I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 430: Villain Interview for being Choosen.. Candidate No .1
Previously on I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space...
"Very well... Villey... send me to a villain who commanded a substantial group, perhaps a family unit, an organization, or even a band of mercenaries or assassins," Razeal articulated deliberately this time, his thoughts unusually structured, each stipulation set with a clear purpose rather than casual chance as he typically operated. "However, keep this critical detail in mind... none of their members should possess strength exceeding the Great Saint rank. At most... only Great Saint, or thereabouts. Absolutely nothing beyond that. Deploy it randomly, but strictly within these parameters. With infinite villains at our disposal, there are bound to be some that fit the criteria." He paused momentarily before continuing, further refining his request. "Furthermore... the entire organization must treat each member as genuine family. Not merely allies... not simply tools... but actual loved ones. Their loyalty must be unforced."
It was an unusual request, almost unheard of for him. Giving such precise instructions was rare. He usually didn't care where or to whom Villey sent him, as he would simply handle the situation.
But this particular instance...
He required something exceptionally specific.
]What is your desire, host?[ Villey’s voice echoed back, tinged with a slight bewilderment, not from a lack of understanding the instructions, but from Razeal’s uncharacteristic manner of asking.
"Nothing out of the ordinary," Razeal responded plainly, as if the request should have been self-evident. "Just fulfill my request." He then added, as though recalling a crucial detail, "And ensure... all members of that organization are currently within the system space. Not dispersed or absent... let them all be villains and present within the space. Also... transport me to the leader first. Or whoever that group holds in the highest regard."
A brief silence followed.
Then Villey spoke once more, his understanding now evident. [Are you intending to... extract villains from the system space now?]
The question seemed rhetorical, as the intent was already clear, yet it was still posed.
"Yes," Razeal answered straightforwardly, without a hint of hesitation, as if it were the most logical progression. "Why not? Isn't that the system's purpose? Previously... I refrained because my strength was insufficient. And I had no need for it. But now..." He didn't feel the need to complete the sentence; it was implicitly understood.
Now... He truly could...
[Understood then.] Villey offered no further argument or inquiry.
And in the very next instant
Razeal experienced that familiar sensation of translocation.
His consciousness detached from his physical form, gliding through intangible layers of reality... navigating the unseen system network, passing filters, selections, and countless possibilities... until it finally settled and stabilized.
And then
He had arrived.
His awareness was fully formed.
While his physical body remained seated within the carriage outside, motionless, eyes closed, appearing to be in a state of rest.
[Welcome, Host, to the SS-Rank Valley of Villey.]
[Villain Title: The Gentle Assassin.]
Razeal’s eyes slowly opened as the system notification materialized before him, crisp and clear, though his focus wasn’t on it, as was his usual habit. His attention was immediately drawn to his surroundings, which always provided far more insight than any title could.
Still...
He did acknowledge the notification.
"The Gentle Assassin, hmm...?" he mused internally, a faint, almost skeptical reaction forming. The juxtaposition of the words struck him as odd. "Gentle... and assassin." He found it somewhat contradictory. "Not exactly a pairing one would anticipate." Yet, he did not dwell on it. Titles could be deceptive and offered little practical value, often proving the opposite of their description. But this fact was irrelevant.
What truly mattered was... Reality.
And so, he observed his surroundings. Properly and meticulously.
He found himself standing within what appeared to be a courtyard.
Ancient and reminiscent of medieval times.
The ground beneath his feet was composed of worn flagstones, uneven in places, not broken but clearly aged, as if it had endured years, perhaps decades, of use. The walls enclosing the space were high, constructed from the same dark stone, exuding a subtle aura of weight and endurance rather than decay. There was no visible entrance, no open gate. It was simply a contained area.
Secluded. Controlled. And profoundly silent.
Unnaturally silent.
Not the silence of abandonment, but the hush of something that had been abruptly halted.
Suspended or Petrified.
