Misunderstood Hero: My Family Are All Villains

With the dead dealt with and Zafar informed of his task, Malik turned around and left with Dunya, who had returned just on time from wherever she had been waiting.

It was so very obvious that Zafar wanted to talk with Malik, to ask something, to perhaps even hug his Sultan after years of absence.

But once more, Malik was running out of Rukh, the power of the Soul Glyph fading fast, prompting his immediate return.

That likely caused another misunderstanding with Zafar, thinking that his Sultan was uninterested in his loyal soldier’s feelings.

At this point, Malik didn’t bother to count the misunderstandings anymore. There were too many, and he had more important things to worry about.

They returned to the Sultan’s Hall in a flash of Death, where the Golden Throne waited for him like an old friend.

There, Dunya turned to face him, and a script of Death appeared in the air before her:

[My Sultan... would you sleep with your wife tonight? I’m sure she’s still awake, waiting for you.]

Malik stared at Dunya for a while, his golden eyes meeting her purple ones. The question hung in the air between them, literally.

He thought of Layla, of her trembling hands and tearful eyes, of the way she had looked at him like he might disappear if she blinked.

Eventually, he shook his head.

"No, not tonight."

Dunya looked down, her small shoulders slumping slightly.

[Do you... do you not forgive her for her inaction?]

Malik didn’t react, his face giving nothing of his inner confusion away.

’I don’t know what the Hell you’re talking about.’

Indeed, Malik had no memory of what they did or did not do. The fragments the system had given him were incomplete, scattered like puzzle pieces missing half their edges.

The black-dressed version of him had advised him not to hate his family, so it was likely a betrayal of sorts, at least from the others.

It seemed that his wife, though knowing of this betrayal, had stayed as a mere bystander, letting it happen.

He was sure there were reasons for her inaction, many of them.

After all, he was known as the Misunderstood Villain, a man whose noble actions were entirely misinterpreted by those who didn’t know the full story.

But yes, that didn’t change the fact that she had let him be betrayed. That she had let them try to kill him.

Of course, they had greatly failed.

Malik was still here, sitting on his throne.

But that fact didn’t change much of anything to him; the intention was what was most important.

"I’ll be staying here."

That was all Malik could offer her.

No explanation, justification, and certainly no promise of forgiveness.

Only the simple truth.

Dunya accepted that, her head bowing low as she stepped away from the throne, the great gates closing behind her with a click.

Despite all of his thoughts, the main reason why Malik had to stay here was, of course, practical, not emotional.

Rukh would leak out of him even while he slept, regressing his appearance back to that of a frail old man.

The throne was the only thing that kept him stable, that fed him enough Rukh to maintain his golden-haired form.

In other words, sleeping with his wife was a sure-fire way of having his weakness be exposed.

She would wake up next to a wrinkled stranger, and everything he had done so far to keep his big secret hidden would be for naught.

He simply could not have that happen.

And so, Malik sat on the throne and laid his head on its golden frame, the metal cool against his cheek.

’It’s really cold.’

Finally, after so long—after the East, after the Demons, after the battles and the speeches and the endless, exhausting performance—he had a moment for himself.

It seemed there was rest for the wicked.

...

Knocks on the gate awakened him.

Three quick raps, loud and clear, echoing through the empty hall. Following that, and without waiting for permission, the gates swung open.

No one else, except a very few, could do that—the ones who held the highest rank, namely, the ones who were family.

"Husband... good morning."

Malik’s eyes fluttered open, meeting his...

"Wife."

Layla was standing at the threshold, framed by the morning light pouring in from the corridor behind her.

She was wearing a beautiful dress.

It was a deep purple silk with gold embroidery, fitted to her curves. Her hair was done up in quite an elegant style, fitting that of a queen.

Simply said, she was all dolled up and ready to go.

"Good morning."

Malik wiped his face with his hand and straightened up on the throne. His back cracked, and his neck protested the awkward sleeping position, but he ignored it.

"What have you come here for?"

Layla smiled with a bright and hopeful expression. She then clasped her hands in front of her and rocked on her heels slightly.

