I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 428: The First Move

"Just to be safe, we ought to keep a low profile for now," Maria suggested, her voice steady yet firm as she attempted to inject practicality into the situation. "We require more intel before making a move. If we step out with a group this large, we’ll be instantly conspicuous." A brief pause followed, her tone dropping slightly as she added, "Besides, it’s wartime. Patrols will be active, and suspicion will be running high." She finally met his gaze properly, a genuine hope surfacing that he might actually heed her words this time.

Razeal, however, did not falter in his stride. He simply gave a single shake of his head.

"No need for that," he stated plainly, dismissing the concern as if it were trivial. "Don’t fret about it."

Maria’s brow furrowed subtly at his response, her apprehension growing rather than subsiding. She continued walking alongside him, her mind clearly unsettled. "I truly don’t believe that’s wise," she voiced again, this time more directly, unwilling to let the matter drop. "And… if you genuinely intend to seize control of a kingdom…" she paused for a mere fraction of a second before proceeding, ensuring her point was crystal clear, "you won’t be sufficient on your own."

Her eyes remained fixed on him, unwavering and serious.

"Even if you manage to defeat the king… even if you proclaim yourself the ruler… then what?" she pressed on, her tone now analytical as she laid bare the stark reality. "A kingdom isn’t governed solely by might. You need personnel… administrators, officials, commanders… individuals devoted to you. People who will uphold your authority." She made a small gesture with her hand as she elaborated. "There will be dissent. Resistance. Internal strife. You cannot manage all of that single-handedly."

She reduced her pace slightly, adding, "There are only seven of us." Her voice now carried undeniable weight. "Even if every single one of us engages in combat, it won’t suffice to govern an entire realm." She looked straight at him. "You require people. Loyal subjects. Dedicated individuals who will stand by your side."

Her declaration was made without the slightest hesitation.

She wasn’t challenging him; she was merely issuing a stern warning.

Razeal turned his head slightly towards her, his expression placid, nearly inscrutable. For a fleeting moment, it was uncertain if he was even taking her counsel to heart.

"Rest assured," he responded, his tone even and imbued with that familiar quiet self-assurance. "I have already factored that into my calculations."

Maria’s eyes widened slightly, her focus immediately intensifying.

"And I have devised a strategy for it."

This statement caused her to halt.

It wasn’t skepticism that caused her to pause, but the very manner in which he spoke… it lacked any hint of conjecture.

"What is it?" she inquired instantly, her concern now superseded by sheer curiosity, for the look in his eyes suggested he possessed knowledge beyond their current grasp.

A faint, almost playful smile touched Razeal’s lips.

"You will discover it when the opportune moment arrives," he answered, concluding the exchange there.

Maria’s lips thinned slightly in mild dissatisfaction, but before she could probe further, another thought surfaced in her mind.

"Do you… already possess an army?" she inquired abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she attempted to connect the pieces. "Something you prepared in advance? Without informing us?" Her gaze remained locked on his face, searching for any telltale sign.

At her question, everyone trailing behind them instinctively shifted their attention towards Razeal, despite being mere steps away. The change in focus was subtle, yet discernible… a wave of curiosity rippling through the group.

Razeal sensed their questioning gazes upon his back. And with that, he offered a smile. Not a full grin, just enough to acknowledge.

"Perhaps," he replied casually, his tone light and deliberately ambiguous.

"Who can say." And just like that, he terminated the subject once more.

Before anyone could press him further,

"In any event," he interjected, his voice subtly altering as he looked forward, "we have arrived."

They emerged from the narrow alleyway.

The transition was immediate and stark.

The constricted, oppressive confines behind them gave way to a sprawling marketplace teeming with activity, sound, and life. The atmosphere felt distinct – not necessarily fresher, but less stifling, and the cacophony of voices, vendors' cries, and the percussion of footsteps on cobblestones enveloped them.

Booths lined both sides of the thoroughfare, their wooden stalls showcasing wares such as grains, textiles, tools, and assorted small trinkets, while patrons navigated the aisles, engrossed in hushed bartering and conversation. Despite the prevailing state of war, the market persisted, vibrant and operational, albeit noticeably subdued. The throng of people was sparser than customary, the general energy more muted, as if an unspoken weight hung over the proceedings.

