Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I sat across from Patrick Noble in his private study, the morning light casting long shadows across the ornate furniture. My fingers drummed rhythmically on the wooden table between us.

"Tell me everything you know about the Frostfall Sanctum," I demanded.

Patrick's face remained grave. "They're not just powerful, Liam. They're ancient. While most sects rise and fall within a few generations, the Frostfall has maintained its power for over a thousand years."

"What makes them so different?" I asked.

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "They have sleeping Martial Saints."

"Sleeping Martial Saints?" I raised an eyebrow.

"When powerful cultivators die," Patrick explained, "their souls usually dissipate. But some, through special techniques, can preserve fragments of their consciousness. The Frostfall Sanctum has supposedly collected dozens of these remnant souls over the centuries. They act as guardians."

I processed this information. "So they're not truly alive, but not completely dead either."

"Exactly. They can't leave the sanctum, but within its boundaries, they're nearly invincible. No one has successfully invaded the Frostfall Sanctum in eight hundred years."

I nodded slowly. "And what about their current members? The living ones?"

"Their Grandmaster is rumored to be over three centuries old. They specialize in frost-based cultivation techniques and soul arts." He hesitated. "And they never forget an enemy."

I smiled coldly. "Good. I wouldn't want them to forget me."

Patrick stared at me, bewildered. "You seem almost... pleased about this threat."

"Every powerful enemy is an opportunity," I replied. "The stronger they are, the faster I'll have to cultivate to match them."

Rising from my chair, I moved toward the door. "Thank you for the information. Now I need to have a chat with our guest."

Patrick grabbed my arm. "Be careful, Liam. The Frostfall Sanctum isn't like other sects. They're rumored to practice forbidden techniques that can freeze a person's soul."

I patted his hand reassuringly. "I'll keep that in mind."

---

Violet Russell was being kept in a heavily guarded room on the compound's eastern wing. When I entered, she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her eyes closed in meditation.

"Trying to recover your strength?" I asked.

Her eyes fluttered open. "What do you want now?"

I pulled up a chair and sat directly across from her. "I want to make you an offer."

"I have nothing to discuss with you," she spat.

I leaned forward. "I'm not giving you the mask, if that's what you're hoping for. But I am offering you a chance to live."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

"I need information about your sect. Regular updates on their movements, their plans. Especially anything related to the mask."

She laughed bitterly. "You're asking me to betray the Frostfall Sanctum? I'd rather die."

"That can be arranged," I replied calmly. "But I'm offering you something better than death."

I reached forward suddenly, my palm connecting with her forehead. Before she could react, I channeled my divine sense through my fingertips. Her eyes widened in shock as my energy invaded her meridians.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, trying to pull away.

I held her firmly in place. "Creating a connection."

Golden light spread from my palm, forming intricate patterns that sank beneath her skin. The mark I was creating wasn't visible to the naked eye, but it was unmistakable to anyone with divine sense—a complex web of energy that tied her fate to mine.

"There," I said, releasing her. "It's done."

Violet touched her forehead frantically. "What did you do to me?"

"I placed my mark on you," I explained. "It's connected directly to your core. If you betray me, if you try to harm me or those I care about, or if you attempt to remove it—the mark will activate."

"And do what?" she demanded.

"Consume your cultivation base. All of it. In an instant." I smiled thinly. "You'll be left weaker than the most ordinary human."

The color drained from her face. "That's impossible. No one can create such a mark without—"

"Without what? Years of preparation? Special materials?" I leaned closer. "I just did it. And now you're bound to me."

She lunged at me suddenly, her fingers curled like claws. I didn't move—I didn't need to. The moment her intent to harm me solidified, the mark activated. Golden light flashed across her face, and she collapsed back onto the bed, gasping.

"Feel that?" I asked. "That was just a warning. The mark took only a fraction of your power."

Violet trembled with rage and fear. "You're a monster."

"No," I corrected her. "I'm pragmatic. And you're now my spy in the Frostfall Sanctum."

"They'll kill me if they discover I'm feeding you information," she whispered.

I reached into my spatial ring and produced three jade bottles. "These contain pills I've personally refined. They'll help restore your strength faster than normal cultivation."

I set them on the bed beside her. "Take one now. The rest are for your journey home."

She stared at the bottles, then back at me. "What's to stop me from just disappearing? Never returning to the sanctum?"

"The mark binds you to more than just honesty," I explained. "If you don't report to me regularly with useful information, it will begin to drain your cultivation base. Slowly at first, then faster."

Violet's shoulders slumped in defeat. "You've thought of everything."

"Not everything," I admitted. "But enough to ensure your cooperation."

