Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I stood guard at the edge of the array, my senses stretched to their limits as the powerful auras approached. The Man with the Mustache continued his work frantically, his fingers trembling as they traced complex patterns in the air.

"Can you hurry?" I hissed, keeping my voice low to avoid alerting Clara.

"Rushing a thousand-year-old ritual is how people die horribly," he snapped back, sweat beading on his forehead. "Just keep them away for a few more minutes."

The approaching auras slowed, circling our position. They knew we were here. I gripped my sword tighter, mentally preparing myself for what was coming. These weren't ordinary opponents—Peak Form Military Marquis were beyond anything I'd faced before.

"They're here," I warned, stepping forward as two figures materialized at the edge of the clearing.

A man and a woman, both dressed in flowing white and pale blue robes trimmed with silver—the colors of the Frostfall Sanctum. The man was tall and lean, with sharp features and eyes cold as winter. But it was the woman who commanded attention.

Her beauty was ethereal, her long silver-blue hair cascading like a frozen waterfall down her back. Her eyes, the color of arctic ice, assessed me with predatory interest. When she moved, it was with the fluid grace of a hunting cat.

"Well, well," she purred, her voice musical yet chilling. "So this is the upstart who defeated Li Feng and Chen Dao." She circled closer, examining me from head to toe. "Not what I expected."

I shifted my stance, keeping both of them in my field of vision. "What do you want?"

The man spoke, his voice sharp and brittle like cracking ice. "You possess something that doesn't belong to you. A mask of great power." His eyes narrowed. "Return it, and perhaps we'll grant you a quick death."

"I don't have any mask," I replied evenly, though my mind raced. How did they know about it?

The woman laughed, the sound like tinkling icicles. "Come now, don't play coy." She stepped closer, her hips swaying hypnotically. "My two juniors tracked it to this valley before you... disposed of them. You think we wouldn't follow?"

I silently cursed. The two Frostfall disciples I'd killed must have been tracking the mask's energy signature.

"Shu Yin," the man warned, "don't toy with him. Take what we came for and be done with it."

She waved a dismissive hand at her companion. "Always so impatient, Zhao Kwan." Her eyes never left mine as she stepped even closer. "I prefer to enjoy myself."

I could feel her cultivator's aura now—cold and deadly, but tinged with something else. Something sensual and enticing that seemed to reach out toward me like invisible tendrils.

"The ritual," The Man with the Mustache whispered urgently behind me. "Almost complete."

I needed to stall them. "If you're here about your dead comrades, they attacked first. I merely defended myself."

Shu Yin smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Oh, I don't care about those weaklings. They were disposable." She was close enough now that I could smell her scent—winter flowers and something else, something intoxicating. "What I care about is the mask... and perhaps you."

Her fingers reached out, tracing the air inches from my chest. Even without touching me, I could feel the cold emanating from her.

"You're quite handsome," she continued. "Strong too, to have defeated two of our disciples." Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "I could spare you, you know. If you surrender the mask willingly... and agree to entertain me for a night."

From the corner of my eye, I saw Zhao Kwan's expression sour with disgust.

"Not interested," I stated flatly, stepping back to maintain distance.

Her beautiful face hardened for an instant before the seductive mask returned. "Are you sure? I can be very... generous." Her aura flared, and I felt a wave of cold desire wash over me—her cultivation technique attempting to manipulate my emotions.

I pushed back with my own energy, breaking the subtle assault. "My answer stands."

"Enough of this nonsense," Zhao Kwan snapped. "He refuses. Kill him and take the mask."

Shu Yin sighed dramatically. "Men never appreciate the easy way." Her demeanor shifted, the predatory aspect of her beauty becoming dominant. "Very well, we'll do this the hard way."

I glanced back quickly. The Man with the Mustache was frantically making final adjustments to the array. Clara was watching from her position, eyes wide with concern. I needed to keep the fight away from them.

"If you want a fight," I said, stepping forward to draw them away from the array, "I'm ready."

Shu Yin laughed. "How adorable." She moved with blinding speed, appearing behind me before I could react. "But you're not ready for this."

I spun, barely blocking her strike with my sword. The impact sent shockwaves up my arm—her strength was immense. I countered with a slash aimed at her midsection, but she dodged effortlessly, her body bending like a willow in the wind.

