Other than hearing the name from that now rotting squad leader’s mouth, Malik instinctively knew it.

Trees of Death. Of Corruption.

Its branches were twisted and black, struggling and failing to grow in the soil.

This little tree, no, sapling, looked like it was dying.

’Something is preventing it from growing.’

This was the second thing the Golden Throne seemed to have gifted him:

Enhanced perception.

It was as if a fog had been lifted from the world, allowing him to see what was hidden from normal sight.

To see the unseen.

’Is this the result of what I did in Hell? Cutting off the roots of Corruption ruined these trees...? But what did that do? Actually, what did these trees do in the first place?’

He thought back to the nice soldier’s words, as he found himself constantly doing.

’Perhaps those Trees of Death Corrupted our people. They made us Black Eyes.’

That sounded about right.

’Hm, so they don’t anymore, thanks to what I did... my sacrifice.’

But that raised another question.

If the trees were responsible for turning people into Demons, then naturally, the Demons should have stopped appearing now that the trees were nearly dead.

But the opposite had happened.

If taking that invader’s words as fact, only after Malik cut the roots of Corruption did the Demons appear in such countless numbers, absolutely swarming the planet, and well, every planet for that matter.

Even if there was no direct correlation between the two, in a sense, what he had done had somehow damned his own people.

It had damned all of humankind.

Malik’s mind spun and spun, trying to fit the pieces together, but there were so many questions and so few answers.

Perhaps that would be his Fate until the end.

Always searching and guessing, never quite knowing the full truth.

***

Meanwhile, in another place entirely, Malik’s Right Hand, Azeem, and his little brother, Sinbad, stood—and floated—before a big group of strong-looking people gathered in a large courtyard.

Azeem, much like the rest of the Sultan’s inner circle, wore dark royal clothes, though his were a lot more revealing, showing off his muscular arms and the scars that crossed them.

Rings adorned his fingers, six in total, Holy Relics no doubt, each one glowing faintly.

But one seemed to be a wedding ring...

A broken one, cracked down the middle, held together by what looked like years of stubborn refusal to take it off.

"Are you sure the Sultan said that we should be nice to them?"

Azeem’s eyes scanned a few of the assembled leaders like a wolf sizing up sheep.

"Even after their betrayal?"

It seemed that Azeem did not mind Malik using him the moment he returned without even a proper reunion or a word of thanks.

Perhaps it was what he had expected out of the "It’s my duty" Sultan he served.

A man who put the sultanate above everything else, including his own relationships.

"Hey! We didn’t betray anyone!"

Someone from the crowd—brave, or mostly stupid—rejected Azeem’s accusation, stepping forward with his chest puffed out.

"Oh yeah?!"

Azeem’s smile widened.

"I don’t think so. And you don’t think so either, do you?"

It was a very wicked smile.

"We called you, and you came within seconds. Quite unlike your fellows, who followed protocol despite the raging emotions they must have felt."

He spread his arms wide.

"Aren’t you lot leaders of great renown? Kings, queens, and faction lords, even religious ones. How were you so prepared? Why were you so prepared?"

His eyes narrowed with barely contained anger.

"I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors of his return and have soiled your britches."

Even then, his tone remained mocking.

"’Oh, what do we do now?! The Sultan will for sure realize that we’ve all but cut off our support and focused only on our own survival! We, in our great wisdom, left his sultanate to deal with the brunt of the attacks!’"

His every word seemed filled with years of pent-up frustration and years of watching allies turn their backs when help was needed most.

"We didn’t bother correcting you since we’ve had our hands full, but now?"

Azeem cracked his knuckles.

"None of you traitors will leave here unscathed."

Sinbad, now perched on Azeem’s shoulder, tapped the side of the man’s head with his wing and whispered:

"Elder Brother said to be nice."

Azeem tilted his head, genuinely confused.

"But I am being nice?"

Sinbad stared blankly at him, his pink eyes unblinking.

"..."

"..."

"..."

It seemed that he really was trying his best.

"L-Lord..."

One of the leaders stammered, raising a trembling hand.

"Where are we to go?"

Azeem clicked his tongue at the interrupting man, annoyed at being pulled away from his tirade.

"The Sultan’s Hall, where else?"

The man nodded quickly and walked past Azeem towards the palace gates, only to stop after a few steps.

"Uh, I..."

Slowly, almost with tears, he looked back over his shoulder.

"...I-I haven’t visited the Holy Palace before. S-So I don’t know where—"

Azeem kicked the man in the legs, sending him stumbling forward.

"Then why did you walk to the front, you idiot!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

Indeed, he was really, really, trying his best to be nice.

Hoot...

The bird sighed and looked at those who stood behind the admonished group.

"Please, welcome."

He sounded happy to welcome them.

***

Ding!

’Hm?’

—

╔════════╗

║OVERFLOW!║

╚════════╝

[Fear Points: 6.5 → 20]

—

’What a boost!’

A tidier Malik inwardly cheered while sitting on the Golden Throne, his golden hair looking absolutely immaculate.

After his family had left and he had recovered from his thinking crisis, he had gone to bathe in the private chambers adjoining the hall, scrubbing away the last traces of the farm’s grime.

Of course, he had changed into new dark clothes fitting of a Sultan and leather boots that had seen a day or so of hard labor.

He could not meet his "guests" while looking anything less than his best, could he?

Anyhow, Malik was sure that much of the Fear Points boost was a quiet accumulation.

The slow drip of his name spreading across the planet, filtering through the ranks of friend and foe alike.

But thirteen points did not come solely from a ’slow drip.’

Something or perhaps someone must have boosted him significantly.

Since he hadn’t exactly done anything in the past few minutes to warrant that kind of increase, he quickly came to a conclusion:

’That’s the work of those two, isn’t it?’

Azeem and Sinbad, out there gathering the leaders, doing whatever they were doing to spread fear and respect in equal measure.

If this was the result of them being "nice" and treating the other factions with dignity, then they could be nice all day long!