I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 429: The CityWatch Captain

A sharp rush of movement sliced through the air, one after another, overlapping in layers until the sound itself formed a distinct pattern. Swift, controlled, and coordinated, the space that had mere moments ago been a quiet marketplace transformed entirely within seconds. Figures materialized from all directions, descending from rooftops, emerging from adjacent streets, and advancing from behind stalls and structures with practiced precision. Their formation tightened as they converged on a single point: Razeal and his group. Dozens of them. Easily forty, perhaps even more. They moved with unwavering purpose, each member assuming a position with a clarity that spoke of rigorous training and repeated drills. A perimeter closed in almost seamlessly, their spacing deliberate, weapons at the ready, their attention locked onto the target. Some were clad in heavy, imposing black armor, exuding an aura of direct combat readiness. Others wore armor accented with faint crimson hues, lighter yet still reinforced, suggesting roles in mobility and enforcement. And then there were those in deep blue robes, their garments flowing behind them, their stances distinct.

All different from one another, perhaps hailing from disparate houses or authorities.

But despite their variations, one thing united them.

All of them radiated power.

Not overwhelming individually, but a consistent, disciplined force. Every single person carried an aura placing them firmly within trained ranks – C-rank, B-rank, without exception. More importantly, they appeared adept at wielding their strength. Their presence wasn't chaotic; it was contained, directed, and sharpened by evident high experience.

And so it was.

Within seconds, the formation was complete.

Razeal and his team were surrounded.

The first and second guards stepped back slightly as reinforcements filled the gaps around them. Their prior tension was now bolstered by structure, by numbers, by command, a change palpable in their stabilized posture and returning confidence, albeit only partially regained. Then, two figures advanced forward. Not rushed, but with undeniable authority. The mass of guards subtly parted to create passage for them, their formation adjusting instinctively as the two moved to the front. One exuded a presence that pressed outward in a controlled wave – a peak A-rank warrior, strong, refined, someone who had long since mastered their level. The other was heavier, denser. An early S-rank, unmistakable, radiating a presence that didn't need to be announced loudly to be felt.

Lieutenant. And Captain, perhaps?

Precisely as the second guard had warned.

They moved to the front, halting just ahead of the established formation. Their eyes immediately fixed on Razeal and his group, studying them with sharp, assessing gazes while simultaneously exchanging brief words with the two guards who had initially encountered them. The conversation was quick and efficient, information conveyed in short bursts. The captain listened without interruption, her attention divided between the report and the unfolding situation before her. Around them, other guards had already begun to clear the area. Civilians were being ushered away, some swiftly, others reluctantly, but none dared to resist. The atmosphere had made it abundantly clear: this was no longer a place for bystanders. The marketplace, bustling with life just moments before, was rapidly emptying, leaving behind only palpable tension and the quiet echo of retreating footsteps.

"Remarkably swift response," Razeal commented under his breath, his gaze sweeping across the formation, taking in its structure, coordination, and the speed at which control had been established. His tone held no concern, only observation, and beneath it, a faint note of approval. "Impressive."

Maria glanced at him briefly, her expression growing even tighter. This was precisely what she had warned against, and now they found themselves in the middle of it, entirely exposed, with no cover and no preparation. The captain stepped forward slightly. Her presence was commanding, her posture erect, her expression sharp and composed. Long blonde hair cascaded behind her, stirred gently by the movement of air around them, and her black eyes remained fixed on Razeal with a level of focus that clearly indicated she was not one to overlook details.

"Indeed," she stated, her voice calm yet firm, carrying inherent authority without needing to raise its volume. "Very fast response." She paused just long enough to ensure their full attention. "And... we've already received a briefing." Her gaze flickered briefly toward the guards who had reported, then returned to Razeal. "First, a suspicious gathering of unknown individuals. Second, a refusal to state identity and purpose. Third, a direct assault on a city watch guard." Each declaration landed with undeniable clarity.

"Considering the circumstances," she declared, her tone sharpening subtly, "You will all accompany us." Her gaze intensified slightly. "Furthermore, you must surrender all your weapons. This includes any storage items you possess – space rings, pouches, everything."

Her words left no room for discussion.

"And this is not a suggestion."

