Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Patrick Noble refilled his tea cup, his movements deliberate and precise. The silence stretched between us, heavy with unspoken calculations.

"Three times," he finally said, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You will refine pills for the Noble family three times over the next three years." His eyes locked with mine. "Additionally, you will serve as a guest elder in our alchemical division during that period."

My heart raced. This wasn't an outright rejection—it was a negotiation.

"That's a significant commitment," I replied carefully. "May I ask what I'd receive in return?"

Patrick's lips curved into the barest hint of a smile. "The Noble family will not interfere with your pursuit of the Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Celestial Grass."

I weighed his words, recognizing both what was being offered and what wasn't.

"Your family controls access to the herb," I pointed out. "Non-interference is valuable, but—"

"You misunderstand our position," Patrick cut in smoothly. "We control the event where it will be revealed, not the herb itself. We cannot simply hand it to you."

This was news. "Then who actually possesses it?"

"Currently? No one." Patrick sipped his tea. "It will be presented at the Island Gala three days from now. From there, it becomes a matter of... capability."

I understood the implication. The herb would go to whoever could take it.

"And my service to your family would ensure you don't actively prevent me from acquiring it?"

Patrick nodded once. "Precisely. We have many interests in this competition, Mr. Knight. Your skills as an alchemist are valuable enough that we're willing to remain neutral regarding your participation."

It wasn't the guaranteed access I'd hoped for, but it was better than having the Nobles as adversaries. Still, I needed more.

"I'd need resources," I pressed. "Specifically, men who can help me secure the herb when it appears."

Patrick's expression hardened. "You ask too much. The terms I've offered are already generous."

"I understand," I backpedaled quickly. "Perhaps a compromise? Information rather than direct assistance?"

The Noble patriarch considered this for a moment. "Limited information would be acceptable. But nothing that would disadvantage our other... arrangements."

I nodded, recognizing I wouldn't get a better offer. "Then we have an agreement."

Patrick extended his hand across the table. As we shook, I felt the weight of the commitment I'd just made. Three years of service was steep, but if it gave me a chance at the herb—and through it, a chance against Broderick—it was worth it.

"My son will provide you with the details for the Island Gala," Patrick said, rising to his feet. "I suggest you prepare thoroughly. You won't be the only one seeking this prize."

I stood as well, bowing respectfully. "Thank you for your consideration."

Patrick studied me for a moment longer. "You're an unusual young man, Liam Knight. I look forward to seeing if you live up to your reputation."

With that dismissal, I was escorted from the room by the same silent servant who had brought me in. Guy was waiting outside, curiosity evident in his expression.

"Well?" he prompted as we walked back through the mansion's opulent corridors.

"Your father has agreed not to interfere with my pursuit of the herb," I answered, keeping my tone neutral.

Guy's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Father rarely takes a neutral stance on anything of value."

"The agreement comes with conditions," I admitted. "Three years of service to your family as an alchemist."

Guy whistled softly. "That's quite the commitment. Father must see something special in you."

"Or in what I can produce for him," I countered.

Guy laughed. "Same difference to the Nobles."

As we reached the mansion's entrance, Guy handed me a small black card embossed with gold lettering.

"Your invitation to the Island Gala," he explained. "Don't lose it—security will be extremely tight."

I pocketed the card carefully. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Guy replied with a knowing smirk. "Half the cultivation world will be fighting for that herb. My father's neutrality won't save you from them."

I left the Noble estate with mixed feelings. I'd secured a commitment of non-interference, but at a heavy price. And I still had no real support for actually obtaining the herb.

Back at the villa, Clara and the Man with the Mustache were waiting anxiously for my return.

"So?" Clara demanded as soon as I walked through the door. "Did they agree to help?"

I shook my head. "Not exactly. They won't get in my way, but they won't assist either."

"That's... something, I suppose," the Man with the Mustache offered hesitantly.

I sank into a chair, suddenly feeling the weight of everything pressing down on me. "The herb will be presented at something called the Island Gala in three days. After that, it's open season."

"Open season?" Clara echoed.

