Strongest Family System

The Carr clan's compound was a fortress of black stone and green flags, its courtyards filled with disciples who now trained harder than ever, driven by fear rather than discipline. But the heart of the estate pulsed with rage.

Clan leader Tom Carr paced his private hall floor like a beast in a cage. The faint echo of his son's cries could still be heard in the hallways, serving as a stark reminder of the humiliation they had endured in the middle of the day.

Ewan sat hunched over in his chambers, his once-mighty physique now just a fragile shell of its former self. The arrogance that once defined him had given way to a mix of pain and disbelief.

Merchants and followers of small sects alike had feared him because he was untouchable. But with the casual cruelty of a thunderbolt, one stranger had broken that illusion.

The alchemist bowed low before Tom, sweat beading on his forehead. "Patriarch, I have examined Young Master Ewan with every method known to me." His voice faltered as he continued. "His dantian is… broken.

It cannot be restored. I am sorry. He will never cultivate again."

The words fell like a death sentence.

Tom's hand clenched into a fist, veins bulging as spiritual energy flared around him in a suffocating wave. The light along the wall flickered wildly, nearly snuffed out by the sheer force of his qi.

"Leave me," he snarled.

The alchemist ran away, his robes rustling on the shiny floor.

Tom's eyes blazed with the craziness of wounded pride as his face contorted in rage. His armor clattering under the crushing weight of his presence, he turned to face the guards stationed at the doorway.

"Find him," Tom roared, his voice echoing through the compound like a war drum. "Whoever crippled my son—drag him here, alive or dead. Search every inn, every market, every shadow. Tear this city apart if you must."

His voice dropped lower, colder. "And let it be known—whoever provides information will be rewarded with ten thousand gold coins. But if any of you fail me, you will wish you had never been born."

The guards scattered like frightened birds, leaving Tom alone with his fury.

Five days passed.

The bounty spread like wildfire through Celestial Brook City. Notices were nailed to tavern walls, whispered in gambling dens, and discussed in tea houses. Cultivators of every stripe—from wandering rogues to petty thieves—prowled the streets in search of the mysterious figure who had humiliated the Carrs.

And yet, no one found him.

It was as though he had vanished into smoke, leaving only a scar on the Carr clan's pride. Tom's rage grew sharper with each passing day, the pressure within his compound building toward an inevitable explosion.

On the other side of the city, Robert opened his eyes.

His cultivation room was quiet, the arrays humming softly as they faded into the background. Five days of seclusion had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. His body hummed with new strength, his qi steady and fierce at Spirit Root Realm, level two.

He rose slowly, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs, and allowed himself a moment to breathe. The world outside was waiting.

After washing and changing into a fresh set of plain traveler's clothes, Robert slipped from his room and descended to the inn's common hall. The morning bustle had already begun—traders arguing over prices, servants darting between tables, the smell of fried dumplings and tea thick in the air.

Robert chose a seat in the far corner, where shadows softened the sharpness of his features. He ordered breakfast with the same calm tone as any weary merchant and let the chatter of the room wash over him.

It did not take long before the talk reached his ears.

"…ten thousand gold coins! Can you believe it?" One man whispered eagerly.

"A fortune," another replied, his voice low with fear. "But it is for the one who crippled Ewan Carr. Who would dare touch the Carr family with the Walkers behind them?"

"Whoever it was", a third muttered, "he must have the backing of someone powerful. No lone rogue could do such a thing. Not and vanish without a trace."

The table fell silent as a serving girl passed by, then one leaned closer, eyes darting nervously. "Still, the bounty stands. Ten thousand gold. Enough to raise a sect of your own."

Robert listened without shifting his gaze, his lips curving faintly at the corners. He broke a dumpling in half, steam rising from the filling, and ate slowly as though the matter concerned someone else entirely.

The bounty was real. The Carrs were furious. The city buzzed with speculation and fear.

But Robert knew one thing with absolute clarity: if this was their response to a single skirmish, they had revealed more about themselves than they realized. Pride had made them reckless. Rage had made them predictable.

He sipped his tea, savoring the warmth.

The storm he had set in motion was only beginning.

Robert lingered in the corner of the inn long after the breakfast dishes had been cleared, nursing his tea and pretending to study a ledger like any ordinary merchant. In truth, his mind was moving with the precision of a blade.

The Carr clan had taken the bait. Their fury was loud, their desperation obvious. Ten thousand gold coins were an incredible amount, more than enough to entice the reckless and the greedy. However, the magnitude of the reward also demonstrated how badly they were injured. A clan secure in its power would have let whispers fade with time. The Carrs had chosen to shout their weakness from the rooftops.

Robert's lips twitched faintly as he flipped another page of the ledger. Good. The louder they scream, the easier it is to vanish beneath the noise.

Still, he could not grow careless. Even now, there were eyes in this very room that lingered too long on his cloak, on his hands, and on the way he carried himself. Some were nothing more than curious merchants sniffing for gossip, but others… Others might recognize that he did not quite move like the rest of them.

He folded the ledger shut and rose, leaving a few coins on the table. The innkeeper bowed low, grateful for the generous tip, and Robert gave no sign of noticing. On the surface, he was still the same faceless traveler. Beneath, every step was measured, every gesture calculated.

Out on the streets, Celestial Brook City pulsed with energy. In an attempt to attract the attention of bounty hunters lurking in the alleys, vendors shouted their wares louder than usual. Groups of disciples from smaller sects strutted around, whispering about glory and gold, their eyes gleaming with ambition. Robert slipped among them with ease, one more shadow in a city bursting with noise.

Yet as he walked, he considered carefully. He had gained strength in seclusion, breaking through to Spirit Root Realm, level two, but that was only the beginning. Knowledge remained his truest weapon, and knowledge could only be gathered from movement, from listening, and from blending in where no one expected him to be.

Robert melted into the city's current, staying low and letting the market funnel him like any other passerby. He spent the next few hours drifting from stall to stall, listening more than looking, asking casual questions wrapped in the guise of a curious merchant. Snatches of conversation, a trader's offhand gripe, the subtle tip of an elder's eyebrow—each detail folded into a map forming behind his eyes.

By midafternoon, the pattern had become clear. The Carrs were bold because someone larger backed them. The Walker name hung heavy in the air, but the actual power on the ground was different: the real authority here was the clan head of the district's dominant house—no flashy titles, just a presence the city bent around. Robert noted ranks, too: several elders walked the market with the confidence of Spirit Root level nines; a small, efficient group hovered at level eight; and a handful of cultivators moved like they carried the trace of Soul Manifestation in the way other people carry rain.

If he wanted the specifics about the competition—who would preside, who held the true influence, which elders could bend rules—he would need to speak to the head of that dominant house. The middlemen, the shopkeepers, and the couriers could only tell him who quarreled; the clan head could tell him why.

As daylight thinned, Robert folded the information into his mind like sharpened blades into a sheath. He had learned who to watch, who to avoid, and the narrow path he needed to take deeper into the city's politics. He had what he came for: direction.

He slipped back to the inn before the streets filled with prowlers looking for the Carrs' phantom. On the third floor, he eased into the room he had rented, closed the shutters, and let the day's rush uncoil from his shoulders. Night would be quieter—better for the sort of steps that left no footprints. He lay awake for a while, listening to the muffled life of the inn below, and then sat up, crossing his arms over his knees.

Tonight, he would move. The city's pulse slowed around him, but his own quickened. He had a name to find, a head to approach, and the knowledge that every answer he took might bring new enemies closer. Still, knowing where to strike first felt like the first true advantage the Osborns had won in weeks. He tasted it—sharp, dangerous—and smiled into the dark.