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

Chapter 431: Gathering The Army Of Villains

“All the members…?” the assassin repeated slowly, the words leaving his lips with a faint shift in tone that hadn’t been there before, his eyes narrowing slightly as something changed within them, not visibly dramatic, not something an untrained person would notice, but to someone like Razeal it was clear interest, real interest, had finally taken root.

“You can do that?” he asked, this time more directly, his gaze fixed on Razeal with a level of attention that had not been present until now, as if this was the first moment he was truly listening not as a negotiator, but as someone standing at the edge of something he had wanted for far too long.

“I certainly can,” Razeal replied without hesitation, his voice steady and assured, as if the statement required no justification. “And if you give me their full names… As to identify them properly, I’ll bring all of you out together.” He leaned slightly back into his chair, his posture relaxed, but his eyes remained sharp, observing every micro-reaction. “They’re not here with you, but they’re trapped the same way. Different instances, same kind of prison. Same isolation and suffering.” He let that settle before continuing, his tone softening just enough to make the offer feel tangible. “So… what do you say? Will you work for me?”

The assassin did not answer immediately.

Instead, he leaned back slowly into his chair, the movement controlled, deliberate, as if buying himself time to think without showing that he needed it. His hand rose to his face, fingers brushing against the mask that had remained there throughout their entire exchange, and after a brief pause, he removed it.

The motion was unhurried, almost symbolic. The mask dropped from his hand and landed somewhere beside him without importance, as if it had already lost its purpose. His face was finally visible now.. sharp features, dark hair falling naturally around his forehead, his expression composed but carrying an underlying edge that made it clear this was not a man to be taken lightly. His eyes, now fully unobstructed, were exactly as they had seemed before dark, dangerous and extremely observant.

“What’s the job?” he asked, leaning slightly forward now, his elbows resting lightly on his knees as his fingers loosely interlocked as he looked directly at Razeal. His tone had changed. Still calm, still controlled, but now grounded in something more practical. He wasn’t rejecting anymore. He was evaluating.

Razeal noticed that shift immediately.

“Well,” Razeal began, his voice measured, almost reassuring without being overly soft, “Dont worry. I’m not going to ask you to do anything pointless or senseless for me.” He tilted his head slightly, maintaining eye contact. “As i am not a bad person.” The statement was simple, but he didn’t push it further than that.

“What I’m doing… is taking over a kingdom. And later… more than one and many..” His tone remained even, as if he were discussing something entirely natural. “And for that… I need people. Strong people. Capable people. People who can act when I’m not there.”

He gestured slightly with his hand, as if outlining the structure of what he meant.

“You would be one of them,” he continued. “Someone who handles problems before they grow. Someone who removes threats.. individuals who could destabilize what I’m building, or people who become… inconvenient.” There was no cruelty in his words, but there was no attempt to disguise the reality either. “While I focus on the larger picture, you take care of what needs to be handled behind the scenes.”

He paused briefly, then added with quiet honesty, “And yes… there may be moments where I ask things that are not strictly tied to the kingdom. Personal matters. Situations where I need someone reliable.” His gaze remained steady. “In simple terms… you will just help me.. Like serve under me.”

The assassin listened without interrupting, his expression unreadable, but his eyes remained locked onto Razeal, absorbing every detail.

Then he asked, “Can I refuse a command… if I don’t agree with it?”

It was a direct question. And it mattered.

Razeal just shook his head without any hesitation.

“No,” he said plainly. “You can’t. If you sign the contract… you’ll have to follow what I ask.” There was no attempt to soften that answer. No ambiguity. Just the truth.

The assassin went silent again.

This time longer.

The kind of silence that wasn’t empty, but filled with internal calculation. His gaze dropped slightly, not in submission, but in thought, as he weighed what was being offered against what it would cost him. His pride resisted. His instincts warned him. But something else.. something deeper pushed him to keep considering.

Then, after a few seconds, he spoke again.

“I won’t kill children,” he said, his voice lower now, firmer, carrying a quiet weight that made it clear this was not negotiable. His eyes lifted back to Razeal. “And I won’t take missions that put my people in unnecessary danger.”

There was no hesitation in that statement.

No compromise. It was a line he had drawn.

Even as an assassin. And even after everything.

