Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The news about the ring hit Mallory Poe like a physical blow. His face contorted with rage as he glared at his son.

"You incompetent fool!" he roared, slamming his fist against the desk. "That wasn't just any ring! It was the Celestial Craft's Signet—our family's greatest treasure!"

Hanley cowered, his face ashen. "Father, I didn't know—"

"Because you never bother to learn!" Mallory's voice echoed through the chamber. "That ring contains secrets that could destroy us if discovered. And you let Liam Knight—of all people—walk away with it!"

"What should we do?" Hanley asked meekly.

Mallory paced, his mind racing. "We must retrieve it before Knight discovers its true nature. I'll go personally."

"But Father, he humiliated me in front of—"

"Enough!" Mallory's eyes flashed dangerously. "Your pride means nothing compared to what's at stake. I'll offer an apology on behalf of our family. I'll even give him Dharma Treasures as compensation."

Hanley's mouth fell open. "Dharma Treasures? But those are—"

"A small price to pay for our family's survival," Mallory cut him off. "If Knight learns how to activate that signet's hidden functions..." He shook his head grimly. "We can't let that happen."

---

Meanwhile, the private jet carrying me and the Man with the Mustache touched down on the runway of Proseponia Kingdom's international airport. The flight had been long but necessary.

"Finally," I muttered, unbuckling my seatbelt. The weight of urgency pressed down on me with every passing minute.

The Man with the Mustache stretched beside me, his joints popping audibly. "Remind me again why we're in this backwater kingdom?"

"Because Mariana Valerius sent us this address." I showed him the message on my phone. "She said if we want to understand the Power of Martial Saint, this is where we need to go."

He squinted at the screen. "And you're sure we can trust her?"

"At this point, I have to." I looked out the window at the unfamiliar landscape. "Besides, I've been here once before. This kingdom has a... unique relationship with cultivation."

We disembarked into the sweltering heat. The airport was modest compared to the metropolis we'd left behind, but it was well-maintained. I scanned the crowd, wondering how we'd find our contact.

"Mr. Knight?" A woman's voice called out.

I turned to see a tall, elegant woman approaching us. She had sharp features, dark hair pulled into a tight bun, and wore a crisp business suit despite the heat. She couldn't have been more than forty, but her eyes held the weight of someone much older.

"I'm Tilda Avery," she said, extending her hand. "We received word from Pavilion Master Valerius that you would be arriving today."

I shook her hand firmly. "Thank you for meeting us. This is my associate." I gestured to the Man with the Mustache, who nodded politely.

"The car is waiting," she said, leading us through the terminal. "My father is eager to meet you."

The Man with the Mustache raised an eyebrow at me, but I gave a small shake of my head. Questions would have to wait.

Outside, a sleek black car idled at the curb. The driver opened the doors for us, and soon we were speeding away from the airport toward the city center.

"I trust your flight was comfortable?" Tilda asked, her tone polite but reserved.

"It was fine," I replied. "But I'm more interested in why I'm here. Pavilion Master Valerius was cryptic in her message."

Tilda's expression softened slightly. "Of course. I apologize for the secrecy, but certain matters are best discussed in private." She glanced at the driver, then lowered her voice. "My father is suffering from a... unique condition. We've consulted every doctor in the kingdom, but none can help him."

"And you think I can?"

She nodded. "Pavilion Master Valerius spoke highly of your skills as an alchemist. She said you might be able to create what we need."

"Which is?"

"A concentric pill," she replied. "One that can neutralize dark energy corrupting the meridians."

I frowned. Concentric pills were notoriously difficult to create—layers of medicinal components arranged in perfect harmony. Even experienced alchemists failed more often than they succeeded.

"That's a tall order," I said carefully. "I'll need to examine your father first, understand exactly what we're dealing with."

"Of course." She looked relieved. "We've prepared everything you'll need."

The Man with the Mustache cleared his throat. "And in return for this service?"

Tilda's eyes met mine. "We understand you seek knowledge of the Power of Martial Saint. My family has... expertise in this area."

My heart quickened. Finally, a lead that might actually pan out.

"Pavilion Master Valerius mentioned that," I said. "But I didn't expect it would be tied to healing your father."

"Everything in this world comes with a price, Mr. Knight." Tilda's smile was small but genuine. "We help you, you help us. A fair exchange, wouldn't you agree?"

I nodded slowly. "As long as your information is legitimate."

"The Avery family has guarded the secrets of Martial Saint cultivation for generations," she said with quiet pride. "What we know is not found in any text or teaching."

The car wound through the city streets. Proseponia Kingdom was a blend of old and new—ancient architecture standing alongside modern buildings. I remembered my previous visit, though it had been brief and under different circumstances.

"How did your family end up here?" I asked. "This kingdom isn't exactly known as a cultivation hub."

