Rise of The Abandoned Husband

"These aristocratic families?" Daphne's laugh held no humor. "The relationships between them are like weather vanes—always pointing in the direction of advantage."

I leaned back in my chair, considering her words. "So alliances form and dissolve based purely on self-interest."

"Precisely." She smoothed her robes with practiced elegance. "My family, the Grenvilles, has been allied with the Westwoods for three generations. But that doesn't mean we trust them."

"And what about your personal alliances, Daphne?" I asked, watching her face carefully.

Her eyes met mine without flinching. "I'm a Grenville first and foremost. But that doesn't mean I'm blind to injustice."

I nodded slowly. The Daphne sitting before me seemed different from the calculating woman I'd encountered previously—more genuine, perhaps, though still playing her own game.

"I could secure you a spot at the Exchange Meeting through my family's connections," she offered suddenly. "That way, you wouldn't need to rely on Cromwell's invitation."

"And why would you do that?"

"Consider it a gesture of goodwill." She rose to leave. "Just think about it. My invitation comes with fewer... strings attached."

After she left, I sat in silence, turning over her offer in my mind. Two invitations to the same event from two different power players—neither of which I fully trusted. The situation reeked of politics and hidden agendas.

I decided to do what I did best—forge my own path forward.

---

Two hours later, I was seated across from Pierce Cromwell in a private room at an upscale teahouse in the city center. The place was known for its discretion—private rooms warded against eavesdropping with powerful formations.

"I'm pleased you agreed to meet, Mr. Knight," Cromwell said, pouring tea with practiced precision. "Have you considered my invitation?"

"I have," I replied, watching the steam rise from my cup. "But I have questions before I commit."

Cromwell's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Of course. Ask away."

"Who else will be attending this Exchange Meeting?"

"A select group of cultivators—some from the Nine Great Families, others who have distinguished themselves through talent." He sipped his tea. "Young Master Westwood will indeed be there, as I mentioned, but so will several others who hold no particular animosity toward you."

"Such as?"

"Daphne Grenville, for one. Ricardo Beaumont of the Beaumont family. Blaise Rostova, who I believe you've encountered before." He set down his cup. "All high-level cultivators with various specialties."

I nodded, absorbing this information. "And what exactly do you want from me at this meeting? You mentioned my pill-making skills."

"Indeed." Cromwell leaned forward slightly. "Your innovations with healing formulas have caught attention. The Exchange Meeting is precisely what its name suggests—an opportunity to trade knowledge and skills. Your expertise would be a valuable contribution."

"And in return?"

"Access to cultivation techniques not available to the general public. Connections that could prove useful in your future endeavors." His voice lowered slightly. "Perhaps even information about certain... missing persons of interest to you."

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression neutral. Was he referring to Isabelle?

"I'll attend," I said finally. "Under one condition."

"Name it."

"I come and go as I please. No restrictions on my movements."

Cromwell studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Agreed. The meeting begins in two days. I'll personally escort you there."

"That won't be necessary—"

"I insist," he cut in smoothly. "The location is... difficult to find without guidance."

I reluctantly agreed, knowing that pushing further would only arouse suspicion. Our meeting concluded shortly after, with Cromwell promising to provide more details the following day.

As I walked back to my residence, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking into something far more complicated than a simple exchange of knowledge.

---

The next two days passed in careful preparation. I stored several emergency pills in hidden compartments within my robes, sharpened my daggers, and reviewed every combat technique I'd mastered. If this was indeed a trap, I wanted to be ready.

On the morning of the Exchange Meeting, Pierce Cromwell arrived at my residence precisely at the agreed time. He wore formal robes bearing the Cromwell family crest—a silver serpent coiled around a mountain.

"Ready, Mr. Knight?" he asked pleasantly.

I nodded, falling into step beside him as we headed toward the city outskirts. We traveled in silence for nearly an hour before arriving at what appeared to be an abandoned temple complex.

