Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Three days after my meeting with Rex Osborne, Clarissa Johnson arrived at my doorstep in Gyeon City. Her presence was as unwelcome as it was expected.

"Knight," she said with a cold nod. No warm greeting, no pretense of friendliness.

I kept my expression neutral. "Clarissa. I assume you have news from the Covenant."

She reached into her robes and produced a small wooden box carved with intricate runes. "The Spirit Fusion Root you requested," she stated, holding it out to me. "Ten thousand years old, as specified."

I took the box cautiously, studying her face for signs of deception. Finding none, I carefully opened the lid.

The root inside pulsed with an ancient power that made my fingertips tingle. Its surface was crystalline, almost translucent, with veins of golden energy running through its core. Even from this brief inspection, I could tell it was genuine.

"I'm surprised," I admitted, closing the box. "I didn't expect the Covenant to actually deliver."

Clarissa's lips thinned into something resembling a smile. "The Umbral Covenant honors its commitments, Knight. Unlike some, we understand the value of building trust."

I almost laughed at the irony. The woman who had tried to kill me last month was now lecturing me about trust.

"And what comes next?" I asked, securing the box within my spatial ring.

"I've been assigned as your liaison," she replied. "I'll accompany you until we locate the Guild's Mystic Realm entrance. Then our specialists will handle the extraction."

"You'll accompany me?" I repeated, making no effort to hide my displeasure.

"Those are my orders," she stated flatly. "Consider me your shadow for the foreseeable future."

A strange sensation brushed against my consciousness—subtle, barely perceptible. If not for my heightened spiritual sense, I might have missed it entirely. Someone was attempting to probe my mind.

I maintained my outward composure while inwardly tightening my mental defenses. "Fine. We leave tomorrow at dawn. I have leads to follow in the southern district."

Clarissa nodded. "I'll be ready."

After she left, I stood motionless for several minutes, extending my senses outward. The strange sensation persisted, like invisible fingers trying to slip past my mental barriers. Not Clarissa's doing—this came from somewhere else, someone more powerful.

I moved to the window, scanning the streets below. Nothing seemed out of place, yet I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, assessed.

It was time to flush out the rat.

I left my lodgings, making a show of heading toward the market district. The sensation followed me, growing slightly stronger. I weaved through crowded streets and narrow alleys, occasionally doubling back or taking unexpected turns.

Finally, near an abandoned textile warehouse, I caught a glimpse of movement—a figure ducking into a shadowed doorway. Male, average height, wearing nondescript gray robes.

I continued walking as if I hadn't noticed, then abruptly vanished using the Shadow Step technique I'd mastered months ago. Reappearing behind the warehouse, I waited silently.

Minutes later, my patience was rewarded when the man in gray robes emerged, looking confused. His face was unremarkable except for the nervous darting of his eyes.

"Looking for someone?" I asked, stepping out of the shadows.

He startled violently, nearly tripping over his own feet. "I—I was just—"

"Save it," I interrupted. "You've been following me for at least an hour. Who are you?"

"Gene Mercer," he blurted out, then immediately looked like he regretted giving his real name. "I mean—"

"Gene Mercer," I repeated, committing the name to memory. "And why is Gene Mercer tailing me through Gyeon City?"

His eyes shifted frantically. "You're mistaken. I was simply heading home."

I took a step toward him. "And the mental probe? Was that also a misunderstanding?"

His face paled. "I don't know what—"

"One more lie, and our conversation takes a very different turn," I warned, allowing a flicker of golden energy to dance across my fingertips.

Gene swallowed hard. "Please, sir. I'm just following orders."

"Whose orders?"

Instead of answering, he turned and bolted down the alley.

I could have caught him easily, but curiosity got the better of me. Where would a frightened rat run to hide?

I followed at a distance, keeping him just within my sight. He led me through a maze of streets to the wealthy northern district, eventually stopping before a large villa surrounded by high walls.

After ensuring he'd entered, I scaled a nearby building to observe. The Mercer villa was impressive—three stories of polished stone and ornate architecture, with a small private garden visible from my vantage point.

As dusk fell, lights came on inside. Through an upper window, I could see Gene pacing anxiously, occasionally glancing outside as if expecting pursuit.

I settled in to wait, extending my spiritual sense toward the building. Two figures were in heated conversation—Gene and an older man whose spiritual energy felt disturbingly similar to the mental probe I'd detected earlier.

Using a technique that amplified sound, I focused on their voices.

