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

Chapter 495: Godless

"Every child shall receive an education worthy of their potential," Razeal suddenly continued, his blood-covered face still turned toward the endless crowd below. "Freely given, and protected by the crown."

The words spread across the capital with the same strength as everything he had said before, yet this time, instead of fear alone, something completely different moved through the public. The crowd that had remained frozen in terror only moments earlier now looked confused. Many people blinked as though they had misheard him. Some turned their heads toward those standing beside them, silently asking whether they had understood the same thing. Even those who had been holding their breath because of the dead archbishop slowly lifted their faces again. Education? Freely given? To every child? It was not merely an unexpected promise. It was something so far beyond the common sense of this world that many people could not even understand what it would truly mean. No king had ever spoken about such a thing before. No ruler had ever stood before commoners and said that their children deserved to learn simply because they had potential.

Education had never been considered a right. It was a privilege. A treasure guarded by noble families, wealthy merchants, religious institutions, and powerful bloodlines. The ability to read, write, study history, understand numbers, learn magic, or receive proper training was something passed down through status and wealth. A farmer’s child was expected to become a farmer. A blacksmith’s child was expected to stand beside the same furnace. A servant’s child would likely serve another household. A poor child might be cleverer than a young lord, faster at learning than a noble heir, and more talented than ten rich students together, but none of that mattered if they could not afford books, teachers, fees, travel, clothing, or connections. Talent alone had never been enough.

There were academies in the kingdom, yes, but they were never truly meant for the masses. Most existed to train the gifted, the wealthy, or the well-connected. Even when a poor child somehow gained entry through rare talent, luck, or sponsorship, that did not mean their path became easy. They would enter halls filled with noble children who had received private teaching since childhood. They would wear cheaper clothes, carry fewer books, and speak with accents that immediately revealed their background. They would be laughed at, ignored, pushed aside, insulted, and sometimes openly attacked. Teachers might favor noble students to protect their own positions. Wealthy families could buy better materials, stronger potions, safer training grounds, and personal instructors.

A commoner who failed once might be expelled. A noble who failed ten times could simply try again. Many poor families did not even dream of education because the dream itself seemed foolish. Why waste time imagining a future the world would never allow? Children were needed in fields, workshops, kitchens, mines, stables, and markets. Even those who showed signs of intelligence were often told to lower their eyes and accept where they had been born. That was how the world worked. That was how it had always worked. Nobles ruled. Commoners served. Priests judged. Powerful families protected themselves. Laws existed, but they were not equal.

A noble could injure a commoner and pay a small fine, while a commoner speaking too harshly to a lord could lose a hand or life. Most people had grown up understanding that no law would truly protect them. If danger came, they had to depend on family, neighbors, coin, or luck. The idea that the crown itself would protect a child’s or even anyone right to learn, no matter their birth or name, was so strange that it almost felt unreal.

Razeal understood that clearly. To him, the promise was not impossible because he had come from a world where schools for ordinary people existed, where education was expected, where even poor children could at least hope to enter a classroom. It had not been perfect, and inequality still existed there too, but the idea itself was normal to him. Here, however, he could see the effect of his words immediately.

The same crowd that had looked at him as though he were a monster now stared in a completely different way. Confused actually.. Their expressions began changing one by one. Some frowned deeply, trying to understand how such a system could even work. Some opened their mouths in disbelief. A few elderly people looked toward their grandchildren with trembling eyes, as if they had just been shown a future they had never dared imagine. Mothers tightened their hold around small children. Fathers who had spent their lives carrying stone, ploughing fields, repairing roofs, or working in smoke-filled shops slowly lifted their heads. L

One poor woman near the front looked down at the young boy beside her, his thin clothes patched at the sleeves, and for the first time in years allowed herself to think that perhaps his life did not have to become the same as hers. A little girl standing beside a basket of vegetables looked up at Razeal with wide eyes, not fully understanding everything he said, but understanding enough to know he was speaking about children like her.

Razeal let the silence remain for several moments. He did not hurry. He wanted them to hear every word and feel what it meant. Then he continued, his voice becoming steadier.

"Those who work honestly shall not be left to starve." A different reaction moved through the crowd now. Workers, servants, laborers, and poor merchants all listened closely.

