[Welco, Host, to the B Rank Valley of Villey.]
[Villain Title: Failed Painter.]
A B-rank villain hah?
Razeal frowned slightly. This was the first ti the system had dropped him this low in rank. Usually itll be SS .. Even the lowest he had gone is GreatSaint Rank. B-rank... felt different.
But then his eyes caught the title again.
Failed Painter??
His gaze stilled.
"...No way," he muttered under his breath.
An image surfaced in his mind almost instantly sharp, familiar in a distant, uncomfortable way. A man. A face from history. A na that carried weight even in a world without magic. For a mont, Razeal just stood there, staring at nothing, his thoughts refusing to settle.
Then he shook his head once.
Nah.. That’s not possible.
It had to be coincidence. Just a similarity in title. The man he was thinking of belonged to his previous world a place without mana, without cultivation, without any system of power like this. Just ordinary humans.
And this system?
It ranked beings across realms. Across existence.
Even if that man sohow appeared here, how could he reach B-rank? At best... F, maybe E. Soone with influence, yes but not power in the way this system usually defined it.
Razeal exhaled quietly.
It’s not him.
He had just settled on that conclusion
But just then he looked up.
And everything paused.
In front of him stood a fighter jet.
Old.
Sharp-edged.
Recognizable.
Its body was painted in deep red, the surface worn but intact, and on its side clear, unmistakable was the cross insignia that history had burned into mory.
World War II fighter jet?? And its.. if That Technology
Razeal’s mouth parted slightly.
Not wide.
Just enough.
Recognition hit imdiately.
He didn’t move.
His thoughts didn’t even finish forming before suddenly a voice interrupted.
Close and old.
"Was ist das...? Who are you?"
The accent was heavy. Austrian-German. Each English word cut short, clipped, almost forceful, like it had to pass through resistance before being spoken. The tone wasn’t loud, but it carried weight rough, hoarse, as if shaped by years of speaking to crowds, commanding attention, forcing belief.
Razeal turned his head.
Slowly.
And then he saw him.
Five feet nine inches of rigid posture, dressed in the plain brown uniform of the early 1930s, iron cross at his throat, hair slicked back, eyes burning with that strange intensity Razeal had only seen in old newsreels. Adolf Hitler. Alive. Real. Breathing. Staring straight into his soul.
Razeal’s small "o" of surprise stretched wider