Thump.

They almost heard the sound of a cane hitting the ground as Malik calmly stepped down from the throne, walking right towards the group of traitors, who parted like cowards.

Besides the traitors, many other leaders were present. Representatives, envoys, minor lords who’d heard of this insurrection and come to watch.

To see if they needed to be involved.

Malik looked at them and asked the same question:

"Tell me, who of you wants to be Sultan?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

Of course, no one responded; they only lowered their heads.

"Who amongst you thinks the same as the traitors?"

Malik changed his question.

Even then, not a single person moved.

A hand wasn’t raised, nor had a foot shifted.

This revealed their full trust in their Lord, or perhaps their fear. Despite the constant barking from the opposition, they didn’t seem to waver one bit; rather, the opposite.

As for the traitors, terrified was the least of it.

Merely nearing the Sultan felt like it would kill them on the spot.

Sighing once more, Malik slowly turned and faced Ghadar, their leader.

The man was young. Younger than Malik had expected. Early twenties, maybe. Clean-shaven, well-dressed, with a decent face that probably got him what he wanted most of the time.

But none of that mattered.

Malik had completely towered over him.

"Boy."

Hearing just one word, the young man’s legs immediately gave out, and he collapsed backward, his bottom crashing into the marble.

"Well..."

Showing no particular reaction, Malik crouched before him.

"It 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 understand."

He looked past Ghadar, at the cluster of traitors behind him. The king’s wife, her children, and the utterly stupid nobles who’d thrown their lot in with them.

"What did I do to deserve such a treacherous lot?"

So, so very tired.

"I’ve done the best I could, I always have, yet still..."

Malik shook his head slowly.

"Caring not for the many enemies we face, my people still betray me."

He glanced at the others in the hall.

At Zafar, standing rigid near the side. At Noor, her arrogant face now withdrawn. At Layla, still frozen by the throne, her hands clutching her sleeves, and the rest of those he called family.

"Tell me, what am I missing? What’s so wrong with me that loyalty forever eludes me?"

Unlike the traitors, his family couldn’t face those words, their heads snapping down.

They simply couldn’t meet his eyes. Shame. Guilt. Self-hate. It was written all over their faces, in the way they stared at the floor like it might open up and swallow them.

Malik watched them for a moment, then stood back up.

"Perhaps that’s just meant to be. My Fate. So let’s cut to the chase, shall we?"

Before Ghadar could soil himself—and it looked like he was close—Malik walked past him and towards the others.

The king’s family and the cowards who’d thought they could threaten him.

He stopped in front of them.

"Which one of you wants to kill me?"

Everyone flinched at that question.

"Stand up if you dare."

Again, Malik’s voice wasn’t angry; he didn’t even shout, but...

"How about you?"

Each word was louder than any scream.

"You are the king’s family, are you not?"

Malik’s eyes landed on the king’s wife.

She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and a face that easily commanded respect in her own household. But now she looked like a Demon caught in a soldier’s sight.

"Hm?"

She took a step back.

"No."

Malik’s eyes resumed their scan, landing on another face.

A young man, one of the king’s sons.

Good jaw, but weak eyes.

"Maybe his children?"

He stepped towards them.

"Come. Prove that I am weak; fight me."

The young man’s lips moved, but no sound came out.

His knees knocking together was the only sound he produced.

"Come on. You wanted this. You stood with your mother. You believed the lies. So fight me."

The young man’s mother quickly grabbed her son’s arm and pulled him back, utterly terrified.

Malik looked at them for a long moment before turning around and walking back towards Ghadar.

"Your people are too cowardly, but you’re different, no? You claimed that you could defeat me earlier."

He stopped in front of the still-fallen man.

"So do it."

Ghadar’s breathing was rapid and shallow.

"I dare you... Do it. Fight me."

Malik stepped even closer. Much closer than comfort allowed. Close enough that Ghadar could smell the smoke still clinging to his clothes from the rough battle in the cave.

"You’re a man, aren’t you? You’ll do it, right?"

