I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 436: Secret Guards

~12 minute read · 3,072 words
Previously on I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space...
A carriage arrives at a military camp bearing a new Great Saint, identified as Razeal. He is met by Lord Kael Draven, the Lord Marshal, and Lady Veyra Sol, both peak Great Saints. They recognize two of Razeal's companions as Maria, heiress of the Grave family, and Nancy Dragonwevr. Nancy's presence, along with her battle-worn state and recent disappearance, immediately escalates the situation to a critical political concern for the two lords.
As the dimensional tear widened, the initial torrent of otherworldly beings didn't hesitate, as if an immense pressure had been building against that barrier long before its inevitable rupture. In an instant, the shadowy void within churned tempestuously, then violently spewed forth distorted yet lethal shapes, monsters emerging one after another. Their mere presence radiated an unmistakable predatory hunger, a hallmark of beings forged solely for annihilation and consumption. The moment they touched the ground, the very atmosphere grew thick with palpable hostility. Kael’s reaction was instantaneous. Without a trace of delay or wasted movement, his entire body pivoted in a single, fluid motion. He positioned himself squarely between the encroaching rift and those seeking refuge behind him. His stance broadened slightly, his imposing presence sharpening not from alarm, but from an ingrained, instinctive authority. The mantle of Lord Marshal descended upon him without conscious thought. Regardless of the preceding suspicions surrounding this bizarre situation, a clear and present danger had now manifested. Until this threat was neutralized, all other concerns, even those concerning the enigmatic "guests" with their potentially dubious intentions, became secondary. They were under his protection, and allowing them to come to harm on his command ground was utterly unacceptable. Yet, behind him, Lady Veyra remained motionless. She stayed precisely where she was. Her focus did not immediately shift to the unfolding rift. Instead, her gaze lingered calmly, intently, upon Razeal and his companions. While Kael projected his attention outward, hers delved inward. Her unique strength lay not in rapid response, but in profound awareness. If there existed even the faintest possibility that this sudden upheaval could be exploited, if Razeal or anyone in his entourage harbored intentions to seize advantage of the ensuing chaos, she would perceive it. Should they make a move... even the slightest deviation... she would act. But beneath that unwavering vigilance, there was an absence of concern. None whatsoever. This was because she had already completed her assessment of the rift. From the subtle fluctuations alone, she had accurately determined its classification. It was mid-tier. An A-rank at most. Perhaps even lower. Doubtless dangerous in unmanaged territories, certainly... but within these grounds? Within a military command center, encircled by seasoned soldiers, capable captains, and most crucially, a Lord Marshal commanding the pinnacle of the Great Saint rank? It posed no significant threat. If anything, it was a mere inconvenience... or perhaps, viewed pragmatically, a potential opportunity. For rifts of this nature, despite their inherent instability and persistence, yielded valuable resources – monster cores, exotic materials, vital biological components. These could be meticulously harvested and repurposed. With stringent containment protocols, such rifts could be transformed into controlled sources of profit. A nuisance, undoubtedly, but also a potential asset if managed with skill and foresight. Kael, it seemed, grasped this same understanding. His inactivity was telling; he did not initiate an attack. There was no necessity for him to deplete his formidable strength against creatures far below his caliber, especially when a fully prepared military force stood ready to engage them. Instead, he maintained his strategic position, his potent aura serving to stabilize the immediate area. His voice, sharp and authoritative, sliced cleanly through the escalating pandemonium, issuing precise directives. The soldiers responded with immediate alacrity. Formations seamlessly reconfigured with practiced artistry, establishing controlled arcs surrounding the rift while maintaining a safe distance, effectively corralling it from all sides. Weapons were raised, vital Qi circulating through their bodies as they prepared to counter any emergence. Their impeccable discipline was evident in the swift, synchronized nature of their movements: shields interlocking, spear lines adjusting, ranged combatants assuming their positions behind the front lines, each unit seamlessly slotting into its designated role as if honed through countless prior engagements. And then... They arrived. The next wave surged forth with explosive velocity, far exceeding the speed of the preceding creatures and outpacing the real-time reaction capabilities of most soldiers. Their forms were sleek and deadly, their bodies adorned with jagged, crystalline protrusions that glittered sharply under the light. Their movements were a paradox of fluid grace and violent execution, akin to streaks of pure, sharpened instinct given physical manifestation. Crystal-Lined Leopards. A-rank predators. Possessing the speed to overwhelm unprepared defenses. Furthermore... possessing the strength to rend seasoned warriors if underestimated. The instant they materialized, the entire soldier formation tensed. Every combatant locked onto their targets, their internal Qi surging in preparation for engagement. Yet, a flicker of hesitation persisted – not from fear, but from the sheer, breathtaking speed of these beasts. By the time the initial defensive line could fully adapt, the leopards were already in mid-leap, their bodies slicing through the air with terrifying momentum, jaws agape, claws extended, eyes blazing with unbridled bloodlust. Ten of them. Simultaneously. And the flow behind them continued unabated. The ensuing collision was unavoidable. Or at least... it should have been. For just as the crystalline leopards crossed the threshold of engagement, just as they entered the critical zone where decisive impact would occur... Something moved from the deepest shadows of Razeal. And it occurred in less than the blink of an eye.

