Rise of The Abandoned Husband

My vision blurred with rage as Ms. Hayward walked away. The image of Isabelle strapped to that table, tubes draining her life away, burned into my mind like acid. Blood rushed in my ears, drowning out everything else.

"You think this is over?" I called after her, my voice carrying across the courtyard.

Ms. Hayward paused, then turned slowly, one eyebrow raised. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." I took a step forward, no longer caring about consequences. "You parade her suffering like some sick trophy and expect me to just accept it?"

Students who had been dispersing stopped to watch. Whispers rippled through the crowd.

"Mr. Knight, your emotional outbursts are becoming tiresome." She gestured dismissively. "What did you expect? That we would coddle the girl? Extract her blood with gentle caresses? Don't be naive."

Something snapped inside me. A dam breaking, flooding my system with pure, unfiltered rage. I felt a sharp pain in my chest as my lungs constricted.

"You sadistic witch," I snarled, a metallic taste filling my mouth. "You didn't need to torture her. This isn't about necessity—it's about your twisted enjoyment of others' pain."

Ms. Hayward's eyes narrowed. "Mind your tongue, boy. You're still alive only because I allow it."

The pressure in my chest built until I couldn't contain it anymore. I doubled over, coughing violently. Blood sprayed from my mouth, splattering the stone courtyard. The mark on my forehead burned like fire.

"Look at you," Ms. Hayward laughed coldly. "So weak you can't even control your own body. And you think you can save her?"

That's when I felt it—the familiar surge of Golden Light rising within me. Not the controlled flow I'd been practicing, but a wild, angry current responding to my rage. I didn't fight it. I welcomed it.

"You want to see what I can do?" I straightened, blood still dripping from my chin.

Golden light erupted from my body in waves, illuminating the courtyard like a second sun. Students backed away, shielding their eyes. The light concentrated in my hand, forming a spear of pure energy.

With a roar, I hurled it—not at Ms. Hayward directly, but at the formation apparatus behind her that had projected Isabelle's torture. The golden spear tore through the air, its brightness blinding.

Broderick moved faster than I thought possible, leaping in front of the formation. He raised his hands, summoning a shield of dark energy that intercepted my attack. The collision sent a shockwave across the courtyard, knocking several students off their feet.

When the light faded, Broderick stood there, breathing heavily. His shield was cracked, parts of it disintegrating into the air. His eyes met mine, and I saw something I never expected—fear.

"Impressive," Ms. Hayward said, though her voice had lost some of its smugness. "Broderick, are you injured?"

"No, Master," he replied, not taking his eyes off me. "The shield held."

But I could see it hadn't fully held. His right sleeve was singed, revealing burned skin beneath.

"You felt that, didn't you?" I took another step forward. The golden light continued to swirl around me, responding to my will. "That was just a taste."

For the first time, I noticed hesitation in Broderick's posture. He took a half-step back, his nostrils flaring.

"What's wrong, Broderick?" I pushed, sensing weakness. "You smell something that worries you?"

His eyes widened slightly. I knew then that he could sense the Divine Dragon power within me, could smell its ancient threat. It was instinctual—a predator recognizing a more dangerous predator.

"Master," Broderick said quietly to Ms. Hayward. "There's something... different about him."

Ms. Hayward's gaze sharpened, studying me more carefully. "What do you mean?"

Before Broderick could answer, I channeled more of the Golden Light, focusing it into the Dragon Mark on my arm. It glowed through my sleeve, the outline of a coiling dragon visible to all.

"Your dog recognizes what I am," I said, my voice steady despite the blood still wet on my lips. "His instincts are better than yours."

The courtyard had fallen completely silent. Even Ms. Hayward seemed momentarily at a loss for words.

"You think you know what power is," I continued. "You think draining an innocent woman's blood gives you strength? Real power comes from within. And mine is just waking up."

Ms. Hayward recovered quickly, her face hardening. "Parlor tricks and light shows don't impress me, Mr. Knight. Whatever power you think you possess, it's nothing compared to centuries of cultivation."

"Then prove it," I challenged. "Fight me yourself instead of hiding behind your pet monster."

Her eyes flashed with anger. "You dare—"

"I dare," I cut her off. "Or are you afraid to test your centuries against my... what did you call them? Parlor tricks?"

Broderick stepped forward, positioning himself between us. "Master, allow me to handle this insolent—"

"No." I interrupted, my gaze fixed on Ms. Hayward. "I'm challenging her, not you. Unless she's too afraid to face me directly."

