Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I sat cross-legged in the Scripture Pavilion's most restricted section, surrounded by ancient scrolls and texts so old they threatened to crumble at my touch. After days of searching, I'd finally found what I was looking for: the complete history of the masked woman.

The scroll in my hands detailed events from five thousand years ago. Each character felt like a punch to my gut as I read:

"The Masked Demon appeared without warning, her beauty as devastating as her power. Within seven days, she destroyed the entire Eastern Phoenix Sect—ten thousand disciples slaughtered by her hand alone."

My hands trembled as I continued reading.

"On the eighth day, she massacred the Western Tiger Sect. On the ninth, the Southern Dragon Sect fell. By the fifteenth day, the Northern Turtle Sect was no more. The Four Great Celestial Sects, guardians of our world for millennia, were extinguished like candles in a storm."

I set down the scroll and picked up another. This one contained eyewitness accounts from the few survivors.

"Her laughter echoed as she killed," one account read. "She moved like shadow and struck like lightning. The strongest masters fell before they could even draw their weapons."

Another survivor wrote: "She spoke only once during the massacre. When our Sect Master asked why she was doing this, she said, 'Because it amuses me.'"

My throat tightened. This was the being whose mask Clara now possessed. This was the power that was awakening within her.

I unrolled the next scroll, which contained the most disturbing revelation:

"Before she was the Masked Demon, she was known as Mei Lin, daughter of the Divine Martial Emperor and Celestial Empress. At sixteen, she murdered her parents in their sleep, stole the Demonic Mask from the imperial vault, and began her reign of terror."

I sat back, stunned. She hadn't been some outside invader—she was the treasured daughter of the world's most powerful cultivators.

The final scroll revealed why she'd been sealed:

"After destroying seventeen major sects and countless smaller ones, killing an estimated one million cultivators, Mei Lin was finally confronted by the combined might of the remaining Martial Saints. Unable to kill her, they sacrificed three hundred thousand lives to fuel a sealing formation that trapped her consciousness in the mask and her power in a separate vessel."

I closed my eyes, the horrible truth settling over me. Clara was not just connected to the Masked Demon—she was her reincarnation. The second successful one, according to the text.

"The first reincarnation occurred three thousand years after the sealing," the scroll continued. "A girl named Feng Yi discovered the mask and, upon wearing it, awakened Mei Lin's memories. Within a month, she had regained the Demon's full power and destroyed eight major cities before being sealed again—this time at the cost of five hundred thousand lives."

The pattern was clear. The mask found a suitable vessel, awakened dormant memories, and gradually restored the Demon's full power. And I had been helping Clara cultivate, accelerating the process.

I'd been training the most destructive force our world had ever known.

"Liam? Are you still in here?" Ricardo's voice echoed from the stairwell. "It's been three days. You need to eat something."

Three days? I hadn't realized I'd been reading that long. My body felt stiff and hungry, but the horror of what I'd discovered overwhelmed all physical discomfort.

"I'm coming," I called back, carefully rolling up the scrolls and returning them to their shelves.

I made my way down the spiral staircase, my mind racing with implications. Clara's nightmares, her affinity for dark energy, her immediate connection to the mask—it all made terrible sense now.

Ricardo waited at the bottom of the stairs, concern etched across his face. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Worse," I muttered. "I've seen the future."

He didn't press for details, just guided me toward the Pavilion's exit where the others were waiting. After three days in near-darkness, the sunlight outside was blinding.

"There he is!" The Man with the Mustache exclaimed. "We were about to send a search party."

Daphne approached, studying my face. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

I nodded grimly. "And much more."

Ricardo cleared his throat. "Before you all leave, I wanted to congratulate Liam properly. Mastering two Divine Rank techniques in a single session is unprecedented."

I forced a smile, though the achievement felt hollow now. "Thank you for the opportunity."

"What's next for you?" Ricardo asked.

"I need to understand more about the Guardians you mentioned," I said. "Their agreement with the Martial Saints."

Daphne's eyes widened slightly. "That's not common knowledge."

"I'd be happy to discuss it with you," she continued, lowering her voice. "But privately. It's sensitive information."

I nodded, grateful for her willingness to share. Before we could make plans, a familiar voice called out from across the courtyard.

"Knight! Haven't you overstayed your welcome yet?"

Cedric Holt strutted toward us, his expensive robes fluttering in the breeze. Despite his humiliation days earlier, his arrogance remained intact.

"My uncle, Spencer Holt, asked me to deliver a message," he announced loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear. "He says that playing with martial arts is fine for entertainment, but real power comes from capital. No matter how strong your fists, you'll always bow to those who control the money."

