Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 252: Well Of Eternity

***

{Outside The Projection}

BZZZT—FSSHH—TINK!

The sky pulsed again.

Letters rewrote themselves, melting the warning away and replacing it with something new:

{All sensitive content has passed. The memories will resume to be shown.}

In response, a loud groan rippled through the crowd.

"THAT'S IT?!"

"What do you mean 'it passed'?!"

"By God! I know we missed the best part!"

Another sandal flew at the projection; it passed, of course, but the rage was there.

They all could see it. Malik was standing up in the memory now.

'Standing up...' On his feet.

Calm.

Collected.

Leaving.

Right, he was leaving.

"No, no, no—get back in the chair, you handsome, traumatized bastard!"

"YOU FORGOT TO ASK ABOUT SOMETHING, RIGHT?!"

"ASK SOMETHING, PLEASE!"

They threw curses, wild ones.

"May your creator's tea always be lukewarm!"

"May you never find matching sandals again!"

"May your steed fart in your direction during cultivation!"

But the projection didn't care.

It was only doing as it was told.

Huda was breathing hard now. Furious. Not only on the fact that everything was still hidden from her, but also on the fact that her uncle never really chose her, not even once.

"Uncle… you..."

She wasn't talking to anyone, but everyone near her leaned in anyway.

"You really wanted him to be Sultan. Didn't you?"

Her fingers curled around her sleeves.

"You chose him once in the cave… and again just now. Not—not with words, but with… with all of this."

The realization hit her pretty hard.

Cyrus had never said it outright, no.

The reason for that was simple. He knew Malik would never accept.

So instead… he raised him. Bit by bit. He pushed him. Broke him. Built him. Molded him—without him ever realizing it. Giving him medicine wrapped in the sharpest of spikes.

Since the cave. Since the kicking. Since the first 'lesson' disguised as a punishment. Cyrus had chosen Malik... it was so obvious. He said so himself. He said that he would've chosen Malik if he could, and now?...

He could, and so he did. He chose Malik.

Before them, Malik stood there, unknowingly carrying every secret meant only for Sultans.

"Wow…"

She whispered.

"You terrifying old man…"

It was almost funny that the one he chose had killed him in the end...

Or perhaps that was all a part of his plan; at this point, no one really knew.

A hush spread near the hall's left, where Roya and her camp stood.

She was stone-faced. Still. But her brows twitched slightly. Which, for her, meant she might as well have screamed and shattered glass.

It seemed that even she was rattled.

The very woman who proved to know what every king dreamed of in his sleep...

She had known none of this. None at all.

"Those secrets… they weren't passed to anyone."

Someone in her camp muttered.

"No one other than the Sultans ever knew."

"It was always one to the next."

Indeed, that, they were sure of.

If Roya didn't know, it meant nobody else did either.

Not kings, not shāhs, not Sahirs, not the noble families, not even Banū Sulaymān.

Only Sultans. One to the next. The next to the next. A chain.

Shortly after, a quiet pause resounded, and they all looked back at the projection.

At him.

Because though Malik didn't know it…

He was already sitting on the Golden Throne.

***

{Inside The Projection}

"What's the best method..."

Malik began to ask a question, but unfortunately for some...

"...For me to get stronger?"

It was common knowledge.

Cyrus revealed his palm, and a gold-rimmed teacup materialized above it.

Inside wasn't tea. Smelled more like some bitter old liquor.

He took a sip, raised a brow, and chuckled.

"Ohoho~. What's this? Gonna try and kill little ol' me again?"

Malik didn't blink.

"Yes."

The cup paused midair.

"Whew. Well damn, boy. No hesitation. You always this charming?"

"..."

Surprise, surprise, Malik didn't answer.

As was the new usual, he just stared with his tired, hollow, and unshaken eyes.

Cyrus stood up slowly, brushing off his long robes, and gestured toward a shelf, or rather, the air before it, which flickered once his hand began to point at it.

Soon after, a map of the continent appeared. Bird's-eye view. Blinking lights, kingdoms, cities, villages, danger zones, dead zones, ruins, faction bases, militias, bandit camps, abandoned cities. And then—

"There."

