Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I felt the heaviness in my limbs as I walked with The Man with the Mustache through the abandoned halls of the Immortal Bane Sect. The borrowed power of a Martial Saint was fading faster than I'd hoped. Soon, I'd be back to my true level—woefully inadequate against the enemies hunting us.

"So this is your grand plan? Hiding in the ruins of a dead sect?" The Man with the Mustache twirled his facial hair, eyeing the crumbling architecture with obvious disdain.

"It's just a meeting point," I replied, keeping my voice low despite the emptiness around us. "My real hideout is more... secure."

"The Mystic Realm you took from the Umbral Covenant?" He raised an eyebrow. "Smart move. Those realms are nearly impossible to breach without proper access."

I nodded. Kenneth had explained it to me after we'd secured the Covenant's headquarters. "Only those with mystic keys can enter. Not even Martial Saints can force their way in without one."

"And you control all the keys?"

"Every single one." I allowed myself a small smile. In the game of survival, having a sanctuary was essential—especially when faced with enemies like Marc Fairlight and the Poe family from the Celestial Craft Pavilion.

We walked deeper into the abandoned sect, past fallen statues and dust-covered training grounds. The silence felt oppressive, as if the very air was heavy with past violence.

"How much longer?" The Man with the Mustache asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

"Not much farther." I paused, studying his anxious demeanor. "You seem jumpy today."

He snorted. "With good reason. Have you noticed the evidence of necromancy in this place?"

I stopped walking. "Necromancy?"

"Look." He pointed to marks on the ground I'd missed—strange, circular patterns etched into the stone floor. "Someone's been raising the dead here."

I crouched to examine the markings more closely. "How recent?"

"Very." His mustache twitched as he frowned. "Within the last few days. And not just any corpses—I've counted evidence of dozens of Mighty Realm cultivators being resurrected."

A chill ran down my spine. Even one Mighty Realm corpse, animated and controlled by a skilled necromancer, could devastate a small city. Dozens would be an army capable of challenging even the Veridia City Martial Guild.

"Who has that kind of power?" I asked, rising to my feet.

"No one should. The art of controlling that many powerful corpses was supposed to be lost centuries ago." He pulled nervously at his mustache. "Someone's recovered the technique—and they're building an army right under everyone's noses."

I filed this information away—another threat to monitor, another potential enemy to prepare for. Right now, though, I had more immediate concerns.

"Show me the teleportation formation you created," I said, changing the subject.

He led me to a large chamber where intricate patterns covered the floor—a masterpiece of formation crafting that had taken him days to complete.

"It's visible to anyone who enters," he said, gesturing proudly to his work. "Just as you requested."

I nodded, satisfied. "Perfect. It'll serve as an excellent decoy."

His smile vanished. "Decoy? You mean—"

"Yes. I needed something obvious for my enemies to find. Something to convince them they've discovered my escape route." I met his irritated gaze steadily. "The real formation is elsewhere."

The Man with the Mustache's face reddened. "You had me waste three days creating a useless formation?"

"Not useless. Essential." I walked the perimeter of the formation, admiring his craftsmanship despite its ultimate purpose. "When Julian's allies come looking, this is what they'll find. They'll waste resources dismantling or monitoring it while we use the real one."

His anger seemed to diminish slightly at my explanation. "Clever. Underhanded, but clever."

We moved to a more secluded chamber, one I'd personally cleared of debris and secured against eavesdropping. Here, I could speak freely about my most pressing concern.

"I need resources," I said bluntly, sitting on a stone bench. "My breakthrough can't wait much longer."

The borrowed power was already beginning to cause me pain—a sign that my body was rejecting the foreign energy. Without achieving a genuine breakthrough soon, I'd be vulnerable once the power faded completely.

The Man with the Mustache paced before me, his footsteps echoing in the empty chamber. "What kind of resources? Divine Medicine? Those are incredibly rare, especially the grade you'd need."

"Anything that would help." I couldn't keep the urgency from my voice. "I'm on borrowed time. Once this power fades completely, I'll be vulnerable again."

He stopped pacing, stroking his mustache thoughtfully. "Divine Medicine is out of the question. Even I don't have access to those right now. But..." He hesitated, as if weighing whether to continue.

"But what?" I pressed.

"There's always dark energy," he said, watching my reaction carefully.

I leaned forward. "Dark energy? I thought that was just a myth—corrupt qi that poisons the cultivator."

He chuckled dryly. "That's what the orthodox sects want everyone to believe. The truth is more nuanced. Dark energy is simply less refined, less developed—but potentially just as powerful with the right techniques."

My mind raced with possibilities. If dark energy could fuel my breakthrough where traditional resources couldn't...

"Where can I find it?" I asked, not bothering to hide my interest.

"Various places." He began counting on his fingers. "Battlefields where countless cultivators have died violent deaths. Ancient burial grounds of powerful cultivators. Locations where great disasters occurred." He paused, adding significantly, "Places like the Immortal Bane Sect."

I stared at him. "Here? There's dark energy here?"

"Not anymore." He gestured vaguely at our surroundings. "Whatever happened to this sect—the massacre you witnessed in your vision—it would have generated tremendous dark energy. But someone's already harvested it. Recently."

Another dead end. I clenched my fists in frustration.

"But," he continued, noting my reaction, "I know of other locations. Places most cultivators avoid precisely because of the dark energy concentration."

Hope flickered inside me. "How soon can you take me there?"

"It depends on how desperate you are." His expression turned serious. "These aren't pleasant places, Liam. There's a reason orthodox cultivators avoid dark energy. It changes you. Makes you see the world differently."

"I'm already changed," I said quietly, thinking of everything I'd been through. "And I'm very desperate."

He studied me for a long moment. "I can see that. Very well, I'll guide you to the nearest site—an ancient battlefield where three Martial Saints once fought to the death. The land there has never recovered. Even plants refuse to grow."

Relief washed over me. This was something concrete—a path forward when all others seemed closed.

"When do we leave?" I asked, already calculating how to inform Kenneth and make arrangements for Isabelle's protection during my absence.

The Man with the Mustache held up a cautioning hand. "Not so fast. Although dark energy resources are relatively easier to obtain compared to qi resources, it doesn't mean they are everywhere."

My momentary hope dimmed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that these places are known to others besides us. The truly desperate. The outcast. Those willing to risk corruption for power." His eyes narrowed. "We won't be the only ones hunting there."

I absorbed this unwelcome complication. Even this alternative path wouldn't be simple or safe. But then, nothing in my journey had been.

"Tell me more about these competitors," I said, settling back to listen. If I couldn't avoid them, I needed to understand who—or what—I might face in the shadows of these forbidden grounds.