Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I blew dust off the old book's cover, revealing faded gold lettering: "Modern History of Martial Arts." My fingers traced the embossed title, hoping this forgotten tome might finally contain information about my father. After everything that had happened—mastering two Divine Rank techniques in a single day and humiliating Cedric Holt—I deserved some answers.

The book was heavier than it looked, with brittle pages that crackled as I carefully turned them. I settled onto the dusty floor, crossing my legs and balancing the book on my knees.

My excitement quickly faded as I scanned page after page for my father's name. Nothing. Not a single mention. How could such an apparently remarkable man leave so little trace?

I was about to close the book in frustration when a chapter heading caught my eye: "The Fall of the Saints." Curious, I began reading.

"Approximately one hundred years ago, Martial Saints walked freely among us," the text began. "These godlike figures, primarily affiliated with the Veridia City Martial Guild, ruled the martial world with uncontested authority."

I leaned forward, intrigued. I'd heard of Martial Saints before, of course. Mariana had mentioned them—legendary figures who had transcended normal cultivation limits. But they were spoken of as myths, not historical facts.

"Their reign ended abruptly seventy years ago," I continued reading, "when a mysterious figure known only as 'the Guardian' emerged."

My heart pounded faster. The Guardian?

"In what survivors described as a single night of unimaginable carnage, this Guardian systematically hunted and eliminated over thirty confirmed Martial Saints. The bloodshed forever diminished the Guild's influence and ushered in a new era of martial arts governance."

"Thirty Martial Saints in one night?" I whispered to myself, stunned by the implications. What kind of power could possibly accomplish that?

I turned the page, hungry for more details, but found only a clinical assessment of the aftermath:

"Following the Guardian's intervention, a peculiar phenomenon has been observed: despite countless attempts by talented individuals across all sects and schools, no martial artist has successfully ascended to the Martial Saint Realm in the seventy years since. This remains true regardless of power, talent, resources, or even cultivation within Mystic Realms."

I sat back, my mind racing. Something—or someone—had not just killed the Martial Saints but somehow blocked the path to becoming one. Was this connected to why Mariana had said I might be the one to break through?

The book offered no answers, only more questions. I closed it, disappointed but intrigued by this unexpected historical detour.

My original purpose remained—finding information about the masked woman connected to Clara. I scanned the shelves again, spotting a weathered scroll with ancient script. Unrolling it carefully, I was immediately frustrated to find the text completely indecipherable. The characters resembled no language I'd ever encountered.

I set it aside and pulled down another volume: "Ancient Martial Arts: Five Thousand Years of Evolution." If the masked woman was as old as I suspected, perhaps this text would mention her.

An hour passed as I methodically combed through the book. My eyes burned from strain and dust, but I pressed on, refusing to leave empty-handed.

Finally, near the end of a chapter discussing legendary figures, I found it—a single, tantalizing sentence:

"Her figure is splendid, her beauty unmatched; masked by a demonic figure, she kills mercilessly."

I read the line again, excitement surging through me. This had to be her—the woman from my vision, the one whose mask Clara now possessed.

The description was sparse but vivid. Beautiful yet deadly. Demonic yet splendid. The contradictions painted a complex picture that matched the terrifying power I'd witnessed in my vision.

I checked the surrounding text for more information but found nothing. Just this solitary reference, as if even the ancient chroniclers feared writing more about her.

Standing up, I stretched my stiff limbs and considered what I'd learned. Two significant historical mysteries had emerged: the Guardian who'd slaughtered Martial Saints and somehow blocked the path to that realm, and the beautiful, demonic masked woman connected to Clara.

Were they related somehow? The timeline didn't seem to fit—the Guardian appeared seventy years ago, while the masked woman was referenced in a text about events five thousand years past.

I gathered the books I'd found and descended the spiral staircase, my mind swirling with possibilities. The fourth floor had yielded some answers but far more questions.

Ricardo was waiting at the bottom, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You've been up there for hours," he said, eyeing the dust covering my robes. "Find anything interesting?"

I considered how much to share. "Some historical curiosities. Tell me, Ricardo, have you ever heard of someone called 'the Guardian'?"

His expression shifted subtly—a flash of recognition quickly masked.

"Where did you encounter that name?" he asked carefully.

"In one of the books upstairs. Apparently, this Guardian killed dozens of Martial Saints seventy years ago."

Ricardo glanced around nervously, then lowered his voice. "That's not a topic discussed openly here, Liam. The Guild prefers to... minimize certain historical events."

"Why? What are they hiding?"

He sighed, looking genuinely troubled. "The Guardian represents the Guild's greatest failure—and their greatest fear. A single individual who brought their mightiest members to their knees."

