Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Guy's words echoed in my head as we made our way to his father's residence. The Noble family was far more powerful than I'd initially thought, and their wounded pride might just be the key to saving Isabelle.

We arrived at an impressive mansion on the outskirts of Downton City. Unlike the ostentatious displays of wealth common among the nouveau riche, this estate spoke of old money and established power—understated yet unmistakably grand.

"Father is waiting in his study," Guy said as we walked through the marble entrance hall. Servants bowed respectfully as we passed.

Pat Noble's study was a massive room lined with ancient books and modern tech displays in equal measure. The man himself sat behind a massive desk of dark wood, his silver hair immaculately styled despite the late hour. His eyes—sharp and calculating—fixed on me the moment I entered.

"So, this is the famous Liam Knight," he said, his voice deep and authoritative. He didn't stand or offer his hand. "The alchemist who's causing such a stir."

I met his gaze evenly. "Mr. Noble."

"Tell me what happened," he commanded, looking at his son.

Guy stepped forward, his voice tight with controlled anger. "Hayward's people killed Jensen, Father. Right in our club. And when confronted, she dismissed our family as provincial nobodies. Called us a footnote in the grand scheme."

I watched Pat Noble's face carefully. Unlike his son, whose anger had been immediate and visible, the elder Noble's rage was cold and calculating. Only the slight tightening around his eyes betrayed his fury.

"She said this to your face?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," Guy confirmed. "She called Downton a backwater city and laughed at our family's position."

Pat Noble sat back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. "And you, Mr. Knight—what is your stake in this?"

"I need the Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Celestial Grass to save someone I care about," I said simply. "Ms. Hayward works for a man who poisoned her."

"Broderick," Pat said, not a question.

I nodded. "The same."

"And you believe our interests align?"

"Ms. Hayward insulted your family and killed your man," I replied. "She's trying to prevent me from saving Isabelle. Yes, I'd say our interests align perfectly."

Pat Noble studied me for a long moment before turning to his son. "Tell me exactly what she said, Guy. Word for word."

As Guy recounted the confrontation in detail, embellishing the insults slightly—I noticed but said nothing—Pat Noble's expression grew increasingly cold. When Guy finished, silence hung in the room like a physical weight.

"This underwater playhouse," Pat finally repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "This backwater city. A footnote."

He stood suddenly, his cultivation energy rippling through the room with enough force to make the glasses on his desk tremble.

"My grandfather built this city from nothing," he said, each word precise and measured. "Three generations of Nobles have guided its growth, invested in its people, protected its interests. We have branches in four major cities. I sit on the Imperial Advisory Council."

He walked to the window, looking out at the city lights in the distance.

"And she calls us provincial."

I remained silent, sensing the turning point. Pat Noble turned back to face me, his decision made.

"The herb appears in four days," he said. "You'll have it."

"Just like that?" I asked cautiously.

"Not just like that." Pat's smile was thin and cold. "You'll serve as a guest official for the Noble Family for twenty years."

I didn't hesitate. "Done."

Pat raised an eyebrow. "So quickly? Twenty years is no small commitment."

"If I don't get that herb, the person I care about most will die," I said simply. "And if that happens, I won't care what becomes of me afterward."

Something shifted in Pat Noble's expression—a glimmer of respect, perhaps. He nodded once.

"Very well. We have an agreement. The herb is yours, and you will honor your commitment when the time comes."

"I always keep my word," I said.

"See that you do." Pat turned to his son. "Make the necessary arrangements. I want our people positioned before dawn on the fourth day. Ms. Hayward will learn exactly how 'provincial' we can be."

Guy bowed slightly. "Yes, Father."

As we left the study, I felt both relief and wariness. I'd secured a powerful ally in my quest for the herb, but I'd also committed myself to twenty years of service. Still, if it saved Isabelle, it was worth any price.

"That went well," Guy commented as we walked back through the mansion. "I haven't seen Father that angry in years."

"You embellished her insults," I observed.

Guy shrugged unapologetically. "I emphasized the important parts. Did you want his help or not?"

I couldn't argue with the results. "I appreciate your assistance."

"Don't thank me yet," Guy replied. "Getting that herb won't be easy, even with our backing. Every power player in the region will be after it."

"I'm aware," I said. "But now my odds are significantly better."

We reached the entrance, where a car waited to take me back to my temporary quarters.

"I'll contact you tomorrow with the details of our plan," Guy said, extending his hand. "We'll meet the day before the herb appears to finalize everything."

I shook his hand firmly. "I'll be ready."

The drive back was quiet, giving me time to think. The alliance with the Noble family was a stroke of unexpected fortune, but I couldn't shake the feeling that this was all going too smoothly. In my experience, when things seemed easy, disaster was usually lurking just around the corner.

