’Ember’s Touch, Peak Soul Glyph.’

Malik felt the Rukh in his Soul catch fire.

A comforting warmth spread through his chest.

The shackles on his mind evaporated.

Every memory that had been stolen from him by these slavers came rushing back in perfect clarity, every moment of the past however-many cursed days stacking on top of each other.

’Past me was really smart.’

He held admiration for his own foresight.

Writing that word on the board, knowing that his future self would see it and remember.

It was all very clever.

Yes, he could’ve tried to go about it with a single-use Soul Glyph, but doing so was too risky.

It didn’t guarantee his escape as this Peak Soul Glyph did.

Everything was calculated.

"You deaf old man!"

A smiling slaver stepped forward with the needle, about to do what he always did.

"Come on, hold still; I can’t afford to accidentally kill more of you."

Malik reached out faster than the slaver could follow and caught his wrist.

He squeezed, and the bone crunched under his grip. Following that, the needle fell from nerveless fingers and shattered on the stone floor.

"I’m done."

The slaver’s eyes reflected Malik’s golden hair.

"W-What—JUDAS! HE’S—"

He was not allowed to finish.

Malik opened his palm against the slaver’s chest and whispered:

’Ignite.’

A spark of pure white fire erupted from his hand, so bright that it seared afterimages into the eyes of every slave in the cavern.

In moments, the slaver was gone, completely erased from this world.

"KILL HIM!"

Judas shrieked from the far end of the cave, leveling a staff that appeared from thin air and gathering green Rukh at its tip.

Malik raised both hands.

"Burn."

White fire snaked out from his fingers, moving through the chaos of the cave.

The flames ignored the slaves entirely, weaving between their trembling bodies and slamming into every slaver in sight.

Lanterns exploded one by one, their light replaced by a blinding white that filled every corner of the cave.

Judas did not even have time to beg.

The fire devoured his staff, his legs, and his arms, leaving him limbless.

Malik ensured that his fire moved slowly enough for Judas to experience a most painful death, making him go through a fraction of the fear the slaves felt in all their time under him.

Yet, before he could kill him, the same woman who had once asked him for water pulled on his sleeve, making him pause.

"N-No... stop."

Her words made Malik tilt his head.

’Does she want him to live, despite everything he did?’

Though he didn’t at all agree with what she wanted, he still relented.

Malik must’ve been here for only a few days; he didn’t know how long the others had suffered.

If they asked anything of him, even if he saw it as beyond incomprehensible, he would likely accept.

They deserved that much at least.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

But his thoughts turned out to be completely wrong.

She didn’t tell him to stop because she wanted Judas alive.

No, she wanted him to stop because she wanted to kill Judas herself.

Malik witnessed an undescribable scene.

With her at the lead, they tore the bastard apart, piece by piece.

Much like his fire, they devoured him.

Finally, her thirst was quenched.

’Hm.’

The following massacre was silent.

Malik moved too fast for the slavers to even think of reacting.

Every building he entered became an incinerator, the white flames pouring through doorways and consuming everything they touched.

Every Magi who tried to draw a blade found their hands devoured before they could reach the hilt. Every guard who tried to run found their legs dissolving beneath them.

He did not chase them.

There was no need to.

The fire was faster.

When the last of the slavers had been erased, Malik walked back towards the cave.

The slaves were huddled against the walls, their hollow eyes wide with something that might have been hope or might have been fear.

He could not tell the difference anymore.

"Your shackles are broken. There’s food on the dead. Scrounge or die."

Glancing at the brave woman, their new leader, for the final time, Malik did not wait to see what they would do.

He walked out of the cave and into the slave base, heading for the largest house in the compound, the head overseer’s quarters.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

The house was nicer than anything else in the base, with surprisingly expensive furniture.

Malik ignored the luxury and found a washbasin in the corner.

There, he spent an entire minute scrubbing the black blood from his skin.

The water turned dark, then darker, and then finally ran clear as he rinsed his body.

Finally, he felt like a human again!

He washed his hair next, working the grime out of the golden strands until they shone.

When he looked at his reflection in the polished mirror, he saw a man who looked tired but clean, and that was enough.

Malik smashed open a wardrobe and pulled on a set of high-quality silks. They were a similar deep charcoal fabric with silver embroidery along the cuffs and collar.

The clothes fit him surprisingly well.

He fastened a clean belt around his waist before pulling on a pair of leather boots that had never seen a day of hard labor.

Once done, he looked at himself in the full-length mirror standing in the corner of the room and nodded once.

"Much better."

Earlier, he began to look human.

And now, he looked like a Sultan again!

This ’Sultan’ had gained some Fear Points during his little fashion session, but didn’t bother to check.

These were nobodies, and he wasn’t going to gain much from them.

Malik walked out of the house and back into the sunlight, the heat of the two Suns washing over him.

Behind him, the slave base kept burning with white fire, the flames climbing higher and higher until they licked at the sky itself.

He did not look back and took a few steps into the sand, ready to leave this nightmare behind and never think about it again.

But then he stopped.

Standing a few meters away, framed by the shimmering heat of the dunes, was a young girl.

She had messy black hair that stuck out in every direction and deep, purple eyes.

Her body was shaking while tears streamed down her face in rivers.

The lady looked like she had been crying for days, perhaps having not slept in even longer.

But as she looked at Malik—at his golden hair shining in the sunlight, at his clean silks and his composed posture...

She began to smile.

A heartbreakingly relieved smile stretched across her tear-streaked face and made her purple eyes crinkle at the corners.

"Hee...?"

Dunya had finally found him.