Misunderstood Villain: Heroines Mourn My Death

***

{Outside The Projection}

The moment the projection paused, the crowd burst into noise.

"Man. Does. Not. Play!"

"I swear on my ancestors, I thought that bitch was about to cut Madam Layla's throat!"

"Yeah, but even back then our lady was the best haha!"

"She's not a heroine that needs saving!"@@novelbin@@

"Forget all that. Did you hear what she said? We nearly guessed everything correctly!"

"And they almost got away with it. Imagine if it wasn't him they tried fooling."

"Haha, I know..."

While they went on and on, Layla stared at the projection, lost in thought.

She barely heard the crowd. Barely felt their eyes on her.

She was somewhere else. Somewhere in the past.

It had been a quest. A little adventure.

To do some good.

That was what she told herself.

Save the kids. Deal with the kidnappers. Simple.

But that wasn't the whole truth, was it?

Layla wanted to help, yes, but if she was honest with herself…

A selfish part of her—one she didn't want to admit existed—had been excited to go because of him.

Malik.

She wanted to see him in action, wanted to be close to him, to be involved in whatever crazy, impossible, and thrilling life he seemed to have lived.

And what happened?

Layla got exactly what she wished for.

...It terrified her.

Back then, she had thought herself strong. Thought herself capable.

But when it all came down to it...

When blood was spilled...

When the reality of life and death pressed against her throat...

She froze.

Malik hadn't.

He had been so… decisive. So unflinching. Like her life meant nothing to him.

And that?... It hit her like a slap to the face.

Not the fact that he didn't seem to care about her.

No. She knew better than to think that.

It was the realization that she had been spoiled. Sheltered.

Her father had given her everything—warmth, safety, security. He had raised her with kindness, with patience, with love.

And because of that, she had never truly understood how ugly the world could be. How brutal. How unfair.

She hadn't met the "real world." Not until that night.

Not until she watched Malik cut through a 'kid' like it was nothing.

Not until she realized that, in his world, hesitation meant death.

Layla hadn't just grown up that night.

She had been forced to.

***

{Inside The Projection} Find your next read on My Virtual Library Empire

The job was done.

The priest, looking like he'd aged ten years overnight, sighed and handed them the promised payment—twelve silver coins. Nothing more, nothing less.

He also took a second to heal Layla's neck, muttering something about how it wouldn't scar, but that she should be more careful to involve herself in such things if there ever was a next time.

Malik doubted she'd take that advice.

Then came the farewell.

The priest gave them the usual 'May the light guide you' sermon, but Malik tuned most of it out, already thinking about food and a bed. Layla actually bowed, thanked him properly, and gave a face all smiles.

They left soon after, making their way back to the inn where their caravan had holed up for the night.

Malik and Layla walked in silence, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just… a tired silence.

The second they stepped through the inn's entrance, they were met with the Grim Reaper.

Ali Baba.

He was right there, arms crossed, leaning on the wall. Not angry. Just expectant.

Layla, to her credit, didn't hesitate. She spilled everything.

The quest, the imposters, the priest, the orphanage—everything.

She didn't downplay her own mistakes either, which surprised Malik.

He half-expected her to gloss over the whole 'almost got my throat slit' part, but no, she laid it all out.

So Malik stood back, waiting for the scolding. The whole 'What were you thinking?!' speech. Maybe even one for himself too—something about being a bad influence or dragging her into danger. That he didn't listen to his warning, unnecessarily involving himself with her.

But instead, Ali Baba just let out a deep sigh, rubbed his temples, and looked at him.

"Thank you... Thank you for teaching her a little about the world."

Malik blinked.

That was not what he expected.

He scratched his head.

"Uh... no problem."

And that was that.

Malik grabbed a piece of bread and then headed straight for his room, too drained to stick around.

Eating it while walking, he crashed onto the bed and was out before his head even fully hit the pillow.

Morning came.

They got up, packed their things, and made a final sweep through the market, picking up what they ordered yesterday.

Fresh supplies, dried rations, waterskins—everything they'd need for the road ahead.

Layla seemed... steadier. Maybe not completely okay, but she wasn't as shaken anymore.

With their carts heavier, their pouches lighter, they regrouped with the caravan.

The carriages were packed, the steeds were fed, and the path was mapped.

With the first light of dawn warming their backs, they set off.

From there, the journey stretched into days, weeks, then months.

The road blurred into a never-ending cycle of dusty trails, campfires, and starry nights.

One Thousand Nights moved steadily, passing through villages, trading goods, updating maps, and ensuring they had enough supplies to make it to the next stop.

They, of course, involved themselves in the occasional quest, but none were too dangerous. Malik made sure of that. He couldn't risk her life; his curse was unreliable.

In turn, that made everything feel a tad peaceful. Despite the occasional man he killed or the horde of monsters he annihilated.

He had never lived like this before—never had the luxury of a somewhat predictable routine.

It felt strange. Almost unnatural.

And then there was Layla.

From the moment they left the first village, she stuck to him like glue.

If he was walking, she was right there. If he was sharpening his curved sword, she sat beside him, watching with wide, fascinated eyes. If he was eating, she'd take bites off his skewer like it was the most natural thing in the world. And if he was trying to relieve himself? She'd be nearby, standing guard—or at least, that was what she claimed.

Malik had given up trying to shake her off.

"Can't you bother someone else?"

He grumbled one evening as she sat next to him, legs crossed, arms wrapped around her knees.

"Nope. I might collapse from Malik deficiency."

She rested her chin on her knees.

"You're the most interesting person here. Plus, you're handsome... And I like you."

Ali Baba snorted at that, passing by with a knowing look. Malik just sighed.

Though... much to her frustration, she didn't always get him.