Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 50: Little Science Experiment
***
{Outside The Projection}
"So? What do we think? Fluke or genius?"
Noor was the first to speak, her voice low but sharp enough to be heard by all in the hall.
Azeem snorted, arms crossed over his chest.
"What I think is we’ve just watched a madman figure out cheats to some game nobody’s even supposed to beat."
Noor’s lips twitched at his demeanor, but her eyes stayed locked on the projection, where Malik was still slumped against the cave wall, breathing like he’d just run ten marathons back-to-back.
"Cheats, huh? Sure, but let’s not pretend that’s all there is to it."
Azeem raised an eyebrow.
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
She turned to him, her floating throne dipping slightly as she leaned forward.
"I mean, how do we know it’s real? That he’s cracked the code and not just… stumbled into a win because he’s too stubborn to die properly?"
His brows knitted together.
"You’re saying it might’ve been luck? Him?"
"I’m saying it’s worth testing."
Noor’s eyes slid to the man’s left, landing on Roya.
"And lucky for us, we’ve got someone with resources to spare."
Roya, who’d been quietly thinking things over, looked up like she’d just been called out in the middle of class.
"Me? What?"
"You heard me."
Noor gestured lazily toward the projection.
"Send one of your people to an enclosed space. Give them an Aether core, run the timing Malik figured out, and see if they don’t blow themselves to bits."
Roya blinked, then scoffed.
"Oh, sure, let me just grab a volunteer for your little science experiment. You want me to put up a flyer, too?"
Azeem chuckled, shaking his head.
"C’mon, Lady Roya. Don’t act like you don’t have someone expendable lying around."
Roya shot him a withering look.
"You’re so charming. Really. But even if I did—and I’m not saying I do—how exactly am I supposed to replicate that?"
She jabbed a finger toward the projection, where Malik’s ragged breathing had finally started to even out.
"The Sultan’s been at this for God knows how long. You think one of my people can just... what? Copy-paste his process?"
Noor’s eyes narrowed.
"You’ve got the tech. The timing’s in your head. All we need is someone with decent Aether control and a willingness to… take a risk."
"A willingness to die, you mean."
Roya shot back, and Azeem waved a hand dismissively.
"Details. Point is, if Malik’s method works, it could change everything. Imagine if absorbing Aether cores becomes repeatable. Controllable. You’d be sitting on a goldmine."
Roya tilted her head, considering.
"And if it doesn’t?"
"Then you’ve lost one person."
Noor answered bluntly.
"Small price to pay for the kind of goldmine we’re talking about."
"..."
Roya’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flicking back to the projection.
Malik was sitting up now, his hand glowing faintly as he tested the Aether’s flow through his body.
There was no denying the power radiating off him—or the insane cost it had taken to get there.
"Fine... I’ll find someone. But if he blows up, I’m sending you the bill for the funeral."
A faint smile curled Noor’s lips.
"Deal."
"Great!"
Azeem clapped his hands together.
"Now, when do we start? Because I’m not waiting another decade to see if my Sultan cracked the code or just gotten really, really, really lucky."
Roya sighed, already regretting her decision.
"You two better hope this works."
Noor’s smile widened, her gaze drifting back to the projection.
"Oh, don’t worry. I have a feeling that it will."
***
{Inside The Projection}
Malik stayed in that cave for weeks, letting the power settle, consolidating it, working it into every corner of his being.
And man, could he feel it—that constant shifts in his body, adjusting to the power of his core.
It was rewriting him from the ground up.
Years of growth packed into just days.
His face sharpened, his body filled out, and by the end of it, he looked like he was pushing twenty.
His golden hair grew longer, matching the speed of his growth, now falling past his neck, messy but undeniably fitting.
His clothes actually fit now, hugging his frame like he’d walked into a tailor and ordered something custom.
Not that he cared much about appearances, but hey, it was a nice bonus.
The real game-changer was the fire.
What used to feel like juggling dynamite now felt natural, like breathing.
Jahannam’s flames responded instantly as if they’d been waiting for this version of him.
Now, he was the fire, and the fire was him.
Only a flick of his will was needed to turn his hands into molten weapons, ready to melt through anything—or anyone—in his way.
But this wasn’t all.
His strength? Ridiculous.
Well, at least when compared to mortal standards.
Before, carrying anything heavier than his sword made him think twice.
Now? He could shatter boulders if he felt like it.
Not that he’d waste time showing off.
His reflexes were many times better.
He could swat a fly out of the air with his eyes closed.
Even his senses got an upgrade.
The cave sounds, the shifts in the wind outside, the faintest vibrations in the earth—it was like someone cranked the world’s volume up just for him.
If the world hadn’t grown so dull, he might’ve even noticed an upgrade in his vision.
And if Rafiq had been standing in front of him now, Malik wouldn’t have broken a sweat.
He’d see every move coming a mile away, and the fight would’ve been over before it started.
Because his speed? That too had consequently upgraded.
The guy who used to trip over his own feet was gone.
This new Malik could run laps around his old self, laughing the whole time.
It was wild, this transformation. Incredible.
But he wasn’t stupid.
Updated from freewёbnoνel.com.
Sure, he’d reached Nadhir Al-Saif—the so-called "Sword of Guidance" rank—skipping Al-Faris, but really, all he’d done was step through the front door.
He wasn’t lounging in its halls or kicking back in its inner sanctum.
No, he was standing at the entrance, almost half-naked, clutching his shiny new shamshir like a clueless kid playing sultan.
Compared to the real veterans?
