I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space Chapter 451: Failed Painter?

[Welcome, Host, to the B+ Rank Valley of Villey.]

[Villain Title: Failed Painter.]

A B-rank villain hah?

Razeal frowned slightly. This was the first time the system had dropped him this low in rank. Usually itll be SS+.. Even the lowest he had gone is GreatSaint Rank. B-rank... felt different.

But then his eyes caught the title again.

Failed Painter??

His gaze stilled.

"...No way," he muttered under his breath.

An image surfaced in his mind almost instantly sharp, familiar in a distant, uncomfortable way. A man. A face from history. A name that carried weight even in a world without magic. For a moment, Razeal just stood there, staring at nothing, his thoughts refusing to settle.

Then he shook his head once.

It had to be coincidence. Just a similarity in title. The man he was thinking of belonged to his previous world a place without mana, without cultivation, without any system of power like this. Just ordinary humans.

And this system?

It ranked beings across realms. Across existence.

Even if that man somehow appeared here, how could he reach B-rank? At best... F, maybe E. Someone with influence, yes but not power in the way this system usually defined it.

Razeal exhaled quietly.

He had just settled on that conclusion

But just then he looked up.

And everything paused.

In front of him stood a fighter jet.

Old.

Sharp-edged.

Recognizable.

Its body was painted in deep red, the surface worn but intact, and on its side clear, unmistakable was the cross insignia that history had burned into memory.

World War II fighter jet?? And its.. if That Technology

Razeal’s mouth parted slightly.

Not wide.

Just enough.

Recognition hit immediately.

He didn’t move.

His thoughts didn’t even finish forming before suddenly a voice interrupted.

Close and old.

"Was ist das...? Who are you?"

The accent was heavy. Austrian-German. Each English word cut short, clipped, almost forceful, like it had to pass through resistance before being spoken. The tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight rough, hoarse, as if shaped by years of speaking to crowds, commanding attention, forcing belief.

Razeal turned his head.

Slowly.

And then he saw him.

Five feet nine inches of rigid posture, dressed in the plain brown uniform of the early 1930s, iron cross at his throat, hair slicked back, eyes burning with that strange intensity Razeal had only seen in old newsreels. Adolf Hitler. Alive. Real. Breathing. Staring straight into his soul.

Razeal’s small "o" of surprise stretched wider until his mouth hung open far enough to swallow something much larger than he intended. Shock pinned him in place. He was never the most expressive person, yet right now every coherent thought scattered like startled birds, leaving his mind empty and his body frozen.

Fuck.. he swore inwardly, the word sharp and helpless in the sudden silence.

Hitler narrowed his eyes slightly, then tilted his head the way a predator studies new prey that might actually prove worthy.

Trying to understand what who and how stood in front of him.

"You know me, young man? Don’t you? Haha..." he said, a dry, controlled laugh slipping out as he began walking toward Razeal with slow, deliberate steps, each one measured, his gaze fixed and probing, as if trying to peel through layers rather than simply look at a face.

Razeal didn’t move.

"Yes... yes, I know you... s..ssss.. sir," he answered, the words coming out tighter than he expected, almost forced, his usual composure slipping in a way that annoyed him the moment he noticed it. It wasn’t fear in the usual sense he had stood before beings far more dangerous, Zara, Tongue, entities that could erase him without effort yet this felt... different.

Uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t dismiss. Maybe because this wasn’t just a figure of power, but a name that had existed in his mind long before he ever gained strength. A story repeated, studied, warned about. A man who had shaped an entire world without magic.

The distance closed.

"Are you from Germany, young man?" the man asked, now standing just a step away, his eyes scanning Razeal’s features carefully, almost analytically, trying to place him within a framework he understood.

"No... sir," Razeal replied, straight-backed without realizing it, like a student answering a question out of instinct. The reaction irritated him further.

"Could have been..." the man murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing slightly as he continued examining him.

"Maybe you don’t know... but I can tell things. Silver hair... tall... pale skin... strong presence... handsome face..." he paused, then tilted his head. "Norway?"

Razeal blinked once. "Umm..."

"Not that?" the man continued without pause. "France, perhaps? Not France?"

Razeal shook his head again, slower this time.

"Greece, then?"

The hesitation lingered.

"...No."

"Poland?" he tried again, almost insistently.

Razeal nearly coughed this time, the repetition catching him off guard.

The man exhaled and shook his head lightly, as if genuinely disappointed. "Ah... we could have been old friends," he said, letting out another short laugh, amused by his own conclusion. "But alas..."

Razeal didn’t respond.

He genuinely didn’t know what to say.

For a moment, he just stood there, watching him, adjusting to the reality of the situation rather than reacting to it.

Razeal asked internally, his thoughts finally regaining structure.

The system responded without delay.

[It is him, Host. And as stated before, rankings are not determined by strength alone. Influence, impact, scale of change... all are considered. This individual qualifies for his rank.]

Razeal went quiet.

Then nodded slightly to himself.

That answer... made sense.

He exhaled once, steady this time, and let the initial reaction settle completely. Whatever this man was or had been he wasn’t here by mistake.

And more importantly..

Right now he had come here with one clear purpose: to get advice and teaching from the man who had once tried to conquer the world. He was concerned about where and how to learn what he needed for what came next, because surely in that world no one else could guide him on it.

