Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The message from Emerson Holmes burned in my mind like a brand. Four simple words that changed everything: "Bryson Gibbs has her."

My body was a tapestry of pain from the duel with Ambrose, but none of that mattered. Isabelle was all that mattered.

"Young Master, you need rest!" The Man with the Mustache hurried after me as I strode toward my quarters. "Your injuries—"

"Pack only what's essential," I cut him off. "We leave for Veridia City within the hour."

"But—"

"Bryson Gibbs has Isabelle." My voice came out as a growl. "Every minute we waste is another minute she suffers."

I caught his reflection in the window—the rare sight of him genuinely speechless. Good. I didn't have time for arguments.

The journey back to Veridia City passed in a haze of restless planning. My mind cataloged everything I knew about Bryson Gibbs: Martial Marquis, prominent Guild elder, notorious for his calculated cruelty. A man who had clawed his way into power through manipulation and fear.

By the time our vehicle rolled into the city limits, night had fallen. The city lights sparkled like nothing was wrong—like Isabelle wasn't being held somewhere against her will.

"The Gibbs estate is in the northern district," The Man with the Mustache said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued. "Heavily guarded."

"Guards won't matter."

He glanced at me nervously. "Young Master, perhaps we should gather more information first—"

"We have the information we need." I checked the jade pendant at my neck—my father's legacy, my source of power. "Wait for me at the safe house."

"You're going alone?" His mustache twitched in alarm. "But your condition—"

"This isn't a discussion." I stepped out of the car into the cool night air. "If I'm not back by dawn, contact Mariana."

The Gibbs estate was exactly what you'd expect from a man of his position—a sprawling mansion behind high walls, security cameras watching every angle, guards patrolling with military precision.

I didn't bother with stealth. They wouldn't see me coming anyway.

A single leap took me over the perimeter wall. Two guards dropped silently before they could raise the alarm. By the time I reached the main house, five more security personnel were unconscious.

The mansion's grand entrance hall stood empty when I pushed through the doors. Crystal chandeliers cast cold light over marble floors. The place reeked of old money and older corruption.

Voices drifted from behind massive oak doors to my right—Gibbs's study, according to the intelligence Emerson had provided. I moved silently toward them, catching fragments of conversation.

"...can't believe Emerson's audacity..." A man's voice, sharp with outrage.

"Calm yourself, Julian." That would be Bryson Gibbs—smooth, controlled, dangerous. "His time as Acting Guild Master is temporary."

"Temporary or not, he's blocking access to the girl!"

My blood turned to ice. Isabelle.

"Patience. Once we remove Emerson from his position—"

I'd heard enough. I pushed open the doors.

Five men turned toward me in shock. I recognized Bryson Gibbs immediately—silver-haired, immaculately dressed, with eyes like a shark. Beside him stood Julian Radford, another Guild elder known for his explosive temper and equally explosive spiritual energy. The others were minor players, bureaucrats in expensive suits.

"Gentlemen," I said calmly. "I believe you were discussing someone who belongs to me."

The initial shock gave way to recognition, then alarm. Julian Radford recovered first, his face contorting in fury.

"Knight! How dare you intrude—"

I moved before he finished speaking. One moment I stood in the doorway; the next, my fingers were wrapped around his throat, lifting him off the floor.

"I wasn't speaking to you," I said quietly, then tossed him across the room like a rag doll. He crashed into a bookshelf, sending leather-bound volumes cascading around him.

Bryson Gibbs hadn't moved. His eyes tracked me with cold calculation.

"Liam Knight," he said, as if greeting an expected guest. "I wondered when you'd show up."

"Then you knew I was coming for her."

A thin smile stretched across his face. "Did Emerson tell you I have her? Interesting. I've suspected he was feeding you information."

One of the other men reached for what was clearly a concealed weapon. I didn't even look at him as I sent a pulse of spiritual energy that froze him in place.

"No one moves," I said. "No one speaks unless I ask them to."

Julian was struggling to his feet, blood trickling from his temple. "You're dead, Knight. Do you have any idea who you're—"

"I know exactly who you are." I turned my attention back to him. "A small man with borrowed power, hiding behind the Guild's authority."

His face purpled with rage. "Guards!" he shouted.

"They won't hear you," I said. "They're taking a nap."

A commotion outside the study caught everyone's attention. The doors burst open again, revealing a purple-robed figure—one of the Guild's elite assassins.

"Elder Gibbs! We have an intru—" His words died as he saw me. Without hesitation, he launched himself forward, a spirit blade materializing in his hand.

I sidestepped his attack almost lazily. My hand found his wrist, twisted. The snap of bone was audible to everyone in the room. Before he could scream, my other hand struck his chest with pinpoint accuracy, stopping his heart instantly.

The body crumpled at my feet. I stepped over it, approaching Bryson's desk.

"Let's try again," I said. "Emerson Holmes told me you took Isabelle from the prison. Where is she?"

Julian lunged at me from behind. I didn't bother turning around. My spiritual energy lashed out like a whip, catching him mid-air and slamming him to the floor.

"You're becoming annoying," I told him as he gasped for breath. I placed my foot on his chest, applying just enough pressure to make breathing difficult. "This conversation doesn't include you."

Bryson raised a hand. "Julian, stand down. Let's not be uncivilized."

"Civilized?" I echoed. "Like abducting an innocent woman? Like using her for whatever sick purpose you've devised?"

The three other men in the room were frozen in terror. One of them made a small movement toward the door.

"Stay," I commanded, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. He froze.

