I Have 10,000 SSS Rank Villains In My System Space
Chapter 43: Challenge

Chapter 43: Challenge

"I challenge you," Razeal said, his voice carrying clear and unshaken in the heavy silence of the Colosseum, "to a duel of honor."

[System: "___"]

[Are you fucking crazy, host?! After everything you went through, after all the hell you survived just to throw it away like this?!] The system screamed inside his mind, panic lacing every word. But Razeal didn’t so much as flinch. He didn’t even bother listening. He knew exactly what he was doing. He understood better than anyone the dangerous edge he now stood upon and the best way to survive it was this.

And how would this save him?

A duel of honor. In this empire, that phrase was sacred, woven deep into the history, the culture, the very soul of the land. From the humblest commoner to the highest noble, all respected its ancient rite. A practice older than any empire, any bloodline. When men had conflict true conflict they settled it through the duel of honor, where strength and courage decided the victor, and the gods bore witness.

And in this empire, the strong held privilege. Always. No one could deny a challenge without admitting their own weakness. To refuse without reason was to forfeit face, to be shamed as a coward. The rules were clear each duel required terms. A price. Both sides must agree on what was at stake, and it could be anything gold, land, pride, life itself. A winner took all. And once agreed, the duel was sacred. To deny it, to attack outside its bounds, was to dishonor oneself before the empire and the gods.

In these modern times, few invoked it. Pride could be bruised in other ways. But now, here, Razeal had drawn that ancient line in the sand. And none could ignore it.

The Colosseum fell deathly silent. Every pair of eyes fixed on the two figures at its center. A breathless hush settled over thousands.

Areon, slapped moments before, cracked his neck, the sound sharp in the still air. His crimson hair fell around his shoulders as he ran his fingers through it, as if brushing aside the slap, the insult, as nothing. His gaze turned to Razeal, cold and measured.

A thousand thoughts warred within him. He didn’t fully understand it. Why had Razeal gifted him that chance? Why had he led him to the dragon heart? Opened the portal? Convinced the ancient dragon spirit itself?Even signed blood spirit Contract. But then again... what did it matter? In the end, Areon had faced the trial. He had proven worthy. He had claimed the dragon heart. It hadn’t been handed to him on a silver platter. Razeal’s role? Perhaps just for those thousand elemental cores the obvious price.

And the slap? Yes, it was disrespect. But to lose his composure before the entire empire would be a greater humiliation than the sting of a palm.

"What do you want, filthy pig?" Areon said at last, his voice low, cracking his neck again as he regarded Razeal with frost in his eyes. His pride burned, but his expression stayed calm, his body language noble, collected outwardly. Inside, his blood seethed, his heart thundering in his chest as the dragon heart’s power flared within him, demanding he return the insult.

Razeal’s smile widened, soft, almost innocent, as if he hadn’t just called down a storm. The curse on Areon’s lips? He let it slide, unbothered for now afterall this kid gonna pay farr high price.

"I’ll forgive the slap," Areon continued, lifting his chin slightly, "because of the indirect help you gave me the dragon heart. Whatever your motive behind it was. But for this duel of honor... you know the meaning. The price. The weight of what you ask." He tried to project the image of a noble heir, a calm and righteous man above pettiness, but inside, his pride clawed at him. The dragon’s blood, the dragon heart it all demanded satisfaction.

Razeal’s smile did not falter. He had expected this. He knew Areon too well. That pride fed by his dragon lineage, swollen now with the power of the dragon heart, and sharpened further by the sun god’s blood that ran in his veins would not allow him to step back. Areon might spare a life. But he would never surrender his pride. Not for anything. Not even if it cost him his life. That was the nature of the so-called "protagonist." Razeal had always known it and he gotta use that to his advantage.

The crowd held its collective breath. The heir of a Duke house had been slapped. Publicly challenged. A duel of honor invoked. And all knew none could refuse. None could raise a blade against Razeal outside the duel. That would be weakness, dishonor for Areon himself now indirectly. That was why he still stood there, alive.

And Areon? Now he had no choice. To reject the duel would be to shatter his dignity, to lose face before the empire, before the gods, before the very dragon spirit that now burned within him.

The moment hung heavy in the air, the silence of the Colosseum deafening as Razeal’s challenge echoed through it. And then, as the meaning of Areon’s words caught up with them the admission, the truth laid bare the crowd collectively reeled in shock.

A dragon heart?! The revelation hit them like a thunderclap. Areon had admitted it himself. He, the heir of the Duke’s house, carried within him the legendary dragon heart something that was the stuff of myth and dreams. And not only that, but Razeal... Razeal had played a part in him receiving it.

Eyes widened across the stands, mouths parted in stunned disbelief. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of that truth. The drama unfolding in front of them had taken a turn none could have imagined. What the fuck is happening? That was the thought written plain on every face. First the mad boy had appeared, reckless enough to walk into certain death just by setting foot in this place.

His chances of dying? A hundred percent, everyone had thought. No one survived such foolishness.

Then he challenged the Warden a figure stronger than even a grandmaster swordsman who literally stopped radiant knight easily. His chances leapt to a hundred and ten percent, if such a thing were possible.

Then, as if seeking his own destruction, he spoke rudely, even insultingly, to the Saintess. The woman of mercy, the one untouchable by even unspoken blasphemy. His odds of dying now? Five hundred percent, they joked in their heads.

And now? Now he had walked up to the heir of a Duke family and slapped him across the face. The chances of dying? Ten thousand percent. There could be no other outcome. No one could save him now. His death was inevitable, as certain as the sun’s rising.

And yet... how many times had they thought the same thing? Again and again, Razeal seemed to push the boundaries of certain doom. Again and again, he defied what should have been fatal. If nothing else, many silently agreed, the boy had a talent for dying with style. When death finally claimed him, it would do so in a way no one would forget.

On the sidelines, Riven let out a low whistle, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. "So this is what it’s like to have the ability to regress, huh?" he muttered, eyeing the number floating above Razeal’s head 9,314 deaths. The number, of course, was a complete misunderstanding in Riven’s mind. As far as he was concerned, Razeal was simply someone who had already died thousands of times, now throwing his life around recklessly for fun, venting frustrations, trying to die once more.

"Humans and their powers... they never know how to handle them," Riven added, shaking his head, entirely misreading the situation

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