Strongest Family System

The Osborn compound no longer felt the same. Wealth flowed in steadier streams from trade expansions, which John had pushed forward, and qi pulsed thick and vibrant through every courtyard, every hall, and every chamber.

Disciples who once struggled now stood taller; elders carried sharper auras. It was as if the clan itself had been reborn.

When the two months closed, John Osborn visited the east wing to see for himself. The six stood together, blades and fists still humming from their morning drills. His eyes swept over them, and his brows lifted.

"What speed…?" John murmured, almost to himself. "Two months, and every one of you has risen as though years had passed."

He studied each aura closely—Sarah's sharp as serpents, Essie's steady as steel, Ronan's spear burning with ambition, Emer's blade graceful as petals, and Taylen's fists heavy with force. And Robert, his son, carried the crushing weight of a peak-stage Spirit Root level five cultivator. Pride and disbelief warred in John's chest.

"You have surpassed every expectation," he said at last, his voice deep with pride.

Robert inclined his head. "We are ready, Father."

Together, they left the training ground. The disciples returned to their sparring, while father and son walked toward the study. The air in the chamber was heavy with anticipation when they entered.

John sat at his desk, his fingers steepled. "The competition is close now. We must decide—how many should we take, and when shall we depart for Celestial Brook City?"

Robert's expression was calm, yet firm. "We should leave fifteen days early. That will give us time to observe the other cultivators, measure their strength, and prepare accordingly. You should come, Father, and bring two elders with you. Mother should remain here to oversee the clan's business."

John considered for only a moment before nodding. "Agreed. Your mother's breakthrough has steadied our foundation, and the array strengthens us each day. With her here, the clan will not falter."

Robert's gaze held steady. "Then it is decided. We prepare, and in fifteen days, we step onto Celestial Brook's stage not as shadows, but as contenders."

The room settled into silence, but in that silence, the future seemed to sharpen. The Osborn clan's path was no longer uncertain—it was being carved with each decision, each breath, and each strike of blade and fist.

And the storm of Celestial Brook awaited them.

Robert's gaze lingered on his father for a moment longer, then he said evenly, "One more matter. Inform Elder Delvin from Grey Shadow Hall. With his support, our foundation will be steadier when we march to Celestial Brook City."

John Osborn nodded without hesitation. "I will see to it."

Robert bowed slightly. "Then I should leave, Father."

He turned and stepped out of the study. The heavy door closed behind him, muting the sounds of parchment and strategy. The corridors of the Osborn residence felt calmer now, carrying the faint hum of qi that the array weaved through every wall.

When he reached his quarters, he pushed the door shut and sat cross-legged on his bed. Drawing in a slow breath, he whispered, "System, show me my current status."

A soft chime filled his mind, and a translucent panel unfolded before his eyes:

System Status

Name: Robert Osborn

Cultivation Realm: Spirit Root Realm – Level 5 (Low-Stage)

Soul Power: 800,000

System Points: 250,420

Skills:

Shadow Step – Level 2: Breath Sync (Mastery Achieved)

Twin Dragon Fang – Level 2: Coiling Scales Technique (Mastery Achieved)

Mountain Fist – Level 1: Grounded Form Achieved

Soul Awakening Realm – Level 3: Soul Seed Formation Achieved

Assassin Available:

Shadow Reaper Assassin – Soul Manifestation Realm, Level 5 (Peak Stage)

Quests:

Main Quest: Strengthen the Osborn Family – Progress: 0.9%

Robert studied the glowing lines carefully. His soul power had drained more than he realized during training and breakthroughs, yet the sight of both Shadow Step and Twin Dragon Fang marked with mastery stirred quiet satisfaction in his chest.

The methods no longer seemed alien or forced; under the direction of the intensified power of his training, they moved through his body as naturally as breath. He flexed his fingers, imagining the way shadows bent when he moved, the coil of power in his strikes.

Exhaling slowly, he allowed the panel to fade. A rare moment of ease softened his features. The clan was rising, his disciples were growing stronger, and even his own path was sharpening with clarity.

The storm of Celestial Brook drew nearer, but Robert no longer feared its weight. He was ready.

John Osborn kept his word. The very next day, he left the clan grounds and made his way toward the center of the city, where the Grey Shadow Hall stood. Its dark flags, stitched with silver threads that caught the morning sun, fluttered heavily in the breeze.

Upon his arrival, an attendant in modest but well-kept robes greeted him with a respectful demeanor. The young man spoke courteously, yet his tone was firm as he said, "Clan Head Osborn, welcome." He also bowed deeply in respect.

John gave a single nod, his gaze steady. As he glanced around the grand hall, he noticed cultivators moving briskly between chambers.

