Rise of The Abandoned Husband

Chapter 651 - 651 - Revelation on the Altar

My world narrowed to a single point: Bancroft's smug face as he circled me. Behind him, Isabelle hung suspended from that monstrous contraption, her life literally draining away before my eyes. Every second I wasted here was another second she suffered.

"You've become quite the nuisance, Knight," Bancroft said, his voice carrying across the now-hushed hall. "I should have eliminated you months ago."

I didn't respond. Words were meaningless now. Only action mattered.

He struck first, a blindingly fast palm thrust aimed at my chest. I deflected it, the impact sending shockwaves up my arm. He was stronger than I'd anticipated—Martial Saint level at minimum.

"Impressive reflexes," he commented, sounding genuinely surprised. "But futile."

His next attack came as a flurry of strikes, each powerful enough to shatter stone. I dodged and blocked, looking for an opening while steadily retreating toward the altar. Toward Isabelle.

The remaining audience members had pressed themselves against the walls, watching in horrified fascination as their Guild President battled the mysterious intruder. I caught glimpses of Dominic Ashworth's pale face, Dashiell Blackthorne struggling to regain consciousness, and Daphne Grenville's wide, hopeful eyes.

Bancroft's foot connected with my ribs, sending me flying backward. I turned the momentum into a controlled roll, landing near the base of the altar.

"Enough games," Bancroft snarled. He pulled a gleaming medallion from his robes—a Martial Guild authority token. With a pulse of energy, he activated it.

The air around us thickened as a dozen elite guards in black and gold robes materialized, surrounding me in a tight formation. Each held a formation flag that pulsed with restrictive energy.

"The Heavenly Binding Formation," Bancroft announced with satisfaction. "No one has ever escaped it."

From above, Isabelle made a small, desperate sound. I glanced up to see a technician increasing the flow from the extraction tubes, likely on Bancroft's silent command. Her face contorted in renewed agony.

Something inside me snapped.

I moved without conscious thought, my body responding to pure instinct and rage. My fist connected with the nearest guard's chest, and I felt ribs collapse beneath my knuckles. The man flew backward, his formation flag clattering uselessly to the ground.

"Impossible!" someone gasped.

But I was already moving to the next target, and the next. The formation faltered as I eliminated its anchors one by one, my movements a blur even to my own senses.

Bancroft's face twisted with fury. "Stop him! Use the Tracing Disk!"

Another guard pulled out a circular device that gleamed with an inner light. The moment he activated it, I felt thousands of invisible needles trying to lock onto my energy signature. The Tracing Disk—a legendary weapon that could follow its target's unique energy pattern through any defense.

I needed to reach Isabelle before they could completely activate it.

Leaping over two guards, I landed directly on the altar's platform. Up close, the horror of Isabelle's situation was even more apparent. Her skin had a gray, translucent quality, and the tubes pulled viscous, glowing blood from entry points at her wrists, neck, and ankles.

"Liam..." Her voice was barely audible, but her eyes found mine with desperate intensity.

A guard intercepted me before I could reach her restraints. I dispatched him with a single strike, then turned to face Bancroft as he bounded onto the platform.

"You're too late," he said coldly. "The extraction process has reached its critical phase. Interfere now, and she dies instantly."

I hesitated, eyes darting between Bancroft and the complex equipment hooked to Isabelle.

That moment of uncertainty cost me. The Tracing Disk fully activated, sending a pulse of energy that locked onto my signature. Simultaneously, three more guards attacked with synchronized divine sense assaults.

The combined attack should have incapacitated me. Instead, it triggered something else—something deeper and more primal than my conscious control.

Golden energy erupted from my body, forming a protective shield that deflected the divine sense attacks. The Tracing Disk's energy bounced harmlessly off this barrier, unable to penetrate.

Bancroft's eyes widened in genuine shock. "The Chaotic Body," he whispered. "It's not just rumor."

I didn't give him time to recover from his surprise. My counterattack struck like lightning, my fist connecting with his chest with enough force to send him crashing into the wall twenty feet away. Stone cracked under the impact, dust filling the air.

The remaining guards hesitated, clearly unnerved by the display of power.

"Get away from her," I ordered, my voice unnaturally deep and resonant as golden energy continued to swirl around me.

They retreated, all except one brave or foolish soul who charged forward with his sword raised. I caught the blade between my fingers, snapping it like a twig before sending him flying with a casual backhand.

