Strongest Family System

Celestial Brook City was the pulsating heart of the eastern provinces, with a history that predates Magical City. While Magical City thrived on the hustle of trade caravans and the scattered influence of sects, Celestial Brook was something else entirely—it was where wealth, cultivation, and politics intertwined into a single, powerful entity.

The city extended over both banks of the stunning Celestial Brook River, its vibrant jade waters sustaining thousands of homes and powering merchant fleets that shipped goods to the southern seas. Beautiful bridges made of pure white stone arched gracefully between the districts, each one etched with protective symbols to keep bandits and rogue cultivators at bay.

In the heart of Celestial Brook City, four powerful clans stand as the bedrock of authority, each one guarding a pillar of influence that no outsider would ever think to confront.

The Walker Clan, guided by the powerful Patriarch Zilton Walker, stands tall at the pinnacle of economic strength. Cultivator at Soul Manifestation Level 5 (the peak stage), Zilton's qi is as heavy as iron chains, and just a look from him can leave weaker men in distress. His family oversees the lifeblood of trade—merchant guilds, banks, caravans, and river fleets. No road or marketplace can succeed without the Walkers' approval, and it is rumored that the wealth of the city itself runs through his fingers.

The Brooks Clan, under the rule of Lady Seraphina Brooks, has a unique talent for formations that sets them apart. At Soul Manifestation Level 5 (the peak stage), her qi manifests as layers of clear domes, creating an aura that is as unyielding as a fortress. The Brooks maintain the great wards that protect Celestial Brook City; in return, every clan and merchant pays their "City tax." To offend the Brooks is to walk outside the safety of the city walls, stripped of protection and left to the wolves.

Under the leadership of Patriarch Darius Clark, the Clark Clan represents the pinnacle of martial strength. As a powerful warrior at Soul Manifestation Level 5 (peak Stage), his qi rumbles like a storm on the battlefield, rich with the essence of iron, blood, and the din of countless weapons. The Clarks supply the city with generals, soldiers, and commanders, ensuring that Celestial Brook is not only affluent and well-defended but also equipped to crush any outside threats with overwhelming military power.

At last, we have the Brown Clan, under the leadership of Patriarch Eldric Brown, who proudly claims the top spot in alchemy and herbal knowledge. Though they might be a bit weaker in cultivation at Soul Manifestation Level 5 (mid-stage), Eldric's aura brings the warm embrace of a medicinal furnace—soothing yet with a hint of danger. His clan monopolizes herb cultivation, pill refinement, and the city's Alchemists' Guild, their products exported to disciples across three provinces. To purchase a pill stamped with the Brown seal is to buy certainty and prestige.

Yet, looming over everything else was a force that no one dared to confront—the Grey Shadow Guild. Unlike the smaller faction in Magical City, the Celestial Brook guild was a true giant. It served as the bustling heart of commerce in the city, a vibrant trading hub where weapons, herbs, potions, and even hidden treasures exchanged hands every single day. Its broad networks were crucial for caravans, clans, sect representatives, and those wandering cultivators. Within its walls, even sworn enemies could sit across from each other, bound by the guild's unyielding rule of neutrality: no blood could be shed under its roof.

It was said in hushed tones that the guild's master, the elusive Veylan Lie, was a cultivator at Soul Manifestation Level 8 (low stage). His aura, though rarely revealed, was said to silence entire halls with a single breath. The four clans, for all their pride, treated him with a mix of respect and fear.

At the towering gates of the Walker estate, Mathew James was halted by guards clad in silver-trimmed armor. Their spears crossed before him, their voices cold.

"State your name and purpose."

Mathew stood tall, keeping his hands neatly behind his back. "I am here to request a meeting with Patriarch Zilton Walker."

The guards exchanged a glance, their lips curling faintly. "Our Patriarch does not meet with just anyone—least of all leaders of provincial houses." The dismissal in his tone was clear, a reminder that the James clan was nothing more than a small ripple compared to the tide of Celestial Brook's giants.

Mathew did not argue. Instead, his fingers brushed over the token inside his sleeve as the guards refused him passage. Their icy tone held no hint of respect, just a sense of dismissal. For a brief moment, he clenched his jaw, holding back the surge of irritation. Of course… To them, the James clan are nothing more than ants. If not for this token, they would not even bother speaking another word to me.

