I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space

Far away from the roaring chaos of the colosseum, where Celestia and Selena were standing locked in their silent clash, two other figures observed as if the Empire itself bent around their existence.

A soft voice broke the silence, crisp yet edged with unease.

"Your Imperial Highness… there are now two who have broken free from the authority of Imperial bloodline. It may become… problematic."

The words came from a small figure no taller than three feet a strange childlike being, his body mechanical yet eerily lifelike. His round glassy eyes gleamed with expressions far too human, and his ever-present smile lent him an almost innocent charm. Yet the intricate lines carved into his face, the seams of fine golden alloy that marked his limbs, betrayed his artificial nature. At the center of his forehead glowed a sigil a platinum crown crossed with twin greatswords the unmistakable crest of Imperial servitude. The Imperial Crest.

He looked up at the woman before him, his creator, his ruler, his goddess in all but name.

Standing there was breathtaking. A tall figure with hair of flowing platinum cascading down her back, her presence radiating an unshakable dignity that turned the very air heavy with reverence. She bore the same beauty as Celestia, but more matured, sharpened and perfected. If the princess was dazzling, this woman was sovereign: a living embodiment of majesty. Every tilt of her chin, every faint curve of her lips carried the weight of dominion.

The Empress. The Eternal Crown.

And her gaze, those serene platinum eyes, peered from the balcony of her chamber over the Empire's beating heart. Even from here, she could see the colosseum clearly as though no walls, no distance could bar her sight.

The little construct, Harry, bowed his head respectfully, though his round eyes flickered with real concern. "One removed his bloodline essence without dying. Another has completely broken free of the Authority, while still holding her bloodline intact. And both, Your Highness… are heirs of two of the Four Great Dukes. It might create some problems."

"No need," the Empress said softly, though her words rang with finality. "Let them be. Celestia needs hardships. If everything comes easily, Every path clears itself before her, she will never climb to the ceiling of her true potential. Pressure tempers steel; without it, she will remain unsharpened. This is best for her growth."

Her expression remained perfectly calm, eyes fixed upon the distant colosseum. She spoke as one who had never once faltered in her confidence, who had never once been shaken from the throne of certainty.

The small boy standing before her, tilted his head in acknowledgment. His large, mechanical eyes glowed softly, the eternal smile etched across his childlike features unchanged. Yet his voice carried concern.

"I understand, Your Highness," he said with spirited deference. Then, after a pause, his tone shifted, cautious yet insistent. "But what of the method? The Virelan boy… his bloodline extraction. That ability alone could be of immense use. If we gain it now, after so many generations, the reputation of the Valentine bloodline.. of cruelty, of merciless inevitability may fade. History might call us otherwise. Should such useful method not be claimed?"

The Empress turned her gaze slightly, her platinum eyes shimmering like a boundless sky. She smiled faintly, though the gesture was not warm but resolute.

"Unneeded," she said simply. "It is Celestia's duty and responsibility to steer the bloodline now. Whether she chooses to take such powers or not, the choice is hers alone. This is the sacred, unwritten law of the Imperial family. From the day she was born, my duty to guide ended. I exist only to protect, to guard the line. But to rule? To decide? That belongs to her. Whatever course she sets, whatever rules she writes, will be truth. Its no longer my responsibility."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, turning back to the wide horizon beyond her balcony. From here, the whole of the Empire lay beneath her gaze, the colosseum's tumult visible as though she stood within its walls. She saw everything the tension, the defiance, the sparks of rebellion and the flames of arrogance. Yet none of it unsettled her calm.

Harry shifted uneasily. His bright eyes, though filled with loyalty, still carried doubt. "She isn't cruel as you are, Your Highness. What if she abandons the strengthening of the bloodline altogether? Generations upon generations have given their most to make it stronger. And now…" His voice faltered, then steadied. "You saw it yourself. That Virelan boy is special. A affinity.. somehow able to control shadows? perhaps a mutation or something entirely new. He wields power unlike anything seen before. Yet Celestia showed no hunger. Not even the smallest glimmer of desire. She could have claimed his bloodline when he held it out, and yet she refrained."

