Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death-Chapter 131: The Wrong Something

Malik was on them before they even blinked.

The first man barely had time to widen his eyes before a curved sword ripped through his throat, spraying red across the ground.

The second went for a dagger, but before he could strike, Malik grabbed his wrist, twisted, snapped bone, and drove his own blade through his chest.

The third actually managed to draw his sword.

The fourth? Came out of nowhere, swinging for Malik’s ribs.

Malik flipped his grip without thinking and caught his blade in his left.

The blade dropped, stabbing into the ground just a breath to his right, stopping the slash cold.

A perfect block.

Before the bastard could pull back, Malik lunged.

His right arm snapped forward, wrapping around the man’s sword like a snake, twisting and trapping—locking it in place using both his elbow and armpit.

A flash of panic crossed the man’s face.

"No—!"

Too late.

Malik yanked the sword and ripped it right out of his grip.

SHING!

Blade met flesh. Head hit stone. Body followed.

The blade didn’t stop—kept going, reaching the third assassin.

He managed to block the attack with his sword, which sent him crashing to the ground with a loud clang!

Malik almost had him. One more slash and—

Whoosh!

That sound.

That telltale rush of wind resounded behind him.

It seemed that it was five assassins, not four...

Didn’t matter.

Malik didn’t even bother to look back.

His grip reversed. He stabbed both blades behind him.

Clang!

Steel met steel. Sparks flew. The bastard staggered, arms shaking from the impact.

Malik was given a moment. He didn’t waste it.

He tightened his grip on the borrowed sword and flung it with a small burst of fire.

It shot through the air, piercing the third assassin’s right thigh, forcing him to pause his approach a second time.

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Ignoring his scream, Malik shifted—locked eyes with number five.

The bastard barely caught his balance before Malik closed the gap.

One step. One thrust. His curved blade punched through the bastard’s gut.

A weak gasp. Hands fumbled at Malik’s wrist, desperate, useless.

Trying to somehow pull the blade out himself.

Golden eyes burned at that pathetic sight.

"Fall."

He twisted the blade.

The assassin jerked—froze—then went limp.

Malik ripped his blade free, letting the body drop.

Whoosh!

The third attacked from behind, but this one was sloppy, injury taking effect.

Malik easily ducked under the slash, spun, and slammed his knee into the man’s gut.

The assassin doubled over with a choked wheeze—Malik grabbed his head and slammed it against the nearest stone wall.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Blood smeared. The body crumpled, convulsing in pain.

"Schtop..."

The bastard pleaded and tried to crawl away, but Malik seized his bloodied hair.

His hand nearly slipped, but he tightened his grip and yanked him back.

Holding the man’s head, he started to smash it into the ground repeatedly.

Over and over again.

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Bash, Thud!

Thud, Thud, Thud!

Bash, Splurt, Crack!

Grim sounds echoed throughout the quiet streets, an instrument of his own.

...Thud.

At that final sound, Malik paused his torture and looked at its barely human face.

"Hah... you filth. Tell me... It. Who ordered you to do this?"

It looked at Malik for a long time, as the market’s murmurs returned.

And then... it chewed—no, bit on something, and it...

"...Bleh."

It died.

Malik, not caring for its life, looked around, searching for any more threats.

Spotting none, his eyes returned to Layla, who, courtesy of his warning, stemming from "paranoia," was currently surrounded by two guards.

He glanced at her, then silently gestured for her to follow him.

She did.

They returned to Ali Baba who was just done selling their gifts at the other end of town.

"We’re being targeted."

Ali Baba paled, but after a few seconds, he calmly nodded, needing no explanation.

Or perhaps he just knew that Malik had none to give.

Layla, still unable to process what happened, shook a little at those words but stood firm after her father tapped her shoulders.

"We get what we need, and we leave. Everyone, get moving now!"

With that command, the caravan moved at double the speed. Running around everywhere.

Malik and Layla, surrounded by five guards, followed after Ali Baba. Forming a little entourage that crowded every street or shop they were in.

Surprisingly, Layla used that opportunity and acted like it was a normal date, ignoring the looming threat. Malik didn’t fight it. He let her chatter, let her pull him along, let her enjoy herself because he knew... things were about to get extremely ugly.

When they were done, they stopped by the local Faraja, left a little donation for the trouble their presence had caused—nothing big, just enough to keep things smooth—and got the Hell out before anything else could happen.

The road stretched ahead, winding and endless, the dark blinding them.

It was a bad idea to move in the dark, incredibly bad, but they found it a better alternative than to stay near a village surrounded by war-waging bandits.

Being attacked out here would be a death sentence, sure, but at least they had the guards around, ready to defend them. In the village, they’d be clustered up, and they couldn’t exactly sully a maiden’s honor by standing by her bed as she slept.

They had no choice.

So, instead of complaining or busying themselves with thought, they moved fast.

But just as things started settling into a rhythm...

"HALT!"

The scouts came back early.

...That was never a good sign.

Malik watched closely as the men rode in hard, dust kicking up behind their steeds.

Ali Baba was the first to speak.

"Why are you lot back so soon?"

"..."

No immediate answer.

The lead scout, a wiry man named Dera, swung off his steed, face grim.

"Something ahead... Something wrong."

"Wrong how?"

Malik asked, already knowing he wouldn’t like the answer.

Dera hesitated.

"Just... come see for yourself."

Sure enough, the caravan pressed forward, tension thick, every creak of a wheel and stomp of a hoof feeling too loud.

Then, just when they crested the hill, reaching flat land...

"Look!"

They reached it.

There, before them.

The wrong "something."

A village.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.