A noticeable reduction in the number of men was immediately apparent.

This was obvious without requiring explicit confirmation.

The populace consisted primarily of the elderly, women, and children, alongside a scattering of adolescent boys not yet of military age. The conspicuous absence of able-bodied men painted a clear picture: many had likely been conscripted for war preparations… or were already serving on the front lines.

And yet, despite this, the scene maintained a peculiar sense of normalcy.

People were still engaged in their daily work.

Still conducting trades, or whatever else occupied their time.

Simply… still living. It was as if life itself refused to halt, even with the shadow of war looming overhead.

But this tranquility was fleeting.

The moment Razeal and his companions emerged…

Heads turned, drawing their attention. Eyes fixation lingered on them…

As it was evident they stood out. Completely. It wasn’t solely their number; their very presence was conspicuous.

They simply did not resemble the locals. They didn't even give the impression of being merchants, travelers, or ordinary citizens. Even at first glance, they possessed an aura something distinct, something that seemed out of place in this locale.

Levy might have managed a degree of inconspicuousness with his more commonplace appearance, but the others…

They were impossible to overlook.

Sofia, Maria, Aurora – each of them exuded a refined bearing that felt more akin to nobility than anything else. Their posture, their composure, even the manner in which they walked set them apart. Nancy, despite her current state, still held a certain sharpness in her gaze that was incongruous with the surrounding populace.

And even Yograj.

Even clad in simple attire, his sheer physique made him conspicuous. Broad, muscular, imposing – less like a civilian and more like a seasoned warrior or a battlefield commander. His mere presence commanded attention, prompting people to instinctively maintain a respectful distance.

And at the epicenter of it all…

Razeal. Advancing forward with both hands tucked into his pockets, completely unfazed by the scrutiny. His expression was placid, almost detached, as if none of it held any consequence… Not to mention the remarkably expensive-looking robe he wore… appearing almost regal.

To the onlookers, they did not appear to be ordinary individuals stepping into a bustling marketplace.

They projected an image of something entirely different. Like nobles. Or formidable warriors, or perhaps something else entirely… but certainly not common folk, nor individuals to be trifled with lightly.

Regardless, they had become quite the focal point… and perhaps that was precisely why it wasn't long before…

From a short distance away, two city guards, both encased in full metal armor, their movements measured and practiced, took notice. Their patrol was likely routine, devoid of any unusual occurrences, but a group such as this… materializing from an alleyway without prior indication, attired and carrying themselves in a manner inconsistent with their surroundings – it was sufficient. Suspicion required little more, especially in these precarious times.

The guards exchanged a fleeting glance, no words spoken, yet the understanding was mutual, and then they began to advance towards the group.

Slowly and with considerable caution. Not aggressively, but far from at ease either.

Their steps were deliberate, their stances alert, and even the way their hands rested near their sides conveyed a preparedness that spoke of training rather than mere instinct. Evidently… these were not inexperienced individuals.

They approached until they were within clear earshot.

"You all," the foremost guard initiated, his voice firm and authoritative, carrying the unmistakable weight of one accustomed to obedience, "What is your purpose here… and who are you?"

His gaze swept across the group sequentially, scrutinizing each member, analyzing their appearance, their posture, their silence. He paused fractionally longer on Razeal, instinctively recognizing him as the central figure, even without any explicit indication.

Despite his resolute tone, an undercurrent of caution was present. Because appearances were indeed significant.

And these individuals, none of them seemed ordinary.

Still, there was an incongruity.

No discernible aura.

At least… not emanating from the majority of them.

The guard’s senses had subtly probed them, an instinctive assessment of potential threats, and what he detected – or rather, failed to detect – was perplexing. Because… only one among them possessed a palpable presence.

Levy.

And even his was not overwhelmingly potent… certainly not to the degree that would immediately signify danger, merely enough to suggest he was marginally above the common standard.

And as for… the others?

Nothing.

No aura. No imposing presence.

Not even a substantial sense of individuality.

They felt… like ordinary people. And that, paradoxically, exacerbated the situation.

