Rise of The Abandoned Husband

The cry pierced through me like a blade of ice. Clara's terror was palpable, sending a chill down my spine as the darkness around her pulsed violently.

"Clara!" I shouted, pushing against the force field of energy surrounding her.

My golden light flared instinctively, clashing with the darkness as I fought to reach her. The air between us sizzled and crackled with opposing energies. For every step I took forward, the force pushed me back two. This wasn't just any breakthrough—this was something I'd never witnessed before.

A white gas began seeping from Clara's body, spreading across the ground around her. Everywhere it touched, plants withered and soil crumbled to dust. The destructive energy was consuming everything in its path.

"Dammit!" I channeled more power into my golden light, creating a barrier to hold back the decay.

Clara's small body floated upward, suspended in midair by the whirlwind of dark energy. Her eyes were closed, face contorted in pain. Above her, storm clouds gathered unnaturally fast, turning day into night.

This wasn't just a breakthrough to the next level. Clara was ascending straight to the Military Marquis Realm—a jump that should have been impossible for someone her age.

Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating the unnatural scene below. My heart raced as I recognized what was happening: heavenly tribulation. The universe itself was responding to her power, testing her worthiness to ascend.

"Clara! You need to control it!" I shouted, knowing my words probably couldn't reach her.

The white gas continued to spread despite my barrier, eating through my golden light like acid through paper. I poured more energy into reinforcing my defense, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with bare hands.

The first bolt of tribulation lightning struck down from the heavens with a deafening crack. I instinctively threw myself forward to protect Clara—only to freeze in shock as the lightning hit the white energy surrounding her and simply... disappeared. No explosion, no damage, just complete absorption.

What the hell is that white energy?

A second bolt came down, then a third—each more powerful than the last. The typical pattern of tribulation involved nine bolts of increasing intensity. Few cultivators survived all nine without serious injury. I'd barely managed it myself.

Yet the white energy around Clara absorbed each strike without faltering. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger with each bolt.

"Impossible," I whispered.

The fourth bolt came—thick as a tree trunk and blindingly bright. The ground beneath us shook with its impact. Again, the white energy swallowed it completely.

The fifth and sixth strikes came simultaneously, crossing in an X-pattern designed to break through any defense. It was a pattern I'd only read about in ancient texts—the universe was treating Clara's breakthrough as something extraordinary... or extraordinarily dangerous.

Still, the white energy held firm.

By the seventh strike, the forest around us was in chaos. Trees had been uprooted, the ground was scorched, and animals fled in terror. Yet Clara remained suspended in her cocoon of white energy, untouched and unmoved.

The eighth bolt was massive—a pillar of pure white destruction that split the sky. The impact was so powerful it knocked me off my feet despite being dozens of meters away. The sound was like the world breaking apart.

And still, Clara's shield held.

When the ninth and final bolt came down, I had to shield my eyes. It wasn't just one strike but dozens, merging into a continuous stream of heavenly judgment that lasted for nearly a minute—far longer than any tribulation I'd ever heard of.

When it finally ended, silence fell over the devastated clearing. The clouds above dispersed as suddenly as they had appeared, letting sunlight stream back down. Clara's body floated gently to the ground, the white energy gradually receding into her skin.

I approached cautiously, not sure what to expect. "Clara?"

Her eyes fluttered open. For a moment, they were completely black—no whites, no iris, just endless darkness. Then they shifted back to normal, though something in their depths seemed changed. Older. Colder.

"Liam?" she asked, her voice small. "What happened?"

I knelt beside her, checking for injuries. "You went through breakthrough. A big one."

"I feel... different." She sat up slowly, looking at her hands with a strange expression.

"You've advanced to the Military Marquis Realm," I explained, still in disbelief. "Your body is adjusting to the new power."

She nodded absently, as if this was of little consequence. The Clara I knew would have been bouncing with excitement at such news. This subdued reaction worried me more than the breakthrough itself.

"The coffin," she said suddenly, looking toward it. "Is it okay?"

I turned to examine the ancient artifact. The once-vibrant symbols were now completely dark, its surface dull and lifeless. "You drained it," I said. "All its energy is gone."

Clara frowned slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

"It's not your fault." I helped her to her feet. "Let's get you back to the villa. You need rest."

As we walked, I couldn't help noticing how different her movements were—more deliberate, more graceful. The childlike bounce in her step was gone, replaced by something that reminded me too much of the masked woman's ethereal presence.

