“Invisible fuckers are attacking! Look out! We’re surrounded!”
His warning cut through the stunned silence and chaos was the reply.
Many tens of them attacked, revealing themselves from all around them.
“Protect the new blood!”
Ali Baba barked while easily killing the two monsters.
His men hardly needed the order, though, already deep in the fight.
The ones only there to fill in the numbers, too green for a battle like this, were kept behind the stronger guards.
Anyone—anything—that tried to reach them died before it could even land a single attack.
His men held formation, but the lizardmen weren’t so easily defeated.
They were fast. And worse? Their camouflage made them nearly invisible.
Of course, that was only until the moment they struck, but that still caught most off guard. Overwhelming many of them, forcing the strongest guards to handle even more monsters.
But it wasn’t too bad. Experience was sharper than fangs. And Malik?
He was the sharpest of them.
A monster he killed barely hit the ground before another lunged at him.
Claws met steel. A shock ran up his arm from the impact, sharp enough to rattle his teeth.
But he gritted through the pain and shoved back, throwing the monster off-balance.
Then—swoosh! His sword cut into flesh, splitting scale and bone.
Dark, syrupy blood sprayed across the sand, and he crouched low, not wasting a moment.
He tuned out the noise and scanned the area around him, focusing on the faint distortion in the air where light bent just a little too much.
‘There.’
Malik found one…
“Scorched Grace.”
And before it could attack, he stepped forward, stabbing his blade like a stake.
A tongue of flame lashed out, burning through it and dropping it to the ground.
Another one came right after its kin had died, its claws slashing in a flurry.
Malik twisted to the side, dodging the first swipe, then caught the second on his blade’s edge. With a flick of his wrist, he pushed it away, and his sword bit through its arm, severing it at the elbow, sizzling what remained.
The lizard shrieked, stumbling back—but he didn’t give it a chance to recover. He lunged and swung, a brutal downward slash that split its skull in two.
Placing his left hand on his lower back, he took a stance, his right in a stabbing motion.
“Fall.”
In quick succession, he stabbed the air around him, shooting out flames in every direction unmarked by his own.
Lizard men hit the ground one after the other, a mighty display of his prowess.
Malik was holding his own, alright, but unfortunately that couldn’t be said for the others.
Most of them weren’t trained for this kind of fight. Too many swung wild, panicking, their formations crumbling under the relentless assault. The bowmen knew how to fight melee, but they weren’t all that, and the Magi, unable to use their abilities with everyone so stuck together, were forced to rely on just their blades.
It was a tough situation… and that was the least of it.
“Regroup! Stay in pairs! Watch for the distortions!”
Ali Baba’s voice boomed across the battlefield, another of his orders that Malik had drowned out. It was good advice—if they had time to follow it. They did not. Those who did were too busy protecting those who did not. So they too did not. And Malik?
Well, he saw them as a burden and kept away, fighting around them instead of with them.
He ducked as another lizard lashed out at him, its serrated tail whipping just above his head, and drove his shoulder into its gut, sending it stumbling back, then spun low, sweeping his sword across its legs.
It fell with a hiss, and before it could scramble away, he stomped down hard on its throat, crushing its windpipe.
“Malik!”
Glancing up, his eyes tracked the approaching Ali Baba.
“What do you want me to do?”
He shook his head.
“No, not that. Listen!”
Ali Baba swung his staff at what seemed to be empty air, only for a withering lizardman to fall from where his staff paused.
“I see that you’re almost fused with your weapon!”
Malik stabbed his sword behind him, piercing through one’s neck.
“Fused? What do you mean?”
Planting his staff into the ground, chains of death rose, surrounding them.
“Fusing is breathing your air into your weapon! If you did it without being taught, then you’re more of a genius than I thought!”
“Aha… Then how do I fully fuse? Or whatever you call it.”
“To master fusion is a simple matter! You simply need your connection to be a complete circuit, not one where the edge is cut open, shooting out Aether!”
“So a two-way road instead of a one-way road?!”
“Exactly!”
Malik closed his eyes for a moment then opened them back up again.
The flames around his curved blade suddenly dimmed and dissipated. Then, the base of his steel began to darken, a deep blackish red, slowly making its way up. Just as it reached the tip, runes began to form, and his hand shook, his whole body trembling.
“T-This heat!”
Oh… he wasn’t done. He was so far from done.
Masking his surprise at how easily Malik had gotten it, Ali Baba smiled and went to help those struggling. Which was almost most of them. And, unfortunately for them, it was only about to get worse from there.
