As the Osborn convoy approached the enormous outer gates of Celestial Brook City, the sound of carriage wheels reverberated over the stone road. The sun hung high, casting molten streaks of gold across the walls—walls reinforced with ancient runes that pulsed faintly, subsisting qi into the air. Every line of inscription whispered of power, of warning, of the city's long history as the crucible of strength.

Travelers and merchants crowded the entrance. When the carriages approached, some people stopped talking and narrowed their eyes as the Osborn banners—a silver flame embroidered on deep crimson cloth, fluttering with silent defiance—came into view.

"The Osborns?" One murmured. "I thought they had faded after the Carr incident."

"Faded?" Another replied with a scoff. "Look at that escort. They have come to make noise again."

Curiosity and skepticism entwined, the whispers spreading like wildfire. However, the muttering stopped when the convoy came to a stop in front of the gate. A group of guards stepped forward, their armor polished, their auras steady. The lead guard—a man of Spirit Core level 8 strength—raised a hand. "Entry fee. Ten mid-grade spirit stones per carriage."

Before John Osborn could respond, Elder Delvin lifted his hand slightly. From within his sleeve, a dark jade token slid out, etched with the coiled serpent insignia of the Grey Shadow Hall. The instant its glow caught the sunlight, the guard's expression froze. His legs stiffened; then he dropped into a deep bow.

"My apologies, honored elder," he said, voice trembling. "We were unaware that the Grey Shadow Hall escorted this convoy. Please, enter freely."

Delvin said nothing. He merely returned the token to his pocket and gestured forward. The guards scrambled to open the gates.

The convoy rolled into the city.

The world inside changed. Celestial Brook was more than a mere city; it was a bustling battleground of wealth and power. The streets were lined with impressive mansions, each marked by a protective sigil at its gate. Under banners that displayed the names of prominent sects, shops shone with rare elixirs and weapons. Every breath felt alive, as the qi-infused air hummed with energy.

And everywhere, eyes followed them.

Other clans' disciples stopped in their tracks, some wearing gold robes, others deep azure or black. Many of them whispered to one another, recognizing the Osborn insignia. They all evaluated, gauging their strengths and weaknesses, while some smirked, and others just watched in silence.

Robert felt the weight of those gazes. His pulse quickened, but he did not avert his eyes. Instead, he looked straight ahead, his chin lifted. Let them watch. The Osborns would not hide in shadows anymore.

After passing through the bustling outer districts, the convoy reached the inner gate—an arched structure guarded by cultivators far beyond mortal reach. Beyond it lay the heart of Celestial Brook, where only the four great clans and the Grey Shadow Hall held dominion.

Once again, Delvin produced his token. No words were needed this time. The guards saluted sharply, qi signatures flaring in acknowledgment, and the gate opened with a deep, resonant hum.

The sun was tilting westward by the time they reached the inner city. The streets were wider, quieter, and lined with white jade tiles that glowed dimly with protective shapes. Every estate radiated pressure like a silent mountain, and the presence of power was overwhelming.

Robert caught sight of grand banners fluttering from towering mansions: the twin wolves of the Walker Clan, the soaring hawk of the Brooks Clan, the crimson spear of the Clark Clan, and the golden mountain of the Brown Clan. Each banner rippled with qi, its presence so heavy that the air hummed.

Out of all of them, the Grey Shadow Hall's sigil stood out the most—a serpent curled around a blade, silently ruling the city.

The sight filled Robert with both awe and resolve. These are the powers we must stand against, he thought, his hands tightening. And this time, the Osborns will not bow.

Elder Delvin broke the silence. "There is an inn ahead. It belongs to our hall. You will stay there. No powerful clan will dare to trouble you while you rest beneath its roof."

John nodded in acknowledgment. "Understood."

The convoy turned onto a quiet avenue where a large inn stood—a multi-tiered structure of dark timber and jade, its doors guarded by cultivators bearing the same coiled serpent insignia. As they pulled to a stop, the tension that had coiled in the disciples' bodies began to ease.

Delvin stepped down from the carriage first. "Clan Head John," he said, his tone light but edged with warning. "Once you have settled, keep your disciples inside until the summons for the competition arrives. Celestial Brook hides many eyes. Even a simple tavern brawl could cost you dearly here."