His mind raced. The memory of his grandfather's words returned, spoken quietly as if in warning: 'This emblem holds the significance of a forgotten pledge. But remember, Mathew… Use it only once. The moment you reveal it, you will no longer have the luxury of retreat. One step wrong, and you will not only lose your life—you may doom the clan itself."

Sweat pricked at the back of his neck despite the cool breeze. I must tread carefully. The Walkers are no allies—they are wolves. If they see weakness, they will devour me whole. But without their aid, the Osborn clan will continue to rise, and the James name will fade into dust.

He inhaled slowly, forcing his heartbeat to steady. His decision was made. With deliberate care, Mathew drew the token from his sleeve, holding it between two fingers as though it weighed a thousand catties.

"Listen," he said calmly, "This was passed down to me from my grandfather. He told me… That should the James clan ever face dire need, the Walkers would honor this once, and only once."

The guards' expressions froze. In a heartbeat, their nonchalant attitude transformed into a serious demeanor as their gazes met the ancient token. Mathew's grip tightened behind his back, though his face remained calm. Now… Everything depends on how the Walkers choose to answer.

The guard's footsteps echoed lightly across the stone paths of the Walker estate as he entered Elder Tom's courtyard. The elder sat beneath a carved pavilion, speaking calmly with one of his disciples about flame circulation techniques.

The guard halted at the edge, bowing low with respect. Tom raised his head, his intense eyes narrowing just a fraction.

"What matter interrupts me at this hour?"

The guard swallowed, stepping forward. With both hands, he presented the ancient token. "This was just shown at the gates." Tom accepted it, his fingers brushing over the worn edges. At first, his expression was calm—but as soon as his gaze settled on the engraved sigil, his features hardened. His voice dropped, heavy with meaning.

"This token…" His gaze flashed with turbulent intensity. "Who delivered this here?"

The guard, noticing the shift in his elder's tone, stiffened. "It was the James clan leader, Mathew James. He waits at the gate." For a long breath, silence hung between them. Tom's disciple glanced up nervously, sensing the sudden weight in the air.

Tom slowly closed his hand around the token, the veins on the back of his hand pressing sharply against his skin. His jaw tightened before he finally spoke, his words measured and low:

"Go. Bring him to the main hall. I will wait there."

The guard bowed deeply, relief flooding his face, and hurried off. Tom sat unmoving in the pavilion for a moment longer, the token heavy in his palm. So, after all this time, the James family finally decides to call in that promise.

Once… and only once. Hmph. Mathew James… This had better be worth the weight you place on my Walker clan.

With a sweep of his sleeve, Elder Tom stood and began walking toward the main hall, the air around him tightening with restrained power.

The grand hall of the Walker clan loomed impressively in front of us, its tall pillars adorned with intricate carvings of ancient runes that shimmered gently in the warm light of the lanterns.

Servants and disciples moved quickly along the edges, their eyes flicking toward the center where Elder Tom Walker now stood in silence, the token resting on the arm of his chair.

By the time Mathew James was escorted inside, the vast chamber was already filled with a suffocating aura. Though Elder Tom had not released his cultivation, his mere presence pressed against the chest like an immovable mountain.

Mathew's steps echoed on the polished floor, steady yet cautious. His heart beat faster, but his face betrayed nothing. He knew well that one slip of arrogance here could erase not just his own life but the James clan's future.

At the far end of the hall, Elder Tom sat, his robe draped neatly over his tall frame, silver threads marking his status. His gaze was fixed on Mathew the entire time—sharp, measuring, almost as though stripping away his every hidden thought.

Mathew bowed deeply, fists clasped, and greeted Elder Tom Walker.

For a long moment, the elder said nothing. His fingers tapped once against the armrest before his voice rolled out, calm but heavy as thunder. So… The James clan finally brings the token. Decades have passed since its last appearance, yet today you dare use it. Tell me, Mathew James.

Tom leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a powerful sense of authority. "What storm has led you to our door, and why should the Walker clan offer you their aid?"

The hall fell silent, the weight of his words pressing down like a verdict. Even the guards at the doors lowered their heads, not daring to breathe too loudly.

Mathew remained bowed, his mind racing. This is it… One chance. I must speak carefully. If I trip up at this point, the James clan is finished.

He straightened slowly, determination burning in his eyes, and prepared to speak.