Strongest Family System

The silence in the room grew heavier, interrupted only by the soft flicker of the light. Robert's expression stiffened as he straightened his back.

"Father," he began, voice low but firm, "There is something you need to know. Earlier today, Sai returned with troubling news. Mathew James has reappeared in Magical City. But he did not return alone. At his side was a man of unknown origin. His aura was overwhelming—so much so that even Sai could barely stand near him."

At that, Elder Chris's brows drew together, his fingers drumming once on the armrest. John's smile faded, and his gaze turned razor sharp. Robert continued, leaning forward. "We cannot assume he is ordinary. If this mysterious figure stands with the James clan, then our current balance will collapse. Father, we must prepare for the worst."

John's tone was sharp and a bit challenging. "So, what do you suggest?"

Robert took a steady breath, choosing his words carefully. "First, we recall every member of the clan back to the estate. No exceptions. Our people scattered in the market and external holdings will be the first to suffer if the James clan strikes suddenly. Second, we suspend all business operations immediately. The markets and shops bring profit, yes—but they are also vulnerabilities. Better to sacrifice momentary wealth than risk open massacre in our name."

The words hung heavy in the air. Elder Chris's eyes flickered with unease—closing the markets would surely send waves of confusion through the city. Yet John did not speak right away. He studied his son, searching his face for hesitation.

Robert pressed on, his voice steady, unwavering. "Every resource, every man, every healer, every guard—they must be brought inside these walls. If the James clan is bold enough to strike with this new power, let them strike here, where we are strongest. Not in scattered corners where we cannot defend them."

At last, John leaned back, stroking his beard slowly, his gaze never leaving Robert's face. A long silence passed before the clan head gave a small, approving nod.

"Very well," John said at last. "Your judgment is sharp. We will do as you suggest. If the James clan seeks war… then the Osborns will meet them as one." Robert bowed, with a mix of relief and grim satisfaction swelling in his chest. At that moment, he knew—the storm was closer than ever.

John Osborn rose from his seat, the weight of command settling over his broad shoulders. His presence filled the room like a drawn blade, sharp and heavy. His voice carried no hesitation as he turned toward Elder Chris.

"Chris," he said firmly, "recall every clansman immediately. No matter if they are tending shops, guarding warehouses, or traveling with chores, bring them all back to the estate. I want every capable hand behind these walls.

And double the defenses—outer gates, patrols, and guarding formations. If the James clan dares test us, they will find no easy prey."

Elder Chris stood immediately, bowing with crisp precision. "It will be done, Clan leader." His expression was grave, but his steps were steady as he withdrew, already calculating how to mobilize the clan's scattered strength.a1

When the door closed, John shifted his gaze back to his son. His tone softened slightly, but the steel never left his words. "Listen up, Robert. Sai is the one you need. From now on, I want you to keep a close eye on every single move the James clan makes, and make sure you pass that info straight to me.

Robert nodded immediately, his hand curling into a fist against his knee. "I will see to it, Father. Sai will not let a single information pass without reporting it. If the James clan stirs, we will know."

For a moment, father and son locked eyes. The flicker of the light cast long shadows across the study, and in that silence, the two men shared an unspoken understanding—this was no longer a game of merchants or petty rivalries. This was survival.

John exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the map spread across the table. "Good. Then let the James clan come. When they do, they will find the Osborns ready."

The Osborn estate was soon alive with activity. Messengers sprinted through the courtyards, summoning every scattered clansman home. Shopkeepers shuttered their stalls in the west market, guards abandoned their posts at trading warehouses, and caravans were recalled before they could even set out. Within hours, streams of people poured back through the main gates, their faces set with confusion.

Inside those walls, the vibe shifts dramatically. Disciples train in the courtyards, guided by their elders, with steel glinting in the night. Blacksmiths are busy stoking their forges, sending sparks flying like a fiery rain, crafting weapons, and strengthening armor. Elder Chris is actively overseeing the patrols, placing men at every strategic location—the towers, the gates, and even the secret paths that weave through the gardens.

And then the guarding formations appeared. Scrolls were unrolled, their inked lines glowing faintly as formation masters pressed jade stones into the earth. Soon enough, the estate was buzzing with a quiet energy, something you could not quite see but felt stifling to anyone who ventured near.