The mark on my forehead pulsed painfully, but I refused to show it. Ms. Hayward was clearly trying to punish me through it, but my rage had created a barrier between me and the pain.

"You wish to die so eagerly?" Ms. Hayward finally responded. "Very well. I propose a formal duel."

Murmurs rippled through the watching crowd.

"One month from today," she continued. "That should give you enough time to... prepare." The way she said it made it clear she thought no amount of preparation would help me.

"A month?" I shook my head. "Isabelle doesn't have a month."

"The extraction process will keep her alive for at least that long," Ms. Hayward said coldly. "And those are my terms. Take them or continue your futile protests."

I knew she was manipulating me, pushing me into a corner. But I also knew this might be my only chance.

"Fine," I agreed. "One month. But I have terms of my own."

"Oh?" Her lips curled in amusement. "And what could you possibly offer that would interest me?"

"If I win," I said, my voice carrying across the courtyard, "you will grant Isabelle access to a bloodline awakening in the Mystic Realm."

The crowd gasped. Ms. Hayward's eyes widened fractionally.

"You dare demand access to the guild's most guarded secret?" she hissed.

"I do." I stood my ground. "Her blood is powerful enough for you to use in your rituals. Imagine what she could become if that power was awakened properly, rather than stolen."

Ms. Hayward's eyes narrowed to slits. "And what do I get when you lose?"

"If I lose..." I paused, knowing what I was about to say would change everything. "My life is yours. My body, my blood, my cultivation—all at your disposal."

Another wave of whispers swept through the onlookers. Ms. Hayward studied me, calculating.

Broderick leaned in, whispering something in her ear. She listened, then smiled coldly.

"My assistant believes he can defeat you easily," she said. "He requests the honor of being your opponent instead of me."

"Master," Broderick bowed slightly. "I've analyzed his technique. The light energy, while unusual, has clear weaknesses. I can counter it effectively."

I saw the fear he'd shown earlier had been replaced by confidence—perhaps bolstered by Ms. Hayward's presence or the promise of the blood ritual to come. Either way, his arrogance would work in my favor.

"If your servant wishes to fight in your place, I accept," I said. "The terms remain the same."

Ms. Hayward nodded slowly. "Very well. One month from today, you will face Broderick in formal combat. If, by some miracle, you prevail, I will grant your Isabelle access to the bloodline awakening ritual. If you lose, which you will, your life and cultivation are forfeit."

"Wait!" A familiar voice called out. The Man with the Mustache pushed through the crowd, waving his arms frantically. "Wait, wait, wait!"

He hurried to the center of the courtyard, looking between Ms. Hayward and me with wide, nervous eyes.

"This is madness," he said, tugging at his mustache anxiously. "Liam, do you know what you're agreeing to?"

"I know exactly what I'm doing," I replied, not taking my eyes off Ms. Hayward.

"But this—this is too important to leave to chance or honor!" The Man with the Mustache fumbled in his robes, producing an ancient-looking book bound in what appeared to be human skin. "If you're both serious about these terms, they should be properly bound."

Ms. Hayward's eyes locked on the book. "Is that..."

"A heavenly guardian book," the Man with the Mustache confirmed. "For contracts that cannot—must not—be broken."

Even Ms. Hayward looked taken aback. "Where did you get such a thing? Those are incredibly rare."

The Man with the Mustache smiled nervously. "Let's just say I've been collecting interesting artifacts for longer than you might think."

He opened the book carefully, revealing blank pages that seemed to shift and move, as if alive.

"This contract will bind both parties to their word," he explained. "Breaking it means more than dishonor—it means Satan himself will claim the defaulter's soul. There can be no backing out, no clever loopholes, no deception."

I looked at the book, then at Ms. Hayward's face. For the first time, I saw uncertainty in her eyes.

"Unless," the Man with the Mustache added with an exaggerated shrug, "either of you isn't completely confident in your position?"

Ms. Hayward's jaw tightened. "I have no need for such measures. My word is sufficient."

"Then you won't mind making it official," I challenged. "Unless you're planning to renege when I win."

Her nostrils flared with anger. "Very well. Let it be bound."

The Man with the Mustache nodded gravely, placing the book on a nearby stone bench. "Both of you, approach and state your terms clearly. The book will record your words and bind your souls to them."

I stepped forward, feeling the weight of what I was about to do. This wasn't just a duel anymore—it was a gamble with my very soul.

As my eyes met Ms. Hayward's across the open book, I saw something flicker in her gaze. Not fear, exactly. Something else. Something almost like... recognition.