I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space-Chapter 36: Finally back

A ripple of distorted space twisted around Razeal’s form and in the blink of an eye, he reappeared outside the massive gates of Worth.

He staggered slightly on impact, catching himself just before his boots fully touched the floor.

"Tch... dammn," he muttered, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. "Time’s already up?"

His gaze flicked upward toward the setting sun, casting a bleeding orange hue across the field of survivors. The warmth of it contrasted harshly with the cold reality around him.

All around, one by one, others began appearing in pulses of glowing lightteleported just like him dumped outside the Trial Grounds with no fanfare, no applause. Some stumbled forward with haunted eyes, others limped, bloodied, limbs wrapped in hasty bandages torn from their own clothes. Mud. Ash. Blood. Despair.

The air reeked of iron and exhaustion.

And silence.

Dead, heavy silence.

Only broken by murmurs like ghosts lingering in the wind.

"...I only managed twenty-three cores... fuck..." a boy hissed under his breath, his hands shaking as he tried to count the bloody bags strapped to his hip. "I almost died in there. And I didn’t even pass."

"Has anyone seen my brother? Red scarf, green shirt hey?! Anyone?!" a panicked girl called out, voice rising in desperate pitch as her eyes searched the crowd, but found no answer.

Razeal stood there quietly, observing. He didn’t say a word, but his eyes caught everything. The trembling lips. The muttered curses. The rage. The disbelief. And worst of all the numb acceptance.

Most of them failed. As expected. fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

After all, the test wasn’t difficult it was brutal.

Designed to break even those labeled as ’genius.’

Razeal exhaled slowly, watching as another candidate collapsed to their knees beside a tree stump, clutching a torn arm and sobbing quietly. No one helped. No one could.

’Killing a single third-rank beast is already an achievement,’ he thought. ’That alone would earn you recognition in a guild or mercenary group. You’d be D-rank minimum. Maybe even C, depending on how clean the kill was.’

He narrowed his eyes at a boy vomiting into the grass, barely able to stand upright.

’Most people spend years just trying to reach that level of strength. Some only get there in their late twenties, maybe early thirties if they’re lucky. Especially if their talent’s mediocre.’

And yet here stood dozens of youths most barely past sixteen bloodied but alive, each one having taken down at least one third-rank beast. By normal standards, they were monsters in their own right.

’Every single one of them has the potential to go far,’ he mused. ’Rank four... maybe even five if nurtured properly. That’s no small feat. And yet’

He glanced at towering gates, dark and unfeeling.

’they came here willingly. Gambling everything. For what? The "advantages" of joining Academy ofcourse?’

He clicked his tongue, disapproving.

’Greed,’ he thought. ’The greed to rise faster... the desire to leap over years of hard work and resource starvation. That’s why they came. Even knowing the risks.’

He tilted his head.

’And some of them... didn’t leave alive.’

"Only one third-rank monster..." he whispered. "That’s manageable."

But.

"One hundred?" He shook his head. "That’s fucking insane."

He inhaled deeply, then let the air out slowly through his nose.

’Some people will blame the Academy for the deaths,’ he thought. ’Call them heartless. Sadistic. Say they could’ve used better testing methods safer ones. After all, they do have the means like just giving teleportation tokens.’

He let his gaze drift toward the tower beyond the gates, where spectators watched from their high stands with wine in hand and smirks on their lips.

’But they won’t change. They won’t. And they have no reason to.’

He understood why.

Because the cruelty of the test served a purpose.

A warning and ofcourse a filter.

’This trial doesn’t just measure talent,’ he realized. ’It sends a message. Only those willing to risk their lives belong inside Worth.’

He imagined what the test would look like if it were made "safe."

No death.

No fear.

No risk.

’If that were the case... the whole fucking world would swarm here. Every weakling with a dream. Every hopeful with nothing to lose. Worth would be flooded with mediocrity.’

But now?

Now people would think twice.

Thrice.

The blood on the floor ensured it.

This wasn’t a school. It was a proving ground. A forge. And if you couldn’t survive the flames, you were discarded like scrap metal.

Razeal’s lips curled slightly.

Cruel... but undeniably effective.

Because of this one ruthless rule, the quality of participants had skyrocketed. No more cannon fodder to flood the Academy halls. No more arrogant fools here to waste instructors’ time. Only those confident in their strength dared to step forward those who believed they could survive.

