I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 437: Merisa / Selena / Nova / Marcella

Within the Virelan manor, a profound silence descended upon the main hall. It was a heavy, stretched stillness, as if the very air hesitated to move. Pale, fading daylight filtered through tall windows, illuminating dust motes that drifted lazily, settling in unnoticed corners. In one such quiet, forgotten space, Merisa sat by the window, her posture composed but unmoving. Her gaze drifted outward, seemingly detached from the estate's gardens and stone paths, lost in thought or memory. She had remained this way for a long time, long enough for the edges of time itself to blur.

Across from her, resting against the wall on the cold marble floor, Selena’s posture was slack. It wasn't physical exhaustion but an internal yielding. Her face appeared calm, almost vacant, yet this stillness was a facade. Deep within her eyes, in the faint shadows beneath them, and in the way her fingers occasionally clenched the fabric at her side, a storm raged, unceasing since that day, since their last conversation, since the final time she saw Razeal standing before her with a look she'd never seen directed at her before, a look she couldn't forget.

That departure hadn't been a loud, chaotic affair, but its very quietness made it more devastating. Every word Razeal spoke was clear, deliberate, and impossible to reinterpret kindly. What truly wounded Selena wasn't his rejection, but the absolute finality of it, leaving no room for doubt. His plain words—that he would always hate her the most, that she occupied the highest place of betrayal among all who had wronged him—had felt not like anger in that moment, but like a settled, immutable truth long before he voiced it.

Since then, she had replayed that moment countless times, searching his tone, his expression, for any hint of hesitation or conflict—something to cling to, something to fight against. Yet, each revisit yielded the same unchanging scene, only intensifying her pain. There was nothing to dispute, nothing to mend immediately, only the need to endure.

But even that wasn't what shattered her the most.

It was what followed.

The fact that Razeal had already married someone else.

This truth lodged itself within her, sharp and unyielding, impossible to ignore or remove. Every time her thoughts returned to it, the pain remained as raw as the first moment she heard the news. She tried to rationalize it, to dissect it logically as she did with all things, but no reasoning could soothe the ache, no explanation made it palatable. It wasn't merely about him choosing another; it was the timing, the sheer speed of it. What she had spent years pursuing, fighting for, and reshaping herself for seemed to have been granted to another in what felt like mere moments.

She mused, “Someone who does so little for him? Something I would have paid any price for… attained by someone else with barely any effort?”

“How could it be so simple for another?”

This question echoed in her mind, sometimes with anger, sometimes with disbelief, and at other times with a hollow quietude. Now, she gazed upward, tracing the faint patterns carved into the ceiling without truly seeing them, her thoughts turning inward as she whispered to herself.

“Two months… it’s only been two months, and that was all it took..?”

Merisa had spoken of the woman, the one with blue hair, revealing she was the princess of Atlantis, Razeal’s wife. Selena had heard and understood, but acceptance remained elusive. Titles, status, and strength—none of these answered the question that truly mattered to her. What had that woman given him? What had she offered that Selena herself hadn't attempted to provide, through her own methods, even if those methods were flawed, even if they had transgressed lines she once swore never to cross?

She had abandoned her own ideals for him. She had broken her own rules, compromised herself… all in the pursuit of his acknowledgment, his acceptance, his love. Now, looking back, she found it all unacceptable.

Her fingers subtly tightened against the floor, not out of sheer anger, but a potent mix of hurt and disbelief. She harbored no doubt that he didn’t harbor love for that other woman. She was absolutely certain of it.

Confirmation was unnecessary; she had witnessed his glance firsthand. She understood the particular way he regarded individuals when genuine emotion stirred within him, and that certainly hadn't been it. Instead, there was a different quality, more restrained, more detached, suggesting the decision originated from a place far removed from his heart.

Perhaps it stemmed from his solitude.

Perhaps it was a facade to conceal his true sentiments.

Or could it be... intended for her?

This thought emerged uninvited but stubbornly persisted. What if he acted with the knowledge she would learn of it? What if his intention was to inflict pain upon her?

Or was it his belief that such an action would finally compel her to relinquish her pursuit, to cease her efforts, to stop clinging to something he had already resolved to release?

She remained uncertain which of these possibilities held the truth.

However, one fact remained crystal clear.

He did not love that woman. Not yet, perhaps?

And this singular thought, as delicate as it was, served as the sole anchor preventing her complete collapse—the only thing she could grasp amidst the surrounding turmoil. It offered no true healing, no abatement of her pain, but it provided a bedrock, a whisper that not all was lost, that some things might still be within her reach.

Nevertheless, the ache lingered.

It settled heavily within her chest, constricted her throat, muted the quiet rhythm of her breath, and hollowed the depths of her gaze. The room remained steeped in silence, neither speaking for a prolonged period, the immense weight of unspoken feelings creating a palpable atmosphere between them.

Then, with gradual movement, Selena turned her head, her focus shifting from the ceiling to Merisa. Her eyes, though still shadowed by a profound, silent sorrow, no longer held that same distant quality. Her voice, when it finally emerged, was soft and measured, yet lacked the steadiness she had intended.

