Rise of The Abandoned Husband

My fingers trembled as I placed the last Soul Nourishment Pill into its container. Three days of non-stop work had left me drained, my spiritual energy nearly depleted. I slumped into my chair, letting my head fall back as I surveyed the fruits of my labor—over three hundred perfect pills, each one capable of enhancing a cultivator's absorption rate by twenty percent.

The physical toll had been immense. Dark circles shadowed my eyes, and my complexion had grown pale. But the satisfaction of what I'd accomplished overshadowed my exhaustion. These pills would shake the foundations of Havenwood City's power structure, particularly the arrogant Hawthorne family that had lorded over the medicinal market for generations.

"Worth every drop of sweat," I muttered to myself, massaging my stiff neck.

A brief image of Isabelle flashed through my mind—her gentle smile, the way her eyes lit up when she was excited about something. The thought of her warmed me, providing a momentary refuge from my fatigue. I wondered what she would think of my achievement. Would she be proud? The thought alone gave me strength.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my reverie. Roman Volkov.

"I'm on my way," his message read. "The buyers are already lined up."

I smiled. Roman's efficiency was one of his few redeeming qualities. As expected, he'd wasted no time spreading word about the miraculous pill to his connections in Havenwood City's inner circles. I'd chosen him precisely for this reason—his network was extensive, his reputation as a dealer of rare items impeccable.

Twenty minutes later, Roman burst through my door, his eyes wild with excitement. Without preamble, he rushed to the table where the pills were arranged in neat rows.

"They're perfect," he breathed, his gaze roaming hungrily over the tiny treasures. "Even better than I expected. The market is already buzzing with anticipation."

I nodded, watching him carefully. "Good. Let's discuss price."

Roman turned to me eagerly. "Given their effects, we could easily charge two thousand per pill. The elites would pay triple that without hesitation."

I shook my head. "Three hundred dollars each."

Roman's face fell comically. "Three hundred? Are you insane? That's practically giving them away!" His voice rose with each word, hands gesticulating wildly. "These pills could—"

"Three hundred," I repeated firmly. "Non-negotiable."

His eyes narrowed, and I could practically see the calculations running behind them. Lower price meant more widespread distribution. More distribution meant greater visibility. Greater visibility meant...

"You want to make a statement," he said slowly, a sly smile spreading across his face. "You want every cultivator in Havenwood to know about these pills, to become dependent on them."

"Smart man," I replied, pushing myself to my feet. My knees nearly buckled from exhaustion, but I refused to show any weakness. "I want the Hawthornes to feel the market shifting beneath their feet before they even understand what's happening."

Roman's smile widened. "And I suppose my cut remains at twenty percent?"

I noticed the subtle shift in his posture, the almost imperceptible gleam in his eye. In that moment, I knew exactly what he was planning. He would sell the pills at my price initially, establishing demand, then gradually mark them up, pocketing the difference while telling me the market couldn't bear more volume at the original price.

In three quick strides, I was in front of him. My hand shot out, grabbing his collar and pulling him close enough to feel my breath on his face. Despite my exhaustion, my grip remained iron-tight.

"Let me be absolutely clear," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If I discover you've sold even a single pill above my price, our arrangement ends. Permanently."

Fear flickered across his face. "I wouldn't—"

"Don't lie to me," I cut him off. "I can see your thoughts as clearly as if they were written on your forehead." I tightened my grip slightly. "Remember who provides these pills. Remember who can take them away."

I released him abruptly, and he stumbled back, adjusting his collar with shaking hands.

"Twenty percent of three hundred is still excellent money," I continued, my tone casual again. "Especially when you consider the volume you'll be moving. Don't get greedy, Roman. It doesn't suit you."

He swallowed hard. "Understood. Three hundred per pill, not a cent more."

"Good," I said, returning to the table. "Now, let's prepare the first shipment. I want these circulating by tomorrow morning."

---

By the following afternoon, the Soul Nourishment Pill had become the talk of Havenwood City. Roman had strategically placed the initial batches with mid-level cultivators—those with enough influence to spread word but not enough power to monopolize the supply.

I monitored the situation from my office, receiving regular updates from Roman. The reports were better than I'd hoped. At such an accessible price, cultivators were buying multiple pills, accelerating their training at unprecedented rates. Word spread like wildfire, with demand quickly outpacing our initial supply.

"We've sold over two hundred pills already," Roman reported excitedly over the phone. "People are lining up, practically throwing money at me. I've never seen anything like it."

"Good," I replied. "Keep the distribution steady. Don't create artificial scarcity."

"What about production?" he asked. "At this rate, we'll be out by tomorrow."

I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of fatigue still pressing down on me. Creating those pills had drained me significantly, and I needed time to recover before producing more.

"I'll have another batch ready in a week," I said. "For now, ration what's left. Make sure new customers can sample them."

After ending the call, I leaned back in my chair, contemplating my next move. The income from the pills would help fund my own cultivation journey, but the real prize was the market disruption. In a city where pill prices had been artificially inflated for decades, my affordable yet superior product was nothing short of revolutionary.

---

In the opulent Hawthorne mansion across town, Sebastian Hawthorne slammed his fist on the polished mahogany table, causing the delicate teacups to rattle.

"What do you mean, 'Soul Nourishment Pills'?" he demanded, glaring at his assistant. "Who authorized their distribution? Where are they coming from?"

The assistant, a slender man with wire-rimmed glasses, shifted nervously. "They appeared on the market yesterday, sir. The distributor is Roman Volkov."

"Volkov?" Sebastian scoffed, his face contorting with disdain. "That middling dealer of curiosities? He doesn't have the knowledge or resources to create something like this."

"Nevertheless," the assistant continued cautiously, "the pills' effects are remarkable. Multiple sources confirm they enhance absorption rates by at least twenty percent, with no apparent side effects."

Sebastian's eyes narrowed dangerously. "And the price?"

"Three hundred dollars per pill."

"Three hundred?" Sebastian stood abruptly, pacing the room. "That's absurd. Our comparable products sell for ten times that amount."

The assistant nodded unhappily. "Which explains why they're selling so rapidly. Roman Volkov has become something of a celebrity overnight."

Sebastian paused by the window, staring out at the city that had long bowed to his family's pharmaceutical dominance. For generations, the Hawthornes had controlled Havenwood's medicinal market, setting prices as they pleased. This unexpected competition threatened everything.

"Find out who's behind this," he said, his voice cold with determination. "Volkov is merely a front. Someone with real alchemical skill is producing these pills, and I want to know who."

He turned back to face his assistant, contempt twisting his features.

"Roman Volkov," he spat the name like it left a bad taste. "Is he even worthy of possessing the Soul Nourishment Pill?"