Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 59: Two Little Disciples

***

{Outside The Projection}

"...Beautiful."

The word came from somewhere deep in the crowd, like a whisper carried on the wind.

A beat passed, and then another voice chimed in:

"That was... something else."

Then another:

"Didn’t think I’d ever say this about the Sultan, but it was pure."

Then another:

"Really was. Enough to make a grown cry."

Then another:

"Yeah."

Those Magi went quiet after that, going through the motions.

Silence returned to grace the hall, but not for long, as the two dumbasses began arguing:

"Bro, I’m not crying; you’re crying!"

"Shut up! You’re bawling like a baby."

They hated Malik’s guts—down to the very last atom.

But even they couldn’t run their mouths after witnessing that.

No... not this scene.

For once, they had nothing to nitpick, no smug little comments to throw around.

Didn’t mean they’d stop tearing him down later, though.

Oh, they’d be back at it soon enough, trashing his name like it was their life’s mission.

But right now?

Even they had to admit this scene hit different.

Something about it stirred something in them.

Something innocent they hadn’t felt in a long time.

Maybe ever.

And man, it was annoying.

Made them squirm... cry.

An emotional wave they couldn’t stop.

And they weren’t the only ones feeling that way.

Magi sniffled, a few openly wept, and others just stared at the now-paused projection with wide, glassy eyes.

Even Noor and Roya, the two usually indifferent characters, looked misty-eyed, muttering a quiet:

"...Wow."

Azeem smiled a sad one, jealousy nearly apparent on his face.

Once, only he and a rare few others knew the kindness of the Sultan.

A beautiful heart he believed buried under tons of evil.

It was why he remained under him for so long... but now, he lost the sole privilege.

The whole world knew.

Zafar, meanwhile, was on the other side of jealousy.

His jaw worked like he was chewing on words he couldn’t spit out.

Safira, "his woman," fawned on another man and even kneeled for him.

Giving him a whole prayer circle in his honor.

’FUCKING BASTARD!’

The woman herself didn’t care about any of that, however.

Her focus wasn’t on anyone else except that little friend of hers.

"Jasmine..."

She was reminded of her, a friend that she deeply loved and cared for.

A girl who’d been an anchor in a life that wasn’t even hers to begin with.

Slowly, her memories played back, reminding her of her sorrowful, sorrowful past.

’...One day I just woke up in that body. Transmigrated, dropped into a mess I didn’t understand, about to be shipped off to God-knows-where.’

Her fingers twitched as the thought stabbed deeper.

’If not for her, I probably would’ve gotten myself killed.’

For a second, her face softened, a flicker of the warmth she once felt.

’I really loved her...’

But it didn’t last.

The smile vanished, replaced by something darker.

Something venomous.

’Too bad she tried to take what wasn’t hers.’

But before anyone could notice, a loud, fervent shout echoed from the far side of the room.

"All Hail! All Hail the True Sultan!"

Everyone turned toward the commotion, and the same group of white-hooded figures raised their hands to the Heavens above.

"Praise Him!"

"Even the depraved carries ’His’ will!"

"Blessed be ’His’ will!"

"We were right to believe! Right to be thankful!"

"’His’ light shines even in the darkest places!"

"This is proof! Proof of ’His’ mercy! ’His’ grace!"

"The True Sultan watches over us, even now!"

"ALL HAIL! ALL HAIL!"

Most of the crowd groaned collectively, starting to get annoyed.

"Ah, man... The Zealots are at it again."

"Can’t they stay quiet like the other two?"

"You Templar are not the only religious faction here, you know?"

"Learn something from their books; it might do you some good."

Complaints poured in from half of the crowd, and yet...

"ALL HAIL!"

They weren’t listening.

***

{Inside The Projection}

For a very long second, Malik closed his eyes.

He didn’t believe in miracles. Not really.

But tonight, standing there in the dim light, surrounded by these voices, these hearts turned toward him—he almost wanted to.

When he opened his eyes again, he found them all watching him.

Not with fear. Not with desperation. But with something deeper.

Something purer.

’Maybe...’

And for that, Malik let himself relearn what he lost.

Hope.

’It’s okay to hope.’

***

{Outside The Projection}

"Hey, the memories continued playing but these guys are still screaming."

Azeem’s frustrated words were directed to Roya, as she was the one who brought Templar into the coalition.

"Nothing I can do about it."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"They’ve ’lent’ me this Ten Commandment. They know they’re a level above the rest, and they’re abusing that fact."

"So you’re saying we can’t do shit?"

She shook her head.

"No. We can. But I’d rather not ’sour’ our relationship."

He stared at her for a while, then turned back to the projection.

"...Whatever you say, Lady."

***

{Inside The Projection}

Malik glanced at a map, some torn scrap of parchment he’d snagged from the leader’s tent.

He traced the crude lines with a finger, lips pressing into a tight line as he tried to make sense of it.

The so-called exit points marked on it weren’t far—at least, not if they kept up a steady pace.

