In the second century, a magnificent city known as Madinatul-Kusuf emerged in the western regions of the world. The city of Madinatul-Kusuf thrived in agriculture, livestock farming, commerce, and a vast population. Additionally, they had amassed valiant warriors who showed great endurance on the battlefield.
The ruler of the city was a formidable warrior who could scatter numerous brave fighters in combat. He was incredibly wealthy and renowned for his deep knowledge of magic. Because of this, he became a legendary and fearsome figure among the rulers of the continent. He was nicknamed Sabrul-Marhut. He had one wife, an extraordinarily beautiful woman named Hunaisat. They had been married for ten years, but unfortunately, they had no children, a situation that greatly distressed King Sabrul-Marhut. Every time he consulted his magical resources, he saw that he would indeed have children, but in the future.
"When will I have this child? With each passing day, I grow older and age is catching up with me. Is my magic truly reliable in saying I will have a child?" These were the questions that King Sabrul-Marhut constantly pondered.
One night, while King Sabrul-Marhut was resting in his luxurious chamber, dressed in lightweight sleepwear, the night was silent except for the barking of dogs and the occasional chirping of insects. Despite his exhaustion and need for rest, he couldn't sleep, his mind racing with various thoughts.
As he was in this state, he sensed movement in the courtyard of his chamber. He immediately stood up and went outside but saw nothing. All the guards in the area were lying on the ground, fast asleep, a situation that puzzled and surprised him greatly.
Realizing that this was the work of a magician, he quickly prepared to recite some magical incantations. Suddenly, an elderly man with a unique physical appearance appeared before him. The man had the features of someone from the city of Sin: white hair, beard, and mustache without a single black strand, dressed in clothes made of leopard skin from head to toe, and holding a magical staff.
At first glance, it was clear that this man was a master of magic. When King Sabrul-Marhut saw him, his heart pounded with fear, but he maintained his composure and sternly asked, "Who are you, and what do you want from me?"
The man laughed loudly, a sound resembling a horse's neigh, then his expression turned serious, as if he had received a death notice. In a harsh voice, he said, "O Sabrul-Marhut, son of Saiban, know that I have not come to harm you but to help you. But before that, I must introduce myself as you have requested.
Chapter Four
About two hundred years ago in the city of Romaniya, our father, King Raziban, held the throne. King Raziban was a mighty warrior and a supreme magician, unmatched in his magical prowess. Researchers and soothsayers confirmed that since the demise of the legendary sorcerer Shuyudan, no one equaled our father's magical strength. Because of this, other rulers on the continent were compelled to pledge allegiance to him. Some even referred to him as Amirul-Sihir, meaning the King of Sorcerers.
Despite his magnificent reign, King Raziban was a just ruler known for his compassion and mercy. Our father had seven children: Prince Zafiyar, the eldest, followed by Princess Rumailat, Prince Hasanul-Mausur, Sumaiyat, Laswil, Rukaisu, Zaidar, and myself, Matawus, the youngest.
We all received love and care from our father, although intense rivalry and enmity existed among us due to the jealousy between our mothers. One day, our father was sitting on his throne, his palace adorned with various treasures and luxuries of the world, an awe-inspiring sight filled with the heads of humans on stakes as a testament to his power. Courtiers occupied splendid seats, and warriors, both human and jinn, patrolled every corner of the palace, armed and ready to ensure security.
During this time, the only sound that could be heard in the palace was the collective breathing of hundreds of people. Suddenly, our father fell from his throne, vomiting blood and coughing violently. In panic, the courtiers rushed to him, and the guards hurriedly brought a magnificent bed, carried him out, and laid him down in his royal chamber, attempting to save his life.
At the royal residence, news of what happened to our father reached us. My siblings and I hurried to his chamber, worried and anxious. When we arrived, the guards at the door stopped us, saying that the king had ordered no one to enter unless he gave permission.
Upon hearing this, Prince Zafiyar was furious. He shouted at the guards, "What authority do you have to prevent us from seeing our father? Open this door immediately before I unsheathe my sword and send you to the afterlife."
The guards, trembling with fear, reluctantly opened the door. Suddenly, the palace magician, Jauwad ibn Ramli, appeared. Boka Jauwad was an elderly man of about seventy years, tall and sturdy with a white beard and mustache, fierce red eyes, a broad nose, and a wide mouth filled with crooked teeth. He wore black clothes adorned with charms and amulets, resembling an ancient madman. One look at Boka Jauwad, and it was clear he was a master of dark magic.
Despite our father's renowned magical abilities, it was a tradition in our kingdom for the royal family to have a chief magician responsible for their health and spiritual guidance.
When we saw Boka Jauwad, we all bowed respectfully. He looked at each of us before speaking in a harsh voice similar to a dog's growl.
