I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space
Chapter 41: Sainteess

Chapter 41: Sainteess

"Fuck off."

The words left Razeal’s lips like a curse spat at the heavens. His voice, low but cutting, echoed across the Colosseum, slicing through the tense air like a blade. And then silence. A deafening, oppressive silence fell over the massive arena.

Every spectator, from the lowliest commoner packed into the upper tiers to the nobles seated in their gilded balconies, froze as if time itself had stopped. Faces turned pale, mouths hung open in stunned disbelief. The entire Colosseum seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

Did... did he just say that? Did he truly just use that kind of language? And to her of all people the Saintess?

Jaws seemed to crash into the floor from the sheer audacity of it. Wide eyes and trembling hands were everywhere. Even the wind dared not stir, as if the world held its breath, terrified of what might come next.

How could someone be this reckless, this... mad? Was he simply resigned to death? Had he decided that, since his doom was inevitable, he would unleash every last shred of rage bottled inside him? That thought ran wild through every mind, like a wave of horror spreading through the crowd. They had already declared him dead in their hearts; now, his words had sealed it.

They said even thinking unkindly of the Saintess was a sin severe enough to warrant death. And yet here was Razeal, glaring at her with defiance in his eyes, his voice dripping with venom. Not just thinking but speaking, shouting his blasphemy aloud for all to hear. And not in the shadows where cowardice might shelter a man, but here, under the open sky, before thousands.

And still, the question gnawed at them why? Why did the Saintess even try to help a man like him? A man who once... who once tried to force himself upon her? If there were anyone in this world she should hate, it should be Razeal. She of all people should have turned her face away in disgust, let him bleed out on the sands without a second thought.

But no. That was what set her apart. That was why she was the Saintess, chosen by the divine. When others would turn away in revulsion, she stepped forward with open hands. When all others refused, she alone dared to step forward , offering her healing light to even the most vile. Her mercy was boundless. Her forgiveness, limitless. Her nobility shone like the sun at its zenith warm, blinding, pure.

And so she had stepped forward, past the hateful glares of the crowd, past the whispered protests of those who could not comprehend such kindness. She had reached out to him this man who had once sought to ruin her and she had offered to save him.

It only made Razeal’s defiance more monstrous in the eyes of the onlookers. Their anger boiled over. How dare he? A woman who had every right to hate him, who had descended from her pedestal of purity to heal him even after all that and he repaid her with such foul disrespect? Rather than fall to his knees, grovel for forgiveness, and thank her for her divine mercy, he spat in her face with his words.

The crowd could hardly contain themselves. Fists clenched. Teeth ground together. If the Saintess gave the word, there was not a man or woman there who would not leap forward to end Razeal where he stood, to rip him apart for this final, unforgivable insult.

All held their breath, waiting, watching. What would she do now? What would the Saintess’ reaction be to this betrayal of her grace? Their eyes flicked from Razeal to the Saintess, expecting fury, or at least sorrow.

The very air grew cold, heavy with tension so thick it could choke.

Areon, standing apart from the seething masses, felt his gaze sharpen. His heart raced not from outrage like the others, but because he noticed something no one else had. His keen eyes caught the moment. His breath hitched.

She had taken Razeal’s hand.

His mind reeled, remembering. How had she reacted when he had dared to touch her hand no tried to? The disgusted look on her face, the way she had immediately cleansed herself, as if his touch had stained her. His heart had burned with shame, his pride shredded. And now? Now she held Razeal’s bloodied arm, his gore stained hand, as if it meant nothing. As if his filth was beneath her notice. The blood smeared her own pale skin, but she didn’t even flinch, didn’t try to purify it away.

A hot flush of embarrassment prickled at Areon’s neck. It wasn’t as though he cared why should he? She was nothing to him. And yet, watching this, seeing how she had recoiled from him and now stood calm and unbothered at Razeal’s side, it stung. It made his skin crawl with awkwardness, made him want to look away from the scene unfolding before him.

Still, he said nothing. What good would it do? This wasn’t his battle. This wasn’t his place. Better to stay silent. Better not to be drawn into this storm.

For a fleeting moment, sorrow glimmered in the Saintess’ eyes a soft, almost imperceptible sadness that those around her, blinded by their fury, utterly missed. But in that heartbeat, Razeal’s coldness, the raw loathing in his gaze, cut deeper than any blade. His words had been brutal, but it was his eyes those eyes once filled with light that pierced her gentle heart.

"Sorry," she said at last, her voice quiet, heavy with a thousand tangled emotions. Her gaze met his, and in those luminous eyes danced a storm of confusion, regret, and aching memories of what once was.

But Razeal said nothing. His silence was louder than any insult. His eyes, hard as frozen steel, bore into hers without warmth, without mercy, without a flicker of the boy she might have once known. The chill of his hatred reached her to the bone.

Quietly, with grace that did not falter, she stepped back as if the warmth she had tried to offer him was suddenly drained away, vanishing like the sun swallowed by storm clouds. The radiance that made her the Saintess seemed to dim, even if just for a breath, as she retreated. Without another word, she returned to Areon’s side. The weight of her grief followed her like a silent shadow, unseen but heavy upon her shoulders.

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