Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The restaurant fell deadly silent after my outburst. Sebastian's face twisted with rage, his spiritual pressure pressing down on me like a physical weight.

"You dare speak to me like that?" He slammed his fist on the table, cracking the polished wood. "Since you've grown so bold, let's see if you can back it up. Kneel and break your own leg—the same way my son's arm was broken."

I laughed right in his face. "I'm not one of your obedient dogs."

My gaze drifted to the white-haired man still kneeling on the floor, his face contorted in agony. Something about his quiet dignity struck me. He'd been loyal to this family, and they'd broken him without a second thought.

Sebastian followed my gaze. "You pity Eamon? He's nothing. Just a tool that failed its purpose." He kicked a wooden stick toward me—the kind used for walking support. "Now break your leg, or I'll ensure your suffering extends far beyond physical pain."

I stared at the stick for a moment, then looked back at Sebastian with cold eyes. Without warning, I slammed my foot onto one end of the stick, launching it upward. I caught it mid-air and, with a precise flick of my wrist, sent it flying like a spear.

THUNK!

The stick embedded itself in the wall beside Sebastian's head, quivering from the force. A thin line of blood appeared on his cheek where the splinter had grazed him.

"I don't take orders from you," I said quietly.

Sebastian touched the blood on his face, his eyes widening with disbelief before narrowing with murderous intent. "You're a dead man walking."

"Better to die standing than live kneeling," I replied.

Sebastian's laugh was ugly and cruel. "Such noble words. But let's see how you feel when I target everyone you care about. Your family, your friends—"

"I have no family," I cut him off. "No close friends. Nothing to lose. That's what makes me dangerous." I took a step forward. "But you... you have everything to lose."

For the first time, uncertainty flickered in Sebastian's eyes.

I turned to the white-haired man. "What's your name?"

"E-Eamon Greene," he whispered through gritted teeth.

"Eamon, how long have you served the Hawthorne family?"

"Fifteen years," he managed.

Sebastian sneered. "Don't waste your breath. Eamon knows his place. Don't you, dog?"

Eamon's eyes flashed with something—a spark of dignity perhaps, long suppressed but not extinguished.

I extended my hand to him. "You don't have to stay. Come with me."

"He goes nowhere," Sebastian growled. "He belongs to me."

"People don't belong to people," I said, not taking my eyes off Eamon. "Make your choice. Dignity or servitude?"

Eamon stared at my outstretched hand like it was some foreign object he couldn't comprehend. Then, with trembling fingers, he reached up and grasped it.

"I... I quit," he said, his voice gaining strength. "I'm no man's dog."

The fury on Sebastian's face was magnificent. "You'll regret this, both of you."

I helped Eamon to his feet—or rather, foot—supporting his weight as he balanced on his good leg. "Send your threats by mail. We're leaving."

As we turned toward the door, Sebastian barked an order. Two guards stepped forward, blocking our path.

"Eamon doesn't leave," Sebastian said. "He knows too much about our family business."

One guard reached for Eamon, but I was faster. I flicked a coin from my pocket, hitting the man's pressure point on his wrist with surgical precision. His arm went limp instantly, his weapon clattering to the floor.

"Touch him again," I warned the second guard, "and you'll lose more than the use of your arm."

The guard hesitated, looking to Sebastian for instructions.

Sebastian's eyes burned with hatred. "Go. But this isn't over."

I supported Eamon as we made our slow, painful exit from the restaurant, feeling Sebastian's gaze boring into my back with every step. The night air felt cool and clean after the suffocating atmosphere of the private room.

"You shouldn't have done that," Eamon whispered as we reached the street. "You don't know what he's capable of."

"Neither does he know what I'm capable of," I replied. "Can you make it to my place? It's not far."

Eamon nodded grimly, his face pale with pain. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because no one deserves to be treated like that. And because I need allies."

We made our way through the darkened streets, moving slowly but steadily. By the time we reached my residence, Eamon was sweating profusely, his breathing ragged.

I helped him onto my couch. "Let me see the damage."

Eamon hesitated, then pulled up his pant leg. The sight was grim—his kneecap was clearly shattered, the skin already swollen and discolored.

"This isn't the first time it's been broken, is it?" I asked, noticing old scar tissue.

Eamon shook his head. "Third time. Same knee. It never healed right the first two times."

"Tell me about yourself while I prepare something," I said, moving to my workbench.

As I gathered ingredients, Eamon spoke haltingly. "I was a promising young cultivator once. Had potential, they said. Then I made the mistake of defeating Young Master Julian in a friendly match when we were teenagers. Sebastian broke my knee as punishment for 'embarrassing' his son." He laughed bitterly. "After that, I was assigned as Julian's bodyguard—a constant reminder of what happens when you outshine a Hawthorne."

"And the second time?"

"I failed to prevent an assassination attempt on Sebastian. The assassin was caught, but not before he wounded Sebastian's arm. So Sebastian broke my knee again—symmetry, he called it."

My hands stilled briefly as anger surged through me. Then I continued mixing ingredients with renewed purpose.

"And now the third time," I said quietly.

Eamon nodded. "With a shattered kneecap like this, my cultivation is finished. I'll be lucky if I can walk again without a cane."

I approached him with the pill I had prepared earlier. "Fortunately for you, I'm not just any cultivator. I'm also a healer. Take this."

He eyed the Marrow Generating Pill suspiciously. "What is it?"

"The same pill I brought for Julian. It stimulates bone regeneration and accelerates healing."

Eamon swallowed the pill with a grimace. "Even if it works, bones don't heal overnight."

"They do with my help." I placed my palms over his knee, channeling my qi directly into the shattered bone. "This will hurt."

He nodded grimly, bracing himself.

I closed my eyes, visualizing the damaged bone structure beneath my hands. My qi flowed into the broken fragments, encouraging them to knit together, to remember their proper shape and function. Eamon's entire body tensed as the bone fragments shifted, reconnecting in a process that should have taken months.

After nearly an hour, I withdrew my hands, exhausted but satisfied. "Try moving it."

Eamon stared at me in disbelief, then tentatively bent his knee. His eyes widened. "How...?"

"The pill accelerates healing. My qi guided the process." I sat back, wiping sweat from my brow. "It's not completely healed—you'll need another treatment tomorrow—but you should be able to walk."

He tested his weight, standing cautiously. "This is... miraculous." He looked at me with new eyes. "No wonder the Hawthornes fear you. You possess knowledge far beyond your years."

I shrugged. "Knowledge I intend to use."

"For what purpose?"

I thought of Sebastian's cruel face, of Julian's arrogance, of the years of suffering they had inflicted on people like Eamon. My voice turned cold.

"I want to leave the Hawthorne family with nothing," I declared, my resolve hardening into something unbreakable. "And you're going to help me."