The Empress did not answer immediately. The wind stirred her long platinum hair as her gaze remained fixed upon the world beyond. When she spoke again, her voice carried not passion but conviction so absolute it felt unshakable.

"Leave it," she said. "Let her be. If she chooses not to absorb, that too is her will. At most, she will not add to the bloodline's strength. But another generation will come. And another after that. Each with their own thoughts, their own choices. Remember this, Harry: Imperial bloodline is not a cage, nor a ritual or a mandate. It is freedom. Freedom to grow, to change, to evolve as the bearer wills. If she strengthens it, then good. If she does not, that is good as well. For in the end…"

Her eyes gleamed faintly as her lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile.

"…the survival of our bloodline is inevitable."

Her words carried no arrogance, no boast only a simple, terrifying certainty. As if greed, hunger, or desire were matters beneath her, distractions unworthy of her notice. To her, the power others would kill for, the authority others would worship, was simply inevitable. A river could not be stopped. The sun could not be denied. And the Valentine bloodline would never fall.

Harry bowed his head, silenced, his mechanical smile unchanged though his eyes betrayed unease. She had spoken, and therefore, it was truth.

But still he was feeling little weird about that boy.

Back in the colosseum, the atmosphere was suffocating. Every spectator, every knight, every noble in attendance held their breath as Celestia's palm rested lightly against Selena's neck. The Saintess herself stood frozen, her golden eyes wide, the holy radiance that once cloaked her body extinguished in an instant. Her chest rose shallowly, as though even the act of breathing had been denied to her.

Celestia tilted her head slightly, her expression calm, almost disappointed, and with a small shrug of her shoulders she withdrew her hand. Before Selena could even process what had happened, Celestia vanished from sight again, only to reappear behind her with speed so absolute that the Saintess never even realized she had moved. A soft, precise motion followed a hand chopping gently at the back of her neck.

There was no cruelty in it, no malice merely inevitability. Selena's body sagged, her consciousness snuffed out like the flame of a candle.

"The Saintess has grown weary beneath the fire of the sun," Celestia announced, her voice carrying across the arena, calm and authoritative. "See her returned to her chambers, where she may find her rest."

The words were not cruel, but neither were they open to question.

Before Selena's unconscious body could fall, Maximus moved. His golden aura flickered once, and in the blink of an eye he was there, catching his daughter in his arms. His expression was unreadable the proud Duke of Luminus, the father, and the man bound by duty all at war beneath a mask of control. He looked down at Selena's slack face, his jaw tightening just slightly, then raised his gaze once more. For the briefest instant, his eyes met Celestia's, cold and expressionless. Then, without a word, he disappeared with her in his arms, vanishing from the colosseum floor.

The silence that followed was heavier than any roar of the crowd could have been.

No one moved. Not the nobles, common spectators or even the fanatical believers of the Church of Light. Their knuckles were white from clenched fists, their jaws locked tight, but they did not speak. They could not. To oppose Celestia here was to oppose the bloodline of the Imperial family itself. And every one of them knew the truth: should they dare to defy her, their blood would ignite in their veins, their bodies bursting apart at her command the instant.

Yes, they would have given their lives for the Saintess without hesitation. But what was the point of giving life, if death came without even the chance to resist? And in the end… Celestia had not truly harmed Selena. A gentle knockout, nothing more. The Saintess was alive. Safe. And that was enough. Bitter as it was, they swallowed their fury and lowered their heads.

Celestia paid them no mind. She had never cared for whispers. Turning gracefully, again she fixed her platinum gaze on Merisa. Her lips parted to speak, but the Duchess of Virelan moved first.

"Perhaps, Princess, you will have to break your word today," Merisa said, her voice calm eyes unwavering as they locked onto Celestia's. "This is not debatable. I said he so he will."

Her words hung heavy in the air, a direct challenge to Celestia's authority.

Celestia's eyes narrowed, but her smile did not falter. "One week," she said smoothly, as if offering a compromise rather than conceding anything. "Do not disturb him for one week. My promise should hold at least that long Right?. And I am quite aware the Virelans will be busy cleaning up the mess of these days. Why not take him home once the dust has settled? Would that not be better for him and for you?"