Robert stood by his father's side, watching it all unfold. Yet his brow remained furrowed. At last, he spoke.

"Father… We can strengthen our walls, we can prepare everything, but if the James clan attacks with their full force here, our home itself will become the battlefield." His voice carried the weight of thought, not fear. "Although we achieve victory, the clan will be left in ruins. We should not fight within these walls."

John's eyes narrowed, studying his son. Robert leaned closer, tapping the map where the forest stretched just beyond the city's edge.

"We lure them here," he said. "Dense landscape, away from the estate. If blood must spill, let it be on neutral ground, where no Osborn stone is caught in the fire. This way, even in victory, we will ensure that our clan stays intact."

Silence fell for a breath. Then John's expression softened, the edge of pride flickering across his face. "You are learning to think beyond the next strike," he said. "Very well. We will prepare the field not only for defense… But for war."

The Osborn estate grew heavier by the hour, like a fortress slowly sealing itself from the world. Walls were reinforced with fresh wood and rock, and the gates were braced with iron plates moved from the forges. Watchtowers gleamed with newly strung crossbows, their bolts tipped with spirit-forged steel. In the inner courtyard, disciples practiced in tight formations, blades rising and falling in perfect rhythm.

Elder Chris moved among them, his instructions sharp and unmistakable. "Shields higher. Spacing tighter. Remember—our enemy is not just the James clan, but the unknown they have brought with them." His voice carried, striking both fear and resolve in the men and women who bowed in answer.

Yet while the clan prepared its walls and weapons, Robert's mind turned elsewhere. He slipped away from the bustle, back into his chambers, closing the heavy wooden door behind him.

"System," he whispered. The familiar glow flared before his eyes, invisible to all but him. The description of the Shadow Reaper assassin still hovered in memory: level 5 peak Spirit Root expert, summoned for a cost, bound by soul power.

Robert's fingers tapped against the table, his mind racing with thought. To unleash him here in the estate would be madness. If battle erupts in our halls, the clan itself will burn, although we win. No—he must be reserved for the forest. A hidden blade in the shadows, striking where they least expect.

He paced, considering each possibility. "The James clan will come with arrogance. They will want to prove their strength before the city. If I can push them toward the forest, away from these walls, then…" His lips curled into a faint smile. "Then even their mysterious elder will not escape unscathed."

Robert returned to the war map later that night, his voice steady as he spoke before his father and Elder Chris. "We must not allow a battle to ignite inside these walls. If they come, we draw them out into the forest to the east. There, nothing ties us. No innocents, no estates, no city markets. Only steel against steel."

John Osborn regarded him carefully, then gave a slow nod. "You are right. Better to fight where we can afford to bleed."

Robert inclined his head, hiding the gentle flicker of light in his eyes. And in that place… The Shadow Reaper will hunt freely. The clan outside drilled with sweat and steel, preparing their defenses step by step. But Robert's true weapon waited in silence—an assassin in the dark, bound only to him.

The first light of dawn spilled over the tiled roofs of the James estate, burning away the night mist. In the main hall, Mathew James sat with a deep frown, scrolls spread before him. His thoughts were sharp, calculating, until the hurried footsteps of an informer broke the silence.

The young man dropped to one knee, his voice strained from the rush. "Clan Head! The Osborns… They have withdrawn their people from the Western market. Every merchant, every guard, every stall—emptied overnight. Their gates are shut tight."

Mathew's face hardened, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What?" He shot up from his seat, the chair making a loud scrape against the floor. "Those cowards… They think they can hide behind their walls?" His voice trembled on the edge of fury, and for a moment it seemed he would lash out at the informer.

Suddenly, from behind, a low chuckle echoed through the hall. Billy Walker stepped into view, arms crossed, his presence cold and unshaken. "So," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting, "They have already guessed your intentions. Clever of them."

Mathew turned sharply. "Guessed, yes—but retreating like this only proves their fear." Billy's laughter deepened, sharp as steel. "All the better. If they are holed up, then there is no need to waste time. We strike with everything, crush their walls, and slaughter every last Osborn. After that, my work here is finished, and I will be leaving."

The hall fell silent, Mathew's anger hardening into resolve. The Osborns had chosen their ground—now the James clan would answer in blood.

The storm was no longer coming. It had begun.