Tilda's eyes darkened. "Necessity. We needed somewhere remote, somewhere our enemies wouldn't think to look."

"And who are these enemies?"

"The same ones who poisoned my father," she said simply. "Powerful people who fear what we know."

The car turned onto a private road that climbed into the hills overlooking the city. At its end stood an impressive manor—stone and glass blending seamlessly, surrounded by lush gardens.

"Home," Tilda said as the car came to a stop. "My father is waiting inside."

The driver opened our doors, and we stepped out into the fragrant air. The gardens were more than decorative, I realized—they were filled with medicinal plants, many rare and valuable.

"Your family takes herbology seriously," I observed, recognizing several specimens that shouldn't have been able to grow in this climate.

Tilda nodded. "Another area where we've developed specialized knowledge. Please, follow me."

She led us into the manor, through a grand entrance hall, and down a corridor lined with ancestral portraits. I noticed that each figure wore a similar jade pendant—different from mine, but clearly significant.

"Your ancestors?" I asked.

"Yes. Fifteen generations of the Avery family," she replied. "Each mastered the Power of Martial Saint in their time."

We reached a set of double doors, where Tilda paused. "Before you meet my father, I should warn you. His condition has weakened him physically, but his mind remains sharp. Please do not mistake his frail appearance for mental decline."

I nodded, and she opened the doors.

The room beyond was spacious and well-lit, with large windows overlooking the gardens. At its center sat an older man in a wheelchair. Despite his obviously weakened state, he projected an aura of dignity and power.

"Father," Tilda said, "this is Liam Knight and his associate. They've come to help."

The old man's eyes fixed on me with startling intensity. "So you're the one Mariana spoke of. Come closer, young man. Let me see you properly."

I approached, studying him as he studied me. His illness was evident—his skin had a grayish tinge, and dark veins were visible on his exposed arms. Classic signs of energy corruption.

"Edward Avery," he said, extending a trembling hand. "Thank you for coming."

I shook his hand carefully. "Liam Knight. And I haven't helped you yet."

He chuckled, a dry sound that ended in a cough. "Direct. Good. We haven't time for pleasantries anyway, do we? Especially with what's happening to your Isabelle."

I stiffened. "How do you know about her?"

"Mariana told me enough." His eyes softened with genuine sympathy. "The Veridia City Martial Guild is not known for its mercy. Every moment counts when they have someone in their... care."

The reminder sent a jolt of anxiety through me. Every second I spent here was another second Isabelle suffered.

"Then let's not waste time," I said firmly. "I'll examine you, see what I'm dealing with. Then we discuss the Power of Martial Saint."

Edward nodded. "Tilda, show them to their rooms. They'll want to refresh themselves after their journey. We'll begin the examination this evening."

"With respect, Mr. Avery," I interjected, "I'd prefer to start now."

Edward's eyebrows rose, but he nodded. "Very well. Tilda, prepare the eastern study. We'll use that room."

As Tilda left to make arrangements, the Man with the Mustache excused himself to explore the grounds. I was left alone with Edward Avery.

"You're desperate," he observed quietly. "I can see it in your eyes."

I didn't deny it. "They're torturing her. Using her blood for experiments. And I can't reach her without more power."

He nodded slowly. "The Power of Martial Saint might indeed help you, but it comes with costs."

"I don't care about costs," I said flatly. "Nothing is too high a price to save her."

"Be careful making such declarations," Edward warned. "The universe has a way of testing those absolute statements."

Before I could respond, Tilda returned to escort us to the eastern study. The room was well-equipped with both modern medical devices and traditional cultivation tools—clearly prepared for my arrival.

"I'll leave you to your examination," she said. "Call if you need anything."

Once we were alone, Edward spoke again. "Before we begin, young man, I need your word that you'll create this pill for me if you can."

"And I need your word that you'll tell me everything about the Power of Martial Saint," I countered.

He smiled thinly. "It seems we understand each other. You have my word."

"Then you have mine." I began preparing the tools I'd need for a thorough examination.

"One more thing," Edward added. "Time is precious to both of us. My condition worsens daily, as I'm sure Isabelle's situation does. We must work quickly."

The mention of Isabelle sent another spike of anxiety through me. I pictured her trapped in that cold facility, enduring who knows what horrors. Corbin's warning echoed in my mind: "Every day you delay, her suffering increases."

"I understand," I said grimly. "Let's get started."

As I began the examination, I couldn't shake the feeling that time was running out—not just for Edward Avery, but for Isabelle. The Power of Martial Saint was within my grasp, but would I master it in time?

I had to. Failure wasn't an option. Not when Isabelle's life hung in the balance.

The weight of Corbin's words pressed down on me like a physical force: "Every day you delay, her suffering increases."

I gritted my teeth and focused on the task at hand. For Isabelle's sake, I would not fail.