Chapter 176: Long Live The Sultan

Malik stayed completely still, staring at the notification hanging in front of him.

—

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║OVERFLOW!║

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[Your Fear Spreads...]

[Fear Points: 1650 → 22338]

[You’ve felled an Angel x 7.]

[You’ve felled a Class Four Magi x 6]

[You’ve felled a Class Five Magi x 21]

[You’ve felled a Class Six Magi x 54]

[You’ve felled a Class Seven Magi x 11]

—

His true class was only Class Seven.

And yet, even sitting at Class Seven, he’d just managed... this.

He didn’t fully believe it himself, numbers blinking right in front of his own eyes. But the more he sat with it, the more it actually made sense.

The Holy Armaments.

They’d been built for him and no, not metaphorically, but literally, in every sense that mattered.

Thanks to his unlimited Rukh and his mastery over fire, even Angels had been nothing more than kindling once he’d gotten going.

As long as he had a peak-rank Ember’s Touch active, he could end dozens of them in a Soul Glyph activation.

Of course, that power didn’t come free.

Nothing did.

The Holy Relic needed repairs now.

Or, more accurately, a refill.

Having used it properly for the first time, Malik understood its mechanics a lot better than he had before.

Without Scheherazade’s power woven into its core, the relic would’ve been completely unusable, nothing more than an expensive paperweight.

Her Runes were the reason any of this had worked at all.

Which, conveniently, tied her to him permanently.

He couldn’t walk back the deal now even if he wanted to.

Without her, the Holy Armament stopped functioning.

Scheherazade’s obsession apparently knew no bounds, and she’d made sure her leverage was baked directly into the weapon itself.

Malik would’ve chuckled at the sheer audacity of it if he weren’t so thoroughly exhausted.

He let out a long sigh, looked at the floating recording orb, and snapped his fingers, cutting the broadcast.

He’d shown them exactly what he wanted them to see. Especially his enemies scattered across Devil’s Maw.

This broadcast had been as much a message to them as it had been reassurance for his own people.

More Fear Points were coming.

He could feel it already, that low hum of dread rippling outward across the realm.

***

In the palace, the crystal projection flickered and went dark, and for a moment nobody moved.

Layla sat frozen, Amal still pressed against her side, both of them staring at the empty space where Malik’s image had hovered only seconds before.

"Is it over?"

Amal asked quietly, and Layla didn’t answer right away.

She was still waiting for her chest to unclench, for the breath she’d been holding without noticing to finally release.

"I think so."

She said at last as a long beat passed.

Then a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped her, and she pulled Amal into a tight hug, pressing her face into her daughter’s hair.

"He did it."

Amal squirmed happily in her arms.

"I told you Father was the strongest!"

"You did. You did tell me that."

From somewhere beyond the palace walls, faint at first, a sound began to build.

Voices, dozens of them, then hundreds, rising together in the distance.

Layla lifted her head, listening.

"Do you hear that?"

***

Hakim hadn’t moved from the window.

He sat with one hand pressed over his mouth, shoulders shaking in small tremors he couldn’t quite bring under control.

Pride and grief and something close to shame all tangled together in his chest, impossible to pull apart from each other.

A servant knocked softly at the door.

"My lord? Are you—"

"I’m fine."

Hakim’s voice cracked on the second word.

The servant hesitated in the doorway.

"The streets, my lord. You should see the streets."

Hakim wiped his face hastily and stood, crossing to the window overlooking the lower city.

Lights were spilling out of every house, every tavern, people pouring into the streets despite the late hour, their voices already beginning to rise together into something unified.

"Long live the Sultan."

Hakim murmured to himself, testing the words.

They felt strange in his mouth.

Foreign, almost, for a man who’d spent so many years far from his son.

"Long live the Sultan."

The servant in the doorway smiled.

***

Sinbad threw his head back and let out a piercing, triumphant screech that startled everyone around him.

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

A veteran soldier stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Captain, did you just—"

"My brother just killed eight Angels alone."

Sinbad was practically vibrating with energy.

"EIGHT. Do you understand what that means?"

"I... suppose it means we should be careful not to upset him."