His gaze shifted.
And then he perceived them.
Figures positioned all around.
Dozens in number. Standing... or perhaps... Frozen??
Turned to stone. Men, women, warriors, guards... and even individuals who appeared to be nobles, judging by their attire and bearing. He noted sword or perhaps dagger marks on these petrified figures, all placed with extreme precision, targeting vital areas.
Razeal's gaze swept slowly across the courtyard, absorbing every detail without haste. His eyes adjusted to the dim environment, which mimicked night, though the darkness felt unnatural. A profound quietness permeated the air, carrying a peculiar weight, as if the location had been deserted mid-action. His focus gradually shifted, settling on an object that disrupted the uniform expanse of stone and stillness: a lone blossom tree within the courtyard, its delicate petals faintly visible even in the low light. It should have evoked a sense of serenity, yet amidst lifeless stone figures caught in their final moments, it amplified the unsettling atmosphere. The contrast felt discordant; he couldn't pinpoint why, but it simply felt wrong.
Then, his gaze moved beyond it.
Partially concealed behind the tree stood a structure—a house, or perhaps a sanctuary. Its architecture appeared ancient, almost traditional, with elements reminiscent of ninja-style interiors, though he couldn't be sure. It was built with deliberate purpose, not for mere decoration, its presence harmonizing with the environment rather than standing out. Nothing in this place seemed accidental; every element served a function.
"Where are you?" Razeal murmured internally, his expression remaining impassive, his voice confined to his thoughts as his eyes continued their sweep of the surroundings. He was familiar enough with the system by now to know he wouldn't be placed directly before his target. There was always a spatial gap, a layer of separation. Whether it was an intentional test or simply the system's inherent function, he had ceased questioning it.
After a moment, he ceased relying on sight.
Instead, he expanded his senses.
His hearing reached out first, stretching outward, detecting the subtlest disturbances in the air—faint shifts, nearly undetectable to anyone else. Then, his flow sensing spread through the space like an invisible web, tracing the environment's structure, mapping every presence, every anomaly, every point where something deviated from the pervasive stillness.
And slowly...
A faint smile graced his lips.
"Found you," he thought. Yet, he remained motionless.
There was no necessity for movement.
Instead, he merely tilted his head slightly, directing his gaze toward a specific point within the courtyard—a particular statue among many, one that appeared no different from the rest at a cursory glance.
But just as his eyes focused on it...
The presence vanished without a sound.
The figure behind the statue disappeared entirely, as if it had never existed.
And in the very next instant...
Without the slightest whisper of wind disturbing the air...
Razeal felt a cold, sharp dagger pressed lightly against his neck from behind, its edge resting just below his jawline, positioned with such surgical precision that even the smallest movement would suffice to slit his throat.
"How did you locate me so fast...?" a voice emanated from behind him, low and quiet, tinged with a peculiar blend of lethargy and lethality, as if the speaker could convey danger without raising their voice. "I was completely concealed. I even halted my heartbeat... there should have been no sound whatsoever."
The man stood close, whispering into Razeal's ear.
Clad entirely in black, his form melded with the darkness, his face partially obscured by an assassin's mask, leaving only his eyes visible—dark, sharp, and keenly observant.
Razeal remained still... not even the slightest twitch.
His gaze lowered infinitesimally, acknowledging the blade beneath his chin, but there was no tension in his posture, no reaction betraying fear or urgency.
"No sound?" he inquired calmly, a faint smile reappearing. "I wouldn't say that."
The assassin's eyes flickered.
Just for a moment.
His grip on the dagger tightened subtly, the pressure against Razeal's neck increasing just enough to reaffirm its presence.
"Don't move," the man whispered, his voice now closer, leaning in just enough for his words to reach Razeal's ear directly. "And don't try to be clever with me." There was no anger in his tone, only a quiet certainty. "Believe me... I've slain more individuals than you've likely encountered in your entire existence. And many of them attempted to parley like this."