Because in circumstances such as these, an absence of discernible presence could imply only one of two possibilities… either they were genuinely insignificant… or they were concealing their true nature with such mastery that even seasoned guards could not perceive it.

And during wartime, that second possibility was ample grounds to regard them as a threat.

The guard edged closer, his eyes narrowing slightly as he re-examined them, his suspicion intensifying with each passing second of silence. "I posed a question," he reiterated, this time infusing a sharper edge into his voice. Then, as he studied their faces more intently, a realization dawned. "Wait… you are not from around here, are you? I have never encountered any of you before."

Still, no one responded.

Not a single word was uttered.

Razeal remained standing, observing the guard with an utterly impassive expression, his demeanor calm and inscrutable.

And behind him, the remainder of the group mirrored his silence.

But not entirely.

Because while they maintained their quietude, their attention was not directed towards the guard.

It was on Razeal. Every operative there.

Waiting... After all, it was his role to act.

The guard took notice.

His gaze darted momentarily toward the alleyway behind them, re-examining it for any clue of their arrival. There was nothing: no carriage, no movement, absolutely no sign that explained their sudden appearance. When he looked back, he perceived the pattern with undeniable clarity this time.

Their collective attention was fixed upon a single individual.

Razeal.

Clearly the leader.

The realization struck him instantly.

His stance tensed subtly, his focus zeroing in more intently on Razeal. "I inquired about something," he reiterated, his tone now laced with a distinct warning. "Respond... or else..."

His hand began a slow descent. Moving towards the sword sheathed at his hip.

Not yet drawn.

But prepared.

That solitary action was sufficient to alter the surrounding atmosphere. A few onlookers instinctively recoiled, sensing the escalating tension even before it fully manifested, creating a discreet perimeter around the group without a single word being uttered.

"I would advise against that." Yograj's voice suddenly cut through the charged moment. His eyes were fixed on the guard's hand as it moved towards his weapon. Though his posture remained relatively unchanged, a quiet resolve now emanated from him. Simultaneously, his gaze briefly swept towards Razeal from the periphery, a subtle assessment, a hint of apprehension masked beneath his calm exterior.

Because he understood one crucial fact.

Should this situation escalate...

The outcome would be dire.

Especially for the guards, naturally... These youths were reckless. He knew it. The guards did not.

The guard's hand halted its motion.

His eyes snapped towards Yograj, instantly sharpening behind the visor of his helmet. "What did you just say?" he demanded, his voice now significantly colder and more concentrated, his complete attention shifting to the older man.

Yograj offered no reply. He did not repeat his statement.

He merely maintained the guard's intense stare.

Unwavering.

That silence initiated a transformation.

The exchange was no longer neutral.

It now felt like outright defiance. And that was enough.

The guard's expression hardened. He mentally reviewed every protocol drilled into him: unknown individuals, non-compliance, suspicious point of entry, potential concealment of capabilities, and reached a firm conclusion.

These were no longer merely suspicious civilians.

They constituted potential threats.

His hand completed its movement. Grasping the sword hilt with a firm grip.

His posture straightened fully, all hesitation vanished, his intent laid bare as his body assumed a combat-ready stance.

Then...

Power surged.

Carefully contained And meticulously controlled.

A steady wave of power radiated from him as a C-rank warrior's aura enveloped his form. It wasn't explosive or uncontrolled, but rather disciplined and precise—sufficient to establish dominance and signify that he was not merely a guard, but a trained combatant prepared for action.

"I am ordering you," he declared, his voice now imbued with absolute authority, sharp and unwavering, "State your identities and your purpose for being here."

Behind him, the second guard subtly adjusted his stance as well. His hand moved closer to his own weapon, poised to react if necessary. His eyes shifted between Yograj, Razeal, and the entire group, clearly recognizing that the situation had escalated beyond a minor incident.

"I believe I've discovered a method... for executing our initial strategy," Razeal stated, his tone remarkably casual, as if the confrontation with two armed guards, the mounting tension, and the observing marketplace crowd were nothing more than a trivial distraction. He tilted his head slightly back towards his companions, not fully looking at them, his voice carrying just enough to be heard. Yet, his words conveyed a quiet certainty that starkly contrasted with the brewing chaos around them.