Razeal blinked once, slightly surprised.. not by the condition itself, but by how clearly it was stated, how grounded it was in something that still remained within the man despite everything he had been and done.

Then

He just smiled.

“Oh no, no… I think you misunderstood me,” Razeal said, his tone shifting slightly, more open now, as if clarifying something important. “I’m not asking you to become some mindless executioner.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his arm casually against the table. “And I’m definitely not asking you to kill children.. Will never.. As i said i an not an evil person..” His expression hardened just a fraction at that, not in anger, but in certainty. “You know what? You can add that as a condition. Completely. You will not and never harm children under any circumstance.”

“In fact,” he added, his voice calm but edged with something firmer, “if you come across people who do… you’re free to deal with them however you see fit.”

“As for your people,” he continued, “I’m not interested in throwing them into pointless danger.” His tone remained composed. “You can add that too. No unnecessary risks. No reckless orders that would get them killed without reason.” He tilted his head slightly. “I’m building something. I don’t destroy my own assets.”

There was logic in that.

Clear and Practical

Then, with a faint, easy motion, he extended his hand slightly over the table again, as if offering the final piece.

“So yes,” he said, his voice steady, “Add your conditions. We refine the contract. Make it something that works for both of us.” His gaze held the assassin’s firmly. “It’s not a bad deal.”

The assassin watched him in silence.

He didn’t immediately agree. But he didn’t reject it either.

He didn’t believe Razeal not about justice, nor peace, nor righteousness. And honestly belief didn’t matter to him in first place. He was an assassin. Morality had never been his guide.

Still… Razeal had agreed to his conditions without resistance.

And that was enough.

“Alright… then we’ll do it,” The assassin finally said, the decision leaving his mouth without hesitation now, though it had clearly taken everything within him to arrive at it, his gaze steady and unwavering as he leaned slightly forward, no longer evaluating but committing.

“The deal is simple,” he continued, his tone calm but firm, as if laying down terms not just for himself but for everyone who would follow him. “You get all my people out of this place… every single one of them. And.. In return, we serve your orders for the next four years. We will not kill children… under any circumstance. And you will not send us on missions that are beyond our capabilities or unnecessarily dangerous.” Each condition was spoken clearly, counted one after the other with precision, not leaving space for misinterpretation, not allowing ambiguity to creep in.

Razeal watched him quietly, nodding his head once at each term, his expression composed, almost satisfied, because this was exactly how he preferred things clear, defined, structured.

At the same time, the contract parchment floating between them responded to their words, its surface faintly glowing as new lines began inscribing themselves automatically, each condition embedding into its very essence as if reality itself was acknowledging the agreement. The faint flicker of symbols, of language beyond ordinary comprehension, moved across the parchment, solidifying each clause into something that could not be undone or twisted later.

“Good,” Razeal said after a moment, his tone measured as he glanced over the contract, already seeing the terms settle into place. “So that’s everything?” he asked, lifting his gaze back to the assassin, expecting the matter to be concluded.

“No,” the assassin replied.

Razeal’s brows furrowed slightly, a faint crease forming as he looked at him. “What’s left?” he asked, a hint of curiosity now mixing with his otherwise calm demeanor.

The assassin held his gaze, completely serious.

“Will we get paid?”

For a brief moment..

Razeal blinked.

The question landed in a way he hadn’t expected, not because it was unreasonable, but because of who it was coming from. A peak Great Saint, someone who stood at a level where entire kingdoms would bend just to secure their favor, asking about payment like a random IT guy negotiating terms on interview. It was… oddly grounded.

“Obviously,” the assassin continued when Razeal didn’t respond immediately, his tone still calm, almost matter-of-fact, “we are not serving you for free. We will be paid for our work.” There was no arrogance in that statement, just logic. A simple, undeniable expectation.

And that

Actually made Razeal almost chuckle. Not out of mockery.

But because of the sheer absurdity of the situation when viewed from a broader perspective. Like what do one even pay a Great Saint in first place? What currency held value for someone at that level? Most rulers would struggle to even approach such a question. There were likely very few, if any, scenarios in existence where someone like this stood across from another and negotiated wages like this.

But Razeal didn’t dismiss it.

Because despite how unusual it was.. It was reasonable.