"Oh, you are fun," she giggled, dancing away from my follow-up attack. "Most men can't even see me move."

Zhao Kwan stood back, observing with cold calculation as Shu Yin toyed with me. Each of my strikes met empty air, while her counter-attacks came faster than I could fully track. Only my instincts and body refinement kept me from serious injury.

After a particularly vicious exchange, I managed to graze her sleeve with my blade. The small victory was short-lived as her playful expression darkened.

"You actually cut my robe," she said, voice dropping several degrees. "Perhaps you deserve some respect after all."

She struck with renewed purpose, her right hand forming a claw that slammed into my chest. Even with my defensive energy activated, the impact sent me flying backward. I crashed into a boulder, the stone cracking behind me.

I spat blood but pushed myself back to my feet, refusing to show weakness.

"His physical body is unusually resilient," Zhao Kwan noted clinically. "Interesting."

Shu Yin's eyes gleamed with new interest. "Indeed. Most Military Marshals would have shattered ribs from that strike." She licked her lips again. "I do so enjoy breaking strong things."

I gathered my energy, focusing it into my next attack. I needed to surprise them, break their rhythm. As Shu Yin approached again, I activated the Thunderbolt Step, appearing instantly at her side.

For a fraction of a second, genuine surprise registered on her beautiful face. My sword thrust forward, aimed at her heart—only to be met by a wall of ice that materialized from nowhere.

"Shu Yin," Zhao Kwan called out, irritation clear in his voice. "Stop playing with your food. We have orders to retrieve the mask quickly."

She pouted, actually pouted, before her expression turned serious. "Fine. Playtime is over."

The temperature around us plummeted dramatically. Frost appeared on the ground, spreading outward from her feet. Her hands formed a series of complex seals, and the air itself seemed to crystallize.

"Frostfall Secret Art: Winter's Embrace," she intoned.

Ice spears materialized around her, hovering for an instant before shooting toward me with lethal speed. I slashed with my sword, shattering the first wave, but they kept coming—dozens, then hundreds.

I activated my defensive skills, golden light enveloping me as I fought desperately to avoid being skewered. A few spears got through, slicing my arms and legs, each cut burning with unnatural cold.

"You fight well for your level," Shu Yin acknowledged, advancing steadily. "But surely you must see the difference between us?"

I did. Every move I made was countered before I completed it. Every strategy I attempted was read and neutralized. They were playing with me, and we all knew it.

"The ritual is complete!" The Man with the Mustache shouted suddenly.

Shu Yin's head snapped toward him, noticing the array for the first time. "What is this? Some sort of trap?" Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't like traps."

She gestured sharply, and a lance of ice shot toward The Man with the Mustache. I intercepted it with my body, the ice punching through my shoulder. Pain exploded through me, but I remained standing, blood freezing around the wound.

"How touching," she mocked. "But futile."

With a casual flick of her wrist, she sent me flying again. This time, when I hit the ground, my body refused to respond immediately. The cold from her attacks was seeping deeper, slowing my movements, numbing my limbs.

"I grow weary of this," she announced, strutting toward me. "Last chance, handsome. Surrender the mask, spend a night warming my bed, and live. Refuse, and die here, broken and frozen."

I forced myself to my knees, then my feet, blood dripping from multiple wounds. "I told you," I growled, "not interested."

Something like genuine admiration flickered in her eyes. "Such spirit." Then her expression hardened. "Such waste."

She moved faster than I could track, appearing directly in front of me. Her palm struck my chest with devastating force, sending me hurtling backward. I crashed into the ground, creating a small crater from the impact.

Before I could recover, she was on me again. This time, her fingers struck precise points along my limbs and torso—acupoints that instantly froze under her touch. Paralysis spread through my body, leaving me immobilized and helpless on the ground.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "That's better. Now we can have a proper conversation."

I struggled against the paralysis, but it was like being encased in invisible ice. I could barely move my lips to speak.

"What... do you want?" I managed to ask through gritted teeth.

"I told you already," she replied, crouching beside me. Her cold fingers traced the line of my jaw. "The mask first. Then you."

She bent closer, her lips nearly touching my ear, her breath like winter wind against my skin.

"Accompany me for a night, serve me well, and I'll spare your life, okay?" she purred, the seductive offer carrying the unmistakable threat of death if refused.