Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The divine sense transfer left Bryson Gibbs a shell of himself. He slumped in his chair, eyes vacant as I absorbed decades of his memories and knowledge. Blackstone Facility. Security protocols. Guard rotations. And most importantly—confirmation that Isabelle was indeed there.

"We're finished here," I told the remaining men cowering against the wall. "Tell your Guild that Liam Knight came calling. Tell them what happens when they take what's mine."

They nodded frantically, relief flooding their faces as they realized I wasn't going to kill them.

I left the Gibbs estate with my head pounding from the influx of information. Bryson's memories were a chaotic mess—corrupt dealings, political maneuvering, and glimpses of Isabelle being transferred to Blackstone. But no clear path to reach her.

"Well?" The Man with the Mustache pounced as soon as I entered our safe house. "Did you find her?"

"She's at Blackstone Facility," I said, collapsing into a chair. "Under the Guild Master's direct supervision."

His face paled. "Impossible. That's the most secure location in—"

"I know." I pressed my fingers to my temples. The divine sense transfer had left me with a splitting headache. "But that's where she is."

He paced nervously, mustache twitching. "Young Master, even you can't breach Blackstone alone. The security systems, the formations, the guards—"

"I'm not planning to breach it," I cut him off. "Not directly."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What are you thinking?"

"Mariana gave me three days to find Isabelle. Tomorrow is the last day." I stood, fighting through the pain. "We need a spatial artifact—something that can bypass physical barriers."

"A spatial artifact?" He laughed nervously. "Those are incredibly rare! The only place in Veridia City that might have one would be—" He stopped, eyes widening in horror. "No. Absolutely not."

"The Celestial Craft Pavilion," I confirmed.

"Young Master, have you forgotten? The young master of the Celestial Craft Pavilion—"

"Hanley Poe," I nodded. "I remember him well."

"The same Hanley Poe whose treasured spirit gourd you stole! He's sworn to break your legs if he ever sees you again!"

I shrugged. "Then I'll have to make sure our business concludes before he recognizes me."

"This is madness!" He pulled at his mustache in distress. "The Celestial Craft Pavilion is neutral territory, but Hanley Poe is an arrogant young master with a vindictive streak! And his father—"

"His father is abroad," I said, sifting through Bryson's memories. "Won't return for another month."

The Man with the Mustache stared at me. "How do you know that?"

"Bryson knew." I tapped my temple. "I know everything he knew now."

He shook his head in disbelief. "Divine sense transfer is dangerous, Young Master. The memories will fade within days if you don't—"

"I don't need them for days. I need them for tomorrow." I checked the clock—nearly midnight. "Get some rest. We leave at dawn."

Morning came too quickly. My headache had subsided, but exhaustion weighed on me like a stone. Isabelle's face haunted my dreams—pale, suffering, wondering why I hadn't come for her yet.

"I'm coming," I whispered to her phantom. "Hold on just a little longer."

The Celestial Craft Pavilion stood in the heart of Veridia City's merchant district—a seven-story masterpiece of ancient architecture, with sweeping eaves and golden symbols etched into its jade-white walls. Craftsmen, alchemists, and wealthy patrons flowed in and out of its ornate entrance.

"Remember the plan," I told The Man with the Mustache as we approached. "We get in, find what we need, and get out. No confrontations."

He nodded nervously, tugging at his disguise—a simple merchant's outfit that matched my own. "And if we run into Hanley Poe?"

"We won't." I adjusted my cap lower to hide my face. "He rarely visits the main hall before noon."

The entrance guards barely glanced at us as we joined the stream of visitors entering the Pavilion. Inside, the main hall was a marvel of craftsmanship—soaring ceilings, display cases of priceless artifacts, and bustling crowds examining the wares.

"Spatial artifacts would be on the fourth floor," I murmured. "According to Bryson's memories, they're kept in the eastern wing."

We moved toward the spiral staircase, but a commotion at the entrance made me freeze.

"Make way for Elder Ashworth!"

The crowd parted like water as Corbin Ashworth strode in, flanked by black-robed guards. My hand instinctively moved to my jade pendant, fury rising at the sight of the man who had orchestrated so much suffering.

The Man with the Mustache grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in painfully. "Don't," he hissed. "We're here for Isabelle, remember?"

