Chapter 112 Nothing To Do

Words : 1203 Updated : Sep 17th, 2025

*** {Inside The Projection} Their little battlefield was finally still, thick with the stench of blood. Bodies of monsters littered the sand. Hundreds of them. The only sounds left were the labored breaths of the survivors and the occasional groan of the wounded. Malik stared at that scene for a while, thinking, considering, contemplating, but then shook his head, let out a slow breath, and rolled his injured shoulder. '...I better not.' Blood seeped from the claw marks, staining his dirty white shirt a dark red, warm, and sticky against his skin. It looked pretty bad, though he could barely feel it... Not that Layla cared. She was the first to rush onto the battlefield, like a wife running to her husband, hands hovering over his worst-looking injury. "You're hurt!" He glanced down at his body and shrugged. "It ain't a big deal. I've had worse." Layla pouted. "Not a big deal?! You shouldn't be so careless!" Meanwhile, Ali Baba stood nearby, his arm wrapped in a cloth where he had taken a hit. "I see how it is. My own daughter ignores my injuries to fawn over some outsider?" The others chuckled while the man tending to him snickered. "Guess we know who's more important, ay Leader?" Layla's face turned red. "He's not even hurt! He's fine! Stop being dramatic." Ali Baba scoffed. "Oh? Dramatic, am I? I nearly lost an arm!" "You have a scratch. You'll live." "Yeah, yeah... Tell that to my poor arm~." The laughter spread, and Layla groaned, burying her face in her hands as the teasing continued. Even Malik smirked a little, though he quickly wiped it off when she turned to glare at him. Layla grabbed his uninjured arm. "Follow me. I'm fixing you up." Malik sighed but let her pull him toward the medic area. Watching that, Ali Baba chuckled and gestured for everyone to move on. "Alright, alright. Enough gawking, you lot! The battle's won, but we've got work to do! Check the wounded! Gather the weapons! And someone drag those roasted lizards away before they stink up the entire caravan!" And sure enough, the caravan's healer was soon hard at work, tending to the worst injuries first. Thankfully, their losses weren't nearly as bad as they could've been. A few people had gotten injured pretty badly, but most had made it through with only a few scratches. Still, they needed time to recover—and recover they did, lying around in the medic area, getting patched up. "So..." While Malik was getting treated, Ali Baba strolled over, shaking his head with an amused smirk.@@@@ "Fusing, huh?" Malik glanced at the curved sword still clutched in his hands. The runes were gone now, the blade silver, the heat settled. "Yeah." Ali Baba hummed. "Not bad." "NOT BAD?! What do you mean, 'not bad'? Layla gawked at him. "That was insane! You saw what he did!" "Oh, I saw~." Ali Baba mused. Malik was a bit of a cheapskate. Even with all the silver in his pouch. And so, ignoring everything... he wandered. *** {Outside The Projection} Having calmed down, the crowd glanced at each other, a questioning look in their eyes. They were curious about many things, but they boiled down to two. First—they had already established that what played in the projection was his important memories, a moment of great triumph, a defining turning point, or even a lesson learned. But this before them? It made them doubt that. "Why remember this?" The second was something only the smart among them picked up on. His inner voice was once so clear in the projection, constant. Now? Not so much. It had grown quieter and quieter as the memories played out. At first, they had assumed it was just a side effect—his focus, his rage, drowning out the noise. But now, they weren't so sure... perhaps it related to his power, as that was the only rising linear variable besides time. Interesting, right? Yet it wasn't what confused them, at least not entirely. Because while his thoughts had faded, something else had become clearer. Replacing it. And they heard it... saw it. Embodiment. It was taking hold of him without him even noticing. Step by step, Malik was following the path of Sultan Al-Sahara. Whether it was subconscious, something buried deep inside him, or something implanted by his "old man's" teachings—they didn't know. But they knew one thing for certain. Discover more stories at My Virtual Library Empire The stronger it became, the more undeniable, the stronger he'd be. It was only a matter of time before he noticed it himself and fully turned into the Sultan they knew. The one they loathed. *** {Inside The Projection} The village was quite different from his hometown. Here, everyone seemed to know each other, and not for nefarious reasons. Children darted between the stalls, laughing as they played a game that involved tossing small bones. Likely belonged to some game their fathers hunted. An old woman sat on the side of the road, weaving a basket. Merchants called out their prices, each trying to outdo the other. Suq Al-Khamis was just as lively, but this one... it was warm too. Malik had spent the last hour just wandering, taking in the sights, the scents of sizzling meat skewers and spiced tea mixing with the more unpleasant stench of livestock and unwashed bodies. It was nostalgic. He wasn't really looking for anything in particular—just killing time while Ali Baba and Layla handled the selling. Eventually, he stopped near a blacksmith's stall, eyeing the weapons displayed—a mix of swords, daggers, and curved blades similar to his own. "Looking to buy?" The blacksmith asked, not looking up from his work, fixing a sword's hilt. "Just looking." The man grunted, wiping sweat from his forehead. "A fighter, huh? You sound like one." "..." Malik didn't respond. He had nothing to say to that. He didn't even know how he "sounded" like a fighter. "If you've got no business here, you'd better go. I've no interest in talking to rude kids." Glancing at the weapons for one last time, he shrugged his shoulders and moved on, not interested in mending whatever misunderstanding his silence had caused. He passed by a stall selling jewelry, then another with exotic spices. Those ones were pretty common, making up most of the stalls. It felt peaceful, a stark contrast to the battle from the day before. But that was always the way of things. One place bled, another thrived. His feet carried him toward a quieter part of the village, where the noise of the market faded into the distant hum of daily life. He passed a well, where a woman was drawing water, then a small church built into the side of a rock. Someone had left offerings at the bottom of the stairs—small trinkets and bowls of food. A prayer was carved into the stone next to it, though he didn't stop to read it. "Sir, please wait!" Then suddenly, the reason for this memory's importance arrived.

Chapter 112 Nothing To Do

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