Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death - Chapter 427: Cultivate On The Couch!
Chapter 427: Cultivate On The Couch!
***
{Outside The Projection}
This was… fair.
The hall could only call it that.
When the coin fell in there, the sound of it carried out here.
Its weight. Instead of hating it, they rather quite liked his approach.
It was pretty smart, allowing him to help them while fueling their hate even further, thereby achieving both of his objectives.
Yes, what Malik did—coin or throne—it was terrible, unarguably cruel in its nakedness.
But it was also… clean. The Farajah, the Council, and the Court had wrapped everything in scrolls and hearings, in endless waiting, in begging at ten doors before being heard.
Malik had cut through it all with a disk of gold.
A yes or no that burned away pretenses.
Though the ’no’ appeared real to them when it actually wasn’t, it was still a better alternative than waiting for justice that would take years to be served, and even then, be served inadequately.
It was a great thing for the current world’s mothers and fathers.
The hall loved that he gave them a path, even when it crushed them. They loved that he forced the nobles to line up like common beggars. They loved that the great were dragged away screaming like any thief.
Still, they weren’t happy seeing every part of that unfold.
The end… the final glare of most citizens hurt them deeply.
It might not have affected him, but it certainly did them.
They could only shake their heads.
It was incredibly hypocritical; they knew that, but…
They didn’t like to see their Lord be hated.
They ’hated’ what it did to him.
They wanted him to look human, to look pained, to at least blink.
Yet, they weren’t given that mercy…
Malik was truly long gone.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik stood among bodies scattered across a field, the breeze barely moving the scorched edges of their clothes.
The grass around them was blackened in patches, but beyond that, the land was green… peaceful.
It was a mockery.
He was still as the bodies themselves, saying nothing for a long while.
Only his eyes moved, and they drifted from figure to figure to figure until finally landing on Kabir, who was waiting beside him with that tense patience of his.
“Send these bodies to…”
Malik’s gaze shifted toward Sinbad, who was balancing on the peak of a nearby stone.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
’Three times.’
With that, he completed his sentence…
“Cave nine.”
And gestured for them to move.
“No one will see you.”
Kabir gave a short bow.
“Yes, my Lord.”
But his movement was stiff, not his usual effortless discipline.
When he straightened, his eyes flicked toward Malik, hesitating; the question was there, unspoken but loud enough for Malik to hear it anyway.
“Yes.”
He answered flatly.
“Our protection now covers the West as well. Scheherazade has become my subject… she’s under my protection.”
Kabir’s brows eased just slightly; he didn’t need the long version.
Scheherazade had played her part well, offering her strength without demanding anything, without even naming the bargain, knowing that Malik would bind himself to it the moment he accepted.
A promise without ceremony, but no less binding.
She was sharp in politics—too sharp for most to handle.
Understanding that, Kabir gave one last nod, then turned, signaling to the others to lift the bodies.
Step by step, they carried them away, their silhouettes quickly fading into the distant green.
Malik, his eyes leaving them, moved to stand beside Sinbad, who was staring at the now-empty field.
Eventually, the owl exhaled, a long sound through his beak.
“This’ll light things up.”
Malik looked down.
“It sure will.”
Sinbad shifted on the stone, feathers ruffling against the wind that had begun to pick up again. His pink eyes cut sideways, studying Malik’s stillness the way a man might study a cliff before deciding to climb it.
“Elder Brother, are you… alright?”
Without looking back at him, a low sound left Malik’s throat:
“Hm.”
Though it might seem like it, that wasn’t dismissal. Nor was it agreement, not really… perhaps it was acknowledgment. For once, Sinbad wasn’t sure. He had learned how to speak into Malik’s silences, yet even he wasn’t an expert.
“That little game you played with the coin…”
He flicked his beak up, as if flipping an invisible disc.
“That was the first time you ever condemned the innocent. Your choice was a cold one… entirely unfamiliar, I’m sure. It must have done something to you.”
“…”
Malik didn’t say anything back.
Instead, his gaze stretched far past the field, over the blackened grass, into something no one else could see, and only then did he breathe out:
“I’ll survive.”
Sinbad sighed once more, feeling the weight Malik refused to carry aloud.
“I understand, but…”
His eyes softened with a worry he couldn’t conceal, not even from himself.
“Will you survive your wife?”
Malik’s lips twitched, the barest hint of humor curling up.
They were the ashes of his humanity.
“That…”
A low chuckle escaped him.
“…That I’m not sure about.”
…
“What were you thinking?!”
The room was dim when Layla’s voice cut through it.
“Burning people from the West?!
She had snapped, standing in front of him, her hands clenched at her sides.
“You didn’t even try to hide it! Do you not care? Or is that what you want—a war with them so you can feed that sadistic hunger for death you’ve been carrying around?”
Layla was mad, truly mad. Her voice was as sharp as could be, but underneath it, there was frustration and maybe even fear as well.
She tried her best to avoid this kind of confrontation, even on their dates, ignoring the world every time she heard news of him burning yet another town, burying herself in her own faction, her own people, pretending his ’madness’ didn’t exist.
“You did it to your own people—fine, I can ignore it, live with it, but to Lady Scheherazade’s? We—”
Before panic could overtake her, Malik lifted a palm, stopping her mid-sentence.
“I’ve had enough lectures for today. I’d rather you not join them.”
She stepped forward, her eyes narrowing, somehow even angrier.
“What lectures?! By those too terrified to look you in the eye?! I know you don’t remember any of them!”
He had nothing to counter that with.
She was completely right.
“See?!”
The word broke halfway between anger and exhaustion.
“Ugh…”
She glanced away, breathing hard, trying to reel herself back in, thinking of a solution to this ’predicament’ her husband had put her and her people in, an imminent war that would rock their world.
“Sorry, I just—”
Malik reached out, took her hand, and guided her down to sit beside him on the bed.
“Don’t worry. She won’t attack.”
“B-but—”
“Trust me.”
Her breath caught for a second, and when he continued, his voice stayed calm, almost too calm:
“I know most things you’ll never trust me with again… But this—you know I’m telling the truth. She won’t attack. I would never allow anyone to hurt you.”
Layla’s eyes darted to his face, searching; she didn’t know what for, not exactly, but whatever she saw there made her shoulders loosen.
“Uhn.”
She gave a reluctant nod, stammered, and turned away, crawling up into the bed.
“I want to sleep alone tonight… G-Go cultivate on the couch!”
Malik stared at her for a while, expression entirely blank, and then shrugged.
If this was her idea of punishment for burning an entire damned town, he considered it a win.
Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com