"We're here," Cromwell announced.

I surveyed the crumbling stone pillars and overgrown pathways with skepticism. "This is the meeting place?"

"No." He gestured toward a weathered stone arch. "This is merely the entrance."

As we approached the arch, I noticed subtle energy fluctuations—the telltale sign of a portal formation. Cromwell placed his palm on the center stone, channeling a stream of energy into it. The air within the arch shimmered and distorted.

"After you," he said with a courteous gesture.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped through the portal. The world blurred around me for an instant before resolidifying into a completely different landscape.

I found myself standing in a small clearing surrounded by sparse, sickly-looking trees. The sky above had an unnatural purple tinge, and the air felt thin and stale.

"Welcome to the Desolate Crown Realm," Cromwell said as he emerged from the portal behind me.

I looked around with growing unease. "This is a Mystic Realm?"

"Indeed. One of the lesser-known ones." Cromwell started walking along a barely visible path. "We hold the Exchange Meeting here for privacy."

As we continued forward, I spotted several figures gathered near a half-collapsed structure that might once have been a palace. I recognized Daphne immediately, standing slightly apart from Ricardo Beaumont and Blaise Rostova.

But it was the fourth figure that made my muscles tense—Tyler Westwood. His face darkened with barely concealed hostility when he saw me.

"What is he doing here?" Tyler demanded as we approached.

Cromwell's voice remained calm. "I invited him, Young Master Westwood. His pill-making expertise will be valuable to our exchange."

Tyler's eyes narrowed, but he didn't challenge Cromwell further. Instead, he turned to me with a cold smile. "Welcome, Knight. I trust you'll find our meeting... enlightening."

The threat beneath his words was unmistakable.

"Charming as always, Tyler," I replied evenly.

Daphne stepped forward, breaking the tension. "Shall we proceed? The others are already waiting inside."

As our group moved toward the dilapidated palace, I fell into step beside Daphne.

"Interesting choice of venue," I murmured. "Abandoned Mystic Realm, middle of nowhere. Almost like someone's trying to ensure there are no witnesses."

She glanced at me sharply. "You noticed."

"Hard not to." I kept my voice low. "Why here specifically?"

"Officially? Security and privacy." Her eyes darted around. "This realm was abandoned centuries ago when its spiritual energy was depleted. Few people even know it exists."

"And unofficially?"

"I wish I knew," she whispered, genuine concern in her voice.

As we entered the palace, I activated my spiritual sense, stretching it as far as it would reach. The building's interior was just as decrepit as its exterior—broken columns, cracked floor tiles, and faded murals depicting scenes I couldn't quite decipher.

But what truly set my nerves on edge was what I sensed lurking at the edges of my perception—two extremely powerful energy signatures, carefully concealed but unmistakably present. Martial Saints.

"Please, everyone take a seat," Cromwell gestured to a circular arrangement of stone benches in what had once been the palace's central hall.

As the others settled into their places, Tyler remained standing, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face.

"Before we begin," he announced, "I'd like to clarify something for our newest participant."

All eyes turned to me.

"Liam Knight," Tyler continued, his voice dripping with malice, "did you really think Pierce Cromwell invited you here out of respect for your talents?"

Cromwell's expression shifted almost imperceptibly—not with surprise, but with the calm satisfaction of a plan unfolding exactly as intended.

"This isn't an Exchange Meeting for you," Tyler said, gesturing broadly. "This is a trap. The Westwood family orchestrated your invitation to lure you into this Mystic Realm—where two of our family's Martial Saints are waiting to eliminate you once and for all."

The air in the room grew heavy with the weight of his words. Daphne's face paled, Ricardo looked uncomfortable, and Blaise merely watched with clinical interest.

I slowly stood, my hand inching toward the dagger concealed within my robes, as the truth of my situation became crystal clear—I had walked willingly into my enemies' den, and they had no intention of letting me leave alive.