"It means."

Sinbad corrected, hopping along the railing excitedly.

"That nobody in this entire realm is foolish enough to challenge him again. Not for a long while, at least."

The other soldiers, infected by the sheer relief and energy in his voice, took up the cry a second later, fists raised toward the darkening sky.

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

***

Huda had both hands pressed over her face when the broadcast ended, and when she finally lowered them, her eyes were red-rimmed but her grin was fierce, almost manic with relief.

"Of course he did it. Obviously. I never doubted it for a second."

"You were crying."

Safira pointed out gently.

"I was NOT crying."

"Your face is wet."

"It’s humid out here!"

Safira just laughed, pulling her into a tight hug despite Huda’s halfhearted attempt to shove her off, and within seconds Huda had stopped resisting entirely, gripping back just as hard.

"I thought..."

Huda started, then stopped, swallowing hard.

"For a second there, when that ship just went dark, I thought maybe—"

"I know."

Safira said softly.

"Me too."

They stood there a moment longer, holding onto each other, before the sound of distant cheering reached them, growing louder by the second.

Huda pulled back, wiping her face properly this time.

"Come on, let’s go see."

***

In the square, Azeem and Kabir slammed their fists together, soldiers around them erupting into cheers loud enough to drown out the evening wind entirely.

"Eight Angels..."

Kabir shook his head in disbelief.

"I’ve fought alongside the Sultan for years and I still don’t fully understand how he does what he does."

"Does it matter?"

Azeem grinned.

"He’s ours. That’s all that matters."

Zafar stood nearby, eyes closed, exhaling slowly.

When he opened them again, a genuine smile had settled onto his face, the first real one anyone had seen from him in weeks.

"You alright?"

Azeem asked, noticing.

"Better than alright."

Zafar said quietly.

"He gave me a second chance I didn’t deserve. Watching him up there, I just... wanted to make sure that chance was worth something."

"It clearly was."

Noor’s usual composure finally cracked, a rare, unguarded grin spreading across her sharp features as she watched soldiers around her embrace and cheer without a hint of her usual reserve holding her back.

"I suppose... there are worse rulers to serve under."

Meanwhile, Duban raised his sword towards the sky and roared along with everyone else.

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

The sound kept building, spreading outward from the square, pulling people from every street and alley and household until it became impossible to ignore, a single unified roar rolling across the Last City like a living thing.

One by one, drawn by that sound, they found themselves converging on the same place.

The walls of the Holy Palace.

Layla arrived first, Amal’s hand held tight in hers, climbing the stone steps until they reached the battlements overlooking the city below.

Hakim arrived shortly after, still slightly red-eyed, standing a respectful distance from his family but close enough to be counted among them.

Sinbad swooped down from the sky, landing on the stone railing.

Huda and Safira arrived together, hand in hand, pushing through the gathering crowd of nobles and soldiers and servants until they found a space along the wall.

Azeem and Kabir climbed up from the square, Zafar and Noor close behind, Duban bringing up the rear with his sword still raised.

And beneath them, stretching out in every direction as far as the eye could see, a sea of people filled the streets of the Last City.

Tens of thousands.

All of them looking up towards the palace, the walls where Malik’s family and commanders now stood gathered, every single voice raised together in the same relentless cry.

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN!"

The sound rolled across the city, wave after wave of it, loud enough to be heard clear across the Sultanate’s borders.

Layla looked down at the crowd, her tears finally slipping free, and found herself mouthing the words along with everyone else.

Hakim’s voice joined in too, quiet at first, then louder, until he was shouting right alongside the rest of them.

Huda threw both fists into the air.

Sinbad screeched his agreement to the sky.

And high above it all, alone once more in the quiet open air, Malik allowed himself a small, tired smile, the distant roar of his people reaching him even at this altitude.

’I might even Ascend agai—’

His thoughts cut off mid-sentence.

An entirely black figure stood before him.

Its eyes, pure white, bored straight through him, past skin and bone and Rukh, directly into the core of his Soul.

’THE ORIGIN OF CORRUPTION!’

"LONG LIVE THE SULTAN~."

Malik’s golden eyes went black.