So instead of overthinking it, he simply asked, “Then tell me… how much do you want?”

The assassin didn’t hesitate.

“Sufficient,” he said, his tone steady, his gaze unwavering. “Enough that none of us face any shortages. Food, clothing, travel, operational expenses… mission requirements… weapons… As also everything needed for our work will be provided by you.” He spoke like someone accustomed to leading, someone who thought not only for himself but for an entire group that depended on him.

“And all of my squad,” he added, his eyes narrowing slightly with emphasis, “every single one of them who will be brought out of this space.. they will sign the same contract with same conditions.”

Razeal listened without interrupting.

And then

He just shrugged.

Because despite how it might sound to someone else, this wasn’t excessive. Not even close. Compared to what it would normally cost to employ even a single Saint-level operative, this was almost negligible. And for Razeal.. who already understood the scale of resources he had access to.. it was practically nothing.

In fact

This was efficient.

“Alright,” he said simply, nodding his head in agreement. “That’s reasonable.”

And as he spoke, the contract responded again, the new terms inscribing themselves seamlessly into the parchment, binding payment, logistics, and operational support into the agreement as firmly as everything else.

But then

Razeal’s expression shifted. The ease faded slightly, replaced by something firmer, more defined.

“But understand one thing,” he said, his tone lowering just a fraction, not aggressive, but undeniably serious now. “Don’t ever disappoint me.”

The assassin’s gaze sharpened slightly at that.

“Because trust me,” Razeal continued, his eyes locking onto his with a calm intensity that carried far more weight than raised voices ever could, “I can send you back here… whenever I want.” There was no threat in the tone.. just fact. “And know that you are replaceable.”

The words weren’t cruel.

But they were deliberate. A boundary or reminder maybe?

“This is part of the agreement as well,” he added, his voice steady.

Then, after a brief pause, he continued, introducing something even more critical.

“And there’s one more thing.”

The assassin didn’t speak as just silently listening.

“You will protect me,” Razeal said, his tone now completely clear, leaving no room for interpretation. “At all times.”

A subtle shift passed through the space as those words settled.

“Because if I die,” Razeal continued, his gaze unwavering, “This contract ends immediately. And every single one of you… will be sent back here.”

That

Changed the weight of everything.

The assassin’s eyes narrowed slightly, the implications forming instantly in his mind.

Razeal didn’t rush it.

“After the four years,” he added, his tone easing just slightly, “you’ll be free regardless. Whether I’m alive or not. That part doesn’t change.” His voice remained calm, controlled. “But until then… your survival… depends on mine.”

“Which means,” he finished, “No matter how dangerous the situation is… no matter what happens… you have to protect me.”

There was no arrogance in the way he said it. No demand for loyalty. Just a statement of how the system worked. As how the contract bound them.

“I understand… and fear not… disappointment will be the last thing you receive from us,” the assassin said, his voice steady, grounded not in empty assurance but in something far more concrete, a quiet conviction that carried weight.

“Your protection… will be under me directly from now on.” As he spoke, a sharp glint passed through his eyes, something focused and resolute, the kind of look only someone who had lived through countless battles, betrayals, and survival could carry. And beneath that seriousness, just barely visible, was something elsezz relief. Not loud, not overwhelming, but present.

A faint curve touched his lips, restrained, controlled, but undeniably real. He was happy. Not in a way that showed outwardly in exaggerated emotion, but in the kind of internal shift that only someone who had endured eight hundred years of isolation could understand. He had been prepared to lose this opportunity. Prepared to walk away if necessary. He had already lowered his conditions as much as his pride would allow, not because he was weak, but because he understood the truth of the situation this contract mattered far more to him than it did to the one offering it. This was his chance. Maybe his only one. And he knew it.

For centuries, he had wondered about his people whether they were trapped like him, whether they suffered the same endless solitude, whether they still held onto who they were or had already broken under the weight of time. And now, not only had that question been answered, but he had been given a way to reach them.

To free them. That alone was enough to outweigh everything else. Even the word “slave” on the contract. Even the binding nature of the agreement. Four years. Just four years. For someone who had already endured eight hundred, it was nothing. A fragment. A moment. And if that moment could give him back his people if it could give them all a way out then there was nothing left to hesitate over. He did not show any of this on his face. His composure remained intact. But the decision had already been made long before his hand moved.

