Strongest Family System

Rippingrt stepped into the arena's centre, the morning light caught on his weapons—and for the first time, he wore two swords at his waist.

This sight sent a wave of surprise ripping through the crowd. Even the James clan cultivator traded uneasy glances, while Harden's eyes narrowed with curiosity and challenge.

Robert rested his hands gently on the twin hilts, his gaze steady and unflinching.

Harden broke the silence first. "I did not know you could use two swords."

What is this—trying to dazzle the crowd, or do you think you can handle two simultaneously?"

His tone was openly skeptical, but his stance tensed as if expecting an answer.

Robert's lips barely twitched. "You will see for yourself soon enough."

His words were quiet, but the confidence behind them was unmistakable.

Harden simply snorted, taking a measured step back, his sword already drawn and gleaming in the sunlight.

The elder, positioned at the edge of the arena, raised his hand and declared with a powerful voice, "Let the final match begin!"

As soon as the words left the elder's mouth, Harden shot forward, wasting no time.

His footwork was sharp, angry dust puffing up with every driving step—he was fast, even for a cultivator of his stature. His sword blurred, already weaving the opening forms of his clan's signature style.

Robert held his ground. As Harden surged in, both of Robert's swords shot forward, intercepting the attack with a sharp clash that echoed through the crowded arena.

Robert caught the strike with one sword and immediately slashed at Harden's flank with the other. Harden lurched backwards, barely avoiding the blow, his steps unsteady yet still holding.

The crowd watched in silence as Robert moved—quick, focused, and smooth. Robert moved with practiced precision—each step following the last in a seamless rhythm, like a dancer who had trained for this moment his whole life. His two swords followed his hands as if they were part of them.

Harden launched into a rapid assault, his fists falling forward with speed and force.

Robert stood steady, refusing to back down. His movements were sharp and purposeful—no wasted effort in his defense.

The fight's rhythm twisted. At first, Robert had been on the back foot—blocking, parrying, and holding his ground. But now? He was steering the fight. Harden's blows grew sloppy, his steps heavier—each movement slower, burdened by fatigue.

He was not leading anymore—he was trying to keep up. You could feel the tension in the crowd as they realized it too.

Harden's face betrayed a flicker of frustration. He pivoted, unleashing a spinning cut—his movement skill, honed over years, blurring him briefly at Robert's side.

He aimed for the gap in Robert's guard, but both swords twisted, one catching Harden's sword, the other forcing him back with a threat he could not ignore.

Neither cultivator exchanged words now. Their breathing, the scrape of boots, and the music of steel filled the silence. Robert's concentration was absolute.

This was not about showing off—he had put in the work, and with every passing second he stood his ground, the flow of his twin swords became more instinctive, more unavoidable.

Back and forth they danced, swords flashing—each searching for a single crack, a heartbeat of vulnerability.

Above the roar and whisper of the grandstand, Harden gritted his teeth and pressed his assault, pushing himself to the edge. Robert, twin swords blurring in the sun, met each strike with unwavering focus.

In the end, it was a final, decisive clash—where every action was crucial, and every heartbeat brought them nearer to a turning point that would shape not only their glory but also the future of two rival clans.

In that intense moment, Robert was resolute in proving just how much power could be harnessed by embracing both sides of his destiny.

Steel met steel in a relentless rhythm, the atmosphere crackling with intensity as both cultivators stood their ground. With every blow, the arena trembled, and each opponent's motion showcased their incredible mastery.

At the height of their clash, Harden lowered his chin—and in an instant, launched forward with his signature technique: wind step.

His body blurred as he wove right, then left, disorienting even the sharpest eyes in the stands. With a powerful motion, he sent dust flying beneath his boots, and in the blink of an eye, he was right next to Robert, his sword already cutting through the air in a lethal horizontal strike.

"Crimson Arc Slash!" Harden roared. His sword carved a glowing arc through the air, humming with lethal qi.

The wave of power forced Robert to pivot sharply, just avoiding the cut—a near miss that split the dust at his feet.

But Robert's expression was calm, almost expectant. As Harden pressed the assault, Robert spoke no word—he simply vanished. His form shimmered for an instant, dissolving into the telltale haze of his movement art: Shadow Step. The afterimage of Robert's figure lingered for only a heartbeat before he reappeared behind Harden, swords poised in precise, twin formation.

