Strongest Family System

The Walker clan stirred uneasily deep within a vast compound carved into stone cliffs, far from the Magical City. The inner courtyard was swept by a chilly wind. The tense air was broken by the sound of wood splintering.

Elder Tom Walker's face was dark with rage as he stood in the hall of judgment. In front of him, a large oak table was in ruins, its broken fragments strewn all over the marble floor like bones. He breathed heavily, and his eyes glowed dimly with suppressed anger.

The guard who had delivered the report knelt on the floor, sweat dripping from his brow. He did not raise his head. The silence after the table's destruction pressed down on him like a boulder.

Finally, Tom's voice broke the silence, sharp as a blade.

"Speak again. Every detail. Leave nothing out."

The guard swallowed hard, forcing his words out. "Elder Billy… He was leading the James clan remnants, striking against the Osborns in the forest. At first, the battle leaned toward us. The James forces fought desperately, but Elder Billy pressed their leader to the brink. He would have slain John Osborn had nothing interfered…"

Tom's glare deepened, the lines of his face hard as stone. "But something did interfere."

"Yes, Elder." The guard's hands trembled as he pressed his head lower to the floor. "A stranger appeared. His strength was overwhelming. He cut Elder Billy down before anyone could react. His aura… it carried no fear of the Walker name."

Like a death sentence, the words reverberated throughout the hallway. The first time, even the shadows seemed to recoil from the truth.

Tom's fists clenched, veins bulging against his skin. "A nameless intruder dares strike against a Walker elder?" His voice boomed, and the cracked remnants of the table rattled under its force.

The guard dared to continue. "After Elder Billy's fall, the figure vanished. We searched. We questioned the survivors. None knew his name, his origin, or his allegiance. Even after extensive investigation… We found nothing."

Tom became angry. His robes trailed like storm clouds as he paced the shattered floor. The hall shook with every step. The elders of the Walker clan served as pillars of authority; they were feared, respected, and never challenged. The abrupt and decisive fall gnawed at the very foundation of one's pride.

"Impossible," Tom growled, though doubt flickered in his eyes. "Even the Grey Shadow Hall watches their borders. No cultivator of such caliber should pass unnoticed. Who hides behind this Osban clan?"

The guard remained silent, his head pressed so low to the ground that it nearly touched the shards of broken wood. His fear was palpable, the weight of Tom's fury threatening to crush him.

Moments were stretched, heavy, and suffocating. Finally, Elder Tom exhaled, forcing his rage into words cold and deliberate. "Enough. Rage will not bring Billy back. We must think."

His eyes pierced the kneeling guard as he turned abruptly. "The Osborns are weak. Barely a hundred souls cling to that name. But now… They are sheltered. If we strike openly, Grey Shadow Hall will move. And when they do, the other clans will see us not as strong, but as fools who cannot even avenge themselves without asking for a decision."

He spat the last word like venom. The guard flew.

Tom's expression hardened into iron. "So we wait. We watch. From this day, every step the Osborns take will be shadowed by our eyes. Their walls, their markets, their allies—we will know all."

He leaned forward, his voice dropping low and dangerous. "If any Osborn dares leave the Magical City's shelter… Kill them. No hesitation. No witnesses. A Walker's retaliation bleeds in silence and does not have to roar in the daylight.

The guard's heart pounded. He bowed so low his forehead struck the cold floor. "As you command."

Tom straightened, though the storm in his chest did not abate. His gaze lingered on the shattered table. Elder Billy's laughter used to fill these halls. That voice was gone now, replaced by whispers of doubt. He could almost hear the mocking tones of rival clans—The mighty Walkers, undone by shadows.

His jaw tightened. No. That would not be their legacy.

"Go," he snapped, waving a hand. "Carry my order. Let the Osborns live with eyes over their shoulders. One mistake, one step too far, and we strike."

