Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I leaned against a nearby pillar, arms crossed over my chest as I observed Emerson Holmes fumbling with the token. The gathered young masters and mistresses of Veridia City's elite families waited with barely contained excitement, whispering among themselves about what secrets the Scripture Pavilion might hold. Their eagerness amused me; they had no idea what real power looked like.

The token in Holmes' hand began to glow more intensely as he pressed it against the door. Ancient runes carved into the stone flickered to life, responding to the mystical key.

"Almost there," Holmes muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.

A ripple of anticipation passed through the crowd—then suddenly faltered as a cold, commanding voice cut through the morning air.

"Stop what you're doing immediately."

Everyone turned toward the source of the interruption. Four figures approached from the main Academy building, led by a young man with sharp features and ice-blue eyes. He carried himself with the entitled confidence that comes only from generations of unchallenged privilege.

"Who dares interrupt Guild business?" Holmes demanded, though I noted how his hands trembled slightly as he lowered the token.

The young man stopped before our group, his gaze sweeping dismissively over the assembled nobles before settling on Holmes.

"I am Marc Fairlight," he announced, his voice dripping with condescension. "Son of Luke Fairlight, owner of the Second Secret Realm, and Ms. Hayward's chosen successor."

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. I straightened slightly, my interest genuinely piqued for the first time. This was an unexpected development.

Holmes paled visibly. "Master Fairlight, I wasn't informed of your arrival. Had I known—"

"Clearly," Marc cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Yet here you are, about to grant access to the Scripture Pavilion without proper authority."

"I have the token," Holmes protested weakly, holding up the glowing object.

Marc laughed—a cold, brittle sound devoid of humor. "A token that was Ms. Hayward's to bestow, not yours to use in her absence." He extended his hand. "Give it to me."

Holmes hesitated, looking desperately around at the noble heirs who had paid handsomely for this opportunity.

Ricardo Beaumont stepped forward. "We have an arrangement with Elder Holmes. Surely accommodations can be made—"

"Accommodations?" Marc raised an eyebrow. "You misunderstand your position in the hierarchy, young man. This pavilion houses knowledge beyond your comprehension, let alone your right to access."

Blaise Rostova pushed her way to the front, her face flushed with indignation. "Do you know who we are? My family has supported this Guild for generations!"

Marc's eyes narrowed as he studied her. "Ah, a Rostova. Your family's contributions are noted, but ultimately irrelevant in this matter."

"How dare you!" Blaise spat, her hands clenching into fists as spiritual energy began to swirl around them. "I am a Half-step Martial Lord. You will show proper respect!"

One of Marc's companions—a burly man with a scar across his chin—snickered openly. "Half-step Martial Lord? Did you hear that, young master?"

Marc's lips curled into a smirk. "Perhaps a demonstration is in order." He gestured casually. "Attack me, if you wish."

Blaise didn't hesitate. With a snarl of rage, she launched herself at Marc, her fist wreathed in bright orange flames. It was an impressive technique—one that would have severely injured most opponents her age.

But Marc didn't even bother to fully face her. With a flick of his wrist, he released a wave of energy that slammed into Blaise mid-attack. The impact sent her flying backward, crashing into the stone wall behind us with enough force to crack the masonry.

She slid to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, her eyes wide with shock.

"Half-step Martial Sage," I murmured to myself, recognizing the massive disparity in power. No wonder he was so confident.

Marc brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. "Anyone else feeling brave?"

The gathered nobles shrank back, their earlier excitement replaced by fear. Even Ricardo, usually quick with words, remained silent.

Holmes, seizing the opportunity to salvage some favor, hurried forward and presented the token to Marc with both hands. "Master Fairlight, please forgive this misunderstanding. Had we known of your authority—"

"Save your excuses," Marc interrupted, snatching the token. "I want this area cleared. Now."

Holmes turned to the nobles. "You heard Master Fairlight. Please return to your residences immediately."

The crowd began to disperse reluctantly, casting resentful glances at Marc as they retreated. I remained where I was, watching this arrogant newcomer with growing interest. There was something about the Fairlight name that nagged at my memory—something Mariana had once mentioned.

Marc noticed me still standing there and frowned. "That includes you. Leave."

I pushed away from the pillar, taking my time to straighten up. "Luke Fairlight," I said thoughtfully. "The name sounds familiar."

Marc's eyes narrowed. "Who are you to speak of my father?"

I took a few casual steps forward, aware that everyone still within earshot had stopped to watch this exchange.

"My name is Liam Knight."

The effect was immediate. Marc's companions exchanged meaningful glances, and Marc himself went perfectly still, his eyes hardening with recognition.

"Knight," he repeated, tasting the name. "The upstart who's been causing trouble for the Guild. I've heard of you."

"All good things, I hope," I replied with a smile that didn't reach my eyes.

Marc studied me more carefully now. "They say you're powerful for your age. That you defeated a Martial Marquis."

"People talk too much."

"They also say," Marc continued, his voice lowering, "that you're obsessed with Isabelle Ashworth. That rare bloodline whore the Guild was using for experiments."

Time seemed to stop. The world narrowed to just the two of us as his words echoed in my ears. Around us, those who hadn't yet left gasped at his deliberately provocative statement.

Something dark and dangerous uncoiled inside me. My vision edged with red as rage flooded through my system.

"I suggest," I said, my voice terrifyingly calm, "that you choose your next words very carefully."

Marc smiled, seeing he'd struck a nerve. "Did I touch a sensitive spot? Everyone knows what happened to her. Strapped down, bled daily, bred like cattle—"

I moved before he finished, covering the distance between us in an instant. Marc reacted just as quickly, his aura exploding outward to meet mine.

The collision of our energies sent a shockwave across the courtyard, cracking the stone beneath our feet and shattering nearby windows. The remaining onlookers scrambled backward, some crying out in alarm as they sought safety from the sudden maelstrom of power.

We stood just feet apart now, each enveloped in our respective auras—his a swirling mass of cold blue energy, mine a blazing gold tinged with darkness. Neither of us had launched a physical attack yet, but the mere proximity of our unleashed power was enough to make the air between us distort and crackle.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," I said softly, the quiet tone making my words all the more threatening.

Marc's companions had taken defensive positions around him, but he waved them back. "Neither do you," he replied, his eyes glittering with anticipation. "I've been hoping to meet the famous Liam Knight. To test for myself if the rumors are true."

"Which rumors?" I asked, gathering my power for what was clearly about to become a serious confrontation.

"That you're the strongest of our generation." His smile turned predatory. "Or the most deluded."

The energy around him intensified, forcing even his own companions to retreat further. For a Half-step Martial Sage, his power was extraordinary—far beyond what someone his age should possess.

But I had faced worse. Much worse.

"Let me educate you on something," I said, my own aura expanding to match his. "There are lines you don't cross. Insulting Isabelle? That's the fastest way to ensure I show you no mercy."

Marc laughed. "Good. I'd hate to waste my time with someone who holds back." He shifted his stance, preparing to attack. "When I defeat you, it will send a message to everyone in Veridia City about where true power resides."

The few witnesses still brave enough to remain had retreated to what they hoped was a safe distance, their eyes wide as they watched the confrontation unfold. None of them had ever seen two cultivators of our level clash at full strength within the city limits.

I allowed myself a cold smile. "You talk too much."

Then we moved simultaneously, the ground erupting beneath our feet as we launched at each other, two meteors on a collision course. Our powers twisted and writhed, seeking dominance, the buildup of energy so intense that the very air began to vibrate with its potential.

In that suspended moment before impact, one thought crystallized in my mind: this arrogant heir had no idea what hell he had just unleashed upon himself.