Some members of the group were seen with scrolls, while others had weapons secured to their backs, their strides purposeful and disciplined. A few recognized him, their eyes widening just a bit before they bowed in acknowledgment. John responded with a composed tilt of his head, revealing only a sense of dignified calm.

The attendant, sensing urgency in John's arrival, excused himself quickly. He vanished into the depths of the inner halls, the soft echo of his footsteps slowly disappearing on the polished stone floors.

Deeper inside, in the quiet room, Elder Delvin sat with his hands folded, his aging features still imposing and sharp.

When he heard the words "Clan Head Osborn has come to visit," he lifted his brow. His voice, though measured, carried authority that brooked no doubt.

"Bring him here," Delvin ordered.

The attendant came back a few moments later and guided John through the tangle of hallways. They arrived at the elder's private chamber, a large but unadorned space where strength was assumed subtly rather than displayed.

Spirit tea was already ready inside, with a light yet soothing scent. With well-honed grace, the attendant set the porcelain cups in front of them, bowed again, and excused himself, shutting the heavy wooden door behind him.

Now alone, John sat opposite Delvin. His posture was upright, steady, as though carved from stone itself. He wasted no time on pleasantries.

"Elder Delvin," John began, his voice firm, "i have come to speak frankly. The Osborn clan will enter the Celestial Brook competition. I will personally lead our group alongside my son, Robert. For this, I ask for your aid. Your presence will not only steady our disciples but deter those who would test us."

Delvin did not answer immediately. His long fingers tapped lightly against the teacup as he studied John with a penetrating gaze. His silence was not emptiness but pressure, as though he were weighing every strand of intent behind John's words. The air between them grew thick, the quiet stretching until even the faint hiss of steam from the tea seemed loud.

At last, Delvin leaned back. His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, though his eyes remained sharp.

Your clan is not what it once was, beaten down and hidden. Robert's rise has stirred whispers even here in the hall. Yes…" His voice lowered, like steel being drawn. "I will go with you. The Osborns deserve a chance to stand tall again."

A flicker of relief touched John's face before he quickly masked it with composure. He inclined his head with measured respect. Then, Elder Delvin, thank you.

The two men spoke further, their voices low but steady. They discussed travel, strategy, and the timing of departure. Delvin asked sharp questions about resources, about the condition of the disciples, about Robert's readiness. To each, John replied without hesitation. It was not only an alliance that was being forged here but trust, thread by thread.

When finally John rose to leave, the agreement was sealed. The weight of alliance now rested firmly on his shoulders—but also lightened them.

The air in the city seemed different when he left Grey Shadow Hall; it was crisp and full of invisible energy. Cultivators moved rhythmically across the courtyard behind him, training and getting ready for unidentified tasks.

None of them realized that within those chambers, a decision had just been made that would ripple far beyond their walls, a choice that would alter the balance of power in Celestial Brook City.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the sprawling city, two months had crawled by since the bloody annihilation of the Carr Clan. Yet no answers had surfaced.

The Walker Clan had conducted a thorough search using every resource available to them, searching alleys, questioning informants, and surveying the surrounding areas. However, the enigmatic murderer had disappeared as if he had been engulfed by the earth. Not a whisper, not a trace, not a single thread of evidence remained.

Rumors, however, refused to die. They spread like wildfire through taverns, marketplaces, and training halls. Merchants muttered them under their breath as they sold herbs and ores. Drunken warriors spat them out like curses over cheap wine. "The mighty Walker Clan cannot find the truth. Their grip is slipping."

And yet, for all the noise, the Walker Clan itself offered no reply. No denials, no explanations, no declarations of vengeance. Their silence became a shield, though it did little to calm the city's speculation.

The other great clans, however, wasted no time on idle chatter. They turned inward, their eyes fixed on the coming storm: the Celestial Brook competition.

The mood was the same everywhere: tense, pressing, relentless. This contest was not just about gaining recognition; it was a true trial that could either elevate or tarnish a clan's reputation for a long time.

In every corner of Celestial Brook City, strength was being sharpened, ambition was being forged, and destiny was being written.

And far from the rumors and the whispers, within the Osborn clan's walls, preparations of a different kind were underway. The qi-gathering array pulsed silently beneath the ground, thickening the air with energy that clung to every stone, every leaf, every breath. As they trained, disciples noticed that they were making progress more quickly, making breakthroughs more clearly, and honing their techniques. Elders also became stronger, their veins pulsing with renewed vitality, their eyes glimmering brighter.

The storm was approaching. And the Osborns would not lurk in the shadows at the edges this time. They would step into the fire.