"—completely botched it!" the older man was saying. "He sensed you immediately!"

"I'm sorry, Father," Gene replied. "I tried to be subtle, but his mental defenses—"

"Are irrelevant!" the man snapped. "The technique should have worked regardless. You simply lack the skill to execute it properly!"

Gene's voice took on a defensive edge. "Maybe if you taught me the complete version instead of the watered-down—"

"Silence!" The older man's spiritual pressure flared. "The Mind Theft Art is the Mercer family's most guarded secret. No one receives the full technique until they've proven themselves worthy."

Mind Theft Art? My interest sharpened.

"But Father," Gene persisted, "how am I supposed to prove myself if I don't have the proper tools? Knight is too powerful for the basic version to work."

The older man laughed coldly. "Which is precisely why his fortune should be mine to claim, not yours."

"We agreed to share the spoils," Gene protested. "Once we drain his luck essence—"

"Luck essence?" the older man scoffed. "You still don't understand what we're truly after. Liam Knight carries a great fortune within him, but it's not what you imagine."

I'd heard enough. Sliding down from my perch, I approached the villa's main gate. The guards posted there straightened as I drew near.

"State your business," one demanded.

I smiled thinly. "I'm here to see Gene Mercer. Tell him Liam Knight is calling."

The guards exchanged uncertain glances before one departed to deliver the message.

Minutes later, Gene himself appeared at the gate, his face ashen. "Mr. Knight! What an unexpected surprise."

"Is it?" I asked coldly. "I thought you'd be expecting me after our little game of cat and mouse earlier."

Gene's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "There seems to be a misunderstanding. Perhaps we could discuss this privately?"

"My thoughts exactly."

He hesitated, then reluctantly signaled the guards to let me pass.

The interior of the villa was as opulent as its exterior suggested—marble floors, silk tapestries, priceless artifacts displayed in glass cases. Gene led me to a study where the embers of a dying fire cast long shadows across the room.

"My father isn't home at the moment," he lied smoothly. "But I'd be happy to—"

"Your father is upstairs," I interrupted. "And I'd like to speak with both of you about this 'Mind Theft Art' and the 'great fortune' you plan to steal from me."

Gene's face drained of all color. "How did you—"

"I have many talents," I said, stepping closer. "Including excellent hearing."

His hand moved toward a concealed pocket in his robes. I caught his wrist before he could complete the motion, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.

"That would be a mistake," I warned.

"Let go of me!" he hissed, abandoning his pretense of hospitality. "Do you know who we are? The Mercer family has connections throughout Gyeon City!"

"I don't care if you're connected to the Emperor himself," I replied. "You targeted me. Now you'll explain why."

Gene's eyes darted to something behind me. Before I could turn, a blast of energy struck my back, sending me stumbling forward.

"Well done, son," came an older voice. "You distracted him perfectly."

I regained my balance and turned to face a tall, thin man with silver-streaked hair and calculating eyes. Tristan Mercer, I presumed.

"Your technique needs work," I remarked, rolling my shoulders. "That barely tickled."

Tristan's eyes narrowed. "Interesting. Most men would be unconscious after taking a direct hit from my Phantom Strike."

"I'm not most men."

"No," he agreed, studying me with renewed interest. "You're not. Which makes you all the more valuable to us."

I'd faced enough enemies to recognize the look in his eyes—the cold assessment of a predator deciding how best to take down its prey.

"You mentioned a 'great fortune' I supposedly carry," I said. "Care to elaborate?"

Tristan smiled thinly. "Why would I explain something I intend to take?"

Gene moved to his father's side, gaining confidence from the older man's presence. "You should have just let me follow you, Knight. We could have done this painlessly while you slept."

"And what exactly is 'this'?" I demanded.

"The extraction," Tristan replied, as if it should be obvious. "The Mind Theft Art allows us to steal more than just thoughts. With the advanced technique, we can extract essence—spiritual energy, cultivation foundations, even innate talents."

I felt a cold fury building within me. "You planned to strip me of my abilities."

"Not all of them," Gene said, almost apologetically. "Just the most valuable ones. You'd still be functional afterward. Mostly."

"And you think I'll just stand here and let you do this?"

Tristan laughed. "Of course not. That's why I've been preparing a special containment formation while we chat."

I felt it then—the subtle energy web forming around me, drawing power from hidden formation flags throughout the room.

"Your reputation precedes you, Knight," Tristan continued. "I knew direct confrontation would be foolish. But trapped within my Soulbinding Formation, even you will be helpless."