Behind her, the lieutenant stood poised, a hand resting casually on his sword hilt. His expression was calm yet watchful, his presence a silent affirmation of her command. Both radiated an aura of confidence, not born of arrogance, but of deep-seated experience and unwavering control.

Razeal’s companions, almost as if moved by a single instinct, turned their heads to look at him.

One by one. Silently.

The situation had spiraled far beyond anyone’s initial expectations, and they now found themselves surrounded by dozens of disciplined combatants, led by individuals who were clearly on a different level of strength.

But, regardless...

Razeal offered a smile.

"Well," he responded lightly, with an almost apologetic air, "I’m afraid we can’t comply with that."

"You see, we have a far more critical engagement," he added, his tone remaining placid, almost as if engaged in casual conversation. Then, with a slight inclination of his head, he cast a brief look over the assembled forces. "And, I suppose I must apologize for summoning all of you here. Causing such a disturbance... believe me, this was not my intended course of action."

"However," he continued, his smile broadening just a touch, "This was the most expedient and effective method I could devise."

Maria’s eyes darted sharply towards him at his words. A dawning realization began to take shape.

"So, the matter is," he stated, his voice steady and direct now, "I needed to secure an audience with a member of the Iron Council."

A profound silence descended.

"And regrettably," he proceeded, "I lack any acquaintances within this kingdom capable of arranging such a meeting." His shoulders rose slightly in a subtle shrug. "Therefore, I had to improvise." His gaze briefly swept over the encircling guards before returning to the captain.

"And this," he concluded, "appeared to be the most dependable approach."

"In any event… thank you all for your… hospitality," Razeal declared, his tone maintaining a light, almost chivalrous quality that starkly contrasted the predicament he had orchestrated. As he spoke, he advanced a single, deliberate step, narrowing the gap between himself and the captain. His gaze remained fixed and unwavering upon her eyes, projecting a composure that did not falter even under the intense scrutiny of numerous armed personnel. "But if it is possible… could you direct me to someone of higher authority, or perhaps arrange a meeting with an Iron Council member? I would be most grateful." His smile persisted, serene and disarmingly pleasant, as if he were posing a reasonable inquiry in a peaceful setting rather than standing ensnared within a military response.

Behind him, Maria brought a hand to her forehead, her fingers pressing lightly against her skin as she let out a quiet sigh of disbelief. Her eyes closed for a fleeting moment. So that was his intention, she understood, the scattered pieces finally clicking into place. Yet, instead of relief, a deeper frustration washed over her.

"Why must he be this way…" she murmured inwardly, a note of genuine exasperation coloring her thoughts. Though the rationale behind his actions now became apparent, the execution was recklessly audacious to a degree she could barely comprehend. He had intentionally provoked the city guard, engineered an escalation, and drawn in the command structure… all solely to force an upward passage. It was a theoretically sound strategy, but in practice… it was appallingly ill-conceived…

The reactions of those behind him mirrored her own sentiment.

Yograj gazed at Razeal’s back, his expression a complex mixture of disbelief and resigned acceptance, as if he had long abandoned any attempt to anticipate the young man’s next move. Sofia’s brows were slightly furrowed, her gaze flicking between the guards and Razeal, acutely aware of the precariousness of their current situation. Levy and Aurora, meanwhile, remained conspicuously silent.

Nancy, in contrast, appeared utterly bewildered, her eyes darting from one individual to another, still struggling to grasp how a situation could escalate so rapidly over what seemed, when stated plainly, an absurdly simple objective.

"An Iron Council member?" Captain Aveline repeated, her voice now subdued, tinged with incredulity rather than command. Her brows drew together as she scrutinized him more intently. As his words sank in, the underlying strategy behind his actions became clearer to her as well. For a brief instant, her gaze shifted, tracing the sequence of events: the provocation, the defiance, the orchestrated compliance – whatever the endgame was.

This realization did not bring her any calm; on the contrary, it ignited her irritation. It signified that he had orchestrated all of this deliberately.

Her eyes hardened.

So his scheme was to force his way in? That alone was sufficient to label him as problematic. More than that, she sensed nothing from him – no Qi, no discernible aura, absolutely no indication of power or threat, and this absence only amplified her unease. He was either concealing his strength with absolute mastery, or he possessed an arrogance that dwarce reason. Perhaps his striking features alone fueled such audacity?

