Strongest Family System

The force of Mathew James's strike still crackled through the smashed clearing, broken trees smoking and soil split open in uneven spots.

Warriors from both clans had been thrown back, some clutching wounds from flying debris, others staring in disbelief at the devastation.

And yet, Robert Osborn stood untouched. His blades were crossed before him, steady, his breathing even. It was not his strength that had withstood the blow.

A far heavier aura pressed down behind him.

Robert's eyes widened as he turned. His father was there, John Osborn standing tall, his great sword braced against the fading crimson arc of Mathew's attack. Sparks still hissed from the clash, the sword trembling in his grip, but John's face was unforgiving.

"You will not touch my son," John said, his voice like iron grinding on iron.

With a sudden push, he sent the remnants of the attack scattering harmlessly into the ground, where they burned themselves out against the trees.

Mathew James's fury snapped like a storm. His eyes blazed red with killing intent, and his aura surged, the pressure spreading through the battlefield like a wave of fire.

"John Osborn!" He roared. "Then it is as I thought. You hide behind your brat, and now you dare shield him from judgment? Today I will break your clan—and I will start with that Robert corpse!"

Robert tightened his grip on his swords, his jaw clenched. His father's presence steadied him, but Mathew's rage was like a beast unchained.

Mathew thrust his spear forward, the weapon alive with scarlet light, his aura boiling outward. Yet in his rage, he failed to notice the subtle change—the weight of John Osborn's presence had grown. His aura no longer pressed only at the level of Soul Malfaction's first step. It was deeper, stronger, sharper.

Level Two.

Far away, above the battlefield, Billy Walker's eyes narrowed. His faint smile returned as he floated effortlessly in the air, arms folded across his chest. "So," he murmured to himself, "John Osborn advanced after all." His gaze flickered briefly toward Robert below, then back to John.

"Interesting. But no matter. I intervene only if Mathew falters. Until then, let the wolves tear each other apart."

The ground trembled as Mathew launched himself forward again, spear whistling through the air. John met him head-on, sword clashing against spear, each impact sending waves of force that split the ground. Sparks scattered like fireflies, illuminating the furious faces of both clan leaders.

Their duel began in earnest, a tempest above the battlefield.

Robert watched only long enough to be sure his father fought with Matthew. The clash of spear and sword roared overhead, but his father's stance was steady, controlled, his aura layered like shields within shields.

Robert's heart steadied. Father can hold him. If the Mystery Man stays out of it, then we still have hope.

But on the ground, chaos still reigned.

The James and Osborn clans were still locked in brutal combat. The forest echoed with the clash of steel, the shouts of warriors, and the hiss of spirit techniques unleashed. Trunks split under the force of strikes, roots tore free from the ground, and the ground was already slick with blood.

Robert inhaled, forced his racing heart to steady, and turned back to the battle. His swords caught the light as he dashed into battle, his figure blurring into motion.

To his right, Sarah's blade had already claimed another life. She moved like a shadow through the ranks, each slash deliberate and precise. Keith Blake bore down on her with a roar, his halberd sweeping in great arcs, but Sarah twisted under it, her counterstroke cutting shallow across her side. Sparks flew where steel scraped against armor.

Not far from her, Eissa's spear danced, sweeping wide in deadly circles as she held back two James disciples immediately. When Keith's second strike forced Sarah back a pace, Eissa thrust forward, her weapon piercing through the chaos and drawing blood from his arm. Together, the two women pressed him into retreat, each attack a hammer blow of coordination.

Further ahead, Sai was locked in brutal combat with Liam. Neither of them gave ground as their blades continued to strike. Sai's footwork was relentless, and his brow was streaked with sweat. After dodging a vicious slash, he struck back, leaving Liam's thigh with a shallow wound.

"You will have to do better than that!" Sai shouted through gritted teeth, eyes burning with determination.

Taylen and Telvis clashed like two wild storms. Each hit reverberated in the air, their weapons crashing together with a bone-shaking force. Sparks erupted, branches splintered, and neither fighter showed any signs of backing down. Their battle was all about sheer power, with neither one concerned about technique—just the desire to dominate.

Emer and Ronan battled side by side, their swords intertwining as they took down a bunch of James warriors who were crowding them a little too much.

Ronan's heavy axe split shields, while Emer's swift sword slipped through the gaps, finishing what Ronan's power created. Together, they stood like a wall, protecting the Osborn formation's flank.