More were coming. Dozens. Maybe more.
Malik didn’t seem to care, though. He moved fast, much faster than before.
He sidestepped an attack, severed a leg, and drove his sword through a lizardman’s back as it crashed into the sand. A second tried to flank him—he pivoted, catching its throat with a clean slash. A third lunged from above, claws outstretched—he rolled forward, letting it sail over him, and before it could recover, he thrust his blade backward, impaling it through the chest.
They kept coming. And he kept killing.
His world became nothing but steel, blood, and the occasional fire.
A dodge, a counter, a kill. Again and again. It was a repetitive chaos. Yet his mind didn’t dull.
Everything was sharp. Though that didn’t mean he was invincible. A few lizardmen caught him off guard here and there, claws raking across his body.
But again and forever more, pain didn’t matter. He kept going.
He didn’t slow. Didn’t falter. His blade never stopped, never wasted a motion.
The ground beneath him was slick with blood, bodies piling up.
Another Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. More.
…Until only one remained.
It stood a few feet away, crouched low, muscles coiled, its forked tongue flicking out as it studied him as much as he studied it. Smarter than the others. It had seen what he had done. It knew it was alone.
Malik exhaled slowly, lifting his sword.
He took a step forward.
The monster twitched, claws digging into the sand.
Another step.
It hissed, its body tensing.
Malik moved again, reaching it—then stopped and shifted his weight forward, mimicking an attack. A feint.
The lizardman took the bait. It lunged, claws aiming for his throat, overextending.
He stepped back at the last moment and the attack missed by an inch.
His sword, however, did not. One clean stroke, and the monster was cleaved in half.
Its body hit the sand in two separate pieces.
Silence followed, save for the heavy breathing of the fighters around him.
Malik flicked his sword, sending blood splattering, then sheathed it.
The fight was over.
“We won.”
***
{Outside The Projection}
The moment the projection paused, the entire crowd erupted.
“BY GOD! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”
“HE GOT THE FUSION IN ONE TRY! IN THE MIDDLE OF A DAMN BATTLE!”
“I swear, that man is insane. Absolutely insane.”
People were shouting over each other, hands in the air, shaking heads, laughing in disbelief. The energy was simply electric, matching that of the caravan before the lizardmen.
“One. Try. ONE TRY! Do you know how long it takes most people to get that?!”
“Months! Years! I had a disciple train for five straight years and he still couldn’t do it! The Sultan just—just—he just did it!”
“He barely even tried… Anything that needs control as easy as breathing to him.”
“It makes sense. His mind built itself up with all those blinks.”
“Still, I really can’t believe that he’s a thirteen-year-old. Makes me feel a bit inferior. Second-rate.”
“I know, right? His fighting style back then even rivals some of us here.”
“Man, the Former Sultan’s standards are really high for him to call the Sultan talentless.”
A group of older Magi nodded as they watched the younger ones lose their minds.
“Hmph. Not bad.”
“Not bad? He just did in an instant what took us half our youth! Give him some damn credit!”
“I am giving credit!… Just… whatever.”
“Tch. Ali Baba though… He’s much stronger than I expected him to be. I would’ve said that he was in the wrong profession if I hadn’t heard him talk.”
A mate of theirs whistled.
“If I were him, I’d chain the Sultan to the caravan and never let him leave. That kind of talent is rarer than the twelfth eclipse.” Find more adventures on My Virtual Library Empire
“Hah! You think Ali Baba hasn’t already planned that? That man’s a fox. The way he smiled? Yeah, he’s probably got a contract hidden in his robes right now!”
“Swear on my ancestors, if he doesn’t make him a captain or something, I’ll eat my damn sandals.”
Laughter followed, more cheers, and someone raised a cup.
“A toast! To the battle demon!”
“TO THE BATTLE DEMON!”
“TO THE CARAVAN!”
“TO ONE THOUSAND NIGHTS!”
Most of the crowd was having a blast, finally a reprieve from all the somberness. The tragedy.
They had witnessed the beginning of legend, and that brought an undeniable thrill, making them let loose for a little. Sure, there were others still somber, knowing what was to come, others against appreciating any achievement of his, carrying a blood debt, and yet there was one thing shared between all.
None of them would forget this battle.
It wasn’t due to the scale, the emotion, or the skill. No.
It was the context. A new chapter in Malik’s long history.
One that would continue to expand even longer after his death.
Whether they liked it or not.