Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 51: Royal Style

The Magi who’d been grinding for decades, stacking experience and honing skills until they were walking arsenals?

Malik was just a baby with a sparkler.

His foundation was shaky, barely there.

They had years of refined fighting styles and multiple abilities under their belts—three at least, maybe more.

Arts that were probably so intricate they’d make his head spin.

Malik? He had fire and a blade. That was it.

Not exactly a balanced loadout.

And yet… he wasn’t sweating it too much.

If there was one thing he’d learned, one lesson Sinbad’s death had drilled into him, it was this:

Power alone doesn’t always win fights—strategy does.

Knowing when to strike, when to hang back, how to read an opponent, their traps, and how to make them think they’ve got you just to flip the script?

That was the real edge.

Power was just the icing on the very large cake.

Besides, his targets weren’t exactly top-tier Magi.

If Rafiq was any indication, many of them were most likely dormant.

They weren’t sitting around with years of training and tens of abilities, either.

They were scumbags, low-tier opportunists with inflated egos and a handful of dirty tricks. Malik knew their type. After all, he lived with a bunch of them.

He was sure he could take them on if they were caught unawares.

Still, he wasn’t about to get cocky.

Even cockroaches could bite if one didn’t pay attention.

So Malik stayed sharp. Spending a few more days in the cave.

Again, he spent all that time cultivating his power.

It wasn’t glamorous—just hours and hours of sitting there, pushing his core, learning how far he could stretch it without burning out. Literally.

He built his stamina and controlled his flames until they felt like an extension of his body.

More or less consolidating all that he was.

By the time he stepped outside, he was ready.

The sunlight hit hard, momentarily blinding him.

After weeks in the shadows, it felt more alien than comforting.

It was even worse now that his senses were more sensitive.

Still, Malik adjusted quick. That was his thing, after all—adapting.

He stretched, feeling the warmth seep into his skin.

His stomach gave a low, discontented growl, and he sighed.

The Aether in his body made food and water a "sometimes" thing now, but he still needed a little of both here and there.

Guess he wasn’t skipping breakfast today.

"Time to hunt."

Malik scanned the area, eyes locking onto a cluster of trees in the distance.

There had to be something there—game, fruit, something he could eat.

He rolled his shoulders, adjusted his blade, and started walking.

Eeek! Eeek! Eeek eeek!

But then came the noise.

His head snapped toward the sound.

"Not now..."

The world seemed to have other plans, not caring for his schedule.

Malik barely had time to draw his blade before they appeared.

Two of them, their fiery bodies crackling with Aether.

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Malik recognized the Qirds, but these weren’t the tiny, squeaky pests he’d seen months ago. No, these were teenagers now—lean, muscular, and a whole lot more volatile.

Eeek eek!

The Qirds didn’t waste time.

No preamble, no buildup. They just rushed forward.

One came at him from the left, flames trailing behind it like a comet.

It was closing in fast, a second or two from reaching him, but Malik didn’t budge.

He raised his shamshir, holding the hilt steady just in front of his chest, the blade angled to cover his face.

His other hand rested on his lower back, loose.

His whole stance screamed calm, looking like a royal in a duel.

Malik waited, watching the Qird close in, its fiery claws inches away.

Then, just as it pounced, he shifted.

A simple sidestep.

The Qird missed, swiping at empty air, and hit the ground hard.

Malik didn’t waste a second.

His sword flashed in a clean arc, slicing through its legs.

Shink!

The creature screeched, collapsing in a heap.

It wasn’t dead, but it wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

Seeing its sibling on death’s row, the second Qird went berserk.

KIEEEEEEEK! EEK!

Its flames flared, roaring hotter than before.

Malik felt the intensity even from a distance.

It charged at him, no strategy—just blind rage.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Balls of fire suddenly emerged from its flash, aimed at him.

And yet, he didn’t flinch, again.

Weaving the least bit of his Aether into the blade, he easily cut them in half.

Then, with a single step, he closed the distance.

One moment, the Qird was rushing him, and the next, he was in its face.

It wasn’t ready for that, and before it could adjust...

"Fall."

His shamshir came down in another decisive strike.

The blade bit deep into its side, shoving it into the ground and spraying its blood.

Still holding onto his blade, Malik stood over it, his face blank.

The creature looked up at him, its eyes wide with terror.

It knew it couldn’t win. It knew this was the end.

Kiek...

He tightened his grip on the hilt, ready to end it.

But then…

’W-what?’

For a split second, the Qird’s trembling form blurred.

And in its place, he saw Sinbad.

Kneeling, beaten, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

Malik froze, his breath catching in his throat.

"Little brother..."

The illusion shattered as quickly as it came, and the Qird was back.

Just a monster. Just another obstacle.

He shook his head, exhaling sharply, his expression softening just slightly.

"...Sorry."

Malik pulled the blade free and turned away, ignoring the faint, pitiful whines behind him.

The fight was over.

While he wiped his blade clean from blood, he noticed the first Qird dragging itself over to its fallen sibling.

The two leaned against each other, staring at him with what looked like… understanding.

"Go..."

Malik raised his shamshir, pointing it at them.

"Don’t make me regret this."

For a long, tense moment, neither of them moved.

Then, slowly, they turned and limped away, their bodies flickering like dying embers.

He lowered his weapon, letting out a quiet sigh.

’I don’t have time for this.’