Strongest Family System

After returning from Grey Shadow Hall, John Osborn did not linger in the courtyard. His steps carried him with quiet purpose across the familiar stone paths of the estate until he reached his son's room.

He pushed the door open gently. Robert was inside, sitting at his desk with his eyes closed and his breathing steady and calm. At the sound of the door, Robert rose to his feet, greeting his father with a faint smile.

John's expression softened, though his voice carried weight. "Robert, there is good news. Elder Delvin has agreed. He will stand with us in Celestial Brook City."

Robert's smile widened, relief flickering in his gaze. "That is indeed good news, Father. With Elder Delvin at our side, the clan's presence will not be ignored." He paused, then asked, "And the four disciples we chose to participate? What of their progress?"

John's lips curved faintly, pride breaking through his composed exterior.

"They have not disappointed. With Elder Zak's guidance, all four have broken into the Spirit Root Realm—mid-Stage of Level Two. They have also gained some battle experience through skirmishes arranged in the outer grounds."

Robert nodded, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Good. They will not crumble under pressure when the time comes."

John studied his son for a long moment. His gaze held not just pride but also recognition: Robert had changed. The boy who once avoided responsibility now spoke with the measured calm of a leader. At last, John's voice dropped lower. "Before we leave, there is another matter.

Our supply of high-quality pills is spent. The disciples consumed them in their breakthroughs, and the elders, too, have relied on them. All of them have become stronger, but they still need support to keep up with the younger generation. The qi-gathering array helps, but it cannot replace the aid of refined medicine."

Robert let out a short laugh, not mocking but confident. "Father, leave that to me. I will prepare what we need."

John's stern face relaxed, just a touch, at his son's confidence. "Very well. I will inform Essie and the others in the east training grounds to rest for two days. When the time comes, we will depart together."

Robert bowed his head. "Understood."

Satisfied, John turned and left the room, his robes brushing softly against the door frame as it closed behind him.

Robert stood alone in silence for a moment, the quiet of his chamber wrapping around him. His father's words weighed heavily, but not in a way that crushed him. They were a reminder, a spark. The clan was moving, elders and disciples alike, and all of them were looking to him as much as to his father.

He turned toward the small furnace in the corner of his chamber, his eyes narrowing with resolve. "Then I will not let them down," he murmured to himself.

That evening, the Osborn estate was alive with the faint hum of cultivation. From the youngest disciple to the most senior elder, qi flowed like a river through the grounds, denser and richer than ever thanks to the array carved beneath the stone. For the first time in many years, there was no stagnation, no dull air of resignation. Instead, the clan pulsed with motion—like a beast awakening from slumber.

Robert watched this from the balcony of his room, his hands clasped behind his back. He could feel the shifts in aura, the subtle yet powerful changes in the people around him. His heart steadied with pride.

There were others preparing besides the disciples. Junior alchemists worked in the alchemy building, refining herbs in blazing furnaces. Long after dark, weapons clashed in the training yards.

The servants' actions took a turn for the better: they now walked with intent, hurried along, and maintained an upright posture.

The Osborns were no longer a forgotten name.

Tomorrow, Robert would begin refining again. High-quality Spirit Root Nourishing Pills would be made, no matter how much soul power it cost him. If he had to burn through every ounce of strength to prepare them, so be it.

And the day after tomorrow, the Osborn clan would set forth—toward Celestial Brook City, toward recognition, toward the storm that awaited them.

Robert clenched his fists at his side, his gaze sweeping across the glowing lights of the estate. "This time," he whispered to the night, "we go not to survive, but to rise."

He inhaled deeply, then exhaled, eyes falling to the mat laid out at the center of the room.

"Strength in body is not enough," he murmured. "If my soul lags, the sword I wield will dull."

Without hesitation, Robert sat cross-legged. He took a moment to calm his mind, letting his breath slow down as he directed his attention inward.

The art of Soul Seed Formation is definitely not something to take lightly. It's more than just a straightforward upgrade to the body's meridians or dantian; it's the genesis of something profoundly deeper. Forming a seed of soul energy is like laying the groundwork for spirit itself, setting off on a journey that could lead to realms that are beyond what we can even imagine.