"They shall have food upon their tables, clothes upon their backs, and roofs above their heads." His crimson gaze passed over them. "They shall live in safety, dignity, and peace." The word dignity struck many harder than the promise of food itself. Most rulers spoke about taxes, duty, harvests, military service, loyalty, punishment, and obedience. Very few spoke about whether ordinary people lived with dignity. A stable hand was useful because he cared for horses. A farmer mattered because grain fed the cities. A miner mattered because iron supplied armies. A common soldier mattered because his body could stand in front of the enemy. But who had ever asked whether they lived with peace? Who had ever cared whether their children slept safely? Who had ever promised that honest work should be enough to prevent hunger?

"I will give every person in this kingdom access to the finest education I can build," Razeal declared.

"I will create a place where talent is not buried beneath poverty. I will give protection, peace, food, clothing, and a place to live to those who earn it through honest work." His words were not soft, and he did not speak like a kind ruler trying to gain love. There was still steel in his tone. He was not promising endless comfort to those who refused to contribute. He was promising that those who worked would not be abandoned.

"In my own name, I swear this," he continued. "I will protect this kingdom. I will protect the people who believe in me as their king and serve this land honestly." He raised one hand slightly, the blood upon his fingers already drying.

"Everything within this kingdom, I will turn toward prosperity. Every road. Every city. Every village. Every field. Every school I build. Every workshop. Every place that has been forgotten by those who ruled before me."

The crowd remained completely silent, but now that silence no longer felt empty. It was filled with thought. Razeal’s voice rose once more.

"I will make roads of gold if I have to." Some people blinked at the impossible image, but no one laughed. Not after what they had already seen him do. "I will make this land better than anything any of you have ever dreamed of." His gaze moved over the capital, fierce and unshaken.

"You will not need to leave your birthplace simply to survive. You will not need to sell your children’s futures for one winter of food. You will not need to kneel before some noble just because he owns the land beneath your feet. Those who deserve reward will receive it. Those who harm this kingdom will face judgment. Those who help build it will share in what it becomes."

The people below did not know how to react anymore. Only moments earlier, they had believed they were witnessing the beginning of a nightmare. They had seen an archbishop beheaded in front of them. They had watched Razeal place a blood-soaked crown upon his own head and reject the gods with open fury. Everything about him had seemed to confirm their darkest fears.

A mad king? A tyrant? A ruler who would drown the kingdom in blood and force everyone to kneel through terror? Yet now the same man stood before them speaking of education for children, equal law, food for workers, safety for families, dignity for commoners, and prosperity for the entire kingdom. The difference was so great that many simply could not understand it. How could the man who had killed the archbishop without hesitation also be the first ruler to promise a poor child a future? How could someone so cold speak about protecting the weak? How could a king covered in blood offer a dream kinder than anything spoken by those who had ruled in silk and gold?

Slowly, the way people looked at him began to change. Fear was still there. It would not disappear so easily. The dead body behind him made that impossible. But fear was no longer the only thing in their eyes. Curiosity appeared. Hope appeared. Suspicion appeared too. Some people began imagining what his promises might mean. A carpenter thought of his daughter, who learned numbers faster than his sons but had never been allowed near a proper teacher. A widow imagined her child entering a school instead of begging for work at the docks.

A wounded soldier wondered whether his family might receive protection if he could no longer fight. A group of young workers exchanged uncertain looks, their tired faces slowly brightening. Women who had spent their lives being told that learning was wasted on them listened with glowing eyes. Men who had worked from sunrise to night and still returned to empty homes felt something stir inside their chests. Even children old enough to understand looked toward Razeal with wonder, their imaginations already reaching toward classrooms, books, training halls, and futures they had never known existed.

The shine in many eyes grew stronger. For the first time during the ceremony, the crowd was not merely waiting to see what Razeal would do. They were beginning to dream. What if he truly meant it? What if a farmer’s son could become a scholar? What if a servant’s daughter could study magic? What if an orphan could be protected by the crown? What if a noble who harmed a commoner could actually be punished? What if honest work truly meant food, clothing, shelter, and peace? Those thoughts felt dangerous because hope itself could be dangerous. People who had accepted suffering for generations were suddenly being shown another possibility.

Still, not everyone allowed themselves to believe so quickly. The more intelligent, experienced, and cautious people in the crowd frowned. Their eyes remained narrow as they studied Razeal.

