Strongest Family System

It was late. The whole place was quiet. A couple of lanterns were still lit, swaying a little. Not much wind. The trees barely moved.

"Shadows spread across the ground, long and still beneath the moonlight."

Robert sat there for a bit, not saying anything. Just thinking.

Inside his room, Robert felt a steady energy thrumming through him—he was well rested, and his mind was sharp. Pushing himself up, he moved to the window for a brief moment, drawing in a deep breath of the cool night air.

There was something significant that needed attention, and now was the perfect time to act.

Without hesitation, Robert slipped from his room and fined his way through the dim hallways.

His goal was clear: he needed to find Emer.

He found his friend in one of the smaller training rooms, beneath the quiet light, practicing sword forms with the same measured discipline as always. When Emer caught sight of Robert at the doorway, he finished his movement and sheathed his sword, greeting Robert with a grin. "What brings you here at this hour?"

Robert smiled in return, but there was a depth of seriousness in his eyes. "Emer, I need you to join me. We have got something significant to do tonight."

Emer tilted his head, a puzzled look flashing across his face. "Now?

What is going on?"

"I will explain everything, but first, we need to find Ronan. It will make more sense if I explain to both of you immediately."

Emer nodded, setting his sword on the rack. "Alright, let us go. I will trust you on this."

With that, they headed down the path. The Osborn estate was quiet—too quiet. The air was cool and still but carried a strange tension. Something was coming. Robert could feel it. Whatever it was, he was ready.

Their footsteps whispered against the shiny stone floor.

The Osborn estate was quiet and peaceful, yet there was a thrilling sense of expectation in the cool night air—something was about to kick off, and Robert was prepared to see it all unfold.

Emer and Robert walked in quiet purpose down the corridor, the hush of the estate broken only by their soft footsteps. They arrived at Ronan's room and knocked. Ronan opened the door slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he squinted into the dim light.

When he saw both Robert and Emer, he straightened, offering a warm greeting. "You two are out late tonight. Everything alright?"

Robert gave a brief smile.

"Mind if we come in? We have got something to discuss."

Ronan gave a brief nod and moved aside, allowing them to enter.

They walked into the room, gently shutting the door behind them, and each took a seat in the modestly decorated space.

The room was still. Emer leaned in, brows slightly furrowed. "What is going on, Robert?"

Robert met their gaze, his expression grave. "You know, earlier today, while I was heading back from the city center, I could not shake the feeling that someone was following me."

I am almost certain those tailing me were from the James clan. I counted five of them waiting beyond our estate's borders—likely planning something against us."

Emer grew tense, jaw set. Ronan, more cautious, frowned. "Just five? Are you sure there are not any stronger cultivators in their group?"

Robert shook his head, his expression unreadable. "I do not sense any true experts among them. From what I could tell, they are all at most around Body Tempering Level 8 or 9. Nothing we cannot handle if we act together."

Ronan considered this. "If there is any risk of more experienced fighters, maybe we should tell the clan leader before doing anything reckless."

Robert was headstrong, his voice steady. "No need to worry. "If we stay sharp and act fast, we can take advantage."

If we do not deal with this quietly, it might bring unnecessary attention—or risk to the clan member."

He kept the real truth under wraps. There was indeed a more powerful presence mingling in the shadows—a Spirit Root Realm cultivator who was cleverly avoiding detection.

Robert did not mention this, not wanting to worry his friends or dampen their resolve. He trusted his strength, especially after his recent breakthrough, to deal with any unexpected threat that might arise.

After a beat, Emer and Ronan shared a glance, then both nodded their agreement. "We are with you," Emer said. "Just give the word."

Robert's eyes flashed with determination. "Good. We will move soon. Be ready."

Outside, the moon drifted higher, bathing the estate in silver light, while inside, resolve was forged—quietly and without fanfare, ready for whatever midnight danger awaited beyond the walls.

Outside, the moon climbed higher in the sky, casting a chilly silver glow over the Osborn estate. Inside, determination was quietly taking shape. Only a few lights flickered against the encroaching darkness as Robert readied himself for what was to come.