And Elder Alex faced Elder Adam close to the center of the battlefield. Although they fought more slowly, each blow had devastating power. With every clash, the ground trembled, and trees fell where their techniques landed.

Alex's two blades sliced wind currents so sharply that they split the fire apart, while Adam's staff glowed with fire runes, each blow igniting flames. The duel had the power to change the very nature of the forest.

Robert returned to the fight in the middle of all of this, his twin swords flashing in the low light. A James warrior lunged toward him, but Robert's blade turned the strike aside, his shadow-step carrying him just past the man's side. The second blade finished the motion, cutting the man down in a single fluid stroke.

Another opponent came, then another. Robert's breath matched his footwork, with each blow being influenced by the Twin Dragon Fang Art's rhythm. Each slash carried deadly intent, and his swords appeared to coil and uncoil like serpents.

For a moment, the surrounding chaos dulled, his mind sharpening into calm clarity. Father holds the sky. I must hold the ground.

The air was split by Mathew's roars above, his spear slashing out in rage. John responded with a steady voice and a ringing great sword. Their duel was like thunderclaps above the battlefield, neither giving an inch.

Robert knew this was only the beginning. His father's strength gave hope, but Billy's shadow loomed far away, waiting. And below, every life hung in the balance of each clash.

The battle of the forest raged on, no longer a prelude but the storm itself.

High above the sky, a sword screamed against the blade. With each measured stroke and exact counter, John Osborn's great sword cut arcs of light through the air. With his spear, Mathew James confronted him directly, but the difference was obvious: Mathew's blows became sloppier with each encounter, while John's blade carried weight that bent space itself.

John advanced with composed intensity, each motion deliberate, each blow layered with decades of practiced technique. To him, it was not a contest but a steady dismantling. Mathew's spear darted with wild bursts of crimson energy, but John's blade always found its mark—parrying, diverting, striking back with force that rattled the skies.

Below, Osborn and James warriors paused in their own battles to glance upward. Sparks flared in the sky like distant stars, the duel commanding the battlefield's rhythm.

Billy Walker's half-closed eyes watched from far above. His arms remained folded, but the faint curve of his mouth had flattened into a disappointed line. His gaze traced every movement, every clash, and he shook his head slowly.

"Mathew… You have already lost," he murmured. His expression was still icy, but his voice was gentle, almost regretful. Every step in the Soul Malfaction realm was a depth, not a line, and he knew this all too well.

John Osborn's second level was not something Mathew could bridge with rage alone. If he did nothing, Mathew would die—and with him, the James clan's spine would snap.

Billy exhaled, his aura stirring faintly. "Then I must act."

Yet, far beyond the battlefield, someone was watching.

Deep in the shade of a half-collapsed pine, a figure wrapped in black cloth stood utterly still. He watched the duel in the sky, his eyes glittering behind a cover. When Billy's aura shifted, preparing to move, the shadowed man reached into his robes and drew out a crystalline shard.

The shard pulsed once, then projected a dim, wavering image into the air: a chamber cloaked in grey mist. Within it sat Elder Delvin, silent, his presence as steady as stone.

The watcher's voice was low, urgent. "Elder, Billy Walker intends to intervene. If he acts, the Osborns will fall."

Delvin did not move, did not speak. For a long moment, the grey haze flickered silently around him. Then, without a word, his image dissolved into nothing.

The man in black closed the crystal with a snap. He did not linger. The shadows encircled him, and he disappeared.

Back in the sky, the conflict reached a breaking point. Mathew hurled his spear in a desperate lunge, but John deflected it with brutal efficiency, his counterstroke nearly severing the shaft in half. Mathew staggered, blood already lining his lips.

Billy moved.

His aura tore through the air, a dark tide that bent the clouds and sent shudders through the battlefield below. Warriors on both sides froze mid-strike, their eyes dragged upward by the oppressive weight descending over them.

One blink—then Billy was there. His palm struck like lightning, colliding against John's chest before the man could fully guard.

The shockwave rippled outward, ripping through branches, tearing open the soil. John's blade caught part of the force, but not all.

His body skidded backward through the sky, armor groaning under the pressure. Blood gushed from the corner of his mouth as he fell to one knee in midair.

Robert, fighting below, froze as he saw his father stagger for the first time. His stomach clenched, his grip tightened on his swords.

Billy lowered his hand, staring at John with an unreadable expression. "The balance has been broken," he said quietly. "From here on… None of you leave alive."

The battlefield, once a storm of steel, now fell into a dreadful silence.

And the real war had only just started, far above the sky.