She found herself leaning towards the latter conclusion.

"Is this truly your plan?" she mused internally, her outward demeanor remaining perfectly composed, though her private assessment was significantly harsher. "To instigate the city guard, manufacture chaos, and then demand admittance to the Iron Council as if such a privilege were granted upon mere request?"

Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on her sword's hilt. This wasn't merely inappropriate.

It was an affront.

To the established order.

To her authority.

In her estimation, he was nothing more than an uninvited stranger who had barged into her domain, disrupted the peace, laid hands on one of her subordinates, and was now coolly requesting an audience with the kingdom's supreme governing body as if it were a trivial matter of convenience.

Utterly unacceptable.

Completely unacceptable.

And judging by the subtle shifts in posture among the guards arrayed behind her – the tightening grips, the sharpened focus in their eyes... it was evident her sentiments were shared. In a mere matter of minutes, Razeal had succeeded in offending nearly every armed individual present.

"Listen," Aveline finally stated, her voice deepening with a colder, more direct tone as she advanced a single step. The ground beneath her boots produced a faint echo in the now-cleared space. "We can handle this amicably... or we can do it the hard way." As she spoke, her hand moved to her sword, unsheathing it in a fluid, practiced motion. The blade emerged with a crisp, resonant sound, its golden pommel glinting in the light as she rested it casually by her side. Her stance was relaxed, yet the intent radiating from her was anything but casual. "And believe me," she added, her gaze locking onto his with unwavering intensity, "You will not desire the hard way."

The instant she made her move...

The formation behind her adjusted.

Guards stepped forward in near-perfect unison, their ranks closing, weapons lifting slightly – not yet in attack, but fully prepared. The atmosphere grew heavy with anticipation, the kind that heralds conflict but has yet to ignite into it.

And at the very same moment she did...

Razeal also advanced.

He closed the distance once more, his expression unwavering, his eyes meeting hers without a hint of faltering or recoiling, as if the palpable tension surrounding him simply did not exist. Then, slowly, deliberately, he parted his arms slightly to his sides – not in surrender, nor in defiance, but in a gesture that felt almost like an invitation to conversation.

"And I would say the same," he responded, his voice remarkably calm and steady, echoing the same unnerving composure as his unwavering gaze. "The easy way... or the hard way."

And precisely as he uttered these words, a potent Great Saintly aura began to emanate from his very being.

This aura was extraordinarily stable and meticulously controlled. So much so that the very stone floor beneath him remained unmarred, and the individuals in his vicinity were not compelled to retreat or flung aside. Under typical circumstances, such a profound disparity in power would inherently overwhelm any below the Saint realm, forcing them to their knees, gasping for breath under the oppressive weight, utterly incapable of lifting their heads. Yet, here, within this confined space, it remained contained, its influence extending only a limited radius.

The dense, suffocating aura encased his form, restrained with absolute precision. It did not spill outward indiscriminately; its reach was purposefully confined, just enough to encompass the immediate surroundings. This limitation was clearly intentional.

Most likely, its sole purpose was to unequivocally demonstrate to the guards that any form of resistance would be utterly futile, and that allowing events to unfold smoothly – without bloodshed, as was proper – would be the far wiser course of action.

And suddenly, just as this controlled, almost suffocating aura expanded from Razeal's body, encasing the immediate vicinity in a palpable pressure that felt both deliberate and absolute, Aveline froze. It was not a hesitation born of doubt, but a moment of sharp, immediate, irrefutable recognition. Within the span of a single heartbeat, her entire posture transformed. Her hand shot abruptly into the air, slicing through the heavy tension with a command that carried far greater urgency than any previous utterance. "Stop!" Her voice was sharp, decisive, brooking no delay, and it boomed across the assembled guards as an unequivocal order, not a mere suggestion.

The guards, who had already begun to constrict their circle, halted instantaneously. Some even ceased their movement before fully comprehending the reason, their instincts reacting instantly to both the captain's command and the overwhelming presence that had descended upon them. Those who had not yet advanced remained immovably rooted, their weapons still held aloft but no longer moving forward, their gazes oscillating between their captain and the source of that immense, imposing power.