He turned to Emer and Ronan, keeping his voice level. "I will leave first. The two of you follow a short distance behind—don't let them see you with me. If they spot you, they will keep their guard up or scatter. Wait for my signal."

The other two nodded, their faces serious and focused. Robert felt a brief wave of gratitude for friends who were willing to walk into the unknown with him.

Then he slipped out into the night alone, his form little more than a silent shadow against the moonlit walls.

He darted across the open ground, keeping close to the hedges and buildings, steering clear of the well-lit paths. His footsteps were quiet, his breath steady, as he let his instincts and the long hours of training guide him to the far edge of the clan grounds.

Beyond the estate walls, the land sloped toward a stretch of wild woods—a place where the shadows ran thick and the undergrowth muffled all sound.

It took Robert half an hour of careful walking to reach the perimeter of the forest.

He paused only once, glancing back to see a pair of faint shapes tracing his route at a disciplined distance. Emer and Ronan moved like ghosts—disciplined, cautious, and invisible to prying eyes.

The forest was silent except for the distant call of a night bird and the breeze whispering among the dry leaves.

Then, as if conjured by the cold, five men stepped out from the far side of the clearing, dark forms barely visible against the pale grass.

Robert felt their auras before he even saw their faces: four had the restless, blunt energy of body tempering cultivators—the kind eager for a fight, their sense of danger dulled by overconfidence.

But one—the man who stood ahead, broad-shouldered and tall with a raw, cutting presence—carried something deeper, steadier, and oppressive. Spirit Root Realm.

The leader grinned, his teeth flashing beneath a pulled hood. "Today's the day you die, boy. Someone wants your head in a box. I will be paid handsomely for it." His voice was rough, almost amused.

A ripple of cruel laughter traveled among the four behind him, each one resting a hand on a weapon or flexing their knuckles, already picturing glory and gold spilling into their purses. But Robert remained silent, his hands loose at his sides, meeting the tall man's gaze without a flicker of fear.

In the shadows near the treeline, Emer and Ronan waited and watched. Both stayed hidden, hearts pounding—not from nerves but from readiness, every muscle tense and prepared to spring. They exchanged no words, but understanding passed between them: trust Robert's lead and attack only when the time was right.

While David, the Spirit Root cultivator, spoke, Robert watched, learning.

David was not just a reckless brute; his confidence was a product of his rich experience.

Robert recalled seeing this man's name on lists of ranked mercenaries. Memory painted the man in sharper detail—a cultivator once known for destroying small rebel bands.

Fierce, ambitious, and deadly, now hired by the James clan.

David hardly seemed to notice that Robert's gaze never left his, even as he postured and baited. Behind him, his four followers fidgeted—rowdy, impatient, the kind of fighters who underestimated anyone quiet.

Robert weighed his options. "Emer and Ronan can handle the four," he thought, confidence in his friends steady and clear.

"It is David who will be the real test."

David, for his part, mistook Robert's silence for fear. A smug expression slid over his features. "Nothing to say? I hear you are the pride of your little clan. Can't even muster a final word?" He tossed his head at his companions. "Get ready, boys. Let us settle this quickly. The boss wants proof by morning."

The four behind David snickered, sizing up Robert like hungry wolves. Somewhere behind the bravado was the belief that Robert Osborn would fall by dawn, their defeat a mere formality. None noticed movement in the brush—or the tense, focused energy flowing from just out of their line of sight.

For Robert, everything slowed. The scene burned into his mind: David, mask of arrogance hiding lethal skill; Emer and Ronan, loyal and on the knife's edge of action; and the four mercenaries, boasting in the night.

He glanced back once, subtle and swift. Emer and Ronan caught the sign—barely a tilt of the head, a silent signal to be ready. The strategy was clear: let David's men believe they held the upper hand only until it was too late to run.

Wind rustled through the branches overhead, catching the moonlight and scattering shifting patterns onto the grass. In the hush before battle, time seemed to hold its breath.

Robert drew in one last steadying breath, feeling the power pulsing just beneath the surface. Tonight would not just be a clash of blades or force—it would mark the start of a new era for the Osborn clan. Whatever came next, he would face it as he always had: shoulders squared, spirit steady, heart unwavering.