Without another word, he raised his hand and bit into his middle finger, the motion precise, controlled, drawing just enough blood. Then, without hesitation, he pressed it against the floating parchment and signed.

The moment his name formed

The contract reacted.

A soft, radiant glow spread across its surface, not blinding, but intense enough to make the air itself feel different. The symbols inscribed upon it lit up, as if acknowledging the completion of the agreement, and in the very next instant, the parchment dissolved into countless particles of light. Those particles did not scatter aimlessly. Instead, they divided, half drifting toward Razeal, half toward the assassin, moving with purpose before embedding themselves directly into their chests.

Both of them felt it.

A connection.

Not physical, not visible, but undeniable.

A binding.

“Good,” Razeal said, a small, satisfied smile forming on his face as he felt the contract settle into place, confirming its success without the slightest flaw or instability.

The assassin now no longer just that nodded in response, acknowledging the same connection, the same binding, before both of them rose from their seats almost simultaneously. The shadow constructs beneath them dissolved quietly, returning to nothing as if they had never existed.

“Oh, right,” Razeal said suddenly, as if remembering something trivial amidst everything that had just happened. “We didn’t introduce ourselves.” He extended his hand forward, his expression casual but composed. “Names.. Razeal.”

The man in front of him looked at the offered hand for a brief moment before reaching out and taking it firmly.

“Viper,” he replied. “Head of the Black Mamba Assassination Squad.”

The handshake was brief but firm, not a gesture of equality, but not one of submission either. It was… acknowledgment.

“Interesting name,” Razeal commented lightly.

Viper didn’t respond beyond a small nod, his expression returning to its usual calm, controlled state.

“Alright,” Razeal continued, moving forward without wasting time, “I’ll need the names of all your members. And something… a sign, a token or anything they would recognize. As It’ll make things easier when I approach them.” He tilted his head slightly. “A letter might work?”

Viper understood immediately.

And without hesitation, he reached into his attire and pulled out a small object.. a tablet, deep black in color, its surface unlike anything ordinary. It wasn’t stone, nor metal. It had a texture that almost resembled snake scales, faintly organic, as if it carried something alive within it. Its shape resembled the head of a black mamba, intricately designed, its details sharp and precise, and engraved upon it was a single name.

Viper.

“Show them this,” he said, handing the tablet over. “They’ll recognize it.”

Razeal took it, his fingers brushing against its surface, immediately noticing the strange sensation it carried not entirely solid, not entirely lifeless. It was… unsettlingly weird.

“And say this,” Viper added, his tone unchanged. “’The night is warm.’ They’ll understand.”

Razeal nodded slowly. “Alright.”

Then came the names.

One by one, Viper listed them, each name spoken clearly, without hesitation, without pause. There were ten members in total.. himself included. Nine others. Each one a part of the squad he had led, each one someone he intended to bring back.

Razeal listened carefully, committing every detail to memory.

And then

Without delay

He called upon Villey.

The transition was immediate.

One after another, he entered their respective system spaces, guided by the information Viper had provided. And just as Viper had said, the process became… simple. Surprisingly so. Each time he appeared, each time he presented the tablet, each time he spoke the phrase..

“The night is warm.”

They recognised it Instantly.

No suspicion, no hesitation, no questioning.

Each of them, upon understanding who had sent him, signed the contract without resistance. Their trust in Viper was complete. Unquestionable. And more than that.. they looked relieved. Happy, even. The same quiet desperation that had existed in Viper was present in them too, buried beneath their control, but undeniable once seen.

By the time it was done

Razeal stood with ten Great Saint rank assassins bound to him.

Yeah all of these people had entered great saint rank..

So yeah.. Ten powerhouses in his hands.

Yeah each one capable of changing the fate of kingdoms.

Each one now under his command.

It was power.

Significant power.

And yet

Razeal did not stop there.

Because to him.. This was only the beginning.

As soon as the last contract settled, he didn’t return to the carriage. He didn’t pause. Instead, he immediately called upon Villey once more.

This time

Not for another SS-rank.

But higher.

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

[Villain Title: The Perfect Being.]

[Name of System Space: AI Dominion.]

——