"Whoever can take it, keeps it," I clarified. "And according to Guy Noble, we'll have plenty of competition."

The Man with the Mustache tugged nervously at his facial hair. "Perhaps the Umbral Covenant—"

"Will be no help," I cut him off firmly. "Their 'protection' is meaningless. They want the herb as much as anyone else."

The realization of just how precarious my position was hit me fully. The Nobles wouldn't interfere, but they wouldn't help either. The Covenant's offer of protection was a thinly veiled attempt to control me. And I had no allies powerful enough to make a difference in what was shaping up to be a free-for-all among cultivation elites.

I spent the rest of the day pacing the villa, my mind racing through potential strategies. By nightfall, my anxiety had only increased. I needed to scout my competition, understand what I was up against.

The next morning, I left the villa early and headed to the commercial district where visiting cultivators typically gathered. What I saw there sent a chill down my spine.

Martial artists from all the major cities were converging on Downton, many with cultivation levels far beyond my own. I recognized insignias from at least six major families, including several notorious for their ruthlessness.

But what truly alarmed me was spotting Ms. Hayward seated at an outdoor café, surrounded by eight powerfully built men whose auras radiated deadly intent.

I ducked behind a nearby stall, using a minor concealment technique to avoid detection while straining to hear their conversation.

"—confirmed the herb will be unveiled at the gala," one man was saying. "Security will be formidable, but nothing we can't handle."

Ms. Hayward nodded, her expression cool and calculating. "Master Broderick was explicit in his instructions. The herb is to be secured at any cost."

My blood ran cold. If Broderick got his hands on the herb, my chances of defeating him would plummet from slim to nonexistent.

I slipped away before I could be spotted, my mind racing with new urgency. This wasn't just about getting stronger anymore—it was about preventing my enemy from doing the same.

Throughout the day, I continued my reconnaissance, identifying more and more potential competitors. By evening, I'd counted at least thirty high-level cultivators who seemed focused on the upcoming event.

Back at the villa, I briefed Clara and the Man with the Mustache on what I'd discovered.

"We're outmatched," the Man with the Mustache said bluntly. "Even if we pooled our strengths, we don't stand a chance against this level of competition."

"We need allies," Clara insisted. "People who can help us navigate the gala and secure the herb when it appears."

She was right, but my options were limited. The Covenant was untrustworthy. The Nobles had made their position clear. And my connections in Downton City were virtually nonexistent.

That night, as Clara and the Man with the Mustache slept, I sat on the villa's balcony overlooking the water, contemplating my next move. The situation seemed increasingly hopeless.

I pulled out my communication device, scrolling through my contacts. There was one name I hadn't considered—Guy Noble. While his father had refused direct assistance, Guy himself had shown a certain interest in my situation.

It was a long shot, but at this point, I had few alternatives.

I sent him a brief message: "Need to discuss the gala. Any chance of meeting tomorrow?"

To my surprise, a response came almost immediately: "Intrigued. Meet me at the Sapphire Pavilion. Noon."

The next morning passed with agonizing slowness. By the time I reached the Sapphire Pavilion—an exclusive restaurant floating on a private lake—my nerves were strung tight.

Guy was already there, lounging at a table with a view of the water. His relaxed posture contrasted sharply with my tension.

"Knight," he greeted me with a lazy wave. "You look terrible."

"I haven't been sleeping well," I admitted, taking the seat across from him.

"Worried about the competition?" Guy's tone was casual, but his eyes were sharp.

"You could say that." I leaned forward. "I've identified over thirty high-level cultivators who seem intent on acquiring the herb. Including representatives from Master Broderick in Veridia City."

That caught Guy's attention. "Broderick? The one you've been feuding with?"

I nodded grimly. "If he gets the herb, it would be... problematic for me."

Guy tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the table. "And what exactly are you hoping I can do about this? Our agreement with you is clear—non-interference."

"I'm not asking you to break that agreement," I clarified. "But perhaps you could... enhance my understanding of the situation. The layout of the gala, security arrangements, potential points of advantage."

