Strongest Family System

After stepping out of the hall and making my way to the compound, the atmosphere was still calm, except for the steady footsteps of the guards on patrol.

Robert had not had much rest over the past three days; his mind was racing with plans, and his body was keeping up with the relentless pace. His father had given him the freedom to act, and he was taking full advantage of it.

From the first morning, he set out beyond the Osborn gates. The Magical City was a vast place, filled with rootless cultivators, wandering disciples, and fallen descendants of smaller clans.

If their clan was going to expand, he had to seek out not just more members but individuals who had that special spark and real potential.

He found the first pair near the western market—a boy and girl from a ruined clan who had once prided themselves on the sword. Though they were both under twenty, their calloused hands revealed a lifetime of experience and skill that seemed far beyond their years.

Robert decided to put their abilities to the test by sparring lightly with them to gage their movements. The girl kept a cool, precise style, her sword glinting like peaceful water, while the boy charged in with fiery intensity, his blade a blur.

When they stood before him, panting, Robert asked evenly, "Will you swear blood to the Osborn name? To rise with us, and never betray us?"

The boy dropped to one knee without hesitation, voice loud: "I swear!" The girl followed in silence, but her eyes burned with steady resolve.

Blood contracts were forged, sealing their loyalty as solidly as steel. Robert could envision it clearly: one would rise to become a fiery general, while the other would transform into a sharp, decisive duelist.

The next two he encountered within a dusty workshop. Their talents lay not in blade or fist but in arrays. The older of the two, a quiet girl with thin spectacles, drew patterns in the air with glowing threads of spirit energy, while the boy beside her adjusted small flags and stones to perfect the flow. Before they noticed him, Robert stood observing for a few minutes.

Their work was flawed—rough, childish—but the instinct was there.

"You rely too much on theory," Robert said calmly. "An array is not just drawn—it must breathe." He touched one flag, adjusted its angle a fraction, and the entire weave glowed more brightly. Their eyes widened in awe.

When he asked them to join, they looked at each other, hesitant. Then the girl whispered, "If we join… Will we have resources? A place to practice?"

"Yes," Robert said, voice low but firm. "And protection. But in return, you are Osborns."

They swore, sealing their future into the clan's fate.

Two more came from a caravan passing through the market: talisman cultivators. One was a girl, her chin raised high, carrying herself with such confidence that she seemed almost arrogant. The other was a quieter boy, shy to meet Robert's eyes, though his hands never stopped sketching lines of imaginary runes against his palm.

"You are reckless," Robert told the girl after watching her try a fire talisman that nearly blew apart in her face. She laughed, unashamed. "Better to burn bright than never spark."

To the boy, Robert said, "And you? Do you hide your art because you fear mistakes?"

The boy finally met his gaze and answered softly, "Because every stroke matters. I do not want to waste a single one."

Robert smiled faintly. "Then you two will balance each other."

Both pledged themselves to the Osborn clan.

The last four were found with smoke and herb stains on their robes in a dilapidated alchemy house. They were vibrant, youthful, and completely different.

One girl spoke endlessly, words tripping over each other as she explained her brewing methods before Robert even asked. Another girl barely said a word, but when Robert handed her a set of ingredients, her hands moved with steady confidence, producing a base pill. The two boys were opposites as well—one bold and experimental, tossing extra powders into mixtures to "see what happens", while the other kept meticulous notes, careful and exact.

"You will drive each other mad," Robert said dryly after watching them argue over a recipe. "But together, you may just succeed."

They pledged themselves and bowed, their voices overlapping in unison. Ten in total. Five girls, five boys. Each with different sparks of talent.

Robert gathered them in the courtyard back at the Osborn compound. Their faces were still full of nerves and anticipation. He looked at each one, letting silence stretch until their breaths seemed to align with his own.

"You are Osborns now," he said firmly. "Your talents are your roots, and we will nurture them. But loyalty is the soil that will keep you alive. Betrayal will not be forgiven. Rise together, grow together, and you will have a family stronger than any wandering path could offer you."

The ten disciples bowed deeply. Even though their oaths were already sealed in blood, Robert sensed hope for the first time when he heard their voices reverberating in the courtyard.

With them, the Osborn clan now numbered one hundred.

Those three days were not just about recruitment. Lady Mary was always moving, talking with the elders and carrying scrolls as her robes flowed behind her as she moved through the courtyards.

She had received a list of the resources she needed from the array master and talisman. Without a moment's pause, she made her way to the Grey Shadow Hall. When Elder Devlin heard her request, he readily agreed to help. Soon, wagons filled with materials rolled in: spirit stones, flags, rare ink, and treated wood.

Lady Mary returned and placed everything into the hands of the elders.

Elder Morgan was the first to act. With spirit stones and flags in hand, he reshaped the protective arrays surrounding the clan wall.

The walls thrummed with new life, shimmering faintly under the light. The clan grounds expanded too, with new training fields and meditation courtyards carved from stone. Where once the Osborns had lived cramped, now there was space to breathe.

Robert visited these places often, watching disciples train in open courtyards, hearing their laughter, and seeing the sweat glisten on their brows. It no longer felt like a small family struggling to survive. It was beginning to look like a true clan.

John Osborn and Elder Chris poured themselves into the market district. With the seized wealth of the James clan, they rebuilt shops, expanded the streets, and opened restaurants and inns.

Stone walls were scrubbed and painted anew, and banners hung proudly with the Osborn crest. Merchants who once avoided the name now whispered with interest. Customers flooded in, surprised at the sudden growth.

Half the clan's wealth vanished in those three days, spent on walls, markets, defenses, and homes. But when Robert walked the streets, hearing the chatter of civilians and seeing disciples training in safe courtyards, he knew it was an investment worth every coin.

He passed one of the new disciples—the fiery swordsman—arguing cheerfully with the shy talisman boy over a meal. He glimpsed the array girl laughing softly as the alchemist boys bickered. Each interaction, small and fleeting, brought the Osborns closer together.

Yes. This was growth.

And still, no news came from the Walker clan. No assassins, no messengers, no retaliation. A silence that seemed to weigh more with every day that went by.

On the dawn of the fourth day, Robert stood outside the training grounds. He watched the thirty members—disciples, elders, and warriors—move in unison, the compound alive with strength. For the very first time, he finally let out a breath he did not realize he was holding. We are building something real.

Then a cultivator from Grey Shadow Hall made their way to the gate of the Osborn clan.

As he approached the gate, he presented the guard with the grey shadow hall token and said, "I need to see Robert." The guard, familiar with the token, greeted him warmly and escorted him to Robert.

The guard came up to Robert, who was standing in the compound, watching the daily activities. He declared, "Young Master Robert, you have a visitor from Grey Shadow Hall."

Robert nodded at the guard and replied, "You may leave now." The guard bowed and stepped away. The figure in grey robes stopped before him, bowing deeply. His voice was flat and emotionless. "Young Master Robert, at the request of Elder Devlin, the Grey Shadow Hall summons you immediately. Your presence is required."

The words reverberated like a rock hitting the surface of tranquil water.

Robert's breath stilled. Elder Devlin never summoned lightly. His eyes narrowed, the joy of the morning already fading.

He looked once more over the thirty disciples, the elders busy with their work, the new walls glimmering with strength.

Then he turned, following the messenger.

Whatever awaited him in the Grey Shadow Hall would decide whether this fragile peace could last—or whether the storm of the Walkers had already begun.