She uncorked one of the bottles and swallowed a pill. Almost immediately, color returned to her cheeks. The withered quality of her skin began to smooth out.

"When do I leave?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning." I stood to leave. "Remember, Violet—I don't expect you to risk your life unnecessarily. Just keep your eyes and ears open. The more useful your information, the more resources I'll provide to help you advance your cultivation."

Her eyes flashed with bitter resignation. "And if my sect discovers your mark?"

"Then pray I find you before they do," I replied honestly. "Because I'm the only one who can remove it."

---

The next morning, I watched from the Noble Family's gates as Violet departed. Her strength had largely returned thanks to my pills, though she was still far from her peak.

"Are you sure about this?" The Man with the Mustache asked, twirling his facial hair nervously. "Letting her go seems risky."

"She's more valuable to us as an unwilling spy than as a prisoner," I explained.

Clara stood beside me, clutching the mask to her chest. "She'll come back for this, won't she?"

"Yes," I said. "But not alone next time. And we'll be ready."

The Man with the Mustache sighed dramatically. "Why can't we ever make friends who don't want to kill us? Just once, I'd like to meet someone powerful who doesn't immediately try to murder us or steal our treasures."

I laughed despite myself. "Where would be the fun in that?"

Clara tugged at my sleeve. "Are we leaving too?"

"Yes." I turned to face my companions. "We have five days before my meeting with the Heaven Swallowing Python. It's time we returned to Veridia City."

The Man with the Mustache groaned. "Back to the heart of danger. Wonderful."

"We need to be there," I reminded him. "The Python is our only lead to finding Isabelle in the Mystic Realm."

At the mention of Isabelle, my chest tightened. Every day without her was torture, but I was getting closer. I could feel it.

"Pack your things," I told them. "We leave within the hour."

---

Patrick and his son Guy came to bid us farewell at the compound entrance.

"Are you sure you won't stay longer?" Patrick asked. "You've done so much for our family."

I clasped his forearm firmly. "Thank you for your hospitality, but we've lingered too long already."

Guy stepped forward, looking more mature than when I'd first met him. "I'll continue training like you showed me, Master Knight."

"Good," I nodded approvingly. "Remember, cultivation isn't just about power—it's about knowing when to use it."

With final farewells exchanged, our small group set out toward Veridia City. The road ahead would be dangerous, but every step brought me closer to Isabelle. Nothing would stop me from finding her—not the Frostfall Sanctum, not the Heaven Swallowing Python, not even the Mystic Realm itself.

---

In Veridia City, Dominic Ashworth stood at the window of his private study, gazing out at the sprawling metropolis below. His city. His domain. Or at least it had been, until recently.

"Lord Ashworth," a servant announced from the doorway. "The reports you requested."

Dominic turned, his aristocratic features arranged in a mask of cold indifference. "Speak."

"Broderick's fame continues to grow following his battle with Jackson Harding," the servant reported nervously. "The commoners are calling him the 'Rising Star of Veridia' and 'The Next Great Saint.'"

Dominic's jaw tightened. "And?"

"Many of the smaller families have begun courting his favor. Even some of our traditional allies are... hesitant to oppose him openly."

"Hesitant?" Dominic's voice was dangerously soft. "After generations of loyalty to the Ashworth family, they hesitate because of one lucky upstart?"

The servant swallowed hard. "His strength is considerable, my lord. The battle with Jackson Harding leveled half the eastern district. Some say he's the strongest cultivator to emerge in decades."

Dominic laughed suddenly, a harsh sound devoid of humor. "Strongest? Based on what? A single public spectacle?"

He strode to a nearby table, where a piece of Black Gold Stone sat—one of the rarest and most durable materials in the cultivation world. With a casual gesture, he channeled a thread of his energy into the stone.

It shattered instantly, reduced to glittering dust.

"This," Dominic said coldly, "is the power of the bloodline. Our bloodline. A power that has ruled this city for centuries."

He turned back to the window, his silhouette outlined against the fading daylight. "Broderick is nothing more than a momentary distraction. A novelty that the masses find entertaining. But true power—lasting power—comes from blood. And ours is superior."

The servant bowed deeply, backing toward the door. "Yes, Lord Ashworth."

"Continue monitoring him," Dominic commanded. "I want to know his every move, his every alliance, his every weakness."

When the servant had gone, Dominic remained at the window, staring at his reflection in the glass. The Ashworth bloodline was ancient, powerful beyond measure. No upstart, no matter how gifted, could possibly understand the depths of power that flowed through his veins.

Soon, very soon, he would remind everyone exactly why the Ashworth name commanded fear and respect throughout the realm.