Several Scripture Pavilion disciples nearby shifted uncomfortably, clearly embarrassed by Cedric's tactless words in their sacred space.

I stared at him, too mentally exhausted to muster anger. "Is that all?"

"He also said to remind you that Ashworth Industries has entered an alliance with the Holt Financial Group. Whatever schemes you're planning against the Ashworths will fail."

At the mention of Isabelle's family, my lethargy vanished. "Tell your uncle that martial artists have toppled kingdoms and emperors throughout history. Money is paper; true power comes from within."

Cedric sneered. "Such typical martial artist delusion. Strength means nothing without resources."

"You're delivering messages for your uncle like an errand boy, yet you talk about power?" I took a step toward him. "Reconsider your path, Cedric. You've chosen the wrong enemy."

He turned to leave with a dismissive wave. "Whatever. I've delivered the message."

Something snapped inside me. After days of reading about unimaginable horrors, Cedric's petty arrogance was the final straw. I grabbed his collar before he could walk away.

"Not so fast," I said, my voice deadly calm. "Since you came all this way to find me, I'd be remiss not to teach you something valuable."

Cedric's face paled. "Let go of me! Do you know who I am?"

"Today will serve as a lesson for you, and a warning for your uncle Spencer Holt," I said, dragging him toward the restroom building nearby. "Come with me!"

"What are you doing?" he spluttered, struggling ineffectively against my iron grip. "Help! Someone stop him!"

No one moved to intervene. Ricardo looked away deliberately while Daphne watched with barely concealed amusement.

"Please," Cedric begged as I pulled him across the courtyard. "I was just delivering a message. My uncle made me do it!"

"Then this lesson is even more necessary," I replied, pushing open the restroom door. "A man who can't stand by his words doesn't deserve respect."

Cedric's eyes widened with genuine terror. "What are you going to do to me?"

I pulled him inside and closed the door behind us, shutting out the curious onlookers.

"I'm going to show you the difference between our worlds," I said, releasing his collar. "And why martial artists will never bow to men like your uncle."

I activated my Golden Saint Body technique, allowing a fraction of my power to manifest. Golden light illuminated the small space, reflecting off the tile walls and casting Cedric's terrified face in an otherworldly glow.

"This is true power," I said, my voice resonating with energy. "Not money, not connections, not family names. This is the strength that has shaped history while empires and fortunes crumbled to dust."

Cedric backed against the wall, trembling. "I... I understand. Please don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," I said, letting the golden light fade. "That would be beneath me. Instead, I want you to deliver a different message to your uncle."

"Anything," he whispered.

"Tell Spencer Holt that I, Liam Knight, send him this warning: Stay out of my way. His money can't protect him from what's coming."

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. "And tell him that if he continues to interfere with my business regarding the Ashworths, I'll personally ensure that the Holt Financial Group becomes nothing but a cautionary tale in business textbooks."

Cedric nodded frantically. "I'll tell him exactly that."

"One more thing," I said, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Your uncle sees you as nothing but a tool. Is that really the path you want to follow?"

Confusion crossed his face. "What do you mean?"

"I've read about you, Cedric. Before your uncle took control of your life, you were studying ancient literature and philosophy. You wanted to be a scholar, not a businessman."

His eyes widened in surprise. "How do you know that?"

"I make it my business to understand my opponents," I said. "You have potential beyond being Spencer's messenger. Remember that."

I removed my hand from his shoulder and opened the door. "You can go now. Don't forget my message."

Cedric straightened his rumpled clothes, trying to regain some dignity. "You'll regret this, Knight. My uncle—"

"Your uncle will do nothing," I interrupted. "Because deep down, he knows I'm right. Power like mine can't be bought or sold."

As Cedric hurried away, Daphne approached with a raised eyebrow.

"That was quite a show," she said. "Though I admit I expected something more... violent."

I shrugged. "Violence isn't always the answer. Sometimes clarity is more effective."

"Speaking of clarity," she said, "you wanted to know about the Guardians. Shall we find somewhere more private to talk?"

I nodded, my thoughts returning to Clara and the terrible truth I'd discovered. "Yes. There's much we need to discuss."

As we walked away from the Scripture Pavilion, I couldn't shake the image of Clara's innocent face. She had no idea what was awakening inside her—a monster responsible for millions of deaths.

I had to find her before it was too late. Before the Masked Demon fully returned to our world.

And if I couldn't save Clara from her fate, I would have to do the unthinkable: stop her permanently, before history repeated itself in an orgy of blood and destruction.