Misunderstood Villain Heroines Mourn My Death Chapter 400
Who wants to be sultan? ii[ … words ]
[ … words ]
“Cease your recklessness.”
At the near front was the Grand Vizier and his aides, none of whom dared speak.
Far behind them was the once Royal Family—wives, cousins, uncles, children, and of course, Cyrus’s brother, whom he called Naeem in his diary, and his daughter… Huda.
Cyrus’s bloodline stood draped in mourning silks; hatred loud in their eyes.
To their right was the Council—scholars, judges, and high nobles.
The ones who were most annoying under Cyrus’s rule, now blinking in fear at his killer.
Further along the sides were city governors, military commanders, spiritual heads, diplomatic envoys, and foreign observers.
All of these people of high positions stayed completely silent, unable to do anything but watch history shift before their very eyes.
Only then, when Malik gazed upon them all, did he let his hand fall.
“There’s no one in this hall who can stand against me.”
His voice wasn’t loud, but it buried everyone in that chamber like a tombstone.
This was a truth that most of them were forced to process by that gesture alone.
It made the ones who hadn’t spoken since the beginning, like Al-Sayf… like Huda, their very princess, stare even harder at Malik, wanting so damn badly to rip his eyes out.
She, as well as her family, barely stopped themselves from jumping into their deaths.
They were angry, hateful, and enraged, but again, Malik was right; not just this hall, there wasn’t a soul alive in the entire world who could stand against or even touch him.
Well, maybe Scheherazade… maybe, but she was in the West.
She had never moved a single piece for the North or South.
That legendary Emperor stayed distant, unreachable.
So it was just Malik now.
Thump.
They almost heard the sound of an old cane as he calmly stepped down from the throne, walking on the marble, right into the sea of cowards that parted like water.
Terrified was the least of it; even nearing him felt like it would kill them on the spot.
His steps brought him before the same boy, the young attendant who had screamed first.
Malik had completely towered over him.
“Boy.”
Hearing just one word, the young attendant’s legs immediately gave out, and he collapsed backward, his bottom crashing into the stone.
“Well…”
Showing no particular reaction, Malik slowly crouched.
“Looks like you’ve all made up your minds about me.”
He didn’t sound angry or bitter, not at all.
“But I…”
Rather, he sounded tired.
“I don’t blame you.”
So, so very tired.
“Not at all.”
He smiled a broken one.
“I would’ve done the same.”
It didn’t reach his eyes.
“So let’s cut to the chase.”
Before the boy could piss himself, Malik stood up and looked around.
“Who wants to kill me?”
Everyone flinched at that sudden question.
Again, his voice wasn’t angry; he didn’t even shout, but…
Each word was louder than any scream.
“The Grand Vizier?
Malik turned in place, eyes dragging across the faces before him, until they paused before an older man.
“Hm?”
The Grand Vizier took a step back.
“No.”
His eyes resumed, reaching another face.
“The Commander of the City Guard?”
The Commander gripped his sword’s hilt, only to let go just as fast.
“Hm. The Head of the Dīwān?”
“…”
Silence.
“I won’t resist.”
He stepped toward them.
“I’ll let you do it. Come. One of you. Give me my BREAK.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Getting no answer, he turned and walked towards the once Royal Family.
They almost instantly shrank back, their hatred wavering.
Malik casually locked eyes with one of Cyrus’s widows.
“What about you?”
She trembled harder, saying nothing.
Unable to even breathe.
He didn’t wait.
“Hm.”
Malik moved to Cyrus’s sons.
Only four were here, but they were all grown men, warriors in their own right.
“I dare you… any one of you.”
He paused before the oldest—tall, broad-shouldered, trying to stand firm.
“You. Do it. End my life.”
Malik stepped close, closer than comfort allowed.
“You’re a man, aren’t you? You’ll do it, right?”
His right hand tapped his own neck lightly.
“Cut my head off like I did your father’s. Do it.”
The man’s legs shook.
“Do it.”
“…N-No.”
“DO IT.”
“S-Stop—”
“DO IT.”
He waited.
“P-P-Plea—”
“DO IT!”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
The young man screamed and collapsed like a tower hit by a storm.
Malik stepped back and chuckled… sounding disappointed almost.
Once more, he scanned all of them.
“Look at your people.”
He gestured to the cowering nobles, the sobbing women, and the commanders who trembled in their armor.
“They’ll never truly support me.”
He shook his head.
“Why would they? I assassinated the one they loved.”
Malik turned again, walking back past the sons… the daughters.
“So…”
But not all of them.
“Tell me.”
He paused in front of Huda.
Her hate was a dagger against his skin. The anger and fury burning behind her eyes—he’d never experienced such raw loathing before—it condemned him entirely, making him feel something he could not yet name.
Still, Malik didn’t pause.
“Will you kill me, little sister?”
He only stared.
“…No?”
“…”
She gave no answer.
But her hand twitched at her side.
A flicker, half a step forward, as if she might draw a dagger from the folds of her mourning silks.
Unfortunately… she didn’t.
Malik turned away, but just before he did, he noticed it.
A single tear sliding down her cheek.
She didn’t look away when it fell.
Neither did he.
Oh, how their relationship twisted.
Then, like nothing happened, Malik kept walking.
“…Who wants to be Sultan?”
He walked to a steward holding the crown.
Snatching it, he pushed it into the chest of a nearby advisor, some nobody.
“Do you want to be Sultan?”
“…”
No reply, not even a whimper.
He turned and looked at everyone.
“WHO WANTS TO BE SULTAN?!”
“…”
“…”
“…”
Again, for the last time, not a single voice came in reply.
It was completely silent, though only for a moment as…
Clink.
The sound of the crown crashing onto the Golden Throne echoed.
Thump, thump, thump…
As well as Malik’s footsteps as he walked out without once looking back.
Sinbad did, however, staring at them as the massive doors began to shut behind the two.
Bringing an end to the most intense coronation to have ever been.
An end that no one dared follow.
