Malik was very calm.

This situation looked bad, and it was.

A circle of twisted nightmares closing in on a handful of exhausted soldiers.

But, again, he still felt safe.

One mustn’t forget that he could activate his Soul Glyphs instantly.

The moment things turned truly ugly, he could simply burn his way out.

He was worried for the soldiers, however. If worst came to worst, sure, he would live, but he couldn’t guarantee the same for the others.

For now, though, he had to rein them in.

"Huddle up on me, now!"

The soldiers snapped out of their frenzy and immediately followed his command. They pressed their backs together in a tight circle, swords pointed outward, and shields raised.

All of them stared at the wall of Demons surrounding them. Hundreds of wrong creatures, too ugly to describe.

’Hm, what now?’

Malik calmly scanned the perimeter.

There were holes in this wall, gaps where the Demons hadn’t fully closed the ring.

If the soldiers ran fast enough, a few of them could certainly break through. Maybe survive what looked like an unavoidable massacre.

But it seemed that none of the soldiers around him had even thought about that.

He saw it in their eyes.

They weren’t looking for escape routes; they were gripping their blades tighter and planning their moves, readying themselves for death.

What brought them together wasn’t only survival. It was their Sultan.

The man they had sworn to follow... the man they had failed once before.

"NOT AGAIN!"

They screamed it at once, a single voice from a dozen throats.

The sound echoed across the dunes, both desperate and defiant.

Malik was surprised, though again, he didn’t show it, too busy thinking of a way out of this without using a Soul Glyph.

The Soul Glyph was his emergency button, his last resort.

If he could save it, he wanted to save it, simple as that.

Thump!

But before he was forced to make a decision, the Demons at the edge of the circle suddenly started to... die.

Three black-cloaked figures moved through the swarm like scythes through wheat.

Within seconds, the circle broke, making the soldiers stumble back in utter confusion.

But quickly, their eyes widened, and their faces lit up with happiness.

"Guard of the Fifth!"

"The Sultan’s ELITE UNIT!"

"Thank you for saving us!"

They screamed with excitement, their fear replaced by awe.

Apparently, these three came from a group that housed only the best of the best.

A people who had managed to survive everything this cruel world had thrown at them.

The three black-cloaked figures finished the last of the Demons and stepped back, their blades dripping with black blood.

And then, well, they silently stood there, seemingly waiting for someone.

"Great job defending the area."

A fourth figure appeared from above, dropping down from the sky with a soft thud.

It was Aladdin, though he looked worse for wear, his clothes dirtied with black blood.

Perched on his shoulder was Sinbad, the crimson owl, his pink eyes scanning the area.

"We suspect that the Sultan has finally returned. Have you seen him fly overhead? We’re certain that he had gone in this direction."

His eyes hovered over the soldiers’ faces, searching for any sign of recognition.

With the exception of Malik, they all dropped to their knees.

"N-No, we haven’t, Lord Commander Aladdin! Master Sinbad!"

Sinbad’s head turned, his pink eyes digging into Malik’s golden ones.

The bird stared at him for a long moment, perhaps doubting him.

"Are you certain that you haven’t seen my Elder Brother?"

Malik’s heart ticked up a beat, but somehow, even now, his face stayed calm.

He knew he couldn’t reveal himself as the Sultan, no matter how much it might help him in the short term.

If he did, no doubt his Fear Points would tank like they did earlier, only much, much worse.

His people would see him in this weak, aged state, and the legend would shatter.

"Unfortunately, not."

Sinbad held his gaze for another heartbeat, only to then nod.

"The second wave is over with little to no casualties. Go announce it to that city nearby."

The three black-cloaked figures vanished. Aladdin launched himself into the sky and disappeared over the dunes, Sinbad along with him.

All of them were gone in an instant, too fast for Malik to track.

His mortal eyes couldn’t follow their movements for even a moment.

’That’s a problem.’

Malik realized something important.

He wasn’t safe all the time. If someone attacked him by surprise—someone at that level of speed or even lower—he could be killed before he even thought to activate a Soul Glyph.

His reaction time was currently mortal.

This only highlighted how important it was for him to unlock his strength.

He made a mental note to never let his guard down. But he wasn’t thinking much about that right now.

’...I have a brother who’s an owl?’

His thoughts drifted to Sinbad. The crimson owl had called the Sultan "Elder Brother," and not for the first time. That meant Malik was apparently the older sibling of a talking bird.

’Just how did that happ—?’

"Why didn’t you kneel?!"

The soldiers next to him cut off his thoughts, joining the trend.

They were standing up now, brushing sand off their armor, their faces a mix of confusion and indignation.

"They’re the Sultan’s family!"

"Is it just because you’re old?!"

Malik’s eye twitched at the last comment.

Yes, he was old now with white hair, wrinkled skin, and a shrunken frame.

But hearing someone say it to his face still ticked him the Hell off!

Ignoring the complaining soldiers, he looked into the distance.

Beyond the dunes, past the battlefield, a small city sat nestled against a rocky outcropping with walls surrounding the perimeter.

"Enough about that. How about we go celebrate?"