Guy studied me for a long moment. "Information is valuable, Knight. What are you offering in return?"

"An additional refinement session," I proposed. "Beyond the three already agreed upon."

A slow smile spread across Guy's face. "You're desperate."

"I prefer 'determined,'" I countered, though we both knew he was right.

Guy leaned back, seemingly enjoying my predicament. "I can't give you what you're asking for."

My heart sank. Another dead end.

"However," he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone, "I could invite you to attend the gala as part of my personal entourage. That would give you access to areas normally restricted to guests."

Hope flared within me. "And your father would allow this?"

Guy shrugged. "Our agreement was non-interference. This doesn't qualify—I'm simply inviting a business associate to an event."

It wasn't perfect, but it was something. "I accept."

"Excellent." Guy's smile turned predatory. "Be at the main harbor tomorrow evening at eight. Dress formally. And Knight? Do try not to embarrass me."

As I left the Sapphire Pavilion, my mind was already racing through potential scenarios. Being part of Guy's entourage would get me closer to the herb, but I'd still need a plan for actually securing it once it appeared.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice the man following me until he was nearly upon me. I ducked into a narrow alley, whirling to confront him.

"Easy," the man said, raising his hands. "I'm not here to fight."

I maintained my defensive stance. "Then what do you want?"

"Just to deliver a message." He reached slowly into his pocket and withdrew a small envelope. "From Ms. Hayward."

I took the envelope cautiously, keeping my eyes on the messenger. Inside was a single sheet of paper with a brief note: "We know what you're planning. Stand down, or face consequences."

I crumpled the note in my fist. "Tell Ms. Hayward that her threats don't concern me."

The messenger shrugged. "Your funeral," he said before slipping back into the crowded street.

The threat only reinforced my determination. I needed to be prepared for anything at the gala.

Back at the villa, I found Clara practicing her energy manipulation techniques in the garden.

"How did it go?" she asked, lowering her hands.

"I'll be attending the gala as part of Guy Noble's entourage," I explained. "It gives me access, but not much else."

Clara frowned. "What about us?"

"You'll need to stay here," I said firmly. "It's too dangerous."

"But—"

"No arguments," I cut her off. "This isn't a debate."

I spent the rest of the day and night finalizing my preparations. By morning, I had a rough plan: stay close to Guy until the herb was revealed, then use the ensuing chaos to make my move.

As evening approached, I dressed in the formal attire required for the gala. Standing before the mirror, I hardly recognized myself—the elegant clothes couldn't hide the tension in my shoulders or the determination in my eyes.

"You should take a cab," Clara suggested as I prepared to leave. "The harbor's too far to walk."

She was right. I summoned a water taxi, giving the driver instructions to take me to the main harbor.

As the cab pulled away from the villa's private dock, I noticed a sleek black boat moored across the canal. Through the gathering dusk, I could just make out several figures watching the villa. One of them was undoubtedly Ms. Hayward.

My suspicions were confirmed when the black boat began to follow my taxi at a discreet distance.

I pulled out my communication device and called Guy Noble.

"I may have a problem," I said without preamble. "Ms. Hayward's people are tailing me."

Guy's response was immediate. "Where are you now?"

"In a water taxi, heading toward the main harbor."

"Change of plans," Guy instructed. "Tell your driver to take you to the Island Gala directly. I'll arrange for your admission."

"And Ms. Hayward?"

"Let her follow," Guy said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "It should make for an interesting evening."

I relayed the new instructions to my driver, who seemed impressed by my apparent invitation to the exclusive event.

As we changed course, I glanced back to confirm the black boat was still following. It was—and now it was closing the distance.

Through the rear window, I could see Ms. Hayward clearly now, speaking urgently to one of her men. Her eyes met mine across the water, cold and calculating.

Her voice carried clearly over the water. "All of you, chase him down immediately!"

My taxi driver, sensing trouble, pushed the throttle forward. We shot ahead, water spraying in our wake as Ms. Hayward's men scrambled to pursue.

The race was on—and far more than just the herb was at stake.