John inclined his head. "We will be careful."

Delvin gave a curt nod, then turned to leave. His cloak brushed lightly against the carriage wheel, and in the next instant, he was gone—his presence fading into the maze of the city's streets like smoke vanishing into the wind.

John exhaled slowly, the first sign of weariness since morning. "Park the carriages," he ordered. "Unload the supplies and take your rooms. We will remain here until we receive word from Elder Delvin."

Elder Zak and Elder Alex acknowledged him immediately. The disciples moved with quiet discipline, hauling crates and bundles inside the inn.

When all was settled, John gathered them in the main hall. His voice carried a calm authority that cut through the hum of activity.

"Rest for a few hours," he said. "No one leaves the inn without my permission. We have entered the lion's den—discipline will keep us alive."

"Yes, Clan Head!" The disciples answered in unison.

Robert glanced out of a nearby window as they dispersed. The city beyond shimmered under the late sunlight, alive with power and ambition. Every sound—the clang of distant forges, the murmur of merchants, the low hum of arrays—seemed to thrum in his chest.

He knew that in a few days, the Osborns' place among the great clans would be decided. The journey had ended, but the real challenge had only begun.

He turned from the window and exhaled. "Celestial Brook," he whispered, voice steady. "let us see if you can crush us."

News in Celestial Brook never traveled slowly—especially when it carried the name Osborn.

By the time the sun sank behind the high walls, word of their arrival had already spread through the inner city like wildfire. Messengers whispered through corridors, servants passed notes under closed doors, and by dusk, every great clan in the city knew.

At the Brooks Clan estate, a wide courtyard shimmered with floating lanterns. Inside a study lined with ancient scrolls, Lady Seraphina Brooks listened to his informant's report.

"The Osborns are staying at the Grey Shadow Hall's inn, Elder. Their escort included Elder Delvin himself."

Lady Seraphina's brow twitched slightly, but her voice remained calm.

"Delvin rarely moves without reason. Keep an eye on them. I want to know who they bring to the competition—and how strong their disciples truly are."

The messenger bowed and vanished into the night.

Across the city, at the Clark Clan's fortress, heavy rain hammered against the tiled roof. Inside, Clan Head Darius Clark leaned back in his chair, eyes cold and calculating.

"So they finally dare to crawl out from their hole," he said with a thin smile. "Fine. Let them. But find out which elders they have brought and what they are hiding. No one climbs from ruin without a trick up their sleeve."

His aide clasped his hands. "immediately, Clan Head."

In the Brown Clan's estate—a sprawling domain built along a shimmering spirit lake—clan head Eldric Brown looked over a jade tablet displaying recent arrivals.

"The Osborns," he muttered." His gaze sharpened. "Gather information. Quietly. We do not need to make enemies before the competition begins."

The attendant bowed low and left, the sound of footsteps echoing softly down the marble hall.

The air was thicker, warmer, and buzzing with power in the main hall of the Walker Clan. Clan Head Zalker Walker stood at the head of a long table, flames flickering in the crystal braziers. Just his presence carried the weight of an experienced farmer whose power could make a room fall silent.

An informant knelt before him, voice trembling. "Clan Head, the Osborn convoy entered the city this afternoon. They are currently residing at the Grey Shadow Hall's inn."

For a moment, silence reigned. Zalker's gaze drifted toward the open window, where the glow of Celestial Brook's towers painted the night sky in streaks of red and silver.

"Fifteen days remain until the competition," he said slowly, his tone calm but sharp as a drawn blade. "Let them rest. Let them think the city has forgotten them."

He turned, his eyes burning with quiet intensity. "When the tournament begins, we will remind them why the Walkers rule the battlefield."

The gathered elders bowed in unity. "As you command, Clan Head."

"Prepare," Zalker added, stepping into the shadows at the edge of the hall. "The Osborns have returned—but their flame will not burn for long."

The great doors closed behind him with a deep, echoing thud.

Outside, Celestial Brook shimmered under the night sky, alive with secrets and quiet intent. Somewhere in the inn beneath the serpent sigil, the Osborns rested—unaware that four great powers were already watching, waiting, and plotting.

The storm was coming.

And it would break in fifteen days.

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