Two dark, indistinct streaks, almost imperceptible, shot forward like living shadows. Their speed surpassed even the leopards, slicing through the space between origin and target with such uncanny precision that for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though nothing had occurred.

And at that exact instant.

The monsters disintegrated.

Mid-air.

Completely dissected.

Their bodies separated into numerous pieces with surgical exactitude, flesh and crystal cleaved in flawless lines. Their momentum carried the dismembered parts forward just enough to scatter across the ground in a gruesome cascade. Fragments of what had, moments before, been deadly predators were reduced to mere lifeless debris before they could even reach their intended targets.

Silence descended.

A brief, stunned stillness enveloped the scene.

The soldiers, who had braced themselves for the impending impact, instinctively recoiled. Their formations momentarily fractured, not from fear, but from sheer bewilderment. Their eyes darted across the space ahead, searching for the cause of the sudden event.

And it was then.

They spotted two figures standing where the monsters should have been.

Clad entirely in black, their forms melded almost unnaturally with the surrounding shadows, their attire was unmistakably that of assassins—designed for function, not for show. Their movements were minimal, controlled, as if even standing still was a deliberate action rather than a default posture. Their faces, partially obscured by their coverings, bore sharp yet relaxed eyes, possessing that peculiar blend of lethality and ease found only in those accustomed to taking lives.

Each individual held a pair of daggers. They weren't gripped tightly or held in a defensive stance.

Instead, the blades rested loosely in their hands, angled downwards, as if felling ten A-rank beasts had required no more effort than a casual gesture.

One of the assassins remained perfectly still.

The other, however... idly spun his dagger between his fingers.

As if experiencing both boredom and excitement simultaneously.

"Leave this to us, boys... we’ve got it." One of the two assassins spoke casually, almost playfully. He turned his head just enough to cast a glance back at the surrounding soldiers, a faint grin playing on his lips. He even offered a nonchalant wink, effortless, as though this were merely a minor diversion rather than a sudden breach into a fortified military stronghold. An unmistakable excitement sparked in his eyes, something raw and unrestrained, akin to a creature finally liberated from its cage. Ah... this air... this world... it’s been far too long, his thoughts drifted with a quiet thrill, his fingers continuing their fluid, precise dance with the dagger. Centuries... and now, finally, movement stirs again.

Even as he spoke, even as his gaze shifted away from the battlefield, his body remained poised, unhurried. Another wave of crystal-lined leopards erupted from the rift behind him, their movements sharp and feral, propelled by pure predatory instinct. They lunged forward with blinding speed, claws extended, jaws agape, aiming directly for the nearest line of soldiers. But before they could cover even half the distance, before the soldiers could even react, the assassin moved. Or rather, he seemed to move. To the untrained eye, nothing registered. To those possessing strength, there was merely the faintest flicker—a distortion, a blur that barely registered. And then...

The monsters were already deceased.

Their bodies cleaved apart mid-motion, the cuts clean and precise, severing them into multiple pieces as if invisible blades had passed through them without resistance. Flesh, bone, and crystal-laced hide separated, scattering across the ground in a grotesque rain of fragments. There was no struggle, no defiance—only an instantaneous end. The second assassin acted with equal effortlessness, his presence perhaps quieter, more contained, yet undeniably just as lethal. His daggers flashed once, barely perceptible, and another group of emerging creatures from the rift met the same fate, collapsing before they could even orient themselves. There were no wasted movements, no excessive force. It was... efficient. Perfectly controlled. Almost indolent in its execution.

