Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I waited until I was sure the purple-robed man was gone before turning to Emerson Holmes. His face was pale, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth where I had struck him moments ago.

"Are they gone?" Emerson whispered, barely moving his lips.

I nodded, keeping my expression cold in case we were still being observed. "Stay down. Make it look real."

He didn't need much acting. My blow had been precisely calculated—enough force to convince any onlooker without causing permanent damage.

"You filthy traitor," I shouted for any hidden ears. "Did you really think I'd fall for your lies? The Martial Guild sent you to trap me!"

Emerson coughed, playing his role perfectly. "Knight... please..."

I leaned closer, maintaining my menacing stance while lowering my voice. "The man wore purple robes. Senior official rank, watching from the eastern ridge. He recorded part of our conversation before fleeing."

Emerson's eyes widened slightly—genuine surprise. "Bryson Gibbs," he whispered. "My rival."

I grabbed Emerson by the collar, lifting him partly off the ground. "Is that herb worth dying for?" I shouted. "Tell your masters I'm not so easily caught!"

With a dramatic flourish, I threw him back to the ground and began walking away. Once I was certain no observers remained, I circled back through a different path.

Emerson hadn't moved, still lying where I'd left him. I approached cautiously, dropping to one knee beside him.

"You have internal bleeding," I said quietly, placing my hand on his chest. Golden energy flowed from my fingers into his body. "I had to make it convincing."

"A necessary... precaution," he managed, wincing as my energy repaired the damage. "Quick thinking."

"We need a cover story," I continued, monitoring his vital signs. "You came to negotiate for rare herbs from my collection. I refused. We fought."

Emerson nodded weakly. "The Midnight Lotus. Say I came for the Midnight Lotus. It's rare enough to be believable."

"Good." I helped him sit up as the healing completed. "Can you stand?"

He got to his feet, steadier than I expected. "Your power... remarkable. The damage is completely gone."

"Not entirely. I left some surface bruising. You need to look injured enough to sell our story."

Emerson touched his bruised cheek, wincing. "Thorough."

"Necessary," I corrected. "Bryson Gibbs now believes you're my enemy, not my ally. That protects both of us."

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "A clever strategy. I underestimated your tactical mind, Knight."

"You need to get back to the Guild," I said, ignoring the compliment. "Find out what Gibbs knows, what he plans to do with that recording."

Emerson straightened his robes. "He'll take it directly to the Council. Try to have me removed from my position."

"Can he succeed?"

"Perhaps." Emerson's expression hardened. "But not before I counter his move."

I grabbed his arm. "Be careful. If they discover you've been helping me—"

"They won't," he interrupted. "I've survived Guild politics for decades. This isn't my first enemy."

"What about the eight senior officials?" I asked. "Where do they stand in all this?"

Emerson's face grew serious. "They remain focused on you, not internal politics. However, they're constrained by protocol. They can't act directly against you without specific authorization."

"From whom?"

"Ms. Hayward."

The name sent a chill down my spine. "And her status?"

"Still recovering," Emerson replied. "But improving daily. When she's fully healed..." He didn't need to finish the sentence.

I nodded grimly. "Then time is running out."

"Indeed." Emerson straightened his posture, preparing to leave. "Remember our agreement, Knight. Once I handle Gibbs, I expect information about your heritage in return."

"If your information proves valuable," I countered.

A thin smile crossed his face. "Fair enough."

We parted ways without another word, each returning to our respective battles.

---

The next morning, I drove to the Celestial Apothecary Guild as promised. After yesterday's staged confrontation with Emerson, I needed allies I could trust. The towering white structure of the Guild headquarters came into view, its jade-green roof tiles gleaming in the morning sun.

The guards recognized me immediately, bowing respectfully as I passed. My status as an honored guest of the Pavilion Master afforded me privileges few others enjoyed.

Mariana Valerius awaited me in her study, exactly as she had yesterday. This time, however, Jackson Harding sat beside her, his weathered face betraying no emotion.

"You look troubled," Mariana observed as I entered.

I took the offered seat. "It's been an eventful night."

"So we've heard," Jackson said dryly. "Word travels fast when Emerson Holmes gets beaten within an inch of his life."

I raised an eyebrow. "News travels even faster than I expected."

"Bryson Gibbs made sure of it," Mariana explained. "He's been telling anyone who'll listen about Emerson's 'unauthorized meeting' with you."

"And the beating?" I asked.

Jackson's lips twitched slightly. "He conveniently omitted that part from his official report. According to Gibbs, Emerson met you to form an alliance."

"Perfect," I said. "Then our plan worked."

Mariana leaned forward. "Your plan?"

I quickly explained the staged confrontation, watching their expressions shift from concern to admiration.