Yograj's brows immediately knitted together. "And what, precisely, is that?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Razeal's profile, attempting to decipher any clue that would explain his impending action. Because the timing, the tone, and most significantly, that look...

In Razeal's eyes... it felt entirely wrong.

Razeal offered no response. Not even a sideways glance.

He simply turned his head back towards the guard confronting him.

And then...

He smiled. It wasn't a light or amused expression.

It spread slowly, deliberately, across his face in a manner that felt disquieting, almost unnatural in that moment.

The first guard perceived it.

And froze utterly.

For a fleeting second, his entire body locked beneath his armor, his breath catching involuntarily as something about that expression—those crimson eyes locking directly onto his—felt like confronting a presence far beyond the scope of his training. It wasn't mere intimidation, nor simple confidence; it was immense, suffocating, predatory pressure. The kind that stemmed not just from power, but from something far more profound, something that triggered primal instincts before conscious thought could even register.

It felt like being assessed as prey.

And in that single, suspended moment...

His very soul quivered.

Maria also noticed that smile, and her expression immediately grew tense.

This was not a good situation, not at all.

She didn't need to comprehend the full plan to know that whatever Razeal intended to do wouldn't be subtle and certainly wouldn't align with the careful approach she had just proposed. The way he looked at the guard, the shift in his smile—it was evident. Trouble was brewing...

"Don't do that... please don't!" she urged quickly, her voice low yet filled with urgency, attempting to halt him before his thoughts materialized into action.

However, it was too late.

Or perhaps he simply paid no mind.

Because in the very next moment...

The guard moved.

His training took precedence over any paralyzing fear. Instinct, discipline, survival—all converged into a single decision. When facing something that felt so dangerous and wrong, hesitation was not an option.

Strike first.

His sword emerged in a swift, practiced maneuver, the steel glinting as it left the scabbard. In the same fluid motion, he advanced and swung directly towards Razeal's neck, a fast, precise strike aimed at ending the threat before it could fully materialize.

He no longer shouted or issued a warning.

He simply attacked directly.

And Razeal's smile widened.

He made no move to evade.

He merely watched the blade descend, his crimson eyes tracking its path with an unnerving calmness, as if this precise moment was exactly what he had been anticipating.

And then, abruptly...

It happened.

So rapidly...

That most observers didn't even register the shift.

A sharp crack split the air.

And in the very next instant...

The guard was no longer standing.

He was on the ground.

Flat on his back.

A pained groan escaped him as his body impacted the stone floor, the force echoing faintly in the sudden, stunned silence.

His sword... was no longer in his hand either.

It was in Razeal's possession.

And his arm... was it caught?

Twisted. Held in place by a grip that seemed almost effortless yet allowed no possibility of movement. Razeal stood over him, his expression unchanged, his other hand securing the guard's armored limb with an air of absolute control, as if the entire exchange had required no exertion whatsoever.

It had transpired in a mere fraction of a second.

Too swift. Too immaculate.

No one witnessed it.

Not Yograj.

Not Levy.

Not Aurora.

Not even the onlookers who had begun to congregate at a distance, drawn by the prior tension.

Only two individuals truly grasped what had occurred.

Sofia.

And Maria.

They stood in silence, their gazes fixed on Razeal, both having perceived just enough of the rapid movement to understand that they had witnessed something beyond the ordinary—something that couldn't be attributed to mere skill.

Has he grown stronger again? they both thought, bewildered.

Nancy's mouth fell open slightly as she stared at the scene unfolding before her, her eyes wide with disbelief as she struggled to process the events. One moment, the guard was attacking; the next, he was defeated, completely overpowered.

"So fast..." she murmured internally, unable to even reconstruct the sequence of actions. "I didn't even see anything..."

On the ground, the guard groaned, his body tensing against the pain of his twisted arm. His grip was broken, his weapon lost, yet he remained conscious, fully aware of what had just happened—aware that he had been subdued instantly, without comprehending how.

The second guard reacted immediately.

He hadn't seen the movement either... only the outcome.

One moment, his partner was engaged in an attack.

The next...

He was on the ground.

That much was sufficient.

So... Wit