Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 116: Welcome To The Real World

***

{Outside The Projection}

The second Malik’s blade cut clean through the kid’s neck, the world just—stopped.

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For a breath, everything hung in that thin silence... Then, it detonated.

Not just the Holy Palace—no, it felt like the entire damn world shook. A ripple, a shockwave of sound, like all the planet’s inhabitants flinched at what just happened.

Of course, the loudest ripple was right here in the hall. Pandemonium. Many screamed, hands gripping their heads like they couldn’t believe what just happened. Some gasped so hard you’d think they’d swallowed their own tongues.

And then, predictably, there were the ones who saw red. The "righteous."

"HE KILLED A CHILD!"

"A STAIN UPON THE SULTAN’S NAME!"

"HE TRULY IS SHAYTAN’S SPAWN! A DEVIL!"

"MAY HELLFIRE CONSUME HIM!"

The outrage came loud and fast, voices roaring over each other, fueled by shock and anger.

Dumb Magi jostled, their disgust written all over their faces. For some, this was the perfect excuse to spit venom, joining the tide even though they cared not for what Malik had done.

Eventually, with the loud mouths exhausted of breath, a few of the smarter ones seized the opportunity to tear into him as well.

They’d been waiting for this exact moment and nothing would stop them from letting out all they kept behind lock and key.

"Hah! And you praise this man? Typical of the Sultan’s ilk!"

"Not even the slavers would do something so vile!"

"You see now?! You see?! This is who he truly is! A killer, a monster!"

"A beast in human skin! No, worse! Even beasts know mercy!"

"He didn’t hesitate! Not even for a second!"

"What kind of man kills a child?!"

"Not a man. A devil."

"And you all defend him?!"

"You sit here and watch and still act like he’s worthy of the Sultan’s name?!"

"Disgusting! Disgraceful!"

"Shame upon you! Upon all of us!"

"Never must I see any—"

"..."

Just as quickly as the "outrage" flared though, it had died—all in an instant.

Not because they’d run out of breath like the other group. No. Because, well, nothing would stop them EXCEPT a leader of theirs.

And this pressure they felt? It wasn’t just from one leader but four. Even Crimson threatened them with Death’s embrace, staring them down with eyes of bright pink.

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Their combined presence crashed into them like a tidal wave. Huda, Fam Iblises’ Sword. Safira, Fam Iblises’ Fairy. Layla, Fam Iblises Merchant. Azeem, their Sultan’s Right Hand.

Those people, and the bird, could level a city with a flick of their fingers... or talons.

The crowd, in all their screaming, seemed to have momentarily forgotten that.

They, no matter what rank or position, were insects beneath their feet.

Many a Magi shrank back, even the bravest of them. Of course, their resentment didn’t disappear, but it was shoved back in and locked away once again.

And now that they had quietened, those genuine of the lot—the ones who had actually been paying attention—had revealed what they pieced together.

"…Wait. Hold on. Do you Magi not notice it?"

"Everyone, think for a second."

"That kid… Before the Sultan even swung his steel, that kid flinched."

"Think about it! The footprints, the way those three just happened to wake up right after they showed up—and only them! Kids who weren’t a part of the orphanage’s twelve, and the way he hesitated when asked about the militias! It all adds up!"

The pieces clicked together for everyone listening. There was no doubt about it; everything that happened was just a little too convenient.

"They weren’t kids."

Someone let out a breathless chuckle, in disbelief.

"Oh, shit."

"…He knew."

"He knew from the beginning."

"It was a damn trap. And he flipped it right on them."

One still clung to their earlier outrage, unwilling to let go.

"Even so! What kind of man just—just executes someone like that?!"

"A man who doesn’t fuck around."

"If he hesitated... if he tried to ’talk it out,’ they would’ve slipped away, and we’d still be asking dumb questions."

A slow chuckle rippled through the crowd.

"The Former Sultan… He really undersold it, didn’t he?"

"’Smarts,’ he said."

"He should’ve said damn near terrifying."

Another exhaled sharply.

"But slavers disguised as kids…? I knew the trade was bad, but I didn’t think it was that deep."

"More common than you’d think."

An older man muttered.

"You ever wonder why the Sultan banned it even though many before him didn’t? Even though it’s accepted in all religions? He saw just how low it’d get firsthand."

Whispered prayers escaped a few younger Magis’ lips. Others clenched their jaws, feeling quite a bit somber, imagining the lives of those slaves back then.

Each group reacted differently, and yet, amongst all this, one thing stood out the most.

Not a single Magi of the Big Three militias spoke up. Not any of the Paladins. Not any of Nasir Al-Sultan. Not any of the Zealots.

The silence of those under Templar was especially unexpected.

They, not so long ago, screamed their lungs out, repeatedly chanting "All Hail." But since then, and now? They remained silent.

This was a bad day for them all.

***

{Inside The Projection}

The other two kids scrambled back in horror. And the priest staggered, eyes wide. The boy’s—no, the bastard’s body flinched as his head went rolling, and in an instant, he contorted, stretching, morphing into a fully grown man.

"What are you doing? We’ve got our answer, c’mon."

At Malik’s goading, the priest reacted fast, slamming his foot into the other kid’s chest, sending him sprawling.

Malik wasted no time either.

His blade flashed again, and by the time the kicked body hit the ground, the third extremist became just another corpse, his head sliding off.

Now, there was only one left, and Malik stepped forward to meet him, his sword raised.

But the priest suddenly blocked his way, hands raised in defense.

"Wait!"

Malik glared at him.

"So you’re working with them? I expected better—"

The priest glared back and turned to the bastard.

"I said wait, you idiot!"

"..."

For once, Malik actually listened, pausing his steps.

Not because of the priest’s words, but because of the clear, unwavering look in his eyes.

"Why?"

His voice sounded irritated.

"Why stop me from killing him?"

The priest gestured for him to get closer.

"We need him as evidence."

Malik narrowed his eyes and did as he requested.

"You know that getting any information out of him would paint you as the bigwig’s target, right? They’d do anything to silence you. We better show them that we killed him just as we discovered him. I can’t, and I won’t stand still if we’re going to be involved in church politics."

"I’m not doing that."

"Then what? Wait... You aren’t planning to crawl back into bed with the Faraja, right? Even though they abandoned you?"

The priest shook his head.

"No. That’s not it. It’s just... These people have done wrong; there’s no doubt about it, but we still shouldn’t kill them if we can avoid it. The law exists for a reason."

Malik scoffed.

"Huh... I forgot people like you existed. Alright, sure, whatever you say."

He sheathed his blade and turned to check on Layla, who was still frozen in place, staring at the carnage.

"You alright?"

She glanced at him.

"I..."

And then looked away.

"I don’t know."