His right hand came up, and his fingers lightly tapped his own neck.

"Cut my head off my head like I will their father. Do it."

Ghadar’s legs shook further.

"Come, I’m waiting."

"...N-No."

"DO IT."

"S-Stop—"

"MY NECK IS RIGHT HERE."

"P-P-Plea—"

"BE A MAN."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Ghadar let out a scream of pure terror.

His body convulsed, and he collapsed, his head hitting the marble floor with a dull crack.

And then, well, he just lay there, twitching, sobbing, completely broken by fear.

Malik stepped back and chuckled... sounding somewhat disappointed.

"It seems no one wants to claim the Golden Throne."

Once more, he scanned all of them.

"Then, unfortunately, I must ask you to fall alongside him."

He raised his hand.

The marble beneath the traitors shot upward.

Spikes of white stone erupted, fast as striking snakes, piercing each of them through the heart.

No one screamed.

The king’s wife died with her eyes open, her mouth still formed around a word she never got to say. Her older children died much the same, their faces frozen in shock. While the nobles alongside them dropped where they stood, their blood splattering on the polished floor.

Only Ghadar and the king’s youngest children—the ones not old enough to understand what was going on—were left alive.

These children were huddled together near the edge of the group, silently crying.

"..."

"..."

"..."

Thus, the hall turned quiet.

Everyone looked at the scene with sad eyes.

Thump, thump, thump...

Malik stepped back to the kneeling Ghadar.

The man was still conscious; his eyes were open, but they didn’t seem to see anything.

’It seems I truly broke him.’

Lowering himself a tad, Malik raised Ghadar’s chin with two fingers.

Bright golden eyes met insanely terrified gray ones.

"I don’t think a secret drug would’ve let me do that."

Malik smiled at him.

"I’m sorry to have failed to inspire you."

Ghadar’s eyes rolled back.

That was the last thing he heard before his body went limp.

He was alive—Malik could still see his chest rising and falling—but he was gone. Consciousness had fled, maybe sanity too.

Malik let go of Ghadar’s chin and stood up.

Turning to Azeem, he gestured at the dead.

"Clean it up and go parade Ghader in a cage before guillotining him alongside the king."

Azeem immediately knelt at that command.

"By your Will!"

Yet he couldn’t help but ask:

"But... what about the children? I think they’re..."

He didn’t complete that sentence; he didn’t need to.

Malik looked at the huddled children.

They cried harder and hugged each other tighter, staring at him with terrified eyes.

’They’ll hate me. They’ll grow up wanting me dead.’

He was so very sure of that, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to kill them. Or even physically harm them in any way.

That was too cruel.

"Send them to a good orphanage. I know they’ll despise me for killing their family, but... she forced me to. They always do."

"By your Will!"

Azeem immediately began to work, snapping orders at the guards, directing them to remove the bodies, take Ghadar away, gather the children, and so on.

Kabir, who usually was the first to clean up such scenes, stayed still, a shadow trembling beneath him.

After a moment, that shadow left, and he turned to Malik, who returned to the throne.

He was about to report but saw Amal approaching, Sinbad still atop her head, so he waited, not daring to interrupt the daughter of his Sultan, even if it were an urgent matter.

"Father... it’s not you who is at fault; it’s them. No one can lead us better than you."

Malik took her frail hand and squeezed it in thanks.

He was a little surprised that she didn’t react when facing such a cruel scene. But considering her childhood, this war she grew up in the middle of, he thought this to be something that he should’ve expected.

"Hm, your words are sweet. Now, why don’t you and your mother go relax a little? I seem to have another matter to take care of."

Amal smiled at him and dragged Layla away, who was stuck staring at her husband, unable to say a word to him.

"My Sultan, it seems the traitors had a mole amongst them."

Malik tilted his head at the now-kneeling Kabir.

"...are we being attacked by invaders?"

Kabir nodded.

"That’s exactly right, my Sultan."

His jaw tightened.

"They are approaching our Last Stronghold as we speak."