It made everything easier for the Academy. Less chaos. Manageable numbers. No sympathy, no mercy. Just cold, clinical selection.

Razeal shook his head faintly as his eyes swept across the coliseum, watching the scattered crowd of survivors.

They looked nothing like the eager hopefuls who had once stepped inside.

Some were limping, others had wrapped bloodied cloth around themselves in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. Faces were pale, eyes hollow. There were sobs in corners, people looking for lost companions some calling names that would never be answered again.

He turned away, his expression unreadable.

Slowly, he made his way toward one of the assessment stations small desks set at every corner of the massive coliseum. Perhaps forty or fifty of them, each manned by a solitary instructor. Simple, functional... fast. Designed to process and verify the results of the trial without wasting time.

Efficient, he thought.

The other candidates hadn’t noticed yet, still caught in their personal storms tending wounds, mourning companions, or basking in relief that they had made it through.

Reaching one of the desks, Razeal stopped in front of the seated instructor and placed his spatial bag on the table with his left hand. His right arm was still injured blood ran in slow, dark trails down his fingers, dripping silently onto the stone floor.

The instructor glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the sight of him. There was a flicker of surprise there perhaps he hadn’t expected Razeal to make it out alive. But he said nothing.

Silently, the man took the bag and placed it into a small, square, white container.

The pod lit up instantly, pulsing with a soft blue glow as arcane inscriptions shimmered across its surface. Razeal didn’t look away. His gaze remained fixed on the device.

Verification Pod... he mused inwardly.

It wasn’t just for show.

The pod not only confirmed the authenticity of the bag and tied it to the unique candidate number it also scanned and counted the monster cores within, automatically and precisely. No need for manual inspection. No risk of cheating. The instructors didn’t even get to see the results.

All the data was transmitted directly to the head assessment instructor, the vice headmistress, and even the headmaster himself. There would be no mismatches, bribery or manipulation.

Just numbers. Cold, clean truth.

It was transparency in its purest form. A brutal but fair system... just like the trial itself. Razeal chuckeled to himself afterall who knows if head instructor or principal wants to pass someone.

The instructor checked the reading, gave a brief nod, and returned the bag to him.

"You’ve passed," he said without emotion. "Wait for the Vice Headmistress to announce the end of the trial and the top three rankings."

That was all.

Razeal took the bag without a word, slinging it over his shoulder once more. His movements were slow measured. He turned and walked to a distant corner of the coliseum, choosing to remain apart from the others.

Silence wrapped around him again like an old friend.

His gaze dropped to his hand. Resting in his palm was the last monster core he had taken just moments before the teleportation had dragged him out.

Now, it had turned completely transparent. The once dark hue was gone, vanished perhaps because he had fully absorbed it.

Is a monster core supposed to look like this after being absorbed? Razeal wondered, frowning slightly. The smooth, round crystal glinted faintly in the light, like a glass bead. It looked... beautiful now. Pristine. Almost sacred.

[Host, you haven’t forgotten the danger, right?] Villey’s voice echoed in his mind, slightly hushed but laced with urgency. [I don’t want to disturb your moment of rest, but after the announcement, you’ll have to step out of this coliseum at the very least. And when you do there will be a direct attack. From the Church of Light. Not to mention that Warden you pissed off before the tria...]

A pause, then the warning darkened. [With your current strength you will totally die.]

Razeal’s lips curved into a faint smirk. He didn’t even blink.

"I know." He raised his eyes, watching the golden banners flutter high above the arena, the announcement yet to come.

"Don’t worry, Villey," he said calmly. "I’ve got it all planned. I’ll walk out of here... and no one will dare lay a hand on me."

[...]

Villey didn’t respond. At least, not with words.

If the system had a face, it would’ve been grim. Suspicious. Maybe even a little scared. Because from everything Villey knew every scrap of data, every calculation it simply couldn’t see a path forward.

There was no logic to Razeal’s claim. No route of escape. No possible scenario where a half-injured person outcast fresh from trial, soaked in blood and still weak from overexertion could survive a direct assault from the Church of Light.

Much less walk away untouched.

And yet...

He was confident

No... System wanted to say host is being very arrogant but then again he is supposed to be villain...

---

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