn disciples when possible—cripple them if the opportunity comes. Let them crawl to the final match. By the time you face Robert Osborn or any other member, their spirit should already be broken."

Harvey nodded once, a silent promise gleaming in his gaze. "Yes, Father."

Zalker's tone softened only slightly. "Rest well. Tomorrow, the Walker Clan must remain unrivaled. This competition will remind Celestial Brook who rules its bloodlines."

"Yes, Father," Harvey said again, bowing deeply. Then he rose, his steps echoing through the long corridor as he disappeared into the darkness.

Zalker watched him go, his eyes reflecting both pride and calculation. The flames flickered behind him like restless beasts. "The Osborns…" he muttered under his breath. "Let their flame burn bright for one night—then let my son snuff it out."

Outside, the night deepened. Across the city, the banners of the great clans stirred as if the wind itself carried tension. The moon hung heavy, silver light spilling over rooftops, and beneath it, Celestial Brook City slept restlessly.

Morning arrived with a burst of gold over the horizon.

Inside the Grey Shadow Hall Inn, the Osborn Clan was already awake before dawn. Disciples moved briskly through the courtyard, fastening their robes, checking their weapons, and steadying their qi. The air thrummed with anticipation—the kind that sat heavy in the chest.

Robert stood by the fountain in the center of the courtyard, his reflection rippling on the water's surface. His eyes were calm, yet a faint shadow of determination burned steadily and fiercely within them.

A soft voice drew his attention. "You did not sleep, did you?"

He turned to see Elder Zak approaching, arms folded behind his back. The old warrior's gaze was sharp, but there was pride in it.

Robert smiled faintly. "And said yes, elder."

Zak chuckled. "Good. But remember—reckless fire burns fast." He clapped Robert's shoulder and moved on, calling for the others to prepare.

Moments later, John Osborn stepped out of his chamber, robes neatly pressed, his expression steady. Behind him walked Elder Alex and Elder Delvin—his presence cloaked but unmistakable, the faint weight of his qi pressing against the air like a drawn blade.

Every disciple bowed deeply. "Clan Head and Elder Delvin."

John's gaze swept over them. "Ready yourselves," he said simply. "We move now."

Within minutes, the Osborn convoy rolled out through the city streets. The carriages gleamed in the morning light, banners fluttering crimson and silver. There was already a lot of activity in the streets, with people running to the competition grounds and excited voices rising.

When the convoy got to the western edge of Celestial Brook, they were welcomed by a view that was simply breathtaking.

The Grand Competition Grounds spread out over a sprawling plain, constructed from bright white stone and adorned with golden formations that pulsed with vibrant qi. Ten stages rose majestically above the ground, each encircled by layered arrays that sparkled like energy veils. The stands were brimming with people—thousands of fans waving banners and shouting their clan names, their voices thundering through the atmosphere.

With wide eyes, a young disciple whispered, "The stands are huge." "And those arrays—aren't they ancient?"

Another nodded, awe flickering in his face. "i have never seen so many formations in one place. Even the weakest one could withstand a Spirit root strike."

Robert said nothing. He simply looked at the ten stages, feeling the pull of the moment. The tension, the excitement, the raw will to fight—it all gathered around him like an invisible flame.

The Osborn convoy arrived at their assigned seating area, which was identified by their clan's crimson flame insignia. They stepped out and settled quietly, surrounded by murmurs from nearby stands.

"Is that the Osborn Clan?" Someone asked. "They actually came?"

Another voice scoffed. "They will not last a round."

Robert ignored them. His eyes were fixed on the entrance opposite them—where the other great clans would soon appear.

And then, as if answering his thought, the Walker Clan banners came into view. Twin wolves embroidered in black and gold rippled under the sunlight. Their followers moved with confidence, precision, and purpose as they walked in perfect formation.

At their head, Ziltion Walker walked with his hands clasped behind his back, his expression calm—but when his eyes found Robert across the field, a faint, knowing smile curved his lips.

Robert met his gaze without flinching.