"Do you know who this Guardian was?" I pressed.

"No one does, at least no one alive today. Some say it was a vengeful spirit, others a cultivator who discovered some forbidden technique." Ricardo hesitated. "But there are whispers... that the Guardian still walks among us, ensuring no one reaches the Saint Realm again."

I thought of Mariana's words about me breaking through that barrier. If the Guardian was still active, preventing others from reaching that level of power, what would happen if I tried?

"And what about a masked woman? Ancient texts mention her as having unmatched beauty but being merciless in killing."

Ricardo's face paled visibly. "Where did you—" He stopped himself, looking even more uncomfortable. "Some things are better left unresearched, Liam. There are powers in this world that don't appreciate being scrutinized."

His warning only intensified my curiosity. "Ricardo, I need to know. This isn't idle curiosity."

He hesitated, then sighed in resignation. "Meet me outside in ten minutes. Not here—the walls have ears."

I nodded and watched him hurry away, clearly unnerved by our conversation. Whatever he knew about the masked woman had frightened him deeply.

I spent those ten minutes replacing the books I'd borrowed, except for the small volume about modern martial history. That one, I discreetly slipped into my robe. I needed more time with it.

Outside, the evening air was crisp and refreshing after hours in the dusty archive. Ricardo was waiting in a small garden adjacent to the Scripture Pavilion, pacing nervously.

"What I'm about to tell you doesn't leave this conversation," he said without preamble. "My grandfather was a scholar here before me. He specialized in forbidden histories—events the Guild wanted erased."

"Go on," I encouraged when he paused.

"The woman you described... she appears in multiple ancient records, always with the same features: incomparable beauty, a demonic mask, and ruthless violence. But she's not just a historical figure—she's a harbinger."

"A harbinger of what?"

Ricardo's voice dropped to a whisper. "Change. Catastrophic change. Every recorded appearance coincides with the fall of a major power or the emergence of a new world order."

I thought of Clara—the sweet, innocent girl now in possession of that same mask. The implications were disturbing.

"When was she last seen?" I asked.

"According to my grandfather's private notes, approximately five thousand years ago, during the collapse of the Divine Martial Empire. Before that, eight thousand years ago when the Celestial Sects were overthrown." Ricardo looked at me intently. "Why are you asking about her, Liam? Have you... seen something?"

I chose my words carefully. "I'm investigating several connected mysteries. This is just one thread."

Ricardo clearly didn't believe me, but he didn't press further. "Be careful with this knowledge. The Guild actively suppresses information about both the Guardian and the masked woman. Those who ask too many questions tend to disappear."

"I appreciate the warning," I said sincerely. "And your candor."

He nodded grimly. "I should get back before I'm missed. Good luck with your... investigation."

As Ricardo walked away, I remained in the garden, processing everything I'd learned. The masked woman appeared at pivotal moments of change throughout history. Clara now possessed her mask. And I was somehow connected to it all through my vision.

Was Clara destined to bring about some catastrophic change? Or was she merely a vessel for something much older and more powerful?

I needed to find her, to understand the full nature of what we were dealing with. But first, I had to complete my mission here—uncovering the Spirit Binding Technique that Isabelle's captors were using against her.

The sun was setting as I made my way back to my quarters, casting long shadows across the courtyard. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched, not just by curious Guild members but by something older and more patient.

In my room, I lit a single lamp and opened the book I'd taken from the archive. There had to be more clues about the Guardian and why no new Martial Saints had emerged. If I was truly meant to break that pattern as Mariana believed, I needed to understand what—or who—I would be facing.

Hours passed as I pored over the text, searching for any hidden references or clues between the lines. My eyelids grew heavy, but I forced myself to continue. Too much was at stake.

Just as I was about to succumb to exhaustion, a small footnote caught my attention. It referenced another text—"The Chronicles of the Divine Battle"—that supposedly contained eyewitness accounts of the Guardian's rampage.

I closed the book, making a mental note to search for this chronicle tomorrow. Whatever secrets it held might be crucial to understanding my own path forward.

As I extinguished the lamp and lay down, my thoughts drifted to the masked woman—her beauty, her power, and her connection to Clara. The description I'd found was haunting in its simplicity:

"Her figure is splendid, her beauty unmatched; masked by a demonic figure, she kills mercilessly."

In the darkness, I couldn't help but wonder: If Clara was indeed connected to this ancient, deadly figure, what role was I playing in unleashing her upon the world once more? And when she fully awoke, would I be powerful enough to protect those I cared about from her wrath?

Sleep eventually claimed me, but my dreams were filled with masks, blood, and the whispered warnings of a Guardian whose shadow still fell across the martial world seventy years after their deadly intervention.