Novel Full Chapter 403: Tying Up Loose Ends II
Chapter 403: Tying Up Loose Ends II
“What’s going on around here?”
The commanding officer approached Malik, about to ask him who he was, why he was here, did he have clearance for whatever he was requesting from his people, but those thoughts died the moment he met Malik’s gaze.
Golden.
Burning from within.
The man’s throat clicked.
“S-S-S-Sor—”
“Check your archives for a Khamal, an Inquisitor.”
He swallowed fast and backed away with a stammer.
“Y-yes, my Lord. One moment, please!”
He vanished through the back, the sound of keys jangling behind him.
Malik waited, and the station carried on, or at least tried to, constantly pausing to stare at him; even the criminals in chains seemed to do the same, somehow knowing of him.
Whoever was in charge of his smear campaign was good.
They knew how to do their job, and quite fast at that.
’…Roya’s the one.’
A minute or so after that thought, the commanding officer came back, his breath shaky as he held a thick book.
Needing no push, he slapped the book on the counter and flipped through the pages in a rush.
The pages were ink-stained, some even with blood marks from years of hasty filing.
In moments, his hand stopped on a name.
“…Khamal. Yes. Found him.”
Malik looked down.
The entry was brief, unusually so for a man of his position.
{Khamal ibn Rahim. Male. Inquisitor. Status: Deceased. Cause of death: Blunt trauma, uninvestigated. Date: Unclear. Note: No autopsy conducted. Buried at request of personal letter. Requested resting place: Zawaya.}
“Killed by an unknown assailant…”
The commanding officer winced.
“No follow-up made.”
He glanced up.
“I-I wasn’t on shift back then. I don’t know why they didn’t look into it.”
Malik nodded slowly at that weak excuse.
“Is he truly buried in Zawaya?”
The man looked back at the file, tapping the end of his finger.
“Yes, he… he probably left a note. Said he wanted to be buried in Zawaya… he likely had friends there.”
Malik revealed a quiet twitch of the mouth, a something that tried to be a smile.
“I know the ones.”
He stepped back from the counter.
“They were good people.”
The man didn’t respond, not knowing whether to nod or run.
Though… he didn’t need to make that decision; Malik was already gone.
In seconds, he materialized in a room deep underground, one of stone.
Torchlight crackled across the walls, casting shadows over the faded insignia before him.
It was the banner of the Silent Crescent—the resistance beneath every empire, kingdom, city, town, and village. A people that he was once called his, or at least some of them.
Malik turned away from it and faced… people. Unfamiliar ones
They seemed to be a group of young nobles, nervous types.
Their coats were too clean, faces too pale.
They didn’t belong here, and they knew it.
Still, they joined the resistance anyway.
That was enough for Malik to respect them.
He wasn’t going to punch them up like he did the last one.
This time, they wouldn’t just walk away from it with a puffed-up face.
Besides, they weren’t as brave as that kid; none of them dared to even speak.
Poor bastards couldn’t breathe right, not with him in the room.
Malik’s eyes stayed on them for a while.
“Here.”
Raising his hand, he revealed his palm.
A pouch materialized on it, jingling with weight.
Gold coins filled it, enough to buy this whole town.
He threw it, letting it fly towards them.
The pouch hit the stone with a hard clink, rolling a few times before stopping at their feet.
“Hire better protection.”
The nobles looked at one another as Malik nodded toward the pouch.
“And if you want to thank anyone, visit Khamal’s grave.”
Only after hearing his name did one of them, likely their leader, step forward, trying to thank him—but before he could, Malik was gone once more.
…
Graves.
So many graves.
Hundreds and hundreds.
Sinbad perched on one, his claws curling over the cracked tombstone.
The name wasn’t etched in gold, no flowers were buried; it was just a stone in the earth, half-sunken, barely held together.
“This is Khamal’s.”
Malik stood before it.
He didn’t speak for a long time.
…This was the man who saved him, the one who gave him kindness when he needed it most… the one who pushed him in the right Path, saving him from burning the world.
While he stared, Sinbad took off, seemingly scanning the graves from up high.
When he could no longer be seen, Malik knelt in the sand.
His hand touched the tombstone and stayed that way for a while.
“Thank you for saving me.”
The words cracked a little.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
He smiled—that same broken smile, the one that never reached his eyes.
“I hope you’re at peace up there.”
He stood as the wind tugged at his robes.
Sighing, he turned and glanced at the other stones nearby.
Those ones held unfamiliar names but familiar scars, the same Banu Sulyman, all gone now.
The ones who opened their doors for orphans and fed runaways, all killed by damn bastards.
Malik gave a small wave toward them—a wordless goodbye—and vanished once more.
He appeared before relatively new-looking graves… different ones.
Fancier, if you could call them that, and cleaned regularly.
No one would ever remember them; it had to be a service of some sort.
“This was the group.”
Sinbad circled once and landed back on Malik’s shoulder.
“The slavers… the ones who nearly caught us all that time ago.”
Malik stepped closer to those who’ve likely been killed by fellow nobodies.
“Funny.”
He stared down at them.
“Really funny.”
Sinbad tilted his head as Malik continued:
“They have graves… proper ones with flowers.”
Malik turned his head, eyes landing on Sinbad’s.
“While you had none…”
His eyes were dull, but rage burned somewhere deep beneath.
“While my guardian still rots somewhere in the sand.”
They returned to the graves.
“Tell me…”
A rage colder than Hell’s Seventh Gate.
“How is that fair?”
“…”
They didn’t answer.
His Nār Al-Khals did, however.
It sprouted beneath each grave, melting them into nothing.
Only then did Malik turn away, done tying up loose ends.
“Let’s go.”
The two of them vanished into the wind.
Behind them, the graves remained.
Some remembered, some forgotten.
…All of them rotting the same.