The energy web tightened, threads of spiritual force attempting to immobilize me. It was an impressive technique—for someone who didn't possess my level of cultivation.

With a surge of power, I shattered the formation. Golden light erupted from my body, disintegrating the spiritual threads and scorching the expensive carpet beneath my feet.

Gene stumbled backward in shock. "Father! The formation—"

"Impossible!" Tristan hissed. "No one has broken my Soulbinding Formation in thirty years!"

I took a step toward them. "First time for everything."

Gene reached into his robes and pulled out a gleaming dagger. "Stay back!" he warned, voice trembling.

"Or what?" I asked, continuing my advance.

"Or I'll kill you!" he threatened, waving the blade wildly. "I swear I will!"

I moved faster than his eyes could track, appearing directly before him. His dagger thrust forward desperately, but I easily sidestepped the clumsy attack.

"You targeted the wrong person," I said quietly, seizing his throat with one hand.

Gene's eyes bulged as he struggled for air. "Please—"

Tristan lunged forward. "Release him!"

I tightened my grip on Gene's throat. "Tell me everything about this 'fortune' you believe I possess, or your son dies now."

"You wouldn't," Tristan challenged, though uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

I met his gaze steadily. "I've killed for less."

Gene clawed at my hand, his face turning purple. "Father... please..."

Conflict played across Tristan's features. "Fine! Release him, and I'll tell you what you want to know."

I loosened my grip slightly, allowing Gene to gasp for air. "Start talking."

"You carry the Fate Absorption Physique," Tristan said reluctantly. "An extremely rare constitution that naturally accumulates fortune over time."

"Fortune?" I repeated.

"Luck, if you prefer a simpler term," he explained. "But it's more than that. It's destiny itself, bending in your favor. Haven't you noticed how opportunities seem to find you? How you survive situations that should have killed you?"

I thought of the countless battles I'd barely survived, the timely arrivals of allies, the crucial discoveries made at just the right moment.

"Your body naturally absorbs and stores this fortune energy," Tristan continued. "For someone like me, who has spent decades perfecting the Mind Theft Art, you're a walking treasure trove."

Gene had recovered enough to speak. "We've been tracking you for months," he admitted. "Waiting for the perfect moment."

His admission rekindled my anger. While I'd been desperately searching for a way to save Isabelle, these parasites had been plotting to steal from me.

"You've made a fatal error," I told him coldly.

Before either Mercer could react, I snapped Gene's neck with a quick twist. His body crumpled to the floor, eyes still wide with shock.

"No!" Tristan roared, his face contorting with rage and grief. "You'll pay for that!"

He backed away rapidly, hands forming complex patterns as he gathered spiritual energy. "You think you've won? You've only revealed your true nature—the ruthless killer hiding behind a veneer of righteousness!"

"I never claimed to be righteous," I replied calmly. "Just determined."

Tristan's retreat led him to a seemingly solid wall. With a wave of his hand and a burst of spiritual energy, a hidden door slid open. "This isn't over, Knight! I'll take what's mine yet!"

He darted through the opening, the door sliding shut behind him.

I approached the hidden entrance, recalling the strange sensation I'd felt earlier. It had been Tristan's doing all along—a probing technique to assess my fortune before attempting to steal it.

"Tristan," I called through the door. "Open this and face me."

His laughter echoed from within. "Not a chance. This chamber is my ultimate sanctuary—the walls infused with spiritual-blocking materials, the door reinforced with formation arrays that would take even a Military General days to breach. You can't reach me here."

"Can't I?" I placed my palm against the door, feeling the intricate formations woven through its structure.

"Go ahead," Tristan taunted. "Try your best. It will only drain your energy."

I closed my eyes, gathering my power. Golden light suffused my arm, concentrating in my fist.

"When you leave this room," Tristan continued, "my allies will know what you've done. The Mercer family will hunt you across the continent. Your precious Isabelle will never—"

I struck the door with everything I had. Golden light exploded outward, shattering the supposedly impenetrable barrier into countless fragments. The formation arrays collapsed, their energy dissipating in a shower of sparks.

As the dust settled, I stepped through the ruined doorway into Tristan's sanctuary.

And there I froze, utterly stunned by what I saw.

The chamber was circular, its walls covered in thousands of names written in glowing script. At the center stood Tristan, beside a stone altar where a familiar figure lay unconscious.

It was Isabelle.