I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 4: Challenge

Razeal let out a soft sigh. He couldn't quite discern if it arose from the ridiculousness or the solace, but his gaze shifted to the remote gateway towering in the distance.

The Gates of Worth.

Far beyond a mere emblematic barrier... it served as his own personal divide.

Abruptly, he sensed a pair of powerful hands settling on his shoulders, yanking him from his reverie.

Pressure gripped his shoulders, yet Razeal uttered not a sound. A smug grin persisted on his countenance, as though the ache evaded him or he disregarded entirely what this fellow aimed to achieve.

Dorn's gaze held a manic gleam, his intent to kill blatantly apparent. He loathed the notion of being manipulated, and detested it even more when his obligations were mocked as mere fancy by some foolish youth who imagined every event aligned with his scheme? Pure fantasy. Such presumptuousness and idiocy, particularly when the boy contributed nothing beyond his mere presence.

Dorn tilted his head nearer to Razeal's ear.

"I absolutely despise that repulsive grin on your face."

"Let me guess!!... Do you believe you've triumphed, eh kid? That everything unfolded as per your scheme? Snap out of your delusions, kid, whatever fanciful notions you're entertaining. You're breathing only because the Princess is present. Without the regulations or her being here, you'd be a corpse already. You get that?"

Razeal remained mute, offering no retort, merely fixing his stare on Dorn's while the smile endured.

"You... You... The nerve" The phrase faltered, stifled by the fury surging within Dorn.

Prominent veins throbbed on his neck as he eyed that grin. A profound revulsion washed over him. Insulted.

He inched even nearer to Razeal's ear.

"Don't soar too lofty. You haven't prevailed. It's merely your fancy. And death awaits you. Merely exit the academy premises and even if others spare you, I surely won't..." Dorn whispered harshly, his anger surging to unprecedented heights. Never before had Dorn experienced such a warped, scorching desire to shatter someone's delusions.

Yet despite the fury, he refrained from striking now, not in this spot at least. Thus, without further utterance, he swallowed his ire, grinding his teeth until pain flared, and let go of the youth's shoulders. In silence, he pivoted and began striding off.

Revulsion!! He brimmed with revulsion merely at the sight of the boy.

That sneering whelp's visage... it nauseated him. Only moments prior, the youth had paraded like a strutting fowl, yet now lacked the spine to utter words directly? Despicable.

But right then

"I won't," Razeal's tone echoed from behind, haughty and piercing, infused with a feral grin.

Dorn halted in his tracks.

He rotated gradually, as if his endurance had just shattered. His stare fastened on Razeal, who stood unmoving. That cursed smirk clung steadfastly to the boy's mouth.

A vein pulsed along Dorn's neck. "You... what was that?"

Razeal's dark eyes held his, devoid of any dread. "Even should I... You wouldn't have the guts."

"You dare?" Dorn whirled back, his presence almost erupting, glaring at that presumptuous visage.

Fury consumed him completely and intensely.

Dorn's eyes slitted, his features contorting in disdain.

"You bear no longer the Virelan name!! kid," he growled, bitterness dripping from each syllable. "Your presumptuousness repulses me."

He advanced nearer, scowling at Razeal as if he were mere scum underfoot.

"I detect no hint of presence from you. No mana. No pact. No edge in your posture indicates you're no bladesman. So inform me, by what cursed foundation do you linger there, grinning so? By what DAMNED foundation does this vast presumptuousness of yours stand"

His loathing intensified, as if sharing the same breath with Razeal offended him deeply.

"Shameful. Frail. But most abhorrent, presumptuous. That's what I abhor above all, yet doubly so in one who flaunts it without any cursed talents."

Dorn bent forward, his tone lowering to a murmur, heavy with lethal intent.

"Don't perish within the Gates of Worth... for I yearn to slay you personally nowwww. You refuse of refuse."

"Don't perish within the Gates of Worth... for I yearn to slay you personally now. You refuse of refuse," He declared it, then at last departed with his rear facing away, unwilling to further torment his own psyche.

[Host! Ahem... just a note... cough, this instance pushed boundaries far. Provoking one of that caliber, please, allow me to stress, even with that system feature unlocked, survival in your present condition remains impossible... so kindly, restrain yourself. Truth be told, securing another host eludes me. My essence ties solely to you.]

Razeal absorbed each phrase but offered no reply. His focus stayed riveted on Dorn's retreating form as the man departed.

He recognized fully that should Dorn desire his demise, a mere gesture would suffice. Provoking him wasn't courage. It courted oblivion.

Yet that formed the essence.

That's the thrill, Villey. You couldn't grasp it.

And recall, when last did I heed you? I rely solely on my strategies.

"And when last did I heed you, anyway?" he murmured softly, a grin spreading across his lips. "I rely only on my strategies."

He committed no error. That individual provoked him first. And who decreed victory impossible merely due to his vast inferiority?

Absurd.

What was that saying again, Villey?

'Swords and magic hold no value... against a villain's strategy.'

[ "_" ]

The system offered no response.

Not even a sarcastic chime.

---

In the stone-paved yard beyond, Vice Headmistress Selvara stood motionless, limbs crossed as Dorn neared.

A subtle smile graced her, mirth sparkling in her gaze.

"Did you sense manipulation?" she inquired, her voice sleek like velvet hiding a dagger.

Dorn's response chilled. "No. I suspect he imagines he manipulated all." His statements weren't voiced, but Selvara perceived them via mana connection. Unspoken. Accurate. Confidential.

His inflection stayed composed, yet threaded with scorn. "Perhaps the youth fails to grasp... his neck would've rolled sans the Princess's attendance. Does he truly believe regulations bind anyone here? Protocols hold sway only until their price exceeds value."

Selvara's eyebrow lifted. "Indeed? Suppose..." she angled her head, her words gliding gently into his thoughts, "...the youth had already factored that in?"

Dorn scowled, irritated. "Mere chance. Don't overanalyze it."

He detested when the undeserving gained undue mystique or acclaim as exceptional.

Selvara's mouth stayed still, yet her voice arrived anew, serene, enigmatic. "Though he discards the Virelan moniker... that lineage pulses strongly within. The lineage of beasts. Of schemers. And his... ranks among the most untainted."

Dorn uttered no more.

For him, merit measured solely by power and skill. Not bluster or hubris.

After all, utterances floated light as breeze.

And a field brimming with them amounted to mere gusts

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