I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 444: The Real Way

Nyssa’s intense gaze remained locked onto him, no longer merely suspicious but filled with a piercing intent. She wasn't asking out of idle curiosity anymore; she was scrutinizing him, trying to categorize him within her known world structure, and failing. This failure compelled her question.

Razeal remained silent for a moment.

He stood still, as if the quiet itself was part of his reply, his eyes briefly sweeping the room again, not rushed, not hesitant, simply… deliberate.

And, yes, it was clear they all desired the same answer now.

His focus then returned to Nyssa.

"You're posing the incorrect inquiry," he stated finally.

His tone was not dismissive, but it lacked any indication that he planned to elaborate. It was plain. Direct. And that straightforwardness alone was exasperating.

Nyssa’s eyes narrowed slightly. "Then provide me with the correct one," she responded without hesitation.

A brief pause ensued.

Razeal tilted his head by a fraction. "What can I accomplish for this kingdom?" he inquired. "That is the crucial aspect."

This answer failed to appease her.

Naturally, it did not. It sidestepped completely what she genuinely sought to know.

"And yet," she countered, her voice gaining an edge, "you anticipate us relinquishing a sovereign nation to an individual we know nothing about?" Her tone held no hostility, but neither did it possess any leniency. "No background. No declared loyalties. No intentions beyond your own assertions."

She shook her head.

"Mere power does not confer legitimacy," she added.

Razeal observed her for another moment… then let out a soft exhale through his nose, as if he had anticipated this line of reasoning from the outset.

"Legitimacy?" he echoed softly.

He then gave a slight shake of his head.

"You no longer possess that option."

His words were delivered calmly. Not harshly. Not loudly.

However, they struck with more force than anything he had previously uttered.

They all stiffened, their brows furrowing deeply. Because they all understood that… he wasn't entirely incorrect.

And therein lay the problem.

Razeal continued, his voice even. "You are not choosing between me and your current leadership." His gaze flickered briefly towards the queen before returning to Nyssa. "You are choosing between survival… and utter collapse."

Grace’s fingers tightened subtly in her lap.

Survival.

Or

Collapse.

Was the situation truly that straightforward?

No… it couldn’t be.

But what if it were?

Razeal took a small step forward. His movement was not aggressive or imposing, but it was enough to slightly reduce the distance between them. This action instantly drew all attention, every pair of eyes sharpening once more, every instinct on high alert… yet none of them moved.

"You asked who I am," he said, and though his voice did not escalate or sharpen, there was a settling quality to it, like a blade carefully placed on a table rather than hastily drawn. It was not louder, not more forceful, but more deliberate, as if each word had been chosen with care before being spoken.

"I am the sole individual in this room… capable of confronting what is imminent." The words did not resonate overtly, yet they carried. They traveled across the chamber, brushed against the stone and steel, and then… ceased. Silence followed. Not agreement. Not acceptance. Simply silence – thick, stagnant, almost suffocating, because no one present could immediately dispute his claim.

Ten Great Saints under his command. An unknown origin that defied their tracking. An unwavering confidence that had not faltered under pressure. And clear, unsettling knowledge of a looming threat they themselves had only just begun to grasp. Was he superior to them? Not necessarily – not in an absolute sense, not against an Imperial Pillar Family. But here, within this room, at this precise moment? Yes. He was better positioned, more adequately prepared, and possessed superior information. And this undeniable fact, however bitter, none of them could refute. The realization pressed quietly against their pride, and even Nyssa, who had stood resolute like an iron pillar until this point, remained silent. Her gaze was still fixed on him, but her silence was no longer one of defiance; it had transformed into calculation.

And then, abruptly—

The sudden, sharp crack of wood yielding to forceful impact shattered the stillness like splintering glass as Maeron Thale’s palm slammed down hard onto the table, the reverberation echoing through the chamber, yanking every stray thought back into sharp focus.

The old man rose, his movement slower than Kael’s might have been, less ostentatious, but imbued with a palpable weight, an authority that needed no amplification to be recognized. His usual composure was still present, yet strained now, stretched taut by the gravity of everything that had been voiced.

"That is not the proper procedure," he stated, his voice firm and steady, though no longer entirely composed. "One cannot claim a kingdom merely by speaking as if requesting it… because that is not how it functions, not for us, not for anyone." His eyes met Razeal’s, unwavering, sharp with a clarity that pierced through the lingering confusion in the room.

"None present possess the authority to bestow a crown upon you. Not us, not the Iron Council, and certainly not Her Majesty," he stated. His hand remained planted on the table, fingers slightly curved, a subtle tremble betraying the immense pressure beneath his composed demeanor. "We do not enthrone rulers. We do not appoint kings out of mere convenience."

His words resonated differently than Kael's anger or Nyssa's warning; they stemmed not from pride or fear, but from structure, from law, from something far older than anyone in that chamber.

As he spoke, the tension in the room began to subside, not into agreement, not yet, but into a focused attention. Even the queen, who had been lost in her thoughts moments before, lifted her gaze, recaptured by the commanding presence of Maeron's voice.

"The people forge the king," Maeron continued, each syllable precisely chosen, as if laying cornerstones rather than presenting arguments. "Not the other way around." He stood taller now, his presence expanding to fill the space without resorting to overt force.

"Should you seek recognition as one... then you must earn it. Wage war. Confront the impending threat. Defend this land not with mere promises or words, but with decisive action. Allow the populace to witness you. Let them be the arbiters of whether you are worthy to stand above them." His gaze intensified slightly.

"Because should they not accept you... any title we bestow will be utterly meaningless." A beat of silence followed, then he added, his voice softer but no less resolute.