"Aunt Merisa..." she began, hesitating for a beat as if carefully selecting each word, "...may I ask you a question?"

The instant Selena's voice broke the silence, Merisa's gaze lifted from the window. What met Selena's eyes was not the composed, detached demeanor she had displayed moments prior, but a woman whose eyes conveyed an unmistakable burden of guilt and grief, a heaviness that had evidently resided there long before their current exchange.

"Do you believe... perhaps if I hadn't made that regrettable error that day..." Selena's words trailed out slowly, holding back from breaking entirely but betraying a tremor, as if each syllable had to fight its way past an obstruction in her chest, "...would he have chosen me? Loved me? Would he have come to detest me instead?" She paused briefly, her gaze already unfocused, drifting to an unseen point as if the hall had vanished, replaced by an internal landscape. "...and today... I would be the one... holding his hand... not her?"

There was no trace of bitterness in her tone, and this, more than anything else, made her words difficult to bear. It wasn't an accusation or anger, but a quiet, fragile yearning, stemming not from a sense of entitlement but from a past that had once felt attainable and was now irrevocably lost. As the image resurfaced, one she had tried, in vain, to banish countless times, her lips curved faintly. It wasn't a smile of joy, but a softer, more poignant expression belonging solely to memory. She vividly recalled that woman standing beside him, the effortless comfort of their proximity, the seamless intertwining of their hands as if perfectly matched. For a fleeting moment, Selena allowed herself to envision that same scene, but with herself in that woman's place, her fingers laced with his, her presence beside him not that of a supplicant, but of someone already cherished.

Her eyelids slowly closed, as if to prolong the sanctity of that image for another second. Yet, the vision was too sharp, slicing through any semblance of fragile solace it offered. A soft, near-breathless chuckle escaped her, hollow and imbued with more pain than sound, as the illusion dissipated as swiftly as it had materialized.

Merisa observed the unfolding scene, her expression remaining impassive, yet the profound depth in her gaze conveyed more than words could; she possessed the capacity to respond, to offer solace, to utter something that might lighten the burden of those declarations, but she refrained. She understood the futility of offering insincere comfort and, more crucially, lacked an answer that wouldn’t inflict further pain. That identical question had also occupied her own mind, a persistent whisper in her quietest moments: “Would things have been different?” Yet, she had consciously avoided delving too deeply into its implications, recognizing that any answer, regardless of its nature, would alter nothing in the present, while simultaneously intensifying the existing regret.

"You are aware of the answer," Merisa finally stated, her voice a low, steady timbre, deliberately omitting any attempt to soften the harsh truth. This was not due to a lack of compassion, but from an understanding that false reassurance would only lead to a more devastating collapse later on.

The unvarnished words hung in the air between them, heavy and unyielding, amplifying the hall’s profound silence as if the quiet itself had coalesced around them. Selena offered no immediate reply. Instead, she tilted her head back against the wall, her eyes still shut. She remained motionless for a beat, then, gradually, the tension etched on her features eased. A single tear escaped the corner of her eye, tracing a silent path down her cheek, soon joined by another, and yet another, each drop falling without a sound, unhindered.

"... Do you believe..." she recommenced, her voice now softer, bordering on distant, as though addressing her own thoughts rather than Merisa, "...that if I were to vanish from this existence... he might find some peace?"

Her inquiry lacked any dramatic flair, devoid of desperation or urgent pleading. It was voiced with a quiet sincerity that rendered it all the more disturbing, suggesting she was genuinely contemplating such a possibility, weighing it as one might any other significant decision.

Merisa’s gaze remained fixed. She studied Selena for a prolonged moment, her expression subtly tightening, not with irritation, but with a more controlled, deliberate intensity, as if carefully selecting her next words.

"Perhaps... or perhaps not," Merisa replied, neither hurrying nor evading the response. "I cannot say for certain." A beat of silence followed, just long enough for the raw honesty of her uncertainty to resonate, before she continued, her eyes steady and unwavering, "However, I don’t believe our disappearance constitutes the kind of ‘peace’ that truly matters."

This statement provided no resolution, offered no easy answer, but it was grounded in authenticity—the only currency Merisa was willing to offer in that precise moment.

Once more, silence descended, deeper and more oppressive this time, stretching uninterrupted across the expansive hall. Even Marcella, standing vigilantly at a considerate distance, her posture immaculately straight, hands clasped behind her back in a display of ingrained discipline, could sense its palpable weight permeating the room. She had maintained her silence throughout, as was her custom, her presence unobtrusive and steadfast. However, her gaze subtly shifted between the two women, absorbing every nuance, every pause, every unspoken sentiment. She had perceived a discernible shift in Merisa since their return—a subtle yet undeniable alteration in her aura, a quiet augmentation of her power, a faint yet distinct change in her demeanor that hinted at a profound internal transformation. Nevertheless, she had refrained from voicing any queries, either aloud or internally, as her unwavering loyalty did not necessitate such explanations.