The guard got up quickly, bowed again, and ran out of the hall. Elder Tom was left alone in the ruins of his rage as his hasty steps vanished into the distance.

With only the sound of the slight crackle of torches on the wall, the hall became quiet once more. Tom's hands rested on the broken edge of the table, his knuckles white.

Somewhere out there, a hidden force had slain one of their own. The Osborns had grown bolder than expected. And the balance of power—delicate, fragile—had shifted by a hand unseen.

Tom lifted his gaze toward the carved ceiling, the shadows flickering across his hardened features. His voice was a low promise, spoken to no one but the dark.

"Whoever you are… I will find you. And when I do, you will learn what it means to cross a Walker."

The torches hissed, the flames bending under a sudden draft. Orders spread like wildfire outside the compound. Eyes would follow every Osborn step. Knives would wait in every shadow.

The storm had not yet broken. But its thunder was already rumbling in the distance.

Elder Tom's fury still lingered in the chamber, but elsewhere in the Walker compound, Elder Rian sat in silence, the faint scrape of his fingers tapping the arm of his chair the only sound. Unlike Tom, his temper did not explode outward; it burned quietly, like embers hidden beneath ash.

He had listened from the shadows when the report first came—Billy, dead in the forest, struck down not by the Osborns but by some unknown figure whose strength none could trace. Tom had smashed a table. Rian had simply narrowed his eyes.

An invisible hand at work… One that does not fear us.

To him, that was the greater threat. Not the Osborns, who were ants dressing themselves in banners, but the mystery figure whose strike had removed Billy with surgical precision. Such a person could be an ally—or enemy—and either path carried danger.

When word came that Clan Head Zilton had summoned a meeting, Rian rose without hesitation. The great hall was already alive with restless voices when he entered, the carved pillars trembling faintly with the echo of anger. Zilton Walker sat at the head, his broad shoulders hunched like a predator coiled to strike. His gaze swept the room as Tom finished his report.

"...and so i have set watchers on the Osborns," Tom concluded, his tone still edged with iron. "If any of their people step outside the city walls, they will not return."

Zilton's jaw tightened. "A small clan dares to kill one of ours. Do they think the Walker name is hollow?" His voice was a growl, filling the hall.

Yet when Tom spoke again of the unknown figure, Zilton's expression shifted—fury tempered by unease. "A stranger strong enough to slay a Walker elder and bold enough not to fear reprisal. That is no trivial matter."

The hall fell silent. Even Tom's eyes flickered.

Rian stepped forward then, bowing just enough to show respect without bending too far. "Clan Head, if I may. The Osborns alone could never have killed Elder Billy. The mystery cultivator is the blade we do not see. If we strike blindly now, we risk drawing them out before we know who they are—or who they serve."

Murmurs rippled among the elders. Some nodded, others glared. Tom's scowl deepened, but he did not interrupt.

Zilton leaned back slowly, his heavy hand drumming against the armrest.

"So. Not one threat, but two. The Osborns, daring to rise, and this shadow, daring to strike. We cannot crush them both immediately. But neither can we appear weak."

His voice hardened. "Here is what we will do. Watch the city. Any cultivator of true power—Spirit Tempering, ninth level or beyond—if they leave the Magical City, inform me immediately. If this hidden hand reveals itself, we act. Until then, we let the Osborns build their fragile house, brick by brick. When the time comes, we will smash it all the more thoroughly."

Tom exhaled sharply, the anger in his eyes finding brief satisfaction. "As you command."

Rian inclined his head, hiding the faint curve of a smile. Yes… Let them build. The higher they climb, the harder the fall.

The meeting dissolved, the elders returning to the rooms. Zilton remained at the head, his gaze fixed on the flames of the hall torch.

Beyond the walls, the Walker banners stirred in the wind. Inside, silence pressed down, heavy and cold. The order had been given, and now every Osborn step would be weighed, every whisper followed.

The storm had not yet struck. But the hunters were waiting—patient, silent, and ready to kill.