Cyrus pointed toward a glowing, rainbow-colored dot further north. Among the mountains. Deep in the ice where no sane mortal would dare to set foot. Just below the Great Wall. The Frozen Wall.

"A Well of Eternity."

Malik tilted his head slightly.

"Think of it like cheating the system."

Cyrus continued, walking in a lazy circle around him.

"An artificial tear in the world where Aether leaks. Raw. Pure. Unprocessed. But also in all its Aspects. Step inside, choose the right pool, and it'll fill you. Change you. Mold you if it likes you—or rip you to shreds if it doesn't."

Malik narrowed his eyes.

"Will it help me much?"

"Help?"

Cyrus snorted.

"It'll give you a boost, but it won't make you a God."

"I don't need to be a God."

Malik stared him down.

"Just strong enough to kill you."

Cyrus stepped back, feigning worry.

"Ah. Then you'd be half God~! Lovely revenge arc, by the way."

Malik turned toward the projection, and the Well pulsed faintly, breathing.

"What's the cost?"

Cyrus 'pulled' the cup his way and took another sip, smacking his lips.

"Ahhh… the cost, the cost… You would ask that... Well, let's see—your sanity, for starters—which, to be fair, you're already running low on, no offense by the way. Then there's your humanity, not that you've got buckets of that left either, judging by the lovely, DELIGHTFUL aura of doom you're dragging around. Oh! And your memories, if you're not careful—and trust me, you won't be. Or, if we're really unlucky, your soul, which, if you ask me, is already limping along on its last legs. You've got a little pink helper, but it's—he's working overtime. Give him a little break, yeah? So, hm, whichever breaks first, that's the jackpot prize."

He leaned back with a lazy stretch.

"Oh! And your gold. Can't forget that. You'd be amazed how pricey the upkeep is on a place like this—maintenance, repairs here and there—it adds up."

Malik continued to stare for a few seconds longer and then eventually said:

"I don't care."

Cyrus whistled.

"Whew~... You're all in, huh? I guess that's how you got up here so fast."

"..."

Malik didn't speak.

"I mean, really think about it."

Cyrus went on.

"With all that trauma you got, you go in there, something will change. You might forget your name. You might forget that little girl who died in your arms. You might forget the way your father died or why you even cared. You might forget what Sinbad meant to you. Your guardian... maybe even your mother."

His eyes practically gleamed.

"Or maybe you would like that? To forget that she aban—"

"That doesn't matter."

Malik cut him off, remaining completely unfazed.

"If I forget, I'll remember again... after I kill you."

Cyrus looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in his smile now.

"You're pretty weak, but you're terrifying, you know that?"

Malik didn't look at him, eyes on the projection.

"How long will it take to reach it?"

"With your legs? Experience? A week. Much less if you don't bother killing everything in your way."

Malik nodded, and Cyrus sighed.

"Alright. You need a guide?"

"I'll manage."

"You'll die."

"Then I'll try again."

Cyrus stared at him like he was looking at something extinct, then shrugged.

"Fine. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

Malik closed his eyes, and silence stretched between them for a long moment.

Then slowly, Cyrus stepped behind his desk.

"Well... I've said too much~."

He rolled up the scroll, and both the timeline and map vanished.

"Don't leave after you're done. Stay here for a bit. My niece, HUDA, will be thrilled..."

Malik turned toward the door, but before he left, Cyrus called out one last time:

"Oh, and Malik—!"

He paused to listen.

"Next time you threaten to kill me, say it with a little more passion."

Malik glanced over his shoulder.

"Next time, I won't say anything."

Cyrus let out a low whistle as the door slid shut, appreciating the solid delivery of that line.

Not caring for his shenanigans anymore, Malik was already halfway down the hallway.

He almost entered another section of the palace by the time Cyrus started humming some ridiculous tune to himself, something that might've once been sung by deranged, deaf mortals.

Thankfully, he wasn't there to listen to it. And thankfully, all the information that he was bombarded with had dropped to the back of his head.

The galaxy could wait...

He hadn't even met his own world yet.