They understood politics as much as they can. They knew rulers made promises. Kings often spoke beautiful words during coronations and forgot them once the cheering ended. Nobles spoke of duty while raising taxes. Priests spoke of mercy while collecting offerings from the starving. No one gave this much without wanting something in return.

Education for every child, equal protection, food, shelter, peace, roads, prosperity it was too much. Far too much. Some wondered whether this was merely a clever way to make the public forget the archbishop’s death. Others suspected hidden taxes, military service, forced labor, or some terrible price still waiting to be spoken. No ruler was that generous. No king cared that deeply for ordinary people without reason.

And yes, that was when...

Razeal looked over the people once again, allowing his crimson gaze to move slowly across the countless faces gathered beneath the raised platform. He could see it clearly now. The fear was still there, deep and sharp, but it was no longer the only thing inside their eyes. Hope had appeared among them. Dangerous, uncertain, trembling hope. Mothers were imagining schools for their children. Poor fathers were thinking about full plates at the end of a hard day. Workers who had spent their whole lives being treated as tools were imagining what it might feel like to live with dignity.

Even those who distrusted him had begun to wonder whether this blood-covered king might truly change the kingdom into something better than anything they had ever known. Razeal let them imagine it. He let the dream grow inside them for several silent moments before speaking again.

"That," he said, his voice carrying across the entire capital, "I will make possible." A few people unconsciously leaned forward, listening more closely now. But then Razeal slowly raised one finger. The movement was simple, yet it immediately drew every eye toward him.

"But..." he continued, and the tone of his voice changed. The promise was still there, but the warmth hidden beneath it disappeared. His words became heavier, harder, and far more serious. The crowd noticed it at once. Their hopeful expressions slowly tightened.

"I have one, and only one, rule." The silence deepened again as people looked up at him, sensing that whatever came next would not be another gift. Razeal stood at the edge of the platform with the blood-stained crown resting upon his head, the dried red marks still covering his face and clothes, and when he spoke again, there was not even the smallest trace of hesitation in his voice.

"There will be no god in my land."

For one brief moment, the people did not react. It was as though the meaning of the words had not yet reached them. Then Razeal continued before anyone could speak.

"From this day onward, there shall be no temples in my kingdom. No churches. No shrines. No priests, preachers, or holy men claiming authority in the name of powers that abandoned you." His eyes remained fixed upon the crowd, watching as the first signs of horror began to spread. Faces that had only moments ago been brightening with hope slowly went pale. A woman near the front tightened her grip around the holy symbol hanging from her neck. An old man’s lips parted in disbelief. Several priests hidden among the public looked toward one another, their expressions filled with sudden fear. Razeal did not stop.

"Every temple, every church, and even every altar will be emptied and broken down. Every idol shall be brought down." His voice remained cold and certain, as though he were not speaking about a possibility but about a decision that had already been carried out inside his mind.

"And I promise you this," he continued, raising his voice slightly as confusion and panic began spreading through the crowd. "For every temple, church, shrine, or holy place that is broken, I will build something in its place for you. A place of free knowledge. A monastery that serves the people instead of a god. A hospital. A training ground. A school. A shelter. Something that improves your life. Something that protects your children. Something that gives you a future." He pointed toward the distant city beyond the crowd.

"I will replace empty prayers with knowledge. I will replace idols with healers. I will replace offerings with food. I will replace priests with teachers, doctors, trainers, and people who actually serve this kingdom. I will build whatever is needed for better living." His expression hardened further. "But there will be no place for any god in my land."

The moment those words fully reached the people, the silence became strange and violent. It was not the quiet of fear anymore. It was the silence that came before an explosion. Thousands of eyes widened.

Some people stared at him as though they had just realized they were standing before a madman. Others looked toward the fallen archbishop’s body behind him and finally understood that his death had not been a sudden act of anger. It had been the beginning of something far larger. Crazy. Mad king. Tyrant. Enemy of God. Blasphemer. Monster. Those thoughts appeared inside countless minds at once.

The promises of education, food, protection, and equal law were suddenly pushed aside by one unbearable truth: he was attacking their faith. It did not matter that he promised hospitals in place of temples. It did not matter that he offered schools where shrines once stood. To many of them, those buildings were not useless stone. They were where their children had been named, where their parents had been married, where their dead had been mourned, where they had prayed during famine, war, sickness, and grief. They had spent their entire lives believing those places connected them to something greater than themselves.

