Tragic fate of the genius

Malik Jahlan stood in a wide field. His mind focused on the many people standing before him, but his eyes glanced toward the one who was most different from the others. He looked at the man who stood alone at the very front.
That man's face and skin were full of scars; he felt like a true war master. His skin was brown, making his presence and aura the most dangerous among them all. He was the leader of the Fahmul Kingdom's knights, or as people on this continent called him, the leader of the Sipahis. His name was Gharim.
"My Sipahis are ready for your Grace's command!" Gharim yelled.
"Wait for the executioner," Malik Jahlan added.
"I am ready, Your Grace," a voice added.
Malik Jahlan's head turned toward the source of the sound.
The man stood there. He wore a crimson thobe covered by a jet-black bisht with an intimidating aura. He was the executioner, and his name was Zubniyahudin. In his hand lay a book—no, it was a paper, a rolled paper scroll, glowing at the edges.
There are various kinds of alternation tools: grimoir ink, which looks like normal ink but shines when used; grimoirs of various types, depending on the place and culture; alternation sculptor; voiragel.
Who looked at the unrolled paper, knowing with full confidence that it was a Middle-Eastern grimoir.
Gharim knew that he and his Sipahis were gathered for something crucial, but he didn't know what it was yet. Zubniyahudin also knew that the Malik's instruction was highly important. In his mind, he wanted to ask the Malik why he had called the Sipahis too, and this time, they deserved to know the reason.
"I gathered all of you for one reason," Malik Jahlan explained. "We will execute the Mudal family, except for their son, because they have created a disturbing and terrifying alternation!"
Malik Jahlan waited for someone to ask about the magic. He held the highest authority in the Fahmul Kingdom, but he hated it most when people agreed with his statements without arguing. If no one asked him, he was ready to yell again.
"What is the alternation, Your Grace?" Zubniyahudin asked.
Malik Jahlan smiled proudly, but he wasn't satisfied yet. "Ask it loudly."
"What is the alternation, Your Grace?!" Zubniyahudin yelled.
"Good," Malik Jahlan added. He pulled out a gangsing from his pocket. Beneath the gangsing, an alternation formula was carved as rune. The formulation part detached from the gangsing as he pulled it hard, and he quickly attached another formulation part. After that, the gangsing spun and flew through the air as he threw it. "The alternation requires a soul sacrifice to work."
Their faces turned red. Anyone who looked at their expressions would instantly know what filled their minds. Yups, anger.
"Execute them!" one Sipahi yelled angrily. "Execute all of them, without exception!"
The other Sipahis chimed in one after another, agreeing completely with the first Sipahi's outcry.
The Malik knew he could not execute the entire Mudal family. He knew that if all of them were executed, something dangerous would happen.
"Calm down, we cannot execute the Mudal family," Malik Jahlan replied.
"Why?" one Sipahi asked.
Zubniyahudin thought hard about what the problem was, until he realized something: the Mudal family held the most dangerous and complete physical theories. "Hold on, is the problem... the Safrul-Mazlam?"
Malik Jahlan nodded. He knew exactly what the Safrul-Mazlam was. It was a dangerous thing, and if the worst people held it, the worst outcome would happen—
The deviate fragthesis would be connected with this fragthesis—
Then, the War of the Physical Throne would happen.
Although it only had one worst-case outcome, there were also some positive outcomes: infinite resources, and more.
The fact was, the positive outcomes outnumbered the worst outcome. But because that single worst outcome involved two or more fragtheses connecting with each other, the catastrophe could not be avoided. And he didn't want it to happen.
The Sipahis were confused. They had never heard of it before, but they wanted to understand why the Malik did not execute the son of the Mudal family. They tried hard to understand what it was, but their minds could not grasp it.
"What is the Safrul-Mazlam, Your Grace?" one Sipahi asked.
"It consists of theories that can explain the mechanisms of the universe, even the things we do not understand. Among them: the fragtheses, the blueprint of reality, existences, and the physical laws of the microscopic world," Malik Jahlan explained.
"Fragtheses... what are they?" another Sipahi asked, furrowing his brow.
"They are other reality continents of this world," Malik Jahlan explained.
"So, will the fragtheses be gone if this world ceases to exist existentially?" the other Sipahi asked.
"That's correct," Malik Jahlan added.
"Now, I understand why Your Grace did not execute the entire Mudal family," the Sipahi nodded.
The gangsing dropped as Malik Jahlan's whip flogged it. After picking it up, he detached the formulation part and attached another formulation part. Then, the gangsing spun and flew into mid-air as he threw it, then they vanishing entirely due to the intensity of its spin. Soon, they left the area.
Meanwhile, in the Mudal family's castle, Harishi was trying to create a new formulation—a detection formulation. He was confused as to why the formulation was responding in the wrong way.
He wanted the formulation to give him data on manon fluctuations, or what beginner Alterions called "Mana's trace."
He looked at the formulation again and realized something: a single variable was missing.
"Oh, the variable to reduce the noise of the weak force," Harishi nodded to himself.
He wrote the new variable into the formulation. The formulation was written on a grimoire, its ink shining as his pen moved. Finally, the formulation responded in the correct way.
He could feel the Malik's Mana from the formulation's response. He didn't know why the Malik had come. According to the formulation's response, the mana intensity was eighty-six centiMagyures, equivalent to a spatial distance of four hundred meters.
He could hear the pattering footsteps of approaching people.
"Do you feel the Malik's Mana?" a voice asked. It sounded like Emir Farahzam's voice.
"Yes, it's from my formulation's response," Harishi replied.
Now, the mana intensity was forty kiloMagyures. That meant the Malik's physical body was fully present in that place, no longer in the process of teleportation.
"By my decree, all members of the Mudal family—except for Harishi Farahzam Luqais Fahmur Hudayan Afdamim Rofaqin Mudal—shall be executed! As an act of mercy, the executions will be carried out using shadow qishas alternation!" the voice shouted.
His head turned toward the source of the footsteps. The moment the voice stopped, the people turned to dust. He watched his father disintegrate into ash. Desperately, he cried out for his family.
"Anmah! Mother!" he yelled.
There was no response.
There was only one explanation for the silence—
His family had turned to dust—
—not just his father.
He desperately searched his mind for a formulation to flee, trying hard to write down the teleportation sequence.
"Trying to flee is useless, Harishi Farahzam Luqais Fahmur Hudayan Afdamim Rofaqin Mudal! You must trigger the war to hide the Safrul-Mazlam from the public!" the voice yelled.
He didn't care about any of it; his mind was entirely consumed by grief and the urge to escape. The ink shone as his pen raced across the paper. The moment the grimoire flashed with light, he vanished.
He successfully fled the castle, only to find rows of Sipahis standing directly in front of him. And leading them, three figures stood tall.
To the left stood the executioner, Zubniyahudin Aftarhil Madzib Muwadzar.
In the center stood the Malik of the Fahmul Kingdom, Jahlan Fahraz Anwar Samsuhal.
To the right stood the Leader of the Sipahis, Gharim Mahmuddin Subada Arham.
"Didn't I tell you that fleeing is useless?" Malik Jahlan barked.