The soldiers stood frozen.

They exchanged glances.

Then looked back at the two figures.

Then at the remains of the monsters strewn across the ground.

And then, once more, at each other.

Confusion spread through their ranks like a wave, unspoken but universally shared. *Did you see that?* No one voiced the question, yet it was plainly evident in their expressions. Even the squad captains—men and women of A-rank strength, seasoned veterans of countless battles and individuals at the upper echelon of power within the army—could only blink in stunned disbelief. Their eyes strained, attempting to piece together what had transpired, but there was nothing concrete to grasp, nothing to follow. The movements had been too swift. Too precise. Far beyond their ability to track.

And yet...

Relief followed.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the formation. The immediate danger had been quelled before it could even materialize. Whatever these two individuals were, they were certainly preventing the monstrous onslaught from breaching their defenses.

Yet, an unsettling feeling lingered.

There was no discernible aura emanating from these two figures, not even a whisper of their presence. Despite this, the sheer power they exerted was undeniable.

Immensely strong—every soldier present recognized this instinctually.

But then, a subsequent realization dawned upon them.

Their attire.

Black and form-fitting.

Could they be concealed... like assassins?

And this was a military encampment, a heavily fortified zone, secured on all sides, under constant surveillance, and protected by layers of both physical and mystical barriers. Entry should have been impossible without notice. Absolutely impossible.

So, how was this achieved?

The sense of unease resurfaced, not as panic, but as heightened alertness.

The soldiers, however, refrained from attacking or acting rashly. Instead, almost in unison, their gazes redirected towards Kael, seeking his command.

The Lord Marshal, on the other hand, was not sharing their bewildered state.

While others grappled with the spectacle they had just witnessed, Kael had already grasped the situation. This understanding caused his expression to darken considerably.

Great Saints?

It wasn't just that.

Peak.

Both of them.

The gravity of this revelation settled deep within him, his instincts immediately sharpening. These were not merely powerful beings; they were Kael's equals, and Veyra's. The most disquieting aspect was his complete lack of awareness of their arrival. Not the faintest ripple, not a hint of their presence had been detected.

Their presence here, unknown to him, was reason enough for grave concern.

They were akin to veteran assassins, so skilled that their presence was only revealed when they willed it, only when they moved. Until that precise moment, they had been… nothing.

Invisible.

Kael's gaze subtly shifted towards Lady Veyra.

She met his look, and in that fleeting exchange, a mutual understanding was established.

Her eyes, maintaining their customary calm, now held a piercing glint, her focus narrowing with intense concentration. Two peak Great Saints… concealed… affiliated with her, her thoughts coalescing rapidly. Her posture remained unchanged, yet her awareness was fully activated. This scenario had just escalated far beyond initial expectations.

Kael offered the slightest inclination of his head.

The decision was made.

His hand began a slow, deliberate movement towards the hilt of his sword. There was no haste, no sign of panic, only readiness. His confirmation of these two as a threat was absolute, given their unauthorized presence within the military camp.

But before his fingers could fully grip the weapon,

"There's no need for that," Razeal's voice intervened, attempting to halt his action.

"They are my guards."

The statement was simple, direct.

Yet, its impact was anything but.

Kael froze mid-motion.

Veyra's eyes flickered, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift. Both were filled with utter bewilderment.

This was the first time since the encounter began that such confusion was evident.

"Your… guards?" Kael echoed, his voice now measured, the certainty he previously held replaced by a profound sense of doubt. His gaze briefly swept over the two assassins, observing their continued, effortless felling of monsters, before returning to Razeal. No… this simply didn't add up.

"Are you implying…" he continued, his tone growing taut, "…that you command two Great Saints?"

A brief pause ensued as his brow furrowed.

"And not just Great Saints…" His eyes sharpened once more.

"…but at their peak?"

As he spoke, his gaze scrutinized Razeal’s face, searching for any hint of jest, embellishment, or deceit. Logically, no matter how one analyzed the situation, the assertion defied conventional understanding; Great Saints were not typically subordinates, certainly not to just anyone… or anyone at all?