Turning my attention to Isabelle, I carefully examined the extraction apparatus. The tubes pulsed with her blood, feeding into collection vessels that now glowed with supernatural light. The restraints around her wrists were complex, fitted with alarm talismans.

"Hold on," I murmured, working to disconnect the tubes first. "I'll have you free in a moment."

Her eyes, though glazed with pain, held complete trust. "I knew... you'd come."

From the rubble across the hall, Bancroft emerged, blood trickling from his mouth. "Step away from the subject!" he commanded.

I ignored him, focusing on safely removing the needles from Isabelle's neck.

"Knight!" Bancroft's voice took on a malicious tone. "Or should I say... whoever you are?"

That caught my attention. I turned slightly, keeping my hands steady as I worked.

Bancroft smiled coldly, seeing he had my interest. "You're not Liam Knight," he announced to the stunned crowd. "Knight died weeks ago during our raid on his pathetic hideout. This is clearly his master, come to avenge his worthless disciple."

The hall erupted in murmurs. From the corner of my eye, I saw Dominic Ashworth nodding vigorously, clearly relieved by this explanation for my unexpected power. Chap*t-e#r% provid&e&d via M|V|%L^@EM&PY%R@.@

I might have laughed at their stupidity if not for Isabelle's reaction.

"What?" she whispered, her voice breaking. "Liam... dead?"

"Ignore him," I said quietly, still working on her restraints. "He's lying."

But Bancroft had moved closer, his voice pitched to carry to Isabelle's ears. "We found his body in the ruins, barely recognizable. He died like a dog, alone and forgotten."

"No," Isabelle whimpered, her body beginning to tremble. "No, no, no..."

"Bancroft, I swear I'll—" I started, but he continued mercilessly.

"He called your name at the end, begging for help that never came. Rather pathetic, really."

Isabelle's face crumpled in absolute despair. Before I could stop her, she twisted violently in her restraints, a primal scream tearing from her throat. "LIAM!"

Blood spurted from her mouth, staining the white gown crimson. Her body convulsed once, then went limp, the extraction process and emotional shock proving too much for her weakened state.

"Isabelle!" I abandoned all pretense, catching her as the last restraint gave way. I cradled her to my chest, my disguise meaningless now.

Bancroft's triumphant laugh echoed through the hall. "Interesting. You seem quite concerned for a man you never met."

I ignored him, focusing entirely on Isabelle. Her pulse was thready but present, her breathing shallow. She needed immediate medical attention.

"Stay with me," I whispered, transferring healing energy into her body. "Please, stay with me."

Her eyelids fluttered, consciousness returning briefly. "Who... are you?" she asked weakly, unable to recognize me through the disguise and her own delirium.

I couldn't bear it—couldn't bear her not knowing, thinking I was dead while I held her in my arms. Leaning down, I whispered directly into her ear, too softly for anyone else to hear.

"It's me, Isabelle. It's Liam."

Her eyes widened momentarily, a flash of recognition quickly followed by confusion. She was too weak, too close to unconsciousness, to fully process my words.

Bancroft had approached again, flanked by his remaining guards. "Surrender now," he demanded. "You're outnumbered and burdened with the girl. There's no escape."

I looked up at him, at Dominic Ashworth hovering nervously nearby, at the audience watching with bated breath. They all believed me to be some mysterious master, not Liam Knight himself.

The disguise had served its purpose, allowing me to infiltrate the ceremony. But now it was hindering me—making Isabelle doubt, making Bancroft think he held psychological leverage over me.

It was time for truth.

Gently laying Isabelle down, I stood to face Bancroft. With deliberate slowness, I reached for the sword at my hip—the blade that had been my companion since my awakening. Sunlight glinted off the steel as I drew it.

"I'm not going to surrender," I said, my voice carrying clearly to every corner of the hall. "And I'm not who you think I am."

With my free hand, I reached up and removed the facial distortion talisman that had concealed my features, then pushed back the hood of my black robe.

Gasps rippled through the crowd as my true face was revealed. Dominic Ashworth staggered backward as if struck. Daphne Grenville's hands flew to her mouth. Bancroft's eyes narrowed in disbelief.

"I am Liam Knight," I announced, raising my sword to point directly at Bancroft's heart. "And I've come to reclaim what's mine."