Now this new king was telling them he would destroy all of it and replace it with things he believed were better. The first angry voice rose from somewhere near the center of the crowd.

"That is not allowed!" Another followed almost instantly.

"Unacceptable!" Then another. "He cannot do this!" The voices spread rapidly. People began turning toward one another, yelling, arguing, and speaking over each other. Some cursed him openly. Some raised holy symbols in trembling hands. Others shouted that no king had the right to stand above the gods.

The fear that had silenced them after the archbishop’s death was slowly being overcome by religious outrage. Even those who had been moved by Razeal’s earlier promises found themselves shaking their heads. They might want schools. They might want equal law. They might want safety and food. But they did not want those things purchased with the destruction of their faith.

Razeal stood above them and watched the noise grow. His brows slowly pulled together, a clear frown forming upon his face. He heard people curse him. He heard them call him a demon, tyrant, and enemy. Some of the same people who had been looking at him with shining eyes only moments ago were now openly rejecting everything he had promised.

Behind him,Grace released a tired breath and slowly shook her head. She had already expected this. People did not simply give up one thing because they were offered something better in return. Faith was not a piece of land that could be traded. It was not a broken road that could be replaced with a better one. It lived inside memory, identity, fear, and hope.

Grace looked at Razeal’s back with a heavy expression. Had he truly believed that if he promised enough, the people would accept whatever else he demanded? Did he think schools, hospitals, food, and safety would make them forgive him for tearing down the places they worshipped?

To Grace, the answer was obvious. It would not. The public would not see his offer as kindness. They would see it as a bribe. A price placed upon their gods. And no matter how useful the things he built might be, many would still hate him for what had been destroyed to create them.

The shouting grew louder. More voices joined. Some people began pushing forward, while others tried to pull them back in fear. The raised platform was suddenly facing a sea of anger, confusion, and panic.

Razeal’s frown deepened. Then his voice erupted across the capital.

"SILENCE!"

The word struck the crowd like a physical force. The ground beneath their feet trembled. Windows in nearby buildings shook. Birds exploded from rooftops and towers in frightened flocks.

Every voice died at once.

Words that had already risen into people’s throats vanished before they could come out. Men froze with their mouths open. Women tightened their arms around their children. Even those who had been shouting the loudest lowered their heads in instinctive fear. The pressure inside Razeal’s voice was not merely sound. It carried enough power to remind every person there exactly what kind of being stood above them.

The same man who had returned the dead, killed the archbishop with a glance, and crowned himself with blood was now looking down at them with open coldness.

"This is not a request," Razeal said, his voice lower now, but somehow even more dangerous.

"I am not asking for your permission." He stepped closer to the edge of the platform, his crimson eyes cutting through the crowd.

"It is a law I have made, and you will follow it whether you like it or not." No one moved. No one dared answer.

"There is no other option." The words were blunt and merciless. They crushed the last hope that this might be a debate or something the people could reject through protest. Razeal was not offering them a choice between the old kingdom and the new one. He had already chosen the direction. The crowd could only follow or stand against him. His presence pressed down upon them until even the bravest felt their knees weaken.

Razeal looked over the terrified faces below and slowly shook his head in disappointment. People are idiots, he thought. He had offered them knowledge, health, safety, dignity, food, protection, and futures for their children, yet they were ready to throw all of it away for beings they had never seen and knew nothing about.

They would starve beneath a temple’s shadow and still defend the stone. They would watch their children remain ignorant and call it fate. They would suffer under corrupt priests and still fear the god those priests claimed to serve. His gaze sharpened.

"You do not know the god you worship," he said. His voice began to rise again.

"You do not know the beings you are ready to kneel for, suffer for, kill for, and die for." He pointed toward himself, fury appearing clearly in his eyes. "I know."

The last word shook the air.

"I KNOWWWWW!"

Several people flinched as Razeal’s voice tore through the silence once more, filled not with blind hatred but with the certainty of someone who had seen something they had not.

"And trust me when I tell you this..." He stared down at them, his crimson gaze burning with a truth none of them were ready to hear. "God is not the good one." His jaw tightened. "They do not care about you."