"Alright, listen up!"

He called, gathering the girls near the camp’s edge, surrounding him like ducklings to their mother hen.

Malik shook his head at the thought and cleared his throat before addressing them again:

"We’re heading for one of these exit points. It’s not far, but we gotta move quick and stay sharp. Keep your weapons ready—if anything jumps out, you fight like Hell until I reach you, got it?"

A mix of nervous nods and determined expressions met his words.

"Good."

He proceeded to walk through the group, checking their makeshift belts where jangling weapons hung.

Those with too small a figure for belts had to hold their weapons.

Some of them couldn’t even properly do that, their grips unsure.

"You."

Malik pointed to a scrawny girl barely taller than the blade she held.

"Don’t grip it like it’s a snake about to bite you."

He adjusted her hands, showing her the proper way to swing.

"Hold it tight, yes, but not too much; stiffness in combat might be your downfall."

She repeatedly nodded, too nervous to give her thanks.

"Don’t mind."

Malik moved on, making sure each girl had something to defend herself with, even if it was just a sharpened stick or a small knife.

"Coins—everyone got coins?"

The group shuffled awkwardly, some holding up small pouches.

"Make sure you never lose them. You never know what the Faraja will ask for."

He sighed, stepping back to take in the sight of them.

They looked ridiculous—a ragtag group of scared kids trying to play pretend.

But it didn’t make him laugh, not even a little.

"Alright..."

His voice was soft.

"You’re ready. Let’s go."

The walk to the exit point wasn’t as smooth as he’d hoped.

Uneven ground, wet dirt, and narrow paths.

Though thankfully, it didn’t get much worse than that.

Malik stayed at the front at all times, his hand resting on the hilt of his shamshir, ready for combat.

He’d glance back occasionally, making sure no one fell behind.

"You..."

Midway through, he slowed down, joining Safira, who walked near the middle of the group with Jasmine.

"...You doing okay?"

Safira smiled.

"We’re fine. You?"

He snorted, spilling as much sarcasm into his words as he could:

"Never better."

Their conversation ended there, dry as the desert.

When they reached the exit point, the group hesitated, staring up at the opening above.

It looked like any other opening between the mushroom caps, but Malik was sure that it was the location.

"Let’s do this."

He clapped his hands and turned to the girls.

One by one, he began helping them activate their Holy Relics.

Each of the strange-looking backpacks hummed to life, parachute-like structures unfolding above them.

The girls gasped as they were lifted off the ground, floating just above it.

"Whoa!"

"Ah!"

"I-I’m f-flying!"

Chuckling at their reactions, he, with the help of Safira and Jasmine, began to push them up.

They shifted, feet dangling for a few moments more before they started ascending.

"Keep going!"

Malik couldn’t help but smile, waving at them as they flew up into the darkness.

"Don’t look down!"

All the girls waved back nervously, even the two who fell short of their luck earlier.

They offered no reply back, too terrified to speak, but Jasmine and Safira didn’t mind.

Those two kept waving like maniacs, tears threatening to fall from their eyes.

It wasn’t long before they disappeared into the night sky, swallowed by the darkness.

"...Haaah."

Malik let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and turned back.

Safira and Jasmine stood there, arms crossed, looking way too calm for his liking.

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’Weren’t they crying just now?’

It was as if the girls from earlier had left alongside those up above.

"Well—"

Malik started, but Safira interrupted him:

"Master, can we ask something?"

He froze, blinking at her.

"Master? Wait, hold on—what? I’m not—"

"We want to be your disciples."

Jasmine said firmly, her voice cutting through his protests before they could even form.

Malik stared at them both like they’d just lost their minds.

"Disciples? What are you even talking about? I’m not a master—Hell, I’m barely a Magi!"

***

{Outside The Projection}

Safira stood frozen, staring at the projection.

Her heart felt like it had been dunked in ice and lit on fire all at once.

The scene she’d just watched—those girls, Jasmine, Malik’s fumbling words—it all brought back so many damned memories.

Back then, she thought Malik was holding back, acting modest.

She’d assumed it all was a part of some act, the way those from noble families did things to "experience the common folk" or whatever ridiculous reason they had.

But now?

"My God... he was telling the truth."

Though the past her prayed for him like the rest, she’d written him off as some rich kid slumming it for fun, probably waiting for a chance to brag about how he’d "saved the day."

Only now did she understand.

Understand just how unfair she was.

The boy had gone through literal Hell.

There was no arrogance in his words, no air of superiority.

He hadn’t acted like he was better than them—he’d just... helped.

And there she was, judging him and planning to use him.

Safira exhaled roughly, thoughts in her mind clicking into place like a cruel puzzle.

’He didn’t think he was a big deal because he wasn’t.’

’He didn’t come from some grand family or a guild.’

’It was just him... him and his stubborn will.’

She felt a laugh bubble up, dry and bitter.

’And I called him ’Master.’ God, what an idiot I was.’