I forced myself to breathe, to push down the rage that threatened to expose us. Corbin hadn't seen me yet—he was too busy accepting the bows and scrapes of the Pavilion staff.

"Let's go up the side stairs," I muttered, turning away. But Corbin's voice stopped me cold.

"Knight! I know you're here."

The hall fell silent. My muscles tensed, ready for combat. Slowly, I turned to face him.

Corbin Ashworth stood twenty feet away, a cruel smile playing on his thin lips. His guards had their hands on their weapons, ready to draw.

"Elder Ashworth," I replied coolly, removing my cap. No point in hiding now. "What a coincidence."

He laughed—a dry, mirthless sound. "Hardly. My sources told me you paid Bryson Gibbs a visit last night. I knew you'd come here next."

The crowds were backing away, forming a wide circle around us. The Man with the Mustache looked ready to bolt.

"And why would you think that?" I asked, measuring the distance between us, calculating how quickly I could reach him if needed.

"Because you're desperate." Corbin's eyes gleamed with malice. "Desperate men take desperate measures. And what could be more desperate than coming to the Celestial Craft Pavilion when young master Poe has sworn to break every bone in your body?"

I kept my expression neutral. "I'm just here to browse, Elder Ashworth. This is neutral territory, after all."

"Indeed it is." His smile widened. "Which is why I can't touch you here. But I can tell you this—you're wasting your time. Whatever you're looking for won't help you reach Isabelle."

The sound of her name on his lips made my blood boil. "And how would you know what I'm looking for?"

"Because I know where she is." He took a step closer, lowering his voice. "I've seen her, Knight. Seen what they're doing to her. Heard her screams."

My vision edged with red. The jade pendant at my neck grew warm as my spiritual energy surged in response to my anger.

"You're lying," I said, fighting for control.

"Am I?" He reached into his robe and withdrew a small object, holding it up for me to see. My heart stopped.

A silver hairpin—Isabelle's favorite. The one I'd given her on her birthday.

"She won't be needing this anymore," Corbin said, casually tossing it onto the floor between us. "Not where she's going."

The crowd gasped. Everyone knew the implied threat. The Man with the Mustache gripped my arm tighter, as if physically restraining me from attacking.

"What do you want, Corbin?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.

"Want?" He spread his hands innocently. "I want nothing from you. I merely came to watch your futile struggle. To see the great Liam Knight scrambling like a rat in a maze while time runs out."

"Time?" I echoed.

His smile turned vicious. "You have until midnight, don't you? Before Mariana Valerius decides you've failed? Before she gives up on Isabelle and focuses on protecting her precious Celestial Apothecary Guild instead?"

So he knew about Mariana's ultimatum. Someone in her organization was feeding information to the Ashworths.

"You seem very well informed," I observed.

"I am." He nodded toward the hairpin on the floor. "Pick it up. A memento of what you've lost."

Every instinct screamed that this was a trap, but I couldn't leave Isabelle's hairpin lying there like discarded trash. I stepped forward and bent to retrieve it.

As my fingers touched the silver, Corbin whispered, "She cried for you at first. Called your name. She doesn't anymore."

My control snapped. Spiritual energy exploded from my body in a golden wave, knocking back everyone within ten feet—except Corbin, who had clearly prepared a defensive formation. His guards staggered but held their ground.

"Neutral territory," Corbin reminded me with a smirk. "Attack me here, and you'll be the one labeled an outlaw. How will you save Isabelle then?"

I gripped the hairpin so tightly that it cut into my palm. Blood dripped onto the polished floor. "I'll find her," I promised. "And when I do, I'm coming for all of you."

"Bold words from a dead man walking." Corbin turned to leave, his guards forming a barrier between us. Over his shoulder, he added, "Enjoy your shopping trip, Knight. I hear time is running short."

The crowd watched in stunned silence as he exited the Pavilion. Only when he was gone did the murmurs start—rumors spreading like wildfire about the confrontation between Liam Knight and Corbin Ashworth.

"Young Master," The Man with the Mustache whispered urgently. "We need to move. Now."

I nodded, tucking Isabelle's hairpin into my robe. "Fourth floor. Let's go."

We had just reached the third-floor landing when a voice rang out behind us.

"Stop right there!"

