Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

Chapter 330: Her Final Lesson

“Die!”

But it wasn’t only anger in her swing; it was desperation.

Every shadow around them moved alongside her, attacking him.

Malik stepped forward once, his footstep leaving behind a hoof of fire.

It flared up, and the shadows died at once.

Seemingly expecting that, Roya continued with her attack, dipping low.

Malik followed her swing and, with a single twist of his hand, took a blade from her, using it to block the other.

She disappeared almost immediately and snapped her fingers.

The dagger in Malik’s hand glowed brighter in under a moment, getting incredibly hot.

Malik looked down at it, then brought it to his other hand, pushing his palm against the tip of the blade.

It didn’t pierce.

No, it was crushed instead.

The dagger melted into itself.

The explosion died out.

Roya stood stunned.

She couldn’t believe what she had just witnessed.

It was obvious that she didn’t expect this to kill him, but she seemed to think he’d at least get a minor injury of some sort; it was a Holy Relic after all!

As much as she hated it, she was his student, and she knew he’d never kill her and would take it easy on her, so she planned to use that to her advantage.

Apparently, that wasn’t even close to enough.

But she wasn’t done.

“I’ll kill you.”

And Malik wasn’t either.

“I never liked you much as a student.”

“Well…”

She scoffed.

“Now we’re honest.”

“Honest.”

Malik repeated.

“Then let’s begin.”

She tilted her head.

“Begin what?”

Malik took a stance.

“Our final lesson.”

Roya didn’t wait for another word.

She charged him again, faster this time, blade low, her blood already beginning to burn as her Aether surged unnaturally.

Clink.

Another dagger appeared in her hand, silver with a black core, shaped like a flame turned inside out.

A Holy Relic.

“Extinguishing Fang.”

She dragged it across her own palm mid-run, cutting it open.

The blade devoured the blood as soon as it spurted out, turning pitch black.

She slashed upward, and the dark left the blade, though only seen in shadow.

Malik shifted slightly, and the attack passed through only air.

Again.

But before she could extract more blood, he snapped his fingers.

A flame shot towards the Holy Relic, melding into it before she could react.

Almost immediately, she threw it away and stepped back, a pained sigh leaving her.

Glancing at her palm, she saw it charred, realizing that she was only fractions away from losing it completely.

Still, she didn’t stop.

Roya pulled out another Holy Relic from thin air, this time a small flask of blue oil, capped with bone.

She tossed it at his feet, and the moment it shattered—

SHHHHSSSSSS!

The ground erupted in smothering smoke, a cloud that drained all fire and heat, devouring flame down to the soul.

Malik calmly watched as it clung to his boots like tar, hissing as it climbed.

Using that moment of distraction, Roya darted in, shadows coiling around her arms, weaving into her muscles.

She struck.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

All under one second.

Each attack parted the smoke until it was cleared completely.

And just as it did, Malik walked calmly through it, unharmed.

The fire-draining mist retreated from his skin.

Sand sat on his skin instead, a veil.

He didn’t even need to raise a hand to defend himself.

Her eyes widened, and she leapt back, muttering under her breath.

Two rings materialized around her wrists, and they immediately pulsed, then cracked.

Another Holy Relic.

From the roof, the ground, and the walls, dozens of frozen spears shot towards him, trailing white fire.

Malik’s eyes tracked them as they came, feeling a bit disappointed by the attack.

But thankfully for him, she wasn’t done, as the moment she snapped her fingers, the ground below Malik turned into black glass, sealing him in a thin prism of some sort of nullstone.

It was airtight and soundless.

No fire could survive in it.

The spears struck.

BOOM BOOM BOOM—!

Rubble fell, dust rose, and wind scattered stone.

Still… he stepped out, entirely unharmed.

A single spear sat in his grip.

He studied it for a moment before it melted into nothingness.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!”

Roya screamed—part rage, part frustration—and kept going.

She materialized another Holy Relic, another dagger, similar to the one before, and stabbed it into her thigh, sacrificing more blood.

It pulsed.

Wings of shadow grew from her back, each feather holding an anti-Aether trap.

She flew now—like a Fallen Malāk—and dove at him, one last Relic glowing at her hip.

A jar.

Tiny, unmarked, and old.

Inside it, a single flicker of cold light swirled.

She grabbed it and threw it to the ground right before him—

FLASH!

A Pale Mirror materialized at the point of impact.

It reflected Malik’s own… Will.

His own heat, back at him a hundredfold.

Even he paused, this time unintentionally.

“…!”

Roya’s eyes narrowed.

This was it!

She could win!

But she wanted to be sure.

So she used her most dangerous and final Holy Relic.

It was forbidden, sold only in underground channels.

“Crown of Sacrifice.”

A crown materialized above her head.

Her blue eyes turned white… blind.

Her legs began to crumble.

Her skin began to wither.

This crown was about to take everything she was.

And she—Roya Al-Ayan—was ready to give it.

SHE HAD TO KILL THIS—

Tap.

Malik appeared behind her.

Two fingers to the back of her neck.

A precise jab.

Her body locked up immediately.

Every muscle and nerve.

Her crown was crushed.

What was lost came back, and she hit the ground hard.

She was still conscious, still burning with rage, but unable to move.

Malik stood over her, silent and unbothered as always.

It was almost unnoticeable, but wisps of steam curled around his shoulders and boots.

Whatever speed he moved at must’ve been beyond any before it, because only a moment after Roya’s fall did a—

BOOM!

Resound.

The sound alone shook the ground beneath them.

It was incredible how skilled he had gotten at controlling his Ability Pathing.

“You…”

Roya coughed out blood.

“Are you going to kill me now?”

Her question came without looking.

“…”

She scoffed.

“Cold bastard.”

He, again, didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked up to a nearby window, completely shattered from their fight, and looked out.

Before him, the city still fought itself.

Rebels battled loyalists.

Fires flared and flickered.

The people screamed.

But from in here, it looked quiet.

Peaceful even, like a painting of chaos.

“Was this always your plan?”

Malik offered a response this time.

Not with words, but in actions.

He returned to her, making her flinch.

And before she could say anything, he struck.

It was not to kill or maim, just to break.

A casual kick to the head, enough to knock her out.

She was a little girl, a pitiful one, and he didn’t want to treat her too roughly.

Malik glanced at her one last time before moving past.

“She’ll be useful.”

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