"Furthermore, if you refuse to even offer your name, if you remain shrouded in mystery, withholding even the most basic truth of your identity, then what right do you possess to demand loyalty? To solicit faith? A kingdom is not governed by power alone. It is guided by identity, by trust, by something the people can rally behind." His eyes remained locked onto Razeal's.

"Tell me... what banner would they raise in your name? What acclamation would they shout? Upon whom are they meant to place their belief?"

The question hung in the air, a burden heavier than any accusation.

Razeal turned his head, meeting Maeron's gaze directly, and for a fleeting moment... he remained silent. It wasn't due to a lack of response, but rather, for the first time since entering this chamber, he genuinely contemplated the premise. The man was not entirely incorrect.

Not completely. In fact... he was right in a way that Razeal himself had overlooked. His approach had been centered on power, on the desired outcome, on inevitability, but had neglected the crucial aspect of acceptance. The words echoed softly in his mind. When had he ceased considering this? Or... had he ever truly considered it at all?

A subtle, almost imperceptible shift registered across his features—not doubt, nor hesitation... but a dawning recognition. He had been focused on achieving control, on reshaping the world, but had not considered the necessary steps to solidify that control into something enduring. He could seize a kingdom; that was not the issue. But could he establish it in a manner that would last? That presented... a different challenge.

Maeron, observing Razeal's silence, did not falter. He pivoted slightly, his attention shifting towards Nyssa.

"Additionally... Lady Veyra," he addressed her directly, his tone resuming a measure of its earlier composure, though the underlying intensity persisted, "Your esteemed ancestor, Sir Vermon Veyra Sol, did not claim his authority solely through birthright. He *earned* it." A subtle emphasis was placed on the word.

"He stood resolute when this land teetered on the precipice of devastation. He fought. He bled. He became the very reason this kingdom endures to this day." The chamber seemed to deepen in silence at the mention of that name, history itself pressing in like a tangible weight upon the present moment.

"Only after that... only after he was universally recognized as worthy... did he elect to pass the crown to House Valen." Maeron's gaze returned forward. "That was not an inherent right he possessed. It was a right he *secured*."

"And today," he continued, his voice dropping slightly yet carrying further as a result, "we find ourselves in a juncture remarkably similar to that one. Our kingdom faces imminent annihilation. We are demonstrably lacking the strength to defend it." There was no longer any pretense of pride; the raw truth was laid bare.

"And if an individual... if someone truly possesses the capacity to stand against the coming darkness... then we are not empowered to refute such a reality."

"Nor do we hold the right to unilaterally decide who shall assume leadership thereafter." He looked directly at Razeal once more. "If you succeed in saving this kingdom... if you demonstrate your worth in the eyes of its people... then perhaps the right to rule it will naturally follow. Not by our decree... but because it will no longer be ours to withhold."

"I believe Sir Vermon Veyra Sol would concur with my assessment."

"And we shall possess the dignity to serve such an individual... thereby honoring the one who earns recognition," Maeron concluded, his voice regainings its steadiness, though the gravity it carried remained undiminished. His gaze swept across the table, briefly alighting on each lord, and finally on the queen herself—not demanding assent, but seeking acknowledgment.

And it was granted. Gradually, quietly, yet unmistakably.

"The Rock family." A breath. "We are prepared to die for this land. That is not bravado. That is reality." Her eyes remained fixed on his. "So I will ask you clearly." No embellishment. No pretense. "Will you still fight? For a kingdom that isn't yours... against an enemy you have no obligation to face... knowing full well the potential cost?"

The room fell into a pregnant silence.

This was the pivotal moment.

Not the earlier confrontation. Not the demand for the throne.

This exact moment.

Because here... there was nothing to gain.

Only risk.

Only danger.

Only consequences.

Nyssa observed him intensely, every fiber of her being on high alert. If he was merely bluffing... if his intention was to intimidate, to posture, to exploit the situation, this was the point where his facade would crumble. This was where he would retreat. Withdraw. Disengage. The others were watching with equal scrutiny. Kael's gaze sharpened, his stance rigid, prepared to catch the slightest hint of hesitation. Maeron observed impassively, assessing. Halvek remained almost still, yet his focus was unwavering. Even Grace, and especially Grace, was now fixed on him, awaiting his response.

Razeal paused before speaking.

He glanced at Nyssa.

Then at the queen.

Then at the assembled individuals.

And then, a subtle smile touched his lips.

It wasn't a wide grin. It wasn't mocking. It was simply... a slight, genuine change at the corners of his mouth, as though a complex puzzle had finally clicked into place for him.

"I understand," he stated, offering a small nod, as if acknowledging an internal realization rather than providing an external reply. "So... leave it to me."

That was his entire response.

No grand speech. No solemn declaration. No attempt at reassurance.

Just those words.

And somehow, this understated response unsettled them more profoundly than any elaborate display could have.

Eyebrows rose. Faces tensed. Kael blinked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected reply. Nyssa's scrutiny intensified, her eyes probing his face for any sign, any hint that might contradict his stated intention. There was nothing. No tremor of doubt. No indication of deceit. Either he possessed an extraordinary ability to conceal his true feelings... or he was entirely sincere.

And then there was something else entirely.

An absence of fear.

Not even a trace of apprehension.

If anything...

Was that a sense of anticipation?

A flicker of excitement?

The idea did not sit well with them.

Yet, it persisted.

And whether they accepted it or not...

They found themselves with no alternative but to trust his word.

"Did you mean that?" Nyssa inquired, her voice softer this time, the sharp edge previously present now absent, yet imbued with a greater weight. It was no longer driven solely by suspicion. It held something akin to a need for confirmation... or perhaps, it was a final test.

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