Over the next few days, I kept Clara close, watching for any further changes. She was quieter, less prone to outbursts of childish excitement. When she smiled, it didn't quite reach her eyes. Sometimes I'd catch her staring into the distance, as if listening to something only she could hear.

Meanwhile, I focused on solidifying my connection to the mystic realm entrance by the spring. Without the Man with the Mustache's expertise, I couldn't fully open it, but I could prepare the groundwork—strengthening the natural energy flows and marking the key meridian points that would need activation.

On the fifth day after Clara's breakthrough, Frederick Cohen found me in my study.

"Master Knight," he said with a respectful bow, "the Man with the Mustache has returned with the materials you requested."

I set down the ancient text I'd been studying. "Perfect timing. Have him bring everything to the main hall. We'll depart for the Immortal Bane Sect tomorrow."

Frederick hesitated. "There's something else, sir. He seems... agitated. Asked specifically to speak with you alone."

That was unusual. For all his quirks, the Man with the Mustache rarely requested private conversations. "Where is he now?"

"In the east garden pavilion, sir."

I found him pacing nervously, his ridiculous mustache twitching with every turn. When he saw me, he stopped abruptly.

"Ah, there you are!" he exclaimed. "About time! I've been waiting for ages!"

"You've only just arrived," I said dryly. "Frederick said you wanted to speak privately."

He glanced around suspiciously before leaning in. "Is it true? The girl had a breakthrough to Military Marquis?"

News traveled fast. "Yes."

His face paled. "And? Did anything... unusual happen?"

I considered how much to reveal. The Man with the Mustache was a valuable ally, but his primary loyalty was to himself. Still, he knew more about ancient artifacts than anyone else in my circle.

"There was white energy," I admitted. "It absorbed her tribulation lightning completely."

He cursed under his breath, tugging at his mustache. "This is bad. Very bad. Do you have any idea what that white energy is?"

"You tell me."

"It's death qi," he said flatly. "The purest form. Not the regular kind that necromancers use—this is primordial death energy. The kind that existed before life itself."

My blood ran cold. "Are you certain?"

"As certain as I am of my own magnificent facial hair!" He paced again. "And it protected her during tribulation? Absorbed it completely?"

I nodded.

"Then it's worse than I thought." He stopped and faced me directly. "The mask, the coffin, the energy—they're all connected to something ancient. Something that predates the current cultivation world."

"The masked woman," I said.

"Yes, yes!" He waved his hands frantically. "But not just any masked woman! We're talking about the Death Empress herself!"

I frowned. "I've never heard that name."

"Of course not! It's been struck from most historical records." He lowered his voice dramatically. "Legend says she was so powerful, so terrifying, that after her death, the world's strongest cultivators agreed to erase her from history rather than risk someone trying to follow her path."

I thought of Clara's changed demeanor. "And you think Clara is somehow connected to this Death Empress?"

The Man with the Mustache gave me a pitying look. "Not connected, my naive friend. She's her vessel. The perfect dark energy body, slowly awakening to her true nature."

"That's speculation," I argued, though dread pooled in my stomach.

"Is it?" He raised an eyebrow. "The mask recognized her. The coffin emptied itself into her. She survived tribulation that would have killed most Martial Saints. What more proof do you need?"

I had no answer for that.

He stepped closer, voice dropping even lower. "And now you want to take her to the Immortal Bane Sect? The very place where the Death Empress was rumored to have hidden her most powerful artifacts? Where her memories might be stored?"

That gave me pause. "How do you know that's where we're going?"

He snorted. "Please. It's obvious. The materials I collected are for an ancient transportation array that leads directly to the sect's hidden entrance."

Sometimes I forgot how perceptive he could be beneath his eccentric exterior.

"So what are you suggesting?" I asked. "That we abandon our search for Isabelle?"

"No, no!" He shook his head vigorously. "I'm suggesting you leave the girl behind. She's dangerous, Liam. More dangerous than you realize."

I thought of Clara's innocent face, her determination to help me. "I can't do that."

"Then you're a fool." His expression hardened. "If Clara Vance really finds the masked woman's memories, have you thought about what you'll do?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. What would I do if Clara fully transformed into the Death Empress? What could I do against a power so ancient and terrible that history itself had tried to forget her?

I had no answer. And that terrified me more than anything else.