Chapter 129: Going To Hell

"Ay, why do you think the Sultan sold that Angel for cheap? I was honestly expecting a lot more for it."

Duban shrugged his shoulders at Azeem’s question.

"As always with the Sultan, I’m not so sure. Perhaps it’s to show how unimportant they are to him."

Kabir, standing next to them, nodded his head.

"I agree with General Duban. My Sultan does many things with great meaning in mind. We are simply too lacking to fathom it."

Azeem grinned at him.

"Are you sure it isn’t because Lady Amal’s dance stunned him? Even though that happened a few days back, I still feel like it was only yesterday from how shocking it was to see."

Duban chuckled.

"Seeing her smile so brightly really does warm the heart."

Meanwhile, Kabir glared at Azeem.

"A shadow doesn’t twist from its owner. Neither should a Right Hand."

A glare that made Azeem sigh.

"Bah! You’re no fun."

Azeem glanced to the side, where Zafar stood. The white-haired soldier was staring at something. Or rather, someone. A woman in the Guard of the Fifth, wearing slightly revealing clothes.

"Really, brother?"

"Hm—ah?!"

Zafar startled, caught red-handed, prompting Duban to laugh.

"Brother, you fall in love too often!"

Kabir scoffed instead of joining in.

"Sarah, don’t look at him too long. You might contract his illness."

"Buahahhahahahahahah!"

Azeem laughed his behind off, while Sarah kept fiddling with a Holy Relic in her hands, completely ignoring Zafar.

After a little while, when the laughter finally died down, a heavy voice crackled through the Holy Relic.

"If any bastard still breathes in that stronghold, have them line up."

Azeem and the rest looked around the hall they were in.

It was a massacre.

Body after body was scattered across the ground, killed by their blades.

If it wasn’t obvious by now, this was another day of them fulfilling their operation.

"...I don’t think any of them is still breathing," Duban reported.

"Hm. Pity."

A smiling Azeem leaned into the Holy Relic.

"My Sultan, what should we do with those they took as slaves here? There are too many to send to nearby cities, and most seemed to have completely forgotten their memories."

"From now on, after getting our people healed and identified, have them go work on Project Eden."

The eyes of everyone present lit up at the name being mentioned, yet none of them said anything but:

"By your Will!"

***

Upon being... visited by IT again, Malik realized that he needed his Spine Splitter fast.

If it ever came down to a true battle, Spine Splitter would easily be his best bet.

Its long history with Corruption proved its worth again and again.

The sword was waiting for him at the bottom of Hell, buried in the deepest layer of the Abyss, and he could no longer afford to leave it there.

Since he intended to be away for a while, to retrieve his sword, he wanted to push further now, to engrave himself onto all his enemies so deeply that they wouldn’t dare attack while he was gone.

After the banquet, even more people came to register as soldiers, their fervor stoked by the sight of their Sultan celebrating with his family.

Malik ensured a new method of training took root, one focused on minimizing casualties above all else.

The classic break-them-down, build-them-up approach, used in military training across a hundred generations, was applied to his people.

They would be broken down through tough drills, forced to rely on one another, to forge bonds as fellow recruits. Then built back up as disciplined soldiers who could be assigned to the right tasks.

Nothing new under the Suns, but it always worked.

The only problem was that they were too reverent of their Sultan. Too eager to go above and beyond at every opportunity.

That was nice to know, a testament to the love his people held for him, but it wasn’t exactly a good quality for soldiers who needed to accurately listen to commands rather than charge headlong into danger trying to impress him.

Anyhow, Malik couldn’t go to Hell alone.

The Abyss was unfathomably vast and hungry; even with his restored strength, traveling to the bottommost layer required companions he could trust.

Thus, he planned to go... undercover with Safira and Huda, hiding his Sultan self by making the excuse that he needed to cultivate in seclusion.

Yes, to recover from his battle with the Angel.

He chose them specifically to recreate their earlier... trip to the East. A journey that had bonded them in ways none of them fully understood.

So, while the Suns were high in the sky and the palace bustled with the aftermath of the banquet, he called upon the two women.

"I need you to retrieve Spine Splitter from Hell."

It was a massive undertaking.

Enough so that it had both Safira and Huda pause mid-step, their eyes widening.

The two would do everything for him; they had proven that time and again, so this hesitation showed just how insane the request truly was.

Again, only Malik had ever reached the bottom of the Abyss in living memory.

Other Sultans must have gotten to Hell before him, must have stood where he stood and seen what he had seen. But that didn’t make the journey any less insane.

The layers of the Abyss were designed to kill, each one deadlier than the last, and Hell was the worst of them all.

Even if they somehow succeeded, even if they reached the bottommost layer of Hell and found Spine Splitter where it lay, they could not wield it.

Only Malik could wield Spine Splitter.

The sword was bonded to his blood, thus his Soul, thus his fire. Anyone else who touched it would burn.

This task was impossible...

Only if he wasn’t with them, of course.

But they didn’t need to know that, did they?

"By your Will!"

Sure enough, they accepted, their faces set with the determination of women who had long ago decided that impossibility was merely a suggestion.

That was the mentality of his people.

The mentality he imparted upon them.

And thus, they were to go to Hell.