The very claim seemed bordering on the preposterous within any recognized framework of power and hierarchy.

However, before Razeal could offer a response, another voice interjected.

"Worry not, Master, we have everything under control. Your safety is paramount, above all else. I give you my word… nothing will even approach within ten paces of you." The assassin, who had been idly twirling a dagger, identified as Dagger, turned mid-action as if the chaotic battlefield held no consequence for him. With an almost theatrical flourish, he offered a jaunty, boyish salute to Razeal. A wide, uninhibited grin spread across his face, the kind rarely seen amidst mortal combat, conveying an almost gleeful enjoyment of the unfolding pandemonium. Beneath that smile, however, lay a deeper current—a thrill, a peculiar excitement born from finally escaping confinement. Ah… at last… action, bloodshed, resistance… The world, the very air, everything… after such a long time, his thoughts drifted fleetingly, his fingers resuming their fluid, effortless dance with the daggers, the blades spinning and flipping between his grasp as if extensions of his own being.

"Yes, Master," the second assassin, Blitz, responded. Unlike Dagger, his tone lacked any playfulness or evident excitement. It was calm, flat, and direct. As he turned his head slightly towards Razeal, he offered a brief nod, his posture upright and his demeanor far more composed. "Anything that wishes to reach you will have to pass through us first." There was no need for further explanation or dramatic emphasis; the statement alone was sufficient. It was a simple declaration, an absolute promise.

Razeal, positioned behind them, simply gave a slight nod in return, a subtle smile gracing his lips as if this exchange were the most ordinary thing in the world.

And that,

That was the moment everything shifted.

"M... Master?"

Both Kael and Lady Veyra reacted simultaneously, their composure fracturing not outwardly in any dramatic display, but internally, with violent intensity. Their eyes flickered, sharp and sudden, the word reverberating in their minds as if it refused to settle into anything comprehensible. Master?

They had heard it clearly.

There was no ambiguity.

Two individuals, both unmistakably at the zenith of the Great Saint realm, had just referred to someone else as their master. Not as an equal. Not as an ally. Not even as a superior in rank. But... Master?

Their gazes instinctively locked onto Razeal, sharp and questioning, searching for any explanation, any clue that could possibly clarify what they had just overheard. Their minds, honed and disciplined by years of experience, attempted to process the situation logically, striving to fit it within the established framework of their world.

And they failed.

Because it didn't fit.

It couldn't fit.

"Impossible," Kael's thoughts asserted immediately, firm and almost forceful, as if rejecting the very notion. "Such a thing cannot exist."

Even Veyra, whose mind was generally more adaptable and open to the improbable, found herself momentarily stunned. Two peak Great Saints... willingly submitting to someone...? No... that's not how power operates." Her eyes narrowed slightly, a shift occurring within their depths as she searched for deception, illusion, or any trickery that could rationalize this blatant contradiction.

It was at this precise moment that Razeal finally spoke, addressing their unspoken question.

"No," he stated calmly, his voice piercing through their thoughts with quiet certainty. "I do not have two Great Saints at the peak stage serving as my guards."

For a fleeting instant,

Relief washed over them.

Kael's shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly, the tension that had coiled in his chest loosening as his mind latched onto Razeal's statement. Of course... he mused, logic reasserting itself and stabilizing his perspective. That would have been utterly absurd.

Veyra, too, allowed a small, controlled exhale to escape her lips, her expression softening by a fraction. That makes more sense... she concluded, her thoughts aligning once more with the reality she understood.

Because the alternative... was simply unacceptable.

Even though they had heard the word.

Even though the word "Master" had been uttered clearly, without hesitation or doubt.

It was easier... far easier... to assume something else.

A misunderstanding.

A mishearing, perhaps...

Perhaps the turmoil of the situation had distorted their perception. Perhaps their ears had registered something incorrectly.

Because that explanation...

Was far more plausible than the truth their minds were desperately trying to present, a truth they were steadfastly rejecting.

After all, individuals at the Great Saint level were not mere subordinates to anyone. They were forces of nature in their own right, each possessing pride, authority, and independence that could not be easily bent or subdued. At such a level, even kings and queens treated them with...