Yet, she could not overlook the current tableau. The matriarch whom she held in high regard, and Selena, once radiating an aura of unwavering resolve and fierce intensity, now sat enveloped in a silence that felt precariously close to utter desolation rather than repose. It was a situation beyond her capacity to mend, and she doubted she possessed the standing to intervene. This sense of helplessness settled quietly within her as she released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, unnoticed and unheard.

Then, abruptly, the profound stillness was violently broken. The grand doors to the hall were flung open with a resounding crack, the sheer force of their impact echoing through the space as wood slammed against stone. Instantly, all eyes snapped towards the entrance. The suddenness of the interruption sliced through the pervasive quiet, leaving no room for indecision or bewilderment, demanding immediate attention.

Standing in the threshold was Nova.

Her arrival was not heralded by a display of raw power or an overwhelming aura; no surge of energy radiated outward, no oppressive force pressed upon the senses. Yet, the moment she crossed into the hall, an almost imperceptible but distinct shift occurred in the atmosphere. Her head was bowed slightly, strands of hair falling forward to obscure her eyes from view. Without uttering a single word, without even acknowledging the others present, she began to advance, her gait slow, measured, each step taken with deliberate intent.

At first glance, Nova appeared indistinguishable from the others—quiet, burdened, and exuding the same muted, oppressive aura. Yet, beneath this surface, something else resided, something more taut and sharp. It suggested that whatever experiences she had endured or comprehended had not shattered her as they had Selena, but rather had solidified into something far more perilous.

Marcella's gaze remained fixed on Nova. Despite her stillness, her breathing became deliberately slow, her senses amplifying. She understood that such quietude in someone like Nova was never empty. The familiar hollowness she had witnessed in Selena and the restrained sorrow seen in Merisa only cemented her certainty: Nova had also encountered him.

Merisa slowly turned her head towards Marcella, her expression softening subtly—not from relief, but from a quiet, resigned acknowledgment. It was as if she had anticipated this, or at least expected something to emerge from Nova's return. She exhaled softly, her voice low and controlled, yet undeniably laced with weariness. "You're here..."

No reply came.

Nova offered no response, no nod, not even a shift of her eyes towards Merisa as would be customary. She continued her steady forward movement, her steps measured, her posture erect, her face still partially veiled by her hair, revealing nothing of her inner state.

Selena's eyes fluttered open at the sound, her gaze drifting towards Nova's approach. For a moment, she simply observed, her expression inert yet keenly attentive, as if attempting to decipher something from Nova's presence, striving to understand her current state of being.

"Are you alright?" Merisa inquired again, a slight furrow now appearing between her brows. The concern was more evident, genuine, cutting through the exhaustion that weighed upon her. Although she remained seated, her focus was entirely on Nova. Irrespective of other circumstances, she still recognized the pain Nova must be enduring and understood the immense difficulty of her recent ordeal.

But Nova remained silent, offering no answer to this question either.

She simply continued her relentless advance.

Step by measured step, she closed the distance without the slightest hesitation or pause, until she stood directly before Merisa, leaving no space between them to ignore. For a fleeting moment, the entire room seemed to hold its breath, frozen in anticipation.

Then, abruptly, she moved.

The action was sudden, untelegraphed, and impossible to predict from her stance. One instant she was there, the next she had vanished from her original position, leaving only a subtle ripple in the air. She reappeared before Merisa, already in mid-motion, her arm thrust forward. Her blade surged directly towards Merisa's chest with blinding speed and unerring accuracy, allowing no room for hesitation, adjustment, or a second attempt.

Selena's eyes widened, but her mind couldn't process the movement in time to react; by the time it registered, the action had already concluded.

Marcella witnessed it, yet remained motionless, comprehending that intervention was unnecessary as Merisa could easily thwart the attack without any exertion.

However, this outcome defied her expectations.

Merisa made no move to raise her hand, shift her body, or attempt to deflect the incoming strike. She simply sat, her eyes fixed on Nova's face, her calm demeanor not one of indifference, but of acceptance. It was as if, in that split second, she had already made a choice, deciding not to resist.

The blade plunged onward.

It met no obstruction, no resistance strong enough to halt its progress. The sword pierced straight through Merisa's chest, directly into her heart. The motion was clean and direct, accompanied by a sound that was not loud but distinctly audible—the soft, wet thud of steel meeting flesh.

Blood followed instantaneously.

It flowed outward from the point of impact, soaking the fabric of her attire, cascading forward and downward in a dark, expanding stain. Drops then fell, spattering the polished floor with a quiet, irregular rhythm, creating small, uneven pools that starkly contrasted with the smooth surface beneath them.

For a moment, absolute stillness prevailed.

Marcella's breath hitched, her composure cracking just enough for alarm to surface overtly. She stepped forward involuntarily, her voice rising with an urgency she could no longer suppress.

"My lady?!" Her hand was already beginning to lift, her body tensing to act, to intervene, to do anything, because this was no longer a situation she could passively observe.

But Merisa raised her hand.

It was a subtle gesture, executed with a slowness that contrasted sharply