Misunderstood Hero: My Family Are All Villains

Malik read the entry again.

Then a second time, then a third, as if the words would change with repetition.

It didn’t.

’This is the Former Sultan’s diary?’

He had expected war strategies, political machinations, secrets about the Abyss, the invaders, the factions.

He had expected something useful!

Instead, he got gossip about a man named Ayyub and his apparently unfaithful wife.

’Great.’

Sighing away, he continued and read the line below that.

[I would’ve called it hilarious if he weren’t so pitiful. He even came to me earlier today, asking for relationship advice. I almost laughed in his face.]

Was this really the man all of Devil’s Maw once respected? The Sultan who had ruled before him, the one whose death had plunged the planet into chaos, many Hellbent on avenging his supposedly saintly life?

[She might think I care for her, with all the luxuries I’m providing her, but I don’t. Who’d care for a woman who opens her legs for gold and attention from spectacular men like myself? I’m only doing it to spite the general.]

It seemed that, though Cyrus wasn’t going to admit it outright, he was being petty towards this general specifically.

It might be because Ayuub married this girl before he could, and now the Former Sultan spent his days sneaking around and writing smug entries about his conquests.

’Seriously, how did people respect this guy... or rather, just how much of himself did he hide from the public?’

[If he found out, I bet he’d try to poison me. Too bad I already am. Hm, if only my generals were more like that golden-haired kid...]

The entry ended there.

Malik flipped through the pages and found nothing more.

’Part one is just that? Really?’

After a sigh, he closed the book.

’I think the ’kid’ Cyrus mentioned was me, but whatever. I’ve probably met him by then and impressed him. More importantly, he was already poisoned? By who? How? And why?’

He sat there for a moment, holding the leather-bound book in his remaining hand, and considered his life choices.

Malik had nearly died in a ravine, covered in bugs and surrounded by corpses. He had almost lost a hand and his very life.

All of which began with a king’s betrayal. An assassination attempt, the insurrection to save that king and become Sultan...

A mole in their midst, providing the enemy with information.

Dominoes that fell onto each other, reaching... this.

It suited a man with enemies like his; he couldn’t deny that.

Whatever decision, even if seemingly trivial, would lead to repercussions that would lead to further repercussions.

The butterfly effect.

But his fellow Sultan seemed to live such a... carefree life.

That wasn’t fair, now was it?

’This is what I get for being curious.’

Malik almost threw the book across the room, almost. But something stopped him, a thought at the back of his mind:

’Why would the system give me this?’

While the Wheel of Fortune became random, its contents weren’t.

It was a tool, designed by a Sultan who understood that information was power.

Everything in it had to be useful to Malik in some way, shape, or form.

So maybe it wasn’t just a dead man’s dirty secrets; maybe Ayyub was important.

Maybe his wife was important. Maybe the Former Sultan’s affairs had consequences that were still playing out, decades later.

Either way, it wasn’t information that he could use yet, so he called it away, returning it to the system.

He needed a plan to get out of here; the Wheel Of Fortune had failed him.

’Think, you’re the Sultan. You’ve gotten out of worse situations than this.’

Malik closed his eyes.

’I can just tell her that I need to breathe some fresh air... she’d allow me that.’

Indeed, that was a possibility.

There was no need for elaborate schemes or daring escapes. His disciple was too kind not to allow him such a want.

Nodding at that thought, he knocked on the wall beside him, knowing Safira would hear.

And sure enough, after ten seconds or so, she knocked on the door and entered.

Her ginger hair was tied back now, and she had changed into a simpler dress, still elegant, but more practical for moving around.

"Are you alright?"

Malik smiled at her.

"Can you help me get some fresh air?"

She took a moment to inspect him.

Her gaze moved from his face to his bandaged hand, then to his posture, and then to his eyes.

Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it.

"Alright."

Safira crossed the room and began removing his bandages.

The wrappings came off in layers, white linen stained with old blood.

Beneath them, his hand looked almost normal, his skin pink and new, the scars already faded.

Safira’s healing spells were impressive. Good thing he had kept his severed hand with him during the fight; otherwise, well, he would have been one-handed right about now.

"Your body has healed remarkably fast..."

She turned his hand over and examined the palm.

"The Rukh in your blood is stronger than I expected."

Malik said nothing, letting her draw her own conclusions.

He wasn’t going to risk it any further.

Safira soon finished her inspection and stepped back.

"You’re all good now. I’d like to keep you here for a few days longer to make sure you’re fine. So yes, if you really wish, I can escort you to the Holy Palace’s roof."

Malik wasn’t asking for the roof; that would complicate things.

He had hoped for a simple courtyard or a garden path, something with multiple exits. But he couldn’t appear specific, and he couldn’t claim a fear of heights after all he had been through.

Left with no rebuttal, he could only nod.

"Thank you."

...

Minutes later, Malik stood on one of the Holy Palace’s smaller golden domes.

The roof was round and sloped, covered in tiles that gleamed in the sunlight.

A low railing ran around the edge, more decorative than functional.

Safira had led him through a series of hidden passages and narrow staircases, avoiding the main halls where other servants could have seen them.

He now wore new clothes, surprisingly fancy dark robes; perhaps there was nothing worse in the Holy Palace.

Two Suns hung in the sky above, their combined heat pressed down on the palace, but up here, with the breeze moving steadily, it felt bearable.

Malik looked out at his sultanate.

From this height, he could see everything.

The outer walls stretched across the horizon. The clusters of buildings huddled together for protection. The distant mountains to the North, their peaks hidden by clouds. The faint glimmer of the river winding through the lower city.

It was beyond words.

This was what he had bled for.

What his soldiers had died for.

What he had nearly lost himself to protect.

Safira sat down next to him on the warm tiles, her legs dangling over the edge, and followed his gaze across the city.

"You might think that your suffering was all for naught, but no. Every soldier is important. You are the ones who constantly do the impossible for your Sultan... his return. Without you, this beauty wouldn’t exist."

’...hm.’

Malik didn’t know what to say to that.

If only she knew she was talking to the Sultan himself.

Thus, he kept his face neutral, his eyes on the horizon, listening to the distant sound of bells.

"But unfortunately..."

Safira continued, her voice growing softer.

"We cannot deny that the war hasn’t truly started yet."