"And now... Guess how many of them survived?"
His voice remained low. Almost languid.
But his eyes... were sharp and... focused.
Exceedingly deadly.
"So... I advise you to remain precisely as you are," he continued, his breath steady, his control absolute. "And comply with whatever I ask from this point forward."
Razeal listened.
Or rather... he didn't.
Because in the very next moment...
He moved without warning or hesitation.
His elbow shot backward in a precise, direct movement, aimed squarely at the space occupied by the man behind him. The action was swift, controlled, not impulsive but deliberate—a strike intended to connect without overextending.
But before the strike could connect... The space behind him became devoid of presence. The assassin had already repositioned. He vanished from that spot instantly, his body reacting before the impact, disappearing without leaving the slightest ripple, creating a significant distance in a mere fraction of a second. Razeal’s attack sliced through empty air. He didn’t press the assault. Instead, he merely let his arm fall back to its natural position, as if this outcome was entirely anticipated. “A foolish move,” the assassin’s voice echoed again, now originating from a short distance behind Razeal. His tone remained unchanged, laced with that familiar lazy drawl, though his eyes were as sharp as ever. “Had that push been even the slightest bit more aggressive… my instinct would have been to slit your throat on the spot.” He tilted his head, studying Razeal's unmoving figure. “Your blood would have spilled… long after your soul had already departed your body.” Razeal slowly turned, his gaze meeting the assassin’s directly. He took in the black attire, the masked face, and the relaxed posture that concealed deadly readiness. “I did that because I knew you wouldn’t,” Razeal stated plainly, his voice calm, almost detached. “Not to mention… ” his eyes sharpened subtly, “... I detected no killing intent from you.” “Your intention was never to kill me from the start.” The assassin remained silent for a beat. His eyes narrowed slightly. And Razeal continued, his tone unwavering. “Besides…” he added, his gaze steady, “…no one can perish in this domain anyway.” The declaration settled in the air. Clear and definitive. It wasn’t a guess, but a statement of known fact. And as predicted. The assassin’s eyes fixed on Razeal’s, unblinking and piercing, yet he found nothing to latch onto, no hint of weakness or uncertainty. After a brief moment of silent scrutiny, he finally spoke. His voice, though low, was direct, cutting through the pretenses. “Who are you… and how did you enter this space?” His question lacked any wavering or distraction, for to him, this was the only matter of consequence. This place… this world had always been absolute, sealed, and isolated. For as long as he could recall, or perhaps far longer than memory could span, he had been the sole inhabitant. No entry. No exit. No change. Just an unending existence where time ceased to have meaning, where aging halted, where death held no dominion, and where even decay refused to touch anything. He had tested its limits. Pushed against its boundaries. Broken himself against them countless times, only to find that nothing ever yielded. And now… suddenly, someone stood before him. A person? A real person? Yet, he remained… composed. Unshaken by solitude, untwisted by isolation, neither desperate nor unstable. For someone who had endured centuries in solitude, the mere presence of another human should have been overwhelming. A lesser mind might have shattered under that realization, lost all control, or completely broken down. But he hadn’t. His mind held firm. His control remained absolute. And that fact alone spoke volumes about his true nature. “I harbored no ill intentions upon arrival,” Razeal replied, his tone measured and unhurried, as if the situation posed no pressure whatsoever. As he spoke, a faint smile touched his lips – not mocking, not overly genial, but simply controlled. “In fact… I bring something of value. An offer. You could consider it a pact.” He observed the assassin closely as he spoke, noting not just his reaction, but the subtle undercurrents – the tension in his stance, the focus in his eyes, and the restraint holding his lethal instincts at bay. Then, without seeking consent or awaiting agreement, Razeal moved. He lowered himself slightly, transitioning into a seated posture. But before he could even touch the ground, the shadow beneath his feet reacted. It stretched outwards, coalesced, took form, and within moments, shaped itself into a chair beneath him. Smooth. Controlled. Effortless. As he settled into it, the shadow adjusted seamlessly to his weight, solidifying just enough to support him while retaining the fluid darkness that defined it. Concurrently, another extension of shadow ascended from the ground before him, forming a small table, its edges sharp, its structure unyieldable. And then, without missing a beat, a second chair materialized on the opposite side of the table, identical in form and presence, positioned precisely for the standing figure before him. The entire arrangement. Calm. Almost preposterously casual. As if two individuals were about to share a tranquil conversation over tea.The assassin remained silent, his gaze sharp, observing every subtle movement and the deployment of the ability. Nothing escaped him. The way the shadows danced wasn't born of uncontrolled power but of a refined, deliberate control that marked it as inherently dangerous.
