Rise of The Abandoned Husband

I watched Darian Bancroft trembling in his cage, sweat glistening on his forehead as terrified eyes darted around the library. The crowd kept their distance, phones raised to capture every moment of this public spectacle. Perfect. Let the world see the truth.

"You've been lying to me, Darian," I said, my voice carrying through the hushed hall. "There's more you haven't told me about the Guild."

His face contorted with panic. "No! I told you everything I—"

The library doors burst open. A group of men in expensive suits stormed in, led by two familiar figures—Corbin Ashworth and Bryce Blackthorne.

"Knight!" Corbin bellowed, his face flushed with rage. "What do you think you're doing?"

I turned to face them calmly. "Perfect timing, gentlemen. You're just in time for the show."

Bryce stepped forward, his jaw clenched. "Release Bancroft immediately. This has gone too far."

"Too far?" I laughed, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged room. "We haven't even begun to see how far this goes."

More people flooded in behind them—Guild officials, security personnel, even some reporters. Word had spread fast, exactly as I'd planned.

I turned back to Bancroft's cage. "Tell them, Darian. Tell them what you know about Isabelle."

His eyes widened. "I can't... they'll kill me!"

"And you think I won't?" I reached through the bars, grabbing his collar. "The difference is how much you'll suffer first."

"Knight, stop this madness!" Corbin shouted, taking another step forward.

I ignored him, focusing on Bancroft. "Last chance. Tell everyone what you know about the Guild's operations or die right now."

Something broke in Darian's eyes—that moment when terror overcomes even self-preservation. He looked at the growing crowd, then at the cameras pointed at him.

"They're all corrupt!" he suddenly screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. "The entire Veridia City Martial Guild is run by eight senior officials who control everything from the shadows!"

A shocked murmur rippled through the crowd.

"What did you say?" Corbin demanded, his face paling.

Bancroft turned to the cameras, desperate now that he'd started. "They hoard cultivation resources that should be distributed to the public! They've been lying for decades! The Heavenly Pavilion, the Celestial Apothecary Guild—they're all being deceived!"

I stepped back, letting him continue his confession. This was better than I'd expected.

"The Guild Leader of Pyro doesn't even know!" Bancroft ranted, spittle flying from his mouth. "They report to him selectively, manipulating him like a puppet!"

Someone in the crowd gasped. "Is he serious?"

"Bancroft, silence!" Bryce roared, but it was too late.

"They've been executing innocent people and replacing them with body doubles!" Bancroft continued, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Criminal masterminds reported dead years ago are still alive, working for the Guild's inner circle!"

The crowd was completely silent now, hanging on his every word. Even Corbin and Bryce seemed stunned into silence.

"Like who?" I pressed, wanting names on public record.

"Like Bert Mercer!" Bancroft blurted out. "The Guild publicly executed him fifteen years ago for mass murder, but he's alive! He's one of them!"

"That's quite enough," a cold voice cut through the silence.

A tall, lean man with silver-streaked hair pushed through the crowd. His face was unremarkable, almost forgettable—except for his eyes. They were like chips of ice, devoid of any warmth or humanity.

Bancroft's face drained of all color. "No... no, no, no!"

"Hello, Darian," the man said, his thin lips curving into what might generously be called a smile. "You've been talking too much."

"Bert Mercer!" Bancroft screamed, pressing himself against the back of his cage. "It's him! It's really him! The Guild said they executed him, but he's right there!"

The crowd erupted in confused murmurs, phones still recording everything.

"Is that really Bert Mercer?"

"The serial killer who murdered thirty-seven people?"

"The Guild said he was executed years ago!"

I kept my expression neutral, but inside, I was calculating rapidly. This wasn't just some Guild enforcer—this was apparently a notorious criminal who was supposed to be dead.

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear," Mercer said to the crowd, his voice unnervingly pleasant. "Especially from a desperate man in a cage."

"But you are Bert Mercer," I stated, not a question.

His eyes flicked to me, assessing. "And you're Liam Knight, the troublemaker everyone's talking about." He gave a small bow. "I must thank you for drawing out Bancroft. We've been looking for him."

"No! Please!" Bancroft wailed, clutching the bars of his cage. "I didn't tell him anything important! I swear!"

Mercer sighed. "Unfortunately, you just did. In front of cameras, no less."

"You can't kill everyone here," I said, watching him carefully.

"Can't I?" He glanced around the room. "I count perhaps a hundred witnesses. Hardly insurmountable."

Corbin stepped forward. "I don't know who you are, but this is—"

"You know exactly who I am, Corbin Ashworth," Mercer cut him off. "Your family has been paying the Guild protection money for generations. Did you think that money went into the official coffers?"

Corbin's face flushed dark red. "How dare you—"

"Spare me," Mercer waved dismissively. Then he turned back to Bancroft. "You've become a liability, Darian."

Before anyone could react, Mercer flicked his wrist. A tiny silver projectile shot across the room, piercing Bancroft's eyebrow with surgical precision.

Bancroft didn't scream. He didn't even fall. He just froze, his eyes going blank as blood trickled down his face.

"Divine sense destruction," I muttered, recognizing the technique. Bancroft wasn't dead, but his mind was effectively destroyed. He'd live out his days as an empty shell.

The crowd panicked, people rushing toward the exits.

"I wouldn't," Mercer said mildly, and the doors slammed shut with an invisible force. "We're not finished here."

I stepped between him and the crowd. "Your secret's out, Mercer. Everyone here has seen your face, heard Bancroft's confession. The recordings are probably already spreading across the city."

"A minor inconvenience," he replied. "Dead phones tell no tales. Dead witnesses even less so."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. I could feel his power now—easily at the Martial Saint level, maybe higher. This was going to be difficult.

"You're really going to murder everyone here?" I asked, buying time to formulate a plan.

"Not murder," he corrected, as if offended. "Cleaning up a mess. The Guild has maintained order for centuries through necessary measures like this."

"By lying? By monopolizing resources?" I challenged.

"By controlling the narrative," Mercer responded. "Imagine if everyone knew the truth about cultivation, about the limited resources available. There would be chaos, war. We maintain the necessary illusions for the greater good."

"For your benefit, you mean."

He shrugged. "A fair compensation for our service."

Behind me, I heard someone sobbing. A young woman clutched her phone, whispering prayers. Others were frantically trying to call for help, but I noticed their devices weren't working. Mercer must have activated some kind of interference field.

"Let them go," I said. "Your quarrel is with me."

"My quarrel is with anyone who threatens Guild stability," he corrected. "Today, that's everyone in this room."

He glanced at Corbin and Bryce. "Even you two. I'm afraid you've seen too much."

Their faces paled as they realized their status wouldn't protect them.

"You can't possibly think you'll get away with this," Bryce sputtered. "People will notice if we all disappear."

"People notice what we allow them to notice," Mercer replied. "Tomorrow's news will report a tragic fire at the Taoism Theory Library. No survivors. Very sad."

I clenched my fists, golden energy beginning to pulse around them. "I won't let that happen."

Mercer finally gave me his full attention, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Ah yes, the famous Liam Knight. I've heard you're quite talented." He flexed his fingers casually. "But killing you would be as simple as lifting a finger."

"Try it," I growled.

His smile widened, revealing teeth too white, too perfect. "With pleasure. But first—"

With a casual gesture, he sent a wave of energy across the room. Three people near the back wall collapsed, blood trickling from their ears and noses.

"Just a demonstration," he said pleasantly. "No one escapes today."

The crowd shrank back in terror as Mercer took a step toward me, his power building visibly around him—a dark, oily aura that seemed to devour the light.

"Now then," he said, "shall we begin?"