My suspicions were confirmed when I arrived back at my lodgings to find a familiar figure waiting outside my door.

"Eight-Character Beard," I greeted the eccentric old man cautiously. "What brings you here?"

His long, distinctive beard twitched as he smiled mysteriously. "The stars are restless tonight, young Knight."

I sighed internally. His cryptic speech was the last thing I needed after such a long day. "Come inside," I offered, unlocking the door.

Once seated in my modest living area, I poured tea for both of us. Eight-Character Beard sipped appreciatively before fixing me with a penetrating stare.

"You've made a pact with the Nobles," he stated.

I didn't bother asking how he knew. The old man had ways of knowing things that defied explanation.

"I need their help to get the Celestial Grass for Isabelle," I said simply.

"Hmm." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Alliances forged in necessity often serve their purpose... but beware the cost that comes after."

"Twenty years of service is a price I'm willing to pay."

"I speak not of that price," he said, his voice suddenly serious. "I speak of what stirs in the shadows while all eyes focus on the light."

A chill ran down my spine. "What do you mean?"

"Ancient powers awaken," he murmured, his eyes seeming to look through me to something far beyond. "While kings and nobles squabble over herbs and insults, something older than their bloodlines stretches after a long slumber."

"Can you speak plainly for once?" I asked, frustration edging my voice.

His gaze snapped back to me, surprisingly lucid. "The Immortal Bane Sect's ruins have been disturbed. The seals are breaking."

That got my attention. The Immortal Bane Sect had been destroyed centuries ago, their practices so vile that all the major powers had united to wipe them out.

"How do you know this?" I demanded.

"I see what I see," he replied cryptically, then added with unexpected clarity: "And I heard it from a merchant who trades in ancient artifacts. He witnessed strange lights and felt terrible pressure near the old ruins three nights ago."

I set down my cup. "Are you suggesting the sect is reforming?"

"Something worse," he said softly. "The sect was destroyed, but its founders were merely sealed away. If those seals are breaking..." He trailed off ominously.

"What should I do about it?" I asked.

"For now? Nothing." He stood abruptly. "Focus on saving your woman. But be prepared for what comes after." He moved toward the door. "The world is changing, Liam Knight. Old powers rise again, and new alliances must form to face them."

With those cryptic words, he left, leaving me with more questions than answers.

Thousands of miles away, deep within the forbidden ruins of the Immortal Bane Sect, a hooded figure moved through ancient chambers. Moonlight filtered through crumbling ceilings, illuminating faded bloodstains on stone floors where countless sacrifices had once been made.

The figure stopped before a massive stone door, its surface covered in warning sigils and preservation spells. Most of the protections had already been broken, leaving only a thin barrier of energy that flickered like dying firelight.

"At last," the figure murmured, reaching out to touch the failing seal. "The time has come."

With a final push of dark energy, the remaining protections shattered. The stone door creaked open, revealing a chamber containing seven ornate coffins arranged in a perfect circle.

The figure approached the central coffin, hands trembling slightly as they traced the ancient symbols carved into its lid.

"Master," the figure whispered reverently, "the world has forgotten your greatness. But I have not."

With a gesture, the coffin lid slid aside, revealing a perfectly preserved body—a man whose ageless face bore no signs of death or decay, despite centuries of confinement.

The figure placed a small, pulsing object on the corpse's chest—a fragment of some dark artifact that immediately began to sink into the flesh, disappearing beneath the skin.

A moment passed in absolute silence. Then the corpse's eyes snapped open, revealing irises as black as the void.

"How long?" The ancient voice rasped, unused for centuries yet carrying unmistakable authority.

"Five hundred and twelve years, Master," the figure replied, head bowed in deference.

"The others?"

"All preserved, as you commanded. Awaiting your awakening."

The ancient being sat up slowly, dark energy crackling around him as his powers began to return.

"Then wake them," he commanded. "It is time we reminded this world who its true masters are."

One by one, the remaining coffins opened. Six more figures rose, their eyes holding the same bottomless darkness, their bodies emanating the same malevolent energy.

"The world has grown soft in our absence," the first being observed, standing unsteadily at first, then with increasing confidence. "We shall sweep through it like a cleansing fire."

The hooded figure bowed deeply. "As you command, Master."

Three days passed in a blur of preparation. I spent most of my time refining my plans, studying maps of the area where the Celestial Grass would appear, and strengthening my cultivation for the inevitable confrontation.

Guy Noble kept his word, sending detailed information about their family's strategy and the positions their cultivators would take. Pat Noble had committed eleven Military Marquis to the operation—a show of force that would give even the most powerful competitors pause.

I was reviewing the final arrangements when I felt a familiar presence approaching my door. Moments later, a soft knock confirmed my suspicion.

