Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I stared at the ceiling of my residence, considering the Guild's offer to cultivate for a month in their Saintly Martial Training Realm. Everything about it felt like a carefully constructed trap. The timing was too perfect—right when the borrowed power I'd gained would be completely gone.

"They think I'm a fool," I muttered, sitting up on my bed.

My instincts screamed danger, yet turning down such an opportunity would raise questions. The Guild rarely extended these invitations, especially to someone they viewed as an enemy. I needed to tread carefully.

A knock at my door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I called.

Frederick Cohen stepped inside, his expression unusually serious. "Got a minute?"

"Sure." I gestured for him to sit. Our relationship had been strained since my return from the last Mystic Realm, but his warning about yesterday's assembly suggested he might be shifting allegiances.

"Been thinking about that Guild offer," Frederick said, settling into a chair. "Seems too good to be true, doesn't it?"

I nodded. "Exactly what I was just contemplating."

"The Guild doesn't do charity. There's always an angle."

Before I could respond, another knock sounded. Frederick and I exchanged glances.

"Expecting someone?" he asked.

"No." I rose and opened the door, shocked to find Pierce Cromwell standing there.

"Mr. Knight," he greeted with that same calculating smile from yesterday. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

I kept my expression neutral. "Not at all. What brings you here, Mr. Cromwell?"

"May I come in? I have a matter I'd like to discuss privately."

I stepped aside, allowing him entry. Frederick stood, clearly uncomfortable with Cromwell's presence.

"I should go," Frederick said.

"No need," Cromwell insisted. "What I have to say won't take long, and it's not particularly sensitive."

Frederick reluctantly sat back down while Cromwell remained standing, surveying my modest living quarters with mild interest.

"I wanted to extend a more personal invitation," Cromwell began. "Beyond the Guild's official offer for the Saintly Martial Training Realm, there's another event I believe would interest you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"The Exchange Meeting. It happens before the expedition—a gathering where cultivators trade knowledge, artifacts, and skills."

"And you want me there because...?" I asked bluntly.

Cromwell smiled. "Your reputation precedes you, Mr. Knight. An elder of the Celestial Apothecary Guild at such a young age. The creator of that remarkable healing formula everyone's talking about." He clasped his hands behind his back. "Such talents would be a valuable addition to our meeting."

I studied his face, searching for the trap. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't Tyler Westwood one of the organizers? We're not exactly on friendly terms."

Cromwell waved dismissively. "That's precisely why I'm here personally. The Westwoods handle one Mystic Realm, while my family, the Cromwells, oversee another. We operate independently."

"So Tyler won't be at this Exchange Meeting?"

"He might attend, but he won't have any authority there. The meeting takes place on neutral ground, with strict rules of conduct." Cromwell's tone was reassuring, but something in his eyes remained cold. "Besides, it would be a shame to let a personal disagreement deprive you of such an opportunity."

I maintained a thoughtful silence, appearing to consider his words while actually assessing his body language. Every instinct told me this was carefully orchestrated.

"When is this meeting?" I finally asked.

"Three days from now. It lasts two days, followed immediately by preparations for the expedition."

I nodded slowly. "I appreciate the invitation. I'll consider it."

"Excellent." Cromwell reached into his robe and produced an ornate card. "Your formal invitation. The details are all there."

As I took the card, our fingers briefly touched. I felt a subtle probe of energy—he was testing my cultivation level. I allowed him a small glimpse, enough to seem cooperative without revealing my true capabilities.

"I look forward to your positive response," Cromwell said with a slight bow. "Good day, gentlemen."

After he left, Frederick exhaled loudly. "Well, that was interesting."

"Indeed." I examined the invitation card, searching for hidden mechanisms or traces of energy. Finding nothing obvious, I set it on the table.

"You're not actually considering going, are you?" Frederick asked incredulously.

"Why not?" I countered. "Sometimes the best way to avoid a trap is to spring it on your own terms."

Frederick looked skeptical. "That's playing with fire, Knight."

"I've been burned before." I turned to face him directly. "What do you know about Pierce Cromwell?"