"I’ve heard of your announcement last night. It seems to me that you want your return to be known. So do you wish to visit the Last City today? Your people would like to see you up close. I’m sure it would increase their morale."

After a moment or two of consideration, Malik slowly nodded.

The Last City.

He had heard the name before in his halls.

It was the heart of his sultanate, the largest settlement in Devil’s Maw, where hundreds of thousands of his people lived, worked, and prayed for his return.

"I’ll go ready myself."

Smiling even brighter, Layla spun around and dashed out of the hall, her dress swishing behind her like a blooming flower.

She moved like a girl half her age, giddy with excitement, and Malik found himself watching her go with something that might have been fondness.

Ding!

Only for him to suddenly have his sight blocked.

—

╔════════╗

║OVERFLOW!║

╚════════╝

[Your Fear Spreads...]

[Fear Points: 30.9 → 71]

—

’Letting that Summoner live is paying off already.’

It seemed that she had spread the word of his return further while he slept, telling her story to anyone who would listen.

The Sultan who crushed them in a second.

The Sultan who left her alive as a warning.

The Sultan who had returned as an Angel.

This was very good.

Seventy-one Fear Points was a substantial amount; he could purchase a few peak Soul Glyphs or spam the Fortune’s Wheel again.

But, no. Malik knew his next step.

He would wait until he had enough Fear Points to unlock the next class in the Divine Hierarchy.

Class Ten.

It wasn’t only that he was curious about his forgotten memories—though that was a significant part of it—but also that Ascension would make buying the Soul Glyphs cheaper.

At least the latter ones.

Malik wasn’t exactly sure that would happen; it was only a guess, but still, a very likely one.

After all, the Runes were expensive due to how many chains the Soul Glyph needed to bypass to reach said Rune.

If those chains were lessened by one lock, then perhaps the cost would be lessened as well.

Of course, it would be by the equivalent of that one lock in Fear Points. And yes, he thought so despite the fact that it didn’t happen before, even after he’d unlocked Class Twelve and Class Eleven.

Class Twelve’s Rune was a Root Rune, his Fire Element. It only allocated him that.

Ember’s Touch was what he’d gotten from Class Eleven, the class that finally began to give him strength.

Change would begin from there.

Malik didn’t input the Fear Points to unlock the class yet, saving them just in case he was attacked and needed to buy a Soul Glyph on short notice.

Though he had recently been failing at being safe due to his... gambling, he would still try.

After taking a bath in a surprisingly modern bathroom—tiled walls, running water, even what looked like a shower—Malik dressed himself in royal black and subtle gold once more.

He’d also fixed his rat-tail hairdo, pulling the golden strands back and tying them together.

Once ready, he stepped out to meet his wife.

Dunya was with them, of course, wearing her maid uniform with the same quiet dignity she wore everything.

She had asked if she could help Malik in readying himself minutes ago, but he wasn’t comfortable enough for that; perhaps he never was.

Having someone else bathe him and dress him made him feel weird. Still, upon her insistence, he allowed her to accompany them on their outing.

Outside the Holy Palace’s north gate, Malik looked down, only now seeing how high his home was.

The stairs leading down the hill on which the Holy Palace was built appeared to be very long—thousands of steps—carved from the same marble as the throne room.

Yet they were also beautiful, lined with flowering trees, small shrines, and lanterns that would glow at night.

It seemed to be designed in a way to make it seem noble rather than royal. A place to respect rather than to fear.

Dunya suggested teleporting them, her hand already reaching for his, but Malik wanted to see his land.

He wanted to walk where his people walked to reach him, to feel the ground beneath his feet, to understand the place he was supposed to rule.

So he rejected her help a second time and proceeded to walk down the very long stairs.

Layla walked beside him, her hand brushing against his occasionally, while Dunya followed a few steps behind, ever watchful.

It didn’t take them long to reach the bottom, maybe twenty minutes of steady descending.

’No way I’m walking back up.’

Malik had regretted his decision midway through. He would need to find another way to return, or his legs would give out before he reached the top!

He didn’t wallow in that for long, however, the city soon taking all of his attention away.

’But wow... this land is truly incredible.’