"Come in, Clara," I called.

The door opened, and Clara Vance stepped inside. The young girl's innocent appearance belied the mysterious power she contained—a pure dark energy body that somehow connected her to the terrifying entity known as the Masked Woman.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Your energy signature is distinctive," I replied, not mentioning that I'd been monitoring her closely since our last encounter with the Masked Woman.

Clara plopped down on a chair opposite me, swinging her legs casually. "What are you doing?"

"Preparing for tomorrow," I said, gesturing to the maps spread before me. "The herb appears at dawn."

"I know," she said, surprising me. "I can feel it growing."

I set down my pen. "What do you mean?"

Clara frowned slightly, as if trying to explain something she didn't fully understand herself. "It's like... a pulsing. A rhythm. I can feel it getting stronger as the herb gets ready to bloom."

This was new—and concerning. Clara's abilities seemed to be developing in unexpected ways. I studied her carefully, extending my divine sense to check her energy pathways. What I found alarmed me.

Her divine sense had grown significantly since I'd last checked. For a child her age, it was unprecedented—and unnatural.

"Clara," I asked cautiously, "have you been practicing cultivation techniques?"

She shook her head. "No. Should I be?"

"Then how..." I trailed off, unsure how to proceed.

"How what?" she pressed.

"Your divine sense is much stronger than it was a week ago," I explained. "That kind of growth usually takes years of dedicated practice."

Clara shrugged. "I've been having dreams. Maybe that's why?"

"What kind of dreams?" I asked, suddenly alert.

"About the mask," she said simply. "And about a woman who wears it. She talks to me sometimes, tells me secrets."

A cold weight settled in my stomach. The connection between Clara and the Masked Woman was growing stronger, just as I'd feared.

"What does she tell you?" I kept my voice calm, not wanting to frighten her.

"Different things," Clara replied. "How to see energy flows. How to extend my senses beyond my body." She hesitated. "Last night, she showed me how to find the herb you're looking for."

I struggled to keep my expression neutral. This was worse than I'd thought. The Masked Woman was actively training Clara, preparing her for something—but what?

"Clara," I said carefully, "I need you to promise me something."

She looked at me expectantly.

"If the woman in the mask asks you to do anything—anything at all—you come to me first. Will you promise me that?"

Clara tilted her head, considering. "She says you wouldn't understand. That you'd try to stop what needs to happen."

"And what is that?" I asked, tension building in my chest.

"I don't know yet," she admitted. "But she says it's important. That the world needs to change."

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to remain calm. "Just promise me you'll talk to me first, Clara. Please."

After a moment, she nodded. "I promise."

Whether she meant it or not, I couldn't tell. But it was the best I could hope for at the moment.

"It's getting late," I said. "You should get some rest before tomorrow."

She hopped up from the chair. "You'll let me come with you, right? To see the herb?"

I hesitated. Taking Clara to what would likely be a dangerous confrontation seemed reckless. But leaving her alone, with the Masked Woman potentially influencing her, might be worse.

"Yes," I finally decided. "But you stay close to me at all times."

She beamed. "Thanks, Liam! See you in the morning!"

After she left, I sat back, troubled. Clara's growing connection to the Masked Woman was a complication I didn't need, especially with Isabelle's life hanging in the balance. But there was nothing I could do about it now.

I turned my attention back to The Warrior's Scroll, scrolling through recent posts for any useful information. A headline caught my eye:

"JACKSON HARDING DEFEATS HEAVEN SWALLOWING PYTHON—IMMORTAL TREASURES RECOVERED"

I read quickly. According to the article, the legendary Jackson Harding had battled and killed a Heaven Swallowing Python in the Northern Waste, recovering several ancient artifacts in the process. The timing seemed suspicious.

"A diversion," I muttered. Ms. Hayward's hand was obvious. By creating a high-profile event far from Downton, she was trying to draw attention away from the Celestial Grass. Some cultivators would certainly be lured away by the prospect of obtaining artifacts from Jackson Harding's victory.

Clever, but not clever enough. Those who truly understood the value of the Ten-Thousand-Year-Old Celestial Grass wouldn't be distracted so easily.

As dawn approached on the crucial day, I made my final preparations. My weapons were ready, my energy reserves at their peak, and my divine sense sharper than ever. Whatever happened today, I would not leave without the herb that could save Isabelle.

I stepped outside just as the first light of morning touched the eastern sky. Taking a deep breath of the cool air, I immediately extended my divine sense, covering the surrounding area. The tension was palpable. Dozens of powerful cultivators had gathered, their energies carefully masked but detectable to someone with my sensitivity.

They were waiting, just as I was, for the moment when the Celestial Grass would reveal itself—and the battle for its possession would begin.