I turned slowly, already knowing what I would see. Hanley Poe stood at the bottom of the stairs, surrounded by a dozen Pavilion guards. His round face was flushed with anger, eyes bulging as he pointed an accusing finger at me.

"You!" he shrieked. "The gourd thief! How dare you show your face here!"

The Man with the Mustache groaned beside me. "So much for not running into him."

Hanley Poe was exactly as I remembered him—short, corpulent, with the entitled air of someone who had never heard the word "no" in his life. His silk robes were embroidered with golden patterns that strained across his ample belly.

"Young Master Poe," I said, inclining my head slightly. Not a full bow—that would suggest submission. "I'm here on legitimate business."

"Legitimate?" he sputtered. "After you stole my thousand-year spirit gourd? Guards! Surround them!"

The Pavilion guards moved with practiced efficiency, blocking all escape routes. Customers scattered, not wanting to be caught in the confrontation.

"I borrowed the gourd," I corrected calmly. "It was necessary at the time."

"Borrowed?" His face turned even redder. "You knocked me unconscious and took it!"

I shrugged. "You weren't using it properly anyway."

The Man with the Mustache made a strangled sound beside me. "Young Master," he hissed, "perhaps antagonizing him isn't the wisest approach?"

He had a point. I needed access to the fourth floor, not a pointless confrontation with an offended young master.

"My apologies for the... misunderstanding," I said, forcing politeness into my tone. "I'm willing to compensate you for the gourd."

Hanley's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Compensate me? That gourd was priceless! A family heirloom!"

"Name your price," I said. Time was running out. Every minute wasted here was another minute Isabelle suffered.

Hanley seemed taken aback by my direct approach. He studied me for a moment, then a slow, calculating smile spread across his face.

"Very well," he said, stroking his chin. "I might be willing to overlook your transgression. For the right price."

The Man with the Mustache relaxed slightly beside me. Perhaps this could be resolved peacefully after all.

"However," Hanley continued, his smile turning nasty, "first I think you need to learn some manners. Guards! Teach our guest what happens to thieves in the Celestial Craft Pavilion!"

The guards closed in, spirit weapons materializing in their hands. I sighed. So much for a peaceful resolution.

"Stand down," I warned them. "I don't want to hurt you."

They hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. My reputation had clearly preceded me.

"What are you waiting for?" Hanley screeched. "Seize them!"

The guard captain stepped forward, his expression conflicted. "Young Master Poe, this is Liam Knight. Perhaps we should—"

"I don't care who he is!" Hanley stamped his foot like a petulant child. "He's a thief who stole from me! Now do as I command or I'll have you all dismissed!"

The guards moved forward reluctantly. I could see they had no stomach for this fight, but they had orders.

"Last chance," I said quietly. "Stand down."

When they continued advancing, I had no choice. I released a controlled pulse of spiritual energy—just enough to knock them off their feet without causing serious injury. They tumbled backward like ninepins, weapons clattering to the floor.

Hanley Poe's mouth fell open in shock. "You... you dare use spiritual energy in my Pavilion? Against my guards?"

"They attacked first," I pointed out reasonably. "And I showed restraint."

The Man with the Mustache tugged urgently at my sleeve. "Young Master, perhaps we should leave. The spatial artifact isn't worth this trouble."

"Spatial artifact?" Hanley's eyes lit up with sudden understanding. "So that's what you're after! You need something to bypass the defenses at Blackstone Facility!"

I froze. How did he know about Blackstone?

Hanley laughed, seeing my reaction. "Oh, everyone knows the Ashworth girl is being held there! And everyone knows you're desperate to save her before your time runs out!"

The guards were getting back to their feet, looking even more uncertain now. This confrontation had become something bigger than they'd signed up for.

"If you know that," I said carefully, "then you know what's at stake. Will you stand in my way?"

Hanley's expression turned calculating again. "Perhaps we can make a deal after all. If you are willing to hand over that gourd, perhaps we can spare a beating."

The Man with the Mustache looked at me in alarm. The gourd Hanley wanted was currently helping heal Mariana's injuries. We couldn't return it even if we wanted to.

I studied Hanley Poe, weighing my options. Time was running out. Isabelle was suffering. And now I stood surrounded by enemies, with the one thing that might save her just one floor away.