Her tone was light, almost playful, but her gaze was razor-sharp, watching Merisa's every twitch.

Merisa was silent. She neither agreed nor disagreed, her purple eyes unreadable. Celestia, ever perceptive, pressed further.

"And don't you think," she continued, her smile widening slightly, "that would be the perfect gift for him? And through this, you can give him time?"

For a long moment, Merisa only stared back at her. Then, finally, she spoke.

"Two days," she said flatly, her tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Celestia raised her brows, feigning surprise. "Four."

"Two."

"Three."

"Two," Merisa repeated, her voice hard as steel, her gaze steady and unwavering.

Celestia's lips curved faintly, but the tension in her eyes betrayed her thoughts. She knew when she was beaten and that this was not the moment to push further. Not against Virelans patriarch atleast.

"Very well," she conceded with an elegant nod. "Two days."

The weight of Merisa's aura vanished at once, the invisible bindings that had locked Razeal in place melting away. His body staggered slightly as freedom returned to him

Nearly collapsing under the weight of exhaustion, but somehow caught his balance before he could hit the ground. His breath came rough and uneven

Fhew… finally free, he thought, flexing his stiff shoulders. Not exactly what he had hoped for.. he had been counting on at least a week of breathing room. Two days wasn't much. Still, two days was better than none. Two days to vanish, to make sure neither his mother nor his sister could pin him down. If they did, all of his careful plans for future would crumble.

Just as Celestia turned, lips parting as though tell merisa more, the steady sound of footsteps cut through the silence.

Click. Click. Click.

Every head in the colosseum turned toward the sound. Celestia and Merisa both shifted their gazes in the same direction too, their eyes narrowing as the noise drew closer.

And there she was.

Sylva

Her body trembled violently, still wracked with the aftershocks of the pain she had endured. Her steps were clumsy, almost staggering, her feet barely holding her upright. Yet she forced herself forward. Every step was deliberate, dragging her toward a single direction.

Where is she going? Nova's eyes narrowed, her body still bound by Marcella's restraint. How dare she move while Mother is speaking? The audacity infuriated her. To disturb at a time like this.. it was nothing short of insolence. Nova's gaze tracked Sylva, her green hair swaying as she staggered forward, every step trembling from the lingering pain. This bitch. Did she not learn her lesson already? What does she want now? Is she mad he managed to wound her? And in front of Mother? Has she lost her damn mind?

Nova's fury burned, every instinct screaming at her to lunge forward and cut Sylva down where she stood. If not for Marcella's invisible grip holding her still, she would've already struck. Instead, she could only watch, her teeth grinding as Sylva's staggering steps carried her closer to him.

Razeal, who had just steadied himself after all the chaos, felt the uneven rhythm of footsteps behind him. His body was still weak, the strain of everything weighing heavily, but his instincts stayed sharp. Slowly, he turned.

His gaze rose, meeting hers. Sylva. She walked toward him, pale and trembling, but with stubbornness etched into her face.

He didn't move or speak just simply stood there, letting her come. His guard, however, was raised, his lone arm flexing ever so slightly, ready for whatever she intended.

Sylva stopped just a single step away, close enough that he could see the sweat trailing down her temple, the slight tremor in her breath. For a long moment, silence reigned.

"What." Razeal's voice was flat, his eyes locked on hers. There was no fear in him, only sharp, unyielding scrutiny as if daring her to try something foolish.

Everyone watched, tense and expectant or even excited.. some church followers expecting her to directly kill him.

Sylva's chest rose and fell. Then, slowly, she extended her right hand toward him. Her voice was hoarse, yet clear.

"Sorry. For before… for disrespecting you when I refused your handshake at the start of the duel." Her green eyes held his, this time without mockery or disdain only the faint flicker of recognition.

Razeal blinked. His brow furrowed, one eyebrow raising as his lips curled into a faint, almost mocking smirk. "Huh?"

For once, he was genuinely surprised. Of all things, this? A handshake?

