Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The morning light did nothing to improve my mood. After my midnight encounter with Clarissa Johnson, I'd returned to Jade Moon Villa and spent the remaining hours before dawn pacing my room, weighing my options.

I still didn't know if I could trust her information about the Ashen Mountains facility. The Umbral Covenant was an unknown variable, and unknown variables had a nasty habit of exploding in your face at the worst possible moment.

A knock on my door interrupted my thoughts.

"Come in," I called.

Emerson Holmes entered, looking grim. His usual immaculate appearance was slightly disheveled, suggesting he'd been up all night working.

"I have news," he said without preamble. "And you won't like it."

I braced myself. "Tell me."

"My contact in Veridia City finally responded. The Guild is refusing to acknowledge they're holding Isabelle Ashworth. They claim to have no record of her."

"That's bullshit," I snapped. "Elder Lin practically admitted it to my face."

"I know." Emerson sighed. "But officially, they're denying everything. They've even issued a statement suggesting she might have gone into seclusion of her own free will."

Rage bubbled up inside me. The audacity of these people never ceased to amaze me.

"They think they can just take her and face no consequences?" I slammed my fist against the wall, leaving a small crater in the plaster. "Do they think I'll just accept their lies and move on?"

"They're banking on the fact that you can't prove anything," Emerson said carefully. "And without proof, any action you take against them would be seen as unprovoked aggression."

"I don't give a damn how it's seen."

Emerson shifted uncomfortably. "There's more. My sources indicate they're preparing some kind of operation. I think it might be related to Darian Bancroft."

The warning Clarissa had given me last night suddenly felt more credible. Could she really have insider information on the Guild's plans?

"Increase security around the villa," I ordered. "Double the patrols and strengthen the defensive formations."

"Already done." Emerson hesitated, then added, "Have you considered Clarissa Johnson's proposal?"

I shot him a sharp look. "How do you know about that?"

"I make it my business to know everything that happens in Havenwood, especially when it concerns your safety. The Crimson Lantern bartender works for me."

Of course he did. I should have known better than to meet someone in public.

"I don't trust her," I said flatly. "But I'm running out of options."

"The Umbral Covenant is a mystery even to my intelligence network," Emerson admitted. "They operate completely off the grid. The few whispers I've heard suggest they're powerful but... unpredictable."

"Desperate times," I muttered, more to myself than to him.

I made a decision. If the Guild was going to play hardball, so was I.

"I'm going to have another chat with our guest," I said, heading for the door.

Emerson raised an eyebrow. "Bancroft? He hasn't been cooperative so far."

"Then I'll have to be more persuasive."

The underground chamber where we kept Darian Bancroft was cold and dimly lit. I'd specifically designed it to be uncomfortable without crossing into outright torture. Psychological pressure rather than physical pain.

Bancroft looked up when I entered. His once-immaculate appearance had deteriorated considerably since his capture. His hair was greasy and unkempt, his face covered in stubble, and dark circles ringed his eyes. The Celestial Restraint Cuffs on his wrists pulsed with blue light, suppressing his cultivation.

"Come to gloat some more?" he sneered, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the hoarseness in his voice.

I dragged a metal chair across the floor, creating a grating screech that made him wince, and sat directly in front of him.

"The Veridia City Martial Guild has taken Isabelle Ashworth," I said without preamble.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face before he could mask it. Interesting. He hadn't known.

"And what does that have to do with me?" he asked, affecting boredom.

"Everything," I leaned forward, letting him feel the full weight of my killing intent. "Because you're going to help me get her back."

He laughed—a harsh, brittle sound. "Why would I help you?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to deliver you back to the Guild piece by piece," I said softly. "Starting with the non-essential parts."

Fear flashed in his eyes. He might be a Guild Elder, but he wasn't stupid. He knew I meant every word.

"You wouldn't dare," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. "The Guild would—"

"The Guild has already taken everything I care about," I cut him off. "What more could they possibly do to me that would matter?"

Silence filled the chamber as Bancroft processed my words. I could almost see the calculations running behind his eyes.

