Though his change was incredible, the Malik inside the projection barely scratched the surface of power.
Nadhir Al-Noor—the Bringer of Light.
The name sounded grand, but in reality, it was the weakest of the weak.
Class-Five, first subrank.
Malik couldn’t even intimidate a stray canine.
If he wanted to end Rafiq’s little gang without dying in the process, he needed to climb the Divine Hierarchy—fast.
Not once, but twice.
First, he had to become Nadhir Al-Faris, the Guide of the Rukh.
That’d give him enough muscle to comfortably take on the Ahools in the cave, but it still wouldn’t be enough.
His goal was Nadhir Al-Saif, the Sword of Guidance—the peak of the fifth major rank.
That’s when he’d stop being just a throwaway name on someone’s hit list and start being an actual threat.
But getting there wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.
There were four ways to rank up, each with its pros, cons, and “bullshit” hurdles.
{Cultivation.}
The “sit and meditate” route.
Draw in Aether, refine it, release it, and repeat until you feel something.
Sure, it worked, but Malik didn’t have the patience for that.
He needed results yesterday, not after tens of years of staying holed up in that cave.
{Battle.}
Straightforward: fight and grow stronger.
But here in Althawul, most of the monsters would either swallow him whole or slice him in half. Killing him before he even raised his newly owned shamshir.
{Embodiment.}
This one was weird, at least to him.
Basically, Malik had to become his specialization.
As a Sultan Al-Sahara, he’d need to live and act like a Sultan—whatever that meant.
Boss people around? Walk around like he owned the place?
Honestly, it was too vague, and he didn’t have time to experiment.
Not to mention, he wasn’t in the mood to play pretend while Rafiq’s crew was still out there.
{Aether Core Absorption}
Now this? This was Malik’s ticket.
The idea was simple: find a core, absorb its Aether, and rank up.
Easy, right? Not really. There were a couple of major roadblocks.
Malik’s Divine Essence, Jahannam, was tied to the Fire element.
So, he needed Aether Cores from fire-aligned monsters.
Not exactly common in Althawul, which was why he planned to visit the lighthouse.
Now, there were two ways to absorb a core.
First, the safe way: sit next to the core and slowly draw its Aether over the years.
It was steady, efficient, and waste-free.
The problem? It took forever.
The second method?
Swallow the damn thing whole and hope your Aether Core doesn’t implode.
It was risky as Hell—most people who tried it ended up dead or permanently crippled.
But if it worked, the payoff was massive.
It’d be like skipping years of cultivation in one insane burst of power.
Malik didn’t consider himself lucky. He was cursed, plain and simple.
But he had one ace up his sleeve:
Return By Death.
If the worst happened and his core exploded?
Well, he’d just get sent back to his “checkpoint” whenever it may be, and try again until he got it right.
Still, that was a problem for the future Malik.
Right now, he didn’t even have an Aether Core to absorb.
No point stressing over it until he found the right one.
***
{Inside The Projection}
With that thought, Malik flipped open Rafiq’s journal again, his eyes locking onto the map.
One last look—he needed to memorize every detail, every mark, down to the last scratch.
“Alright… How do I get out of Althawul?”
It didn’t take him long to trace a path, his mind piecing it together step by step.
After a moment, he closed the journal and glanced outside the cave.
“First, the Lighthouse. Then… them.”
***
{Outside The Projection}
“Guess this really is it…”
“Yeah. The Sultan isn’t a kid anymore.”
The random whispers of half-formed thoughts died as quickly as they started.
No one really knew what to say, just repeating the same thing over and over.
Because, really, what was there to say?
They all knew it—the kind boy was gone.
What stood in his place was a man burning with a single purpose.
Revenge.
And for now, they were content just watching.
Watching the flames that were no longer just fire but something… more.
They were curious to see what he’d do with it.
***
{Inside The Projection}
Time blinked ahead, and Malik could be seen walking down the hill, appearing to have just finished saying his last goodbyes to Sinbad.
He wasn’t half-naked anymore, now decked out in expensive-looking clothes—a random mishmash of pieces like he’d raided a wardrobe blindfolded.
Somehow, though, he made it work, even if the fit was a little loose on his lean frame.
Maybe it was his now undeniably handsome features doing the heavy lifting, making everything he wore look effortlessly good.
Because indeed, it was not the apparel that proclaims the man, but the man who maketh the clothes.
The dumb might wonder where he got the outfit, but it was pretty obvious.
Especially when you noticed the slightly tattered belt holding his shamshir, or the cloth-wrapped gourd at his side, occasionally dripping a trickle of water.
The Ahools.
These clothes were the remnants of what Malik so graciously titled “delicacies.”
For all he knew, he could’ve been wearing something that once belonged to Rafiq, but that didn’t matter anymore.
Not now.
He had revenge to fulfill.
Crunch… Crunch…
Malik’s new boots crushed the dry grass with each step, his pace steady but cautious.
He had no idea how far the lighthouse actually was.
The Shams had risen outside Al-Fawra, and its light had yet to shift an inch since he’d started walking.
Time here was slippery, hard to track, and it messed with his head.
Malik shook the thoughts away and forced himself to focus.
“If this place is alive, it’s probably enjoying the fact that I’m lost.”
His grip on his shamshir tightened, and he pressed on.
…
Without warning, the air shifted.
It was cooler now, the ground growing darker beneath his feet.
Midnight was near.
But then, just like that—as if time had blinked—it…
‘Holy shit.’
Happened.