Bryson leaned back in his chair, studying me. "You're more composed than I expected. The reports said you were... volatile when it comes to Isabelle Ashworth."

"I've learned control," I replied. "Makes me more dangerous, not less."

"Indeed." He gestured to a chair across from his desk. "Perhaps we could discuss this like gentlemen?"

I remained standing. "You have exactly one minute to tell me where Isabelle is before I start removing parts of your body."

Julian made another attempt to rise. I'd had enough of his interruptions. Without looking away from Bryson, I sent a pulse of concentrated spiritual energy through my foot into Julian's chest. His ribs shattered like glass, puncturing his lungs and heart simultaneously. His death was mercifully quick compared to what I wanted to do to him.

The other men in the room gasped in horror. One fell to his knees, begging for mercy.

Bryson's composure finally cracked. Fear flashed across his face before he masked it. "You just killed a Guild elder in front of witnesses."

"They won't be witnesses for long if you don't start talking." I took another step forward. "Fifty seconds left, Bryson."

He swallowed hard. "You don't understand what's at stake here. Isabelle Ashworth isn't just some woman. Her bloodline—"

"I know about her bloodline," I cut him off. "I know what you people want to use her for. Forty seconds."

"The Martial Saint Project is bigger than any of us," he insisted, desperation creeping into his voice. "We're on the cusp of breakthroughs that could transform cultivation as we know it!"

"By draining her blood? By experimenting on her like she's not even human?" My calm facade slipped for a moment, revealing the rage beneath. "Thirty seconds."

One of the men made a break for the door. I didn't even turn my head as I unleashed a thread of spiritual energy that severed his spine. He collapsed mid-stride.

"Twenty seconds," I continued, as if nothing had happened.

Bryson's eyes darted around the room, looking for escape, finding none. "Knight, be reasonable! I'm a Martial Marquis—you can't just—"

"Ten seconds."

"Wait!" He raised his hands. "I did take her from the prison, yes! But I don't have her anymore!"

I was in front of him instantly, my hand around his throat. "Wrong answer."

"It's the truth!" he gasped. "I was ordered to move her!"

"By whom?"

"I can't—they'll kill me—"

I tightened my grip. "I'll do worse than kill you, Bryson. I'll destroy your divine sense so completely that you'll spend whatever remains of your life as a drooling vegetable, aware of everything but unable to control even your own bladder."

Terror filled his eyes. He knew I could do it—knew I would do it.

"Tell me where she is," I said, loosening my grip just enough for him to speak, "and I'll make your death quick. That's the only bargain on the table."

The remaining two men were backing toward the wall, trying to become invisible. They wouldn't escape, but they weren't my priority.

Bryson looked up at me, defeated. "She's being held at Blackstone Facility," he whispered. "Under the direct supervision of the Guild Master himself."

My blood ran cold. The Guild Master—Corbin Ashworth's puppet master, the most powerful figure in Veridia City. The man who had been hunting me since I first showed signs of my abilities.

"You're lying," I said, but uncertainty crept in. "The Guild Master never involves himself directly."

"He did this time." Bryson's eyes held a hint of bitter satisfaction at my reaction. "Her bloodline is too valuable. Too unique. He's overseeing the extractions personally."

Extractions. The word made my stomach turn.

"If you're lying to me—"

"I'm not." His voice steadied. "Kill me if you want, Knight. It won't change where she is or what they're doing to her."

I stared into his eyes, searching for deception. Finding none.

"There's more," he continued, seeing my hesitation. "They've accelerated the timetable. Something about her blood deteriorating too quickly between procedures. They're pushing her beyond safe limits."

My grip tightened involuntarily. He choked, clawing at my hand.

"When?" I demanded. "When is the next procedure?"

"Tomorrow night," he gasped. "Full moon... they believe it enhances her blood's properties."

I released him suddenly. He collapsed back into his chair, rubbing his throat.

"How do I get in?" I asked.

Bryson laughed—a harsh, desperate sound. "You don't. Blackstone is a fortress. Even you can't breach it alone."

"Tell me anyway."

He shook his head. "There's no point. You'll die before you reach her."

I leaned down, placing my hands on his desk. "Then I'll die trying."

"No," he said, something like respect flickering in his eyes. "You'll just die."

I straightened up. "Thank you for your cooperation, Elder Gibbs."

He blinked in confusion. "You're... letting me go?"

"I said I'd make your death quick if you told me what I needed to know." I raised my hand, spiritual energy gathering at my fingertips. "I'm a man of my word."

Realization dawned on his face. "Wait—"

"Unless," I continued, "you have something else to offer. Something that might help me save her."

Hope flickered in his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Your divine sense," I said simply. "Not destroyed—transferred. Give me temporary access to your memories, your knowledge of Blackstone Facility, and you get to live."

Horror replaced hope. "That's... that's impossible. Divine sense transfer is forbidden—"

"I know how to do it," I cut him off. "A technique from my father's legacy. It will leave you weakened for months, but intact."

He stared at me in disbelief. "And if I refuse?"

I smiled without warmth. "Then I take what I need anyway, but I leave nothing behind."

The remaining men in the room watched in terrified silence as Bryson Gibbs faced his impossible choice. His life, or his most precious asset—his divine sense, the accumulated knowledge and power of decades of cultivation.

"There must be another way," he whispered.

"There isn't." My voice was final. "Decide now."

Bryson closed his eyes, shoulders slumping in defeat. When he looked up again, his face was a mask of grim resignation.

"I'll do it," he said. "I'll give you what you need."