"Please," Razeal extended a hand towards the empty seat, his eyes locked onto the assassin, an invitation offered without coercion. "Sit. We can talk." A beat later, a subtle, knowing smile touched his lips as he added, "And yes... there is a way to depart this place."
That declaration altered everything.
While the assassin's outward reaction was minimal, a profound shift occurred deep within his eyes.
Within the stillness, the isolation, the monotony of his existence.
Suddenly,
A glimmer of hope?
Without another word, he executed a fluid, practiced spin of the dagger in his hand before sheathing it seamlessly within his attire. Hesitation vanished; theatrics were abandoned. His movements, careful yet unburdened by fear and always controlled, carried him forward as he took the seat opposite Razeal. He settled into it, his posture relaxed yet vigilant, his gaze unwavering from the man before him.
He scrutinized him.
From his head to his toes.
Every minute detail.
Every nuance of his presence.
Every perceived discrepancy.
"What is the cost?" the assassin inquired directly, his voice steady, cutting through any preamble. He harbored no illusions; freedom was not a gift to be expected, especially not without consequence.
Such a belief would be foolish, considering that nothing truly came without a price. And an individual capable of appearing within this secluded space, seated so calmly, and discussing an exit with such ease was certainly not one to offer anything gratuitously.
Razeal's smile grew fractionally more pronounced.
He, too, appreciated directness.
Consequently, without delay, he rested his hand upon the shadow-adorned table. Instantly, a contract materialized in the air above it, shimmering into existence as if conjured from nothingness. It floated gently before settling between them, the parchment emitting a faint glow that bespoke the system's inherent authority.
The assassin's attention immediately fixed upon it.
He commenced reading.
Word by painstaking word.
And then he paused.
Precisely at the outset.
"A slave contract?" he uttered, his voice a low murmur. Yet, the change in his demeanor was instantaneous. His eyes slowly lifted from the parchment to meet Razeal's, and for a fleeting instant, a dangerous glint flashed within them – pure, untamed killing intent, so potent it felt as though it could sever the very air. Had this been in the past, had he still been the man he once was, Razeal would have been dispatched without a second thought, reduced to oblivion before the notion could fully form.
But he refrained. Primarily because he required this opportunity.
Because this presented his sole avenue of escape. The killing intent did not dissipate, however.
It was merely contained.
Forcefully suppressed.
"What does this signify?" he demanded, his tone now imbued with a chilling sharpness, his stare at Razeal burning with an intensity that conveyed his absolute refusal to countenance humiliation, irrespective of the circumstances.
Razeal remained unfazed by the palpable hostility, offering no defense.
He did not dilute the stark reality.
"This was not my preference either," he stated with unvarnished honesty, his voice placid, devoid of any artifice or manipulation. "However, should you wish to depart this realm... there are but two paths." He leaned back slightly, his gaze unwavering. "The first is to affix your agreement to this slave contract. A binding pact wherein I assume ownership, and you are bound to obey my commands, incapable of betrayal." His pronouncements were blunt, unadorned.
"And the second..." his expression remained impassive, "...is for me to grant you unconditional release."
"But that," he continued, his voice firm, "is not something I am inclined to do, nor will I."