Frederick frowned. "Not much. He's high up in the Guild hierarchy, but keeps a lower profile than most. The Cromwell family is one of the Nine Great Families, but they're known more for their political maneuvering than raw power."

"And their relationship with the Westwoods?"

"Publicly, they're allies. Behind closed doors?" Frederick shrugged. "Who knows? These families all scheme against each other while presenting a united front."

I nodded, processing this information. "Why the sudden helpfulness, Frederick? Not that I don't appreciate it, but we weren't exactly friends before."

Frederick looked uncomfortable. "Let's just say I've seen enough to question certain allegiances. Your performance in the last Mystic Realm... it made an impression."

I studied him for a moment, then decided to accept his explanation for now. "Well, I appreciate the insight."

After Frederick left, I sat alone, turning the invitation over in my hands. Going to the Exchange Meeting was risky, but it might also provide valuable information about the Guild's plans. Plus, I couldn't deny that accelerated cultivation in the Saintly Martial Training Realm was tempting, trap or not.

"Sometimes," I muttered to myself, "you have to walk into the lion's den to understand how the lions think."

---

The following morning, I was reviewing ancient cultivation techniques when another unexpected visitor arrived. The sharp knock at my door had a familiar rhythm to it.

I opened the door to find Daphne Grenville standing there, her expression a mixture of determination and anxiety.

"Liam," she said without preamble, "I need to speak with you. It's important."

I hesitated, then stepped aside to let her in. Daphne and I had a complicated history. As a member of another prominent family, she'd once been aligned with my enemies, but had later shown signs of independence.

"I heard about your confrontation with Tyler," she said once inside. "And now Pierce Cromwell is personally inviting you to the Exchange Meeting."

"News travels fast," I commented dryly.

"In certain circles, yes." She paced my small living room. "I'm here because I need to clear something up. About Isabelle Ashworth."

My entire body tensed at the mention of Isabelle's name. "What about her?"

Daphne turned to face me directly. "I want you to know that I had no knowledge of Tyler's plans for her. None whatsoever."

"You expect me to believe that? You were practically attached to his hip."

"I was aligned with his family, yes. But I never knew he intended to..." She faltered. "To use her that way. I would never have condoned it."

I crossed my arms, unconvinced. "Why tell me this now?"

"Because I don't want to be associated with that kind of cruelty." Her eyes flashed with genuine emotion. "I'll swear an oath if you need proof."

"An oath?" I raised an eyebrow.

Without hesitation, Daphne bit her thumb hard enough to draw blood. "I, Daphne Grenville, swear on my cultivation path that I had no knowledge of or involvement in Tyler Westwood's schemes against Isabelle Ashworth."

A faint golden light surrounded her as she spoke—the sign of a binding cultivation oath. Breaking such an oath would cause severe cultivation deviation, potentially destroying years of progress.

I was taken aback by her willingness to go to such lengths. "I... accept your oath."

The tension in her shoulders eased slightly. "Thank you."

"So if that's not why you're here, then what is?"

Daphne's eyes darted to the invitation card still on my table. "I heard Cromwell invited you to the Exchange Meeting."

"Word really does travel fast," I remarked.

"I'll be attending as well," she said. "As a representative of the Grenville family."

I gestured for her to sit down. "I'm listening."

She sat, composing herself. "You should know that these events are never just about exchanging knowledge. They're political battlefields where alliances are formed and broken."

"I suspected as much," I said. "But why warn me?"

"Because you're walking into a situation where everyone knows the unwritten rules except you." She leaned forward. "And in such environments, ignorance can be fatal."

I considered her words carefully. "What's your stake in this, Daphne? Why help me?"

"Let's just say I have my own reasons for wanting to see certain power structures... challenged." A hint of something rebellious flashed in her eyes. "The Exchange Meeting is technically neutral ground, but make no mistake—there will be factions."

"The Cromwells versus the Westwoods?"

She shook her head. "It's more complicated than that. The Nine Great Families have intricate relationships spanning generations."

My curiosity piqued. "So... Are these aristocratic families in a good relationship with each other?"