"Clever," Jackson nodded. "You protected your ally while discrediting his enemy."

"And gave Emerson leverage against Gibbs," Mariana added. "The man's accusations will collapse when Emerson appears with visible injuries and a different story."

"That was the intent," I confirmed. "But it's only a temporary solution. The Guild still wants me eliminated, and Ms. Hayward is recovering."

"Which brings us to more pressing matters," Jackson said, his voice growing serious. "Your upcoming challenge."

I frowned. "What challenge?"

Mariana exchanged a glance with Jackson. "You don't know? The Heaven Swallowing Python."

My blood ran cold. "What about it?"

"The Guild has decreed that any visitor wishing to see Isabelle Ashworth must defeat the Heaven Swallowing Python in single combat," Jackson explained. "A convenient way to ensure no one reaches her."

I clenched my fists. "They knew I'd try to see her."

"Of course," Mariana agreed. "It's a trap designed specifically for you."

I closed my eyes briefly, focusing my thoughts. "The Heaven Swallowing Python is their most powerful guardian beast. No one has defeated it in centuries."

"Not quite true," Jackson corrected. "I fought it to a draw fifty years ago. Cost me three ribs and a punctured lung."

"And you were already a Martial Saint," I pointed out.

He nodded grimly. "Indeed."

I stood and paced the room. "I have to try. Isabelle needs me."

"It's suicide," Mariana said bluntly. "Even with your remarkable progress, you're not ready to face the Python."

"I don't have a choice." My voice hardened with determination. "Isabelle's been captive for months. They're using her blood, experimenting on her. Every day I delay—"

"Is another day she suffers," Jackson finished for me. "We understand."

"Then help me," I pleaded. "There must be some strategy, some weakness I can exploit."

Mariana and Jackson exchanged another look—something passing between them that I couldn't interpret.

"The Python has one vulnerability," Jackson said slowly. "Its third eye. Strike there with enough force, and you might stun it long enough to land a killing blow."

"But reaching the eye is nearly impossible," Mariana added. "Its speed defies comprehension, and its scales are impervious to most attacks."

"I'll find a way," I said firmly.

Jackson studied me with ancient, knowing eyes. "Your determination is admirable, but determination alone won't defeat the Python."

"What will, then?" I demanded.

A slight smile curved Mariana's lips. "Perhaps a different approach altogether."

I noticed the knowing look they exchanged again. "Lord Pavilion Master, do you have a solution?"

Jackson leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Not a solution, but an alternative. There's another way to reach Isabelle—one that doesn't involve the Python at all."

Hope flared in my chest. "What is it?"

"The Guild maintains secret passages throughout their complex," he explained. "Emergency routes for the Elders, should the main compound ever fall under attack."

"How do you know this?" I asked.

His smile turned enigmatic. "I wasn't always an outsider, Liam."

Mariana produced a small scroll from her sleeve. "This is an ancient map of the Guild's underground network. Most passages have likely been sealed or rerouted over the centuries, but the main arteries should remain intact."

I accepted the scroll with trembling hands. "This could lead me directly to Isabelle?"

"Potentially," she cautioned. "We believe she's being held in the Blood Cultivation Chamber beneath the eastern tower. If you can reach that area undetected—"

"I can free her," I finished, hope surging through me.

"It won't be easy," Jackson warned. "The passages are likely guarded by formations and traps. And if you're discovered..."

"I'll die," I said simply. "But I'd face that same fate against the Python."

"With considerably less chance of success," Mariana pointed out.

I carefully tucked the scroll into my inner pocket. "When can I attempt this?"

"Three days from now," Jackson replied. "During the Celestial Alignment Ceremony. Most Guild members will be occupied with the ritual. Security will be at its thinnest."

"Three days," I repeated. Three more days that Isabelle would suffer.

"Use this time wisely," Mariana advised. "Study the map. Rest. Gather your strength."

I nodded, determination replacing doubt. "I will. And I'll succeed."

"One more thing," Jackson said, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "Should you reach Isabelle, you must be prepared for what you might find."

My heart clenched. "What do you mean?"

Mariana's eyes softened with compassion. "Blood cultivation is a brutal process, Liam. Months of having her essence extracted... it changes people."

"She may not be the woman you remember," Jackson added gently.

I squared my shoulders. "It doesn't matter. I'll bring her home, whatever state she's in."

As I left the study, the weight of what awaited me settled heavily on my shoulders. But for the first time in months, I had more than just determination—I had a plan. And with it, a glimmer of hope that I might actually see Isabelle again.

The path ahead would be dangerous, possibly fatal. But as I clutched the ancient map in my pocket, I felt something I hadn't experienced in a long time: not just anger or desperation, but genuine hope.

For Isabelle, I would walk through hell itself. And in three days, I would prove it.