Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 93: A Lie

Meanwhile, the one who kept coming up in conversations, Safira... she just stood there, staring.

Her whole body felt like it wasn’t hers anymore, like she’d been transmigated a second time.

’No...’

’No, this isn’t real.’

’It can’t be real.’

But it was. No matter how much she wished that it wasn’t.

It was as real as the divine and as fake as the promises men made in its name.

Nobody could deny it. Nobody. Not even her own mind. It was the truth, plain and simple.

"Hhk..."

Her breath hitched, a choked sound breaking from her throat.

This before her was her teacher, shackled like a criminal, a Goddamn animal. And why?

...Because he saved her.

The price of her freedom was his own.

But if he hadn’t… If he hadn’t done what he did, she’d be—

’No!’

Safira shuddered so hard she almost collapsed, barely able to stay on her feet, but that wasn’t because she had strength in her legs; no, they had given out completely. It was Layla.

Before she could faceplant, she was there, catching her, keeping her upright, letting her lean on her, carrying more than just physical weight.

"He…"

Safira’s hands gripped Layla’s dress like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

"He didn’t leave me…"

The words came out barely above a whisper.

"He never left me…"

Her vision blurred, and the flood returned—hot, endless—while sobs shook her whole body.

She could barely breathe. It hurt... It hurt.

All this time. All this time. She thought he had abandoned her. Thought he had just disappeared, leaving her alone in that nightmare. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t. They had taken him from her. Stole him away and left her with nothing but a lie.

"WHY?!"

A broken wail tore out of her throat, and she buried her face in Layla’s dress.

It was too much. Too much.

"Safira."

Then—warmth. Tears, not of her own, trailed her cheek.

"You..."

It was Layla’s... her arms wrapping tighter around her.

"You didn’t know…"

"You weren’t supposed to know…"

"You were just a kid…"

Safira’s sobs came harder, messier.

She wanted to scream, to rage, to undo it all.

But all she could do was cry, drowning in the truth she had spent centuries never knowing.

That relief that she felt... twice. Was nothing but a farce.

There was nothing to feel relieved about.

She didn’t turn him into the bloodthirsty Sultan?

Bullshit.

Like Huda, she completely believed in a lie and blamed him for it throughout his entire life.

When they met again, she didn’t just forget to thank him—she acted like he had betrayed her.

Him. Betray. HER.

That didn’t stop at just being ungrateful... she was a dog.

A bitch that bit the hand that fed her.

"Heh..."

Watching them, Huda showed a soft smile, a few of her tears leaving her.

She knew exactly what Safira was feeling, having gone through it only hours ago.

It was something that she didn’t even begin to process, a tragedy that would stay with her till her last breath.

Yet, even that time wasn’t given to Safira.

The world shook.

BOOM!

The Holy Palace, as big as a town, trembled in its entirety, an explosion ripping through it.

The ground beneath them lurched, dust and shattered stone raining down from above.

The walls groaned. And before anyone could even process what was happening—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

More. Closer. Louder.

Hoooooooooooooooooot!

Shoved gently by Crimson, Huda was the first to snap out of it.

"We’re under attack!"

She shouted, wiping away her tears, and shoving her right hand in the left’s sleeve. Pulling it out, a short sword adorned her grip.

"Get ready!"

Not one Magi showed a face of panic.

Smart or dumb as they were, these Magi were Guards, Warriors, Knights, Priests, Inquisitors, Seekers, Professors, Caliphs, Family Heads, Princes, Princesses, Kings, and Queens. Shahs of every walk of life.

They all knew war enough not to disgrace themselves before their leaders.

"Form a perimeter! Protect the sanctum!"

Noor was barking orders while Zafar stood tall in the front, hands glowing with Aether, eyes scanning for the enemy.

"Who would dare attack the Holy Palace?"

The echoes of chaos filled the hall—until they didn’t.

Because then… footsteps.

Lone, steady footsteps, echoing through the broken silence.

Clickclack, clickclack, clickclack...

The crowd hesitated, weapons half-raised, glancing at each other in confusion.

The explosions had stopped, yet here came… someone. Walking. Alone.

The steps drew closer, unhurried, like they had all the time in the world.

And then a man appeared.

He stepped into the hall, his clothes dusted with ash, his expression unreadable.

He wasn’t injured. Wasn’t afraid. He just… stood there, letting the tension stretch until it was unbearable.

"...They’re dead."

His voice was flat.

"All of them."

The words cut through the hall like a blade.

"What?"

Zafar stepped forward, fists clenched.

"Who? Who’s dead?"

"The guards."

The man shook his head.