His eyes dropped to her outstretched hand. The gesture lingered in the space between them, hanging heavy with meaning. And then, his gaze drifted downward toward his own body.

His cut-off arm. The missing limb. The stump that was still sealed but raw, banded in pain. He stared at it in silence, his expression unreadable.

Sylva followed his gaze, her extended hand faltering. Her emerald eyes flickered down to the space where his arm should have been. Realization struck her. Her lips parted as the faintest trace of embarrassment crossed her battle-worn face.

Sylva faltered just instant when she realized her mistake. Her extended right hand hovered awkwardly in the air until, with a small wince, she pulled it back. A faint flush touched her pale cheeks as she quietly extended her left hand instead, the gesture renewed.

Razeal didn't move. His hand remained at his side, cold and unyielding. His gaze lingered on her for only a moment before he spoke, his voice flat, stripped of warmth.

"No need."

Just two words, but they cut sharper than a blade. He shifted his body as if to turn away, ready to leave this farce behind. To him, it was nothing. A handshake, an apology, or whatever this was it doesn't really matter.

But before he could walk away, Sylva's voice stopped him.

"You were strong… If I hadn't cheated… you might have won."

The words carried a trembling honesty. There was no arrogance this time, no mocking undertone. Just an admission raw and heavy.

Razeal paused. Slowly, he turned his head, his sharp eyes narrowing at her.

"Doesn't matter," he said calmly. "A win is a win. There's no such thing as cheating that was your strength, your method. I was the one who was weak, unable to fight back. That's all."

His voice echoed in the silence, flat yet absolute.

"And there is no such thing as an honorary fight. If you can win by any means, that's strength. Whether good or bad doesn't matter. What matters… is victory."

His tone didn't waver, his gaze cold and unwavering.

"So don't pity me," he added sharply. "This time, I lost. I admit that. There's no excuse, no running from it. But next time" He raised his left hand, pointing his finger directly at her. "Next time, I'll win. Use whatever you want. Cheat, lie, summon the world against me. I'll still beat you. Thats my job to do"

The air seemed to grow heavier as his words cut through it.

Sylva stood there, her chest heaving, her emerald eyes locked on his face. On her shoulders, the two small spirits sat and the other silly fluttered uneasily around her, their gazes flickering between the two. His words, harsh as they were, echoed in her ears, sinking deeper than she expected.

"I see…" she whispered softly.

Her outstretched hand lowered. She didn't insist further. Instead, a faint smile tugged at her lips, tired but genuine. And then, as though all the strength she had forced into herself drained away at once, her body wavered. Her eyes glazed over, her knees buckling.

But before Sylva could collapse, the small fairy spirit darted in front of her. "Silly girlll," Silly muttered with a deep frown, her tiny voice carrying both anger and worry. With a flap of her wings, she summoned a gentle wind, wrapping it around Sylva's body like invisible arms, holding her upright.

Sylva's head lolled weakly as her gaze found Silly's glowing form. A faint smile curved her lips. "Sorry, Silly… I thought I should do this. I felt like I needed to."

The spirit pouted, turning her face away. "Hmph. Foolish…" Yet, from the corner of her glowing eyes, she couldn't help but glance at Razeal, not knowing thinking what.

Razeal watched the scene only for a moment before exhaling lightly. His eyes were detached, as though the matter was already behind him.

"I should get going." His voice was quiet, almost to himself. His body was still weak, screaming for rest after everything. He turned, intent on leaving this blood-soaked colosseum behind.

But just as he made his first step

[Host, don't you think you're forgetting something?]

The system's voice rang sharp in his mind.

Razeal's brows furrowed. "Huh? What…?" he muttered inwardly, his body pausing in place.

Meanwhile, up in the spectator stands, Maria sat rigid, biting her nails. Her lips trembled as she muttered over and over under her breath.

"You don't remember… you don't remember… yes, leave fast, just leave… Forget it. Forget it all…"

She was praying hardest she ever had in her life. Her blue eyes were wide with terror, her thoughts frantic.

If he remembers… if he remembers… everything will be ruined.

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