## Liam's Perspective
The rhythmic thud of fists against the training dummy echoed through the private gym Mariana had secured for . Sweat dripped from my brow as I channeled my frustration into each strike. Sixteen days. Just sixteen days until Isabelle would be forced to marry that monster Dashiell.
My phone rang, interrupting my training. Unknown number. I almost ignored it, but sothing made answer.
"Hello?"
"Liam." Isabelle's voice ca through, barely above a whisper. My heart nearly stopped.
"Isabelle? Where are you? Are you okay?" The words tumbled out in a rush.
"I don't have much ti," she said urgently. "They'll notice I'm gone soon."
I gripped the phone tighter. "Tell where you are. I'll co get you right now."
"No!" Her voice cracked with emotion. "That's why I'm calling. You can't co on September 9th. Please, Liam."
"What are you talking about? I'm not letting you marry Dashiell."
"You don't understand." Her voice trembled. "It's a trap. All of it. My father, Uncle Corbin, the Blackthornes—they've made arrangents. No matter how strong you've beco, no matter if you win any fight..."
"Isabelle—"
"They'll kill you, Liam! They don't care about fair fights or honor. If you show up, you're dead. I can't—" Her breath caught. "I can't let that happen."
My jaw clenched. "I'm not afraid of them."
"You should be! These aren't the enemies you're used to. These are people who've spent generations perfecting the art of destroying threats."
I could hear the desperation in her voice, and it tore at my heart.
"Listen to ," I said firmly. "I'm coming for you. Nothing will stop that."
"Liam, please—"
There was a sudden commotion in the background. A door slamd open.
"Who are you talking to?" A man's voice bood. Corbin Ashworth.
"No one!" Isabelle's voice grew distant, as if she'd hidden the phone.
"Give that!" Corbin shouted.
The sounds of a struggle ca through the speaker.
"Isabelle!" I yelled.
Then ca a sickening crunch. The line went dead.
"Isabelle!" I scread again, uselessly.
My hands shook with rage. I was about to throw the phone against the wall when it rang again. Another unknown number.
"Isabelle?" I answered desperately.
A low chuckle ca through. "Not quite, Knight."
Ice filled my veins. "Dashiell."
"The one and only," he drawled. "Did you enjoy your little chat with my fiancée?"
"She will never be yours," I growled.
"Oh, but she already is," Dashiell's voice oozed confidence. "On September 9th, she'll be on my arm, in my ho, and eventually in my bed."
My vision blurred with fury. The golden light of my Saintly Body Skill flared involuntarily, cracking the floor beneath my feet.
"If you touch her—"
"You'll what?" he cut off. "Challenge to another duel? Like the one I just won against Ernesto Ross? Perhaps you missed the news, Knight. I'm a Martial Marquis now."
"Titles don't impress ."
"No, but power should." His voice turned hard. "Do you know what I'll do to her after we're married? I'll break her. Slowly. Thoroughly. I'll wipe away every mory she has of you until she's nothing but an obedient trophy wife."
I couldn't speak. Rage blocked my throat.
"And you know what the best part is?" Dashiell continued. "I'll make sure she knows it's your fault. That your weakness, your inability to save her, led to her fate."
"I will kill you," I said, each word precise and deadly.
"Many have tried." He laughed. "Many stronger than you."
"You have no idea what I've beco."
"A half-step Martial Marquis, at best," he scoffed. "Yes, I know about your little trip to the Dark Abyss. My sources are everywhere, Knight. There's nothing about you I don't know."
His words sent a chill through . How could he know about the Dark Abyss?
"September 9th," Dashiell continued. "If you're stupid enough to show up, I'll personally send you to et your ancestors. If you're wise, you'll disappear and never return to Veridia City. Those are your only options."
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"There's a third option," I said quietly. "I co for her before then."
Silence hung for a mont before Dashiell burst into laughter.
"By all ans, try! The compound is guarded by twenty-four Martial Masters and half a dozen Martial Grandmasters. Even if you sohow got past them, do you think you could defeat ? The youngest Martial Marquis in history?"
"History is full of young n who died arrogant," I replied coldly.
His laughter stopped. "You truly are delusional. What exactly do you think you're fighting for? So childish notion of love? We're reshaping the future of this city, Knight. The union of the Blackthorne and Ashworth families will create a dynasty that will last centuries."
"All I hear is the ranting of a spoiled boy playing with things he doesn't understand."
"Sixteen days," Dashiell snarled. "Sixteen days until she's mine forever and you're nothing but a mory she'll be trained to forget."
The line went dead.
I stood frozen, phone clutched in my hand, fury and fear warring inside . Then, with a roar, I hurled the device against the wall. It shattered into pieces.
I dropped to my knees, overwheld. Isabelle was warning away to protect , but that only made more determined. Yet Dashiell's confidence wasn't just arrogance—he had resources, information, power.
"Well, well," a familiar voice drawled from behind . "What has you looking so defeated? I thought the mighty Liam Knight didn't know how to give up."
I spun around to find The Man with the Mustache leaning against the doorfra, his ridiculous facial hair seeming more unkempt than usual.
"How did you get in here?" I demanded.
He twirled his mustache. "Please. Security systems are puzzles, and puzzles are my specialty." He strode into the room, eyeing the shattered phone. "Communication problems?"
I rose slowly to my feet. "What do you want?"
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" He pouted dramatically. "Especially one who risked life and limb to find you?"
"We're not friends," I reminded him. "And I'm really not in the mood."
"Clearly." He walked around in a circle, studying my face. "You look terrible. Woman troubles?"
I grabbed his collar. "Say one more word about Isabelle and I'll—"
"Easy, easy!" He raised his hands in surrender. "I co bearing gifts, not insults."
I released him, but kept my glare steady. "What gifts?"
The Man with the Mustache straightened his rumpled shirt. "Information. Solutions. A way forward when all paths seem closed."
"Stop talking in riddles."
He sighed theatrically. "Fine. Your beloved is being held at the Blackthorne Mountain Retreat, about two hours north of the city. It's guarded exactly as that pompous Dashiell claid—twenty-four Martial Masters, six Grandmasters, and the newly minted Marquis himself."
My eyes widened. "How do you know this?"
"I know many things." He tapped his temple. "It's my burden."
"If you're lying—"
"I never lie about important things," he cut in. "Only trivial matters like my na, age, and occasionally my gender."
Despite everything, I almost smiled. Almost.
"Even if I know where she is, getting to her won't be easy," I said, thinking aloud.
"Impossible, so might say." He stroked his mustache thoughtfully. "Unless..."
"Unless what?"
The Man with the Mustache's eyes glead with mischief. "Didn't I promise to take you to the three big tombs?"
"What does that have to do with saving Isabelle?" I demanded.
"Everything." He grinned. "The tombs contain artifacts of imnse power. Items that could help even the odds against a Martial Marquis and his army."
Hope flickered in my chest, but I tempered it with caution.
"The last ti I trusted you, I nearly died in the Dark Abyss."
"And erged stronger for it!" he countered. "Half-step Martial Marquis now, aren't you?"
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you know that?"
"The sa way I know about the Blackthorne Mountain Retreat. I pay attention." He winked. "So, what do you say? Ready for another adventure?"
I stared at him, weighing my options. Isabelle was in danger. Dashiell was powerful. Ti was running out. And here was this unpredictable, untrustworthy man offering a potential solution.
"When would we leave?" I asked finally.
The Man with the Mustache's smile widened. "I thought you'd never ask."
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