"Some idiot playing merchant handed out extra cores to them. Buy one get one free type of deal. More power... free time, they thought. But, surprising all of us, their bodies couldn’t handle the surge. And so…"

He gestured vaguely behind him.

"Boom."

"..."

"..."

"..."

Silence.

"…That doesn’t make sense."

Noor frowned, turning to Roya.

"They were trained enough to mimic the technique."

"Right, they should’ve been fine."

Zafar murmured, following her gaze.

"But they weren’t..."

The man then added, doing the same:

"And I think you all know why."

Slowly, every head in the hall turned.

Where? To Roya.

She was frozen, eyes locked on something none of them could see.

Her body was slightly tense as if listening to a voice just beyond their reach.

Then she shuddered.

"…It’s not just them."

A chill swept through the hall.

"Tens... maybe even hundreds. They—"

She sucked in a breath.

"They’re all dead."

Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"But how?!"

"Didn’t you say that the technique had succeeded?!"

"Did you lie to us?!"

Roya lifted her gaze, and the look in her eyes sent a shiver down spines.

"The technique."

Her voice was hoarse, distant.

"It works. But it ONLY works for those of lower rank… below Jinn, or those who use weak cores, lacking in Aether."

At those words, a terrible realization dawned.

These deaths... all of them could’ve been avoided so easily.

Everyone there without exception had overlooked something obvious.

Of course the details of the technique would differ with stronger cores!

Just How?... How could they miss something so damn obvious?!

Were they... was SHE that affected by Malik’s memories?

Neither she nor they wanted the answer to that question.

They’d rather forget that any of this had ever happened.

And that was what they proceeded to do.

***

The void stretched endlessly, and I floated, weightless, directionless.

I did the only thing I could. Think...

Lose myself in what I could only describe as my mind.

To me, life was, is, and will always be brilliant, beautiful.

It enchanted us to the point of obsession—like some magician pulling tricks that left you hooked, desperate to see the next one... the next day.

Even here, surrounded by nothingness, I felt its pull.

But why? …Going where? What am I even holding onto?

I couldn’t say.

Some were true to their purpose, though they were but shells. Flesh and mind, nothing more. I wonder, was I any different?

Was I true to my purpose?

Or was I just another empty vessel, drifting, pretending it all had meaning?

I often thought of the man who lost his body but lingered on as a head.

A grotesque existence—no arms to grasp, no legs to walk, no heart to beat.

And yet, he lived... If you could call it that.

What a life, right? Barely scraping by, but for what?

What kept him going? Was it sheer will?

Some stubborn instinct to cling to what little remained?

Or was it just fear—the same primal terror that drove all things to keep moving, even when there was nowhere left to go?

Could that even be called survival? Or was he just proof that existence didn’t need purpose, only persistence?

And if that were true, what would that say about me?

Again... I could not say.

What about those who chased love? Were they any different?

The ones endlessly drawn to something they could never truly hold?

Always chasing, never finding.

I used to think love was the answer, but now?

For the third time... I could not say.

I didn’t even know what I was chasing.

Light banished Dark and all that stemmed from humanity.

It had left them incomplete. Imperfect.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

Men assumed a fleeting form, fragile, and unconnected to the cosmic truth.

These were the roots of our world... our hotpot of chaos and order.

Of life and death.

Of ruin and rebirth.

Of endless war and fleeting peace.

Of dying embers and undying shadows.

Of a God who turned ’His’ back on men, and men who raged against their fate.

Of cursed wisdom—truths too heavy to bear, knowledge that corroded the soul.

Of blessed ignorance—the mercy of not knowing, the peace of blind faith.

One a burden, the other a shackle. Neither truly free.

Of fire stolen and chains reforged, a cycle neither broken nor complete.

A world never meant to be fair. Never meant to be kind. Only real.

It made us who we were and who we weren’t.

So... What was it that drove me? What was it that drove anyone?

We returned to the beginning... I was stuck, going in circles. More so as time went by.

I felt like I was becoming someone else’s puppet, moving to their strings, walking a path that wasn’t mine, following a script I never wrote.

Was that my fate? To exist as a prop on someone else’s stage?

A nobody? A medium in which a story inched to its finale?

A cog in the machine, turning, replacing, repeating—across this life and the last?

If not... Then what else was there?

It was all I ever knew.

What could I do to escape that?

Could I even escape it?

"..."

The void didn’t answer... I didn’t answer.

I just keep turning the questions over and over in my mind.

And maybe... maybe that was the truth of it all.

No matter how tender, how exquisite, how convincing the story—I was starting to think it was all a lie. And no matter what I told myself, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise…

"A lie will always be a lie."

For a story built on a false purpose could never truly go on.

"Bassorāh."

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{Volume 3: When the Sparrow Falls.}