With a smooth and practiced grace, Robert dived into his sword technique: Twin Dragon Fang. His swords moved in a synchronized sweep—one soaring high, the other dipping low—like the legendary double strike of mythical creatures.

Harden twisted to intercept, his sword catching the top sword, but the second found its mark, grazing the edge of his armor and making him stagger back.

For just a brief moment, Harden's confidence wavered. He gritted his teeth and exploded forward, Wind Step once again propelling him around Robert's guard. "Crimson Arc Slash!" He roared, unleashing another burst—a sword-red crescent of energy that hissed through the space between them.

Robert bent in a tight roll, Shadow Step carrying him clear as the wind-slashed qi scattered sand where he had just stood. He moved like a shadow, always a half-step ahead, both swords spinning up a storm as Harden circled him like a wolf closing in on its prey.

Each time Harden lunged with Windstep or brought his sword down in a blazing Crimson Arc, Robert was already gone—vanishing in a blur and emerging at his side, both swords sweeping in with deadly precision.

He followed up with his Twin Dragon Fang technique without missing a beat: a sweeping strike overhead, mirrored by a quick sweep below, each move pushing Harden to retreat as the pressure built.

Once, twice, their signature techniques crashed together—swords locking, qi humming, faces mere inches apart.

The energy between them was so intense that the crowd only dared to breathe once the two finally broke apart.

Blood had started to flow, not a lot yet, but enough to signal that this was no longer just a battle of skill—it had transformed into a showdown of wills, a fight for destiny.

Both stood, sweating on their brows, locks of hair falling in their eyes.

Robert's breath remained steady, his form fluid as Shadow Step flickered at the edges of his stance, ready to shift like a whisper in the wind.

Harden stood firm across from Robert, his sword catching the flicker of light, a soft gust spiraling beneath him—a sign Wind Step was ready to launch. With fingers tightening around the hilt, the space before his weapon seemed to ripple, charged with the weight of Crimson Arc Slash. Neither moved.

The tension hung between them, taut and overwhelming. The crowd around them felt like it was caught in a freeze-frame, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, anticipating the moment of impact.

In that fleeting moment, everything came to a halt—Robert and Harden stared each other down, both ready to pounce. The surrounding audience hummed with anticipation, every gaze fixed on the stage where the result was hanging by a thread, poised for greatness.

Harden struck first, launching into Windstep—a blur that tore sideways, stirring dust in his wake. His blade followed with a blazing arc, the Crimson Slash sweeping down in a powerful, glowing crescent aimed straight at Robert.

But Robert's mind was clear, and his will was steel. He slipped into Shadow Step, his shape flickering just outside the deadly arc. In that instant, with twin swords being practised, he perfected every lesson, every bruise, and every ounce of will he possessed.

Robert countered with Twin Dragon Fang—the signature move that had practice to perfect. One sword swept wide to catch Harden's strike, the other darted in beneath, spiralling in with a precise, punishing blow to Harden's exposed side.

Steel rang, the force of the impact shuddering down both men's arms, and then Harden staggered—his defence split open by Robert's relentless coordination. The crowd held its breath as Robert launched his assault, his right sword slicing through the air high while his left aimed low, forcing Harden to backpedal with desperate blocks.

Desperation flashed in Harden's eyes. He gathered all his remaining qi for one last desperate swing, launching a final Crimson Arc in a fierce roar. This time, Robert did not evade. He met Harden sword, his two swords intertwining in a cross that caught the attack dead.

In that frozen moment of clang and energy, Robert turned his wrists—disarming Harden with a flick, sending Harden's sword skidding across the blood-splattered stage. The impact sent Harden reeling, and despite his stubborn pride, his knee buckled. He fell, his breath ragged and his body trembling, unable to rise.

For a moment, everything was eerily quiet. Robert towered over his fallen adversary, struggling to catch his breath, sweat and dirt streaking his jaw. Harden tried to lift himself off the ground, but a searing pain coursed through his ribs and leg, forcing him to slump back down, utterly beaten and drained.

The elder's voice rang out over the silent arena, cutting through the stillness: "The match is over! Robert Osborn of the Osborn Clan is victorious. A wave of thunderous applause rolled from the Osborn side as the arena came alive with cheers and astonished gasps. In stark contrast, the James clan supporters sat in shocked silence, trying to wrap their heads around the moment.