Rise of The Abandoned Husband

"The battlefields I mentioned?" The Man with the Mustache paced around the dimly lit chamber, his shadow dancing against the ancient walls. "They're all under strict control of the Veridia City Martial Guild now."

I leaned against a crumbling pillar, feeling the borrowed power continuing to fade from my body. Each hour brought me closer to vulnerability. "So they're inaccessible?"

"Not just inaccessible—they're heavily guarded. The Guild knows the value of dark energy resources." He tugged at his mustache, a nervous habit I'd noticed intensified when he delivered bad news. "Anyone caught trespassing is executed on sight. No questions, no mercy."

"There has to be another way." My fists clenched involuntarily.

"There is." He stopped pacing and faced me directly. "The great families of Veridia City."

"What about them?"

"They've been harvesting and storing dark energy for generations. Some as a strategic resource, others out of simple greed." He lowered his voice as if the walls might be listening. "The Beaumont family, for instance, possesses an underground vault rumored to contain dark energy crystals dating back three centuries."

I straightened up. "And how exactly am I supposed to access these family vaults? Ask nicely?"

The Man with the Mustache chuckled. "Cultivators like us operate in the shadows, Liam. We take what we need when necessity demands it."

"You're suggesting I steal from the great families of Veridia City." It wasn't a question.

"I prefer the term 'strategic resource acquisition,' but essentially, yes." His mustache twitched with amusement. "Unless you'd rather wait months or years for another opportunity."

I pushed away from the pillar, weighing my options. Time wasn't a luxury I possessed.

"I'll need to return to Veridia City then." The decision formed itself as I spoke. "Make connections, gather intelligence about these vaults."

"A wise choice." He nodded approvingly. "And this is where our paths diverge, at least temporarily."

"You're not coming?"

"I have other matters requiring my attention." He adjusted the small bag slung over his shoulder. "Ancient tombs wait for no man, and I've received word of a particularly promising site in the Northern Wastes."

I wasn't surprised. The Man with the Mustache had always been clear about his priorities—treasure hunting above all else.

"Fair enough." I extended my hand. "Thank you for your help."

He shook it firmly. "We'll meet again when our interests align. They always do." With a final twirl of his mustache, he added, "And Liam? Be careful in Veridia City. The veils between the powerful and powerless are thin there. One wrong move..."

He didn't need to finish. I understood perfectly.

---

Three days later, I arrived in Veridia City amid the first snow of winter. White flakes drifted lazily from the gray sky, transforming the metropolis into something from a fairytale. Street vendors had set up seasonal stalls selling hot drinks and roasted chestnuts, their savory aromas cutting through the crisp air.

Standing on the observation deck of Veridia Tower, I watched ordinary citizens go about their lives below. A young couple sharing a scarf laughed as they slipped on an icy patch. Children engaged in an impromptu snowball fight in the central park. Shop owners swept accumulating snow from their doorsteps.

Such normal scenes. So removed from the brutal world of cultivation I now inhabited.

As I observed this ordinary happiness, something unexpected happened. My mental state shifted subtly, like a puzzle piece clicking into place. The constant tension I carried loosened its grip. My thoughts, usually racing with strategies and threats, found a momentary clarity.

I recognized what was happening with mild surprise. This was a spontaneous mental state upgrade—something that occasionally occurred when cultivators achieved profound insights. Not through battle or meditation, but through simple observation.

The insight was this: the world I fought to protect was worth protecting precisely because of these ordinary moments. These small happinesses that most cultivators overlooked in their quest for power.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, breaking the moment. A text from Ricardo Beaumont:

"Annual birthday celebration tonight at the estate. Your presence is requested. 8 PM sharp. Formal attire."

I pocketed the phone with a grim smile. Perhaps fortune was favoring me after all. The Beaumont family—one of the very households The Man with the Mustache had mentioned—was inviting me into their home.

---

The Beaumont estate sprawled across fifty acres at the edge of the city's elite district. Security was tight but discreet—I counted at least twenty trained guards as I approached the main entrance, all cultivators of respectable power.

"Liam Knight," I told the attendant at the door, who checked my name against the guest list.

"Welcome, Mr. Knight. Mr. Beaumont mentioned you might attend." She gestured toward the grand ballroom. "Please, enjoy your evening."

Inside, Veridia City's elite mingled beneath crystal chandeliers. Politicians, business tycoons, and cultivators from prominent families sipped champagne and exchanged carefully measured pleasantries. Power dynamics were as visible as the designer clothes they wore.

I accepted a drink from a passing server and began a slow circuit of the room, noting exits and potential allies.

"Liam Knight." Darnell Bradford intercepted me near a ice sculpture. "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Ricardo was kind enough to extend an invitation."

Darnell snorted. "Kind has nothing to do with it. The Beaumonts invite everyone who might be useful to them." He lowered his voice. "Word is you've been making waves. Powerful enemies in high places."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear." I kept my tone light.

"And you shouldn't underestimate the Guild's reach." He drained his glass. "They've been asking questions about you. Discreet ones, but persistent."

Before I could respond, Blaise Rostova approached, resplendent in a form-fitting red dress. "Gentlemen," she purred, "such serious faces at a celebration."

Darnell excused himself quickly, leaving me alone with Blaise.

"You're looking well, Liam." Her eyes assessed me coolly. "Especially for someone supposedly on the Guild's watch list."

"Your concern is touching." I smiled thinly.

"Not concern. Curiosity." She sipped her champagne. "You've risen quickly for someone with no family backing. It makes people wonder."

"Let them wonder."

Her painted lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, they do. Especially about your relationship with the Ashworth girl."

The mention of Isabelle sent a jolt through me, but I kept my expression neutral. "If you'll excuse me."

I moved away, threading through clusters of guests, my mind racing. If the Guild was asking questions openly enough for Darnell to notice, my time in Veridia City might be more limited than I'd hoped.

"Liam Knight." A new voice, low and urgent.

I turned to find Tyler Westwood, son of the Westwood shipping magnate, hovering at my elbow. We'd met briefly at previous events—a quiet, scholarly type more interested in ancient texts than social climbing.

"Tyler." I nodded in greeting.

"I need to speak with you." His eyes darted nervously around the room. "In private."

Intrigued and wary, I followed him to a quiet alcove away from the main celebration.

"What's this about?" I asked once we were alone.

"The Guardian." He spoke the words so softly I almost missed them.

"What about it?" I kept my voice steady despite the sudden acceleration of my heartbeat.

Tyler glanced around once more before pulling out his phone. He tapped the screen several times, then turned it toward me.

"This was taken three days ago. Near the ruins of the Cedar Mountain Temple."

I took the phone from him, expecting perhaps a blurry distance shot or an unclear image that merely suggested something unusual. What I saw instead froze the blood in my veins.

The photograph showed a tall figure in flowing white robes, standing atop a rocky outcropping. Though partially obscured by mist, the figure's face was clearly visible—impossibly ancient yet youthful, with eyes that seemed to pierce through the screen itself.

But what truly shocked me was the unmistakable resemblance to someone I knew intimately. Someone I'd been fighting to protect all this time.

The Guardian—this mythical being of immense power that cultivators whispered about—had Isabelle's face.