Robert closed his eyes and plunged into the depths of his soul. At first, the darkness surrounded him in silence and endlessness, but then a few glimmering strands of light appeared—threads of his soul power, ready to be shaped.

He willed them together, weaving and compressing. Ten thousand strands of soul power surged forth at his command. It was like drawing together a storm—raw, violent, and difficult to contain. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but he did not falter. His will was the anchor.

The storm coiled tighter, forming the faint outline of a seed—tiny, fragile, but undeniably present. Each pulse of soul power fed into it, giving it weight, giving it form.

Hours passed unnoticed. The moon rose high, then dipped low. The candles in his chamber burned to their ends, but Robert remained unmoving, wrapped in the cocoon of his cultivation.

As dawn's first light slipped through the shutters, Robert's eyes snapped open. His chest rose with a long breath, and in that breath was triumph, though tempered with disappointment. The seed was formed, but it had not yet broken through into true Soul Stabilization. His power surged, stronger than the night before, yet he still had not reached the next step.

"Not enough," he whispered, shaking his head. "The seed is there, but the infusion of power fell short." His hand clenched briefly, then relaxed. "But this is progress. And progress is what we need."

He rose, his joints cracking faintly after the long watch. With swift movements, he washed his face in the basin, straightened his robes, and tied his hair. By the time he stepped out of his chamber, the estate was already stirring with the sounds of morning drills and servants rushing about.

Robert made his way to the alchemy building.

The chamber doors closed behind him with a solid thud. The familiar scent of dried roots and aged herbs filled the air, grounding him. He inhaled once, deeply, then moved to the center furnace.

With a thought, he called upon the system storage. Bundles of herbs spilled forth onto the polished table—gleaming green leaves that shimmered faintly with qi, stalks of jade-like bamboo, and roots that pulsed with threads of spiritual energy. Each one was a treasure, taken from the depths of the system, rare and precise in quality.

Robert's hands worked methodically, purifying each herb by separating the essence from the waste.

The furnace let out a fierce roar, its flames dancing upward as if obeying his every command, shifting from a deep blue to a brilliant gold as he adjusted the intensity.

Herbs melted into a shimmering liquid, one after another. With Robert watching closely, the mixture radiated a soft glow in the cauldron, as layers began to form and blend.

His brow began to perspire, but his eyes remained fixed. His soul power, honed by the cultivation of the night, moved in unison with his qi, precisely guiding the essence.

Impurities hissed and evaporated, leaving behind liquid so pure it shimmered like molten crystal. Robert's lips tightened into a faint smile.

"Four-line grade… this time, I will succeed."

Hours melted away as he refined batch after batch. Each cycle consumed his focus; each round demanded the full weight of his soul power. But he did not yield, not even when fatigue pressed on his shoulders.

When the last herb dissolved and the final condensation completed, he opened the furnace with a sweep of his hand.

Pills spilled gracefully onto the trays, their surfaces faintly illuminated by four golden lines that were intricately carved into them. Their light pulsed, alive with condensed spiritual energy.

Robert exhaled slowly, chest heaving. Before him lay five hundred Spirit Root Nourishing Pills, every one of them fourth-line grade.

He set his hand on the edge of the tray, his fingers brushing against the warm pills. Pride flickered across his features, but it was not the pride of vanity. It was satisfaction—the knowledge that the clan would walk into Celestial Brook City with not only strength in bodies and blades, but the resources to sustain them.

"These will carry us further," he murmured, his voice quiet in the empty chamber. "Every disciple will feel the difference."

At last, he allowed himself to lean back, drawing a long breath. His exhaustion was deep, but so was the fire in his chest. He had not yet reached Soul Stabilization, but his cultivation had taken a significant step forward. His alchemy had risen as well. And together, these were not just his achievements—they were bricks in the foundation of the Osborn clan's rise.

The Osborns awoke to a day nearer their departure as the morning sun rose higher, its rays spilling across the compound. Outside their walls, rival clans trained covertly, the city conjectured and gossiped, and storms brewed unseen.

But within the alchemy hall, Robert Osborn stood quietly beside his furnace, five hundred shining pills before him, and a vow steady in his heart.

This time, the Osborns would not bow.