Razeal stood still for a moment.. This man wasn’t the worst choice anyways, even if he hadn’t won in the end. Experience still counted for something, and Razeal needed to learn about the hard parts, the complications that came with trying to conquer the world.

That alone said enough. This man hadn’t needed power in the conventional sense no mana, no cultivation, no divine blessing yet he had still moved nations, reshaped history, and dragged millions into war by will alone. That kind of influence wasn’t something Razeal could ignore.

In fact, it was exactly the kind of thing he lacked. He didn’t like admitting it, but Sofia had been right earlier. Power alone wasn’t enough. If he moved forward with what he was planning conquest, control, reshaping the world then people would suffer because of him. Innocents would die. Cities would burn. And when that happened... would he hesitate? Would he regret it? Would it slow him down? He didn’t know. And that uncertainty was dangerous. He needed to understand what it meant to carry that weight before he reached that point.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. If there was anyone who had lived through that kind of burden whether he admitted it or not it was the man standing in front of him. Loved by his people, hated by the world, remembered as a monster after death... yet powerful enough in presence and conviction that even his enemies had acknowledged his charisma. That wasn’t something you learned from books. That had to be understood directly.

Razeal’s eyes sharpened slightly as he decided how to approach this. For a brief second, the thought crossed his mind.. but he dismissed it immediately. It felt unnecessary, even cheap. If he wanted something from this man, it wouldn’t come from imitation.

He stepped forward half a pace, meeting his gaze properly this time.

"Well... sir," he began, his tone controlled and direct, "where I’m from shouldn’t concern you. What matters is... I come from a time after your demise." He paused just long enough to let that settle, then continued without breaking eye contact. "I was able to come here because of a... gift. Well.. i can share it with it.. its Something which I’ve had since birth. I can communicate with the dead anyone I choose."

There was no hesitation in his voice, no shift in expression. The lie came out clean, structured, believable. Not exaggerated, not defensive. Just stated.

"And since I had something important to understand... something only you have experience in... I came to you."

Silence followed for a second.

Hitler raised an eyebrow slightly, studying him again, this time not just physically but more carefully, as if weighing the consistency of what he had just heard rather than reacting to the words themselves. There was skepticism there but not outright rejection.

Razeal didn’t interrupt.

He let him think.

"...Hmm," the man finally exhaled, his tone quieter now. "Under normal circumstances, I would call that absurd." His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "But since this hell exists.. where I am probably punished for eternity. I have started to believe in magic and all. Hell and heaven can exist. This blessing you got might be creative, but I have to believe you." He nodded with a melancholic expression.

"But I wonder... what kind of thing you want to converse with me that you didn’t hesitate to come step in hell?" Hitler asked, his face now fully convinced as he took Razeal’s words at face value. "What is it that you seek to learn from me?"

Razeal at his words turned slightly, taking in the space around him instead of answering immediately. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t abstract. It was a battlefield dense, loud even in its silence. Bomb craters tore through the ground in uneven patterns, artillery pieces sat abandoned at angles that suggested they had been left mid-fire, and broken tanks lay scattered like discarded shells. The air felt heavy, carrying the faint impression of smoke and iron. Bodies in uniform were everywhere, some half-buried under debris, others sprawled in positions that made it clear how suddenly everything had ended. Fighter jets twisted, burned, grounded rested like fallen birds across the field.

Razeal’s eyes moved across it without flinching, but his mind didn’t stay idle. he wondered. It would make sense.

A battlefield without end, frozen in time, surrounded by the consequences of decisions that could no longer be changed.

His gaze lingered on the scale of destruction the bombs, the machines, the bodies and for a brief second he could help but wonder?

The thought was crude, instinctive. He didn’t dwell on it.

Razeal shook his head lightly, cutting the line of thinking before it went anywhere unnecessary, then turned his attention back to the man in front of him.

"Well... nothing complicated," he said, starting more carefully this time, though the structure didn’t hold for long. "I just wanted to... discuss something. My plans. I mean.."

He stopped.

There wasn’t a better way to frame it.

So he didn’t try.

"I just want to learn how to conquer the world.. Well..."

The words came out clean.

No hesitation.

No attempt to soften them.

Hitler didn’t respond immediately.

He just looked at him.

A full second passed. Then another. The silence stretched—not awkward, but deliberate, as if the statement had shifted the conversation into something more precise.

"Well," he said at last, a faint trace of amusement touching his tone, "You are an interesting one, aren’t you..." His lips curved slightly, not mocking, not dismissive.. curious.

"I believe you have the means to do it. An ability like yours... to speak with the dead... that alone is already a strategic advantage most would never even imagine.. I cant."

His gaze sharpened, more focused now.

"But what interests me more," he continued, taking a slow step to the side, arms folding behind his back as his posture straightened, "is not your ambition and resolve."

He studied Razeal like a commander assessing a recruit not for strength, but for intent.

"Such plans, at your age..." he added quietly, almost to himself, "that is rare."

A pause.

Then a short, low chuckle.

"...Impressive."

Another moment passed before he spoke again, this time more directly.

"Though.. I can see," he said. "You dont seem concerned about whether you do it or not." His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in clarity. "That part, you’ve already decided."

He tilted his head just a fraction.

"You are concerned about something else."

The tone shifted not heavier, but more exact.

"About what it means to do it."

A small pause.

"

"Worried about the deaths? The suffering?" he asked, the faintest edge of a scoff in his voice. "Hah."

"Umm" Razeal suddenly paused.

——