"They'll kill me if I help you," he said finally.

"I'll kill you if you don't," I countered. "The difference is, their death would be quick. Mine won't be."

Another long silence. Then, unexpectedly, Bancroft laughed again—but this time it was genuine, if tinged with hysteria.

"Do you know what's funny, Knight?" he asked, shaking his head. "I spent my entire life climbing the ranks of the Guild. I sacrificed everything—ethics, friendships, even family—all to reach the position of Elder. And now? Now they've left me to rot in your dungeon."

I studied him carefully. Was this a ploy for sympathy, or was he genuinely bitter?

"No rescue attempt," he continued, more to himself than to me. "Not even a message. Just... silence."

"The Guild doesn't value loyalty," I said. "Only usefulness."

"And I'm no longer useful, am I?" His mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "Not after failing to kill you."

I decided to press my advantage. "Help me, Bancroft. Tell me what you know about where they're keeping Isabelle, and I might let you live."

He considered this for a long moment, then sighed deeply.

"I don't know where they're keeping her specifically," he admitted. "That information would be restricted to the highest levels. But..." He hesitated.

"But what?"

"But I do know things about the Guild that could help you. Things they wouldn't want revealed."

I leaned back in my chair, keeping my expression neutral despite my rising interest.

"I'm listening."

Bancroft licked his dry lips. "First, I want your word that you'll let me go once I've told you everything I know."

"You're in no position to make demands," I reminded him.

"I'm not making demands," he said quickly. "I'm offering a trade. Information for my life."

I considered him for a moment. "I'll make you a different deal. Tell me what you know. If the information proves valuable, I won't kill you. Your freedom will depend on how useful your information turns out to be."

It wasn't much of an offer, but it was all he was going to get. We both knew it.

Bancroft nodded slowly. "Fair enough."

"Start talking."

He took a deep breath. "The Veridia City Martial Guild isn't what most people think it is. The Elders that the public sees—people like me—we're just the facade. The real power lies with a group that's been around for... centuries."

"Go on," I prompted when he paused.

"They're old, Knight. Older than anyone suspects. Some of them have been in positions of power since before Veridia City was even built." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I've only caught glimpses of them during special councils. They keep to the shadows, issuing orders through intermediaries."

"Are you saying the Guild is run by immortals?"

He shook his head. "Not immortals. But long-lived. Very long-lived. Some of them might be Martial Saints, but they hide their power levels expertly."

This aligned with what I'd suspected but never been able to confirm. The Guild's influence ran too deep, stretched back too far in history to be the work of normal cultivators with normal lifespans.

"What do they want with Isabelle?"

"Her bloodline is unique," Bancroft said, echoing what Clarissa had told me. "It contains properties they've been searching for since the Guild's founding."

"What properties?"

"I don't know the details," he admitted. "That knowledge is restricted to the inner circle. But I overheard things... fragments of conversations. They believe her blood contains the key to breaking some kind of ancient seal."

My mind raced. A seal? What kind of seal would be important enough to kidnap someone as high-profile as Isabelle Ashworth?

"There's something else you should know," Bancroft continued, his voice dropping even lower. "They're afraid of you, Knight."

That caught me by surprise. "Afraid? The Guild doesn't fear anyone."

"They fear you," he insisted. "Or rather, they fear what you represent."

"Explain."

Bancroft leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow.

"Years ago—decades, maybe longer—there was a man who resembled you. Not just in appearance, but in his cultivation techniques, his fighting style. He... he slaughtered dozens of the Guild's Martial Saints in a single night. It was a massacre that the Guild has worked tirelessly to erase from history."

My heart pounded in my chest. Could he be talking about my father? The man who'd left me nothing but a jade pendant and a legacy of mysteries?

"What did this man look like?" I demanded, trying to keep my voice steady. "What happened to him in the end?"

Bancroft's eyes gleamed with the power he suddenly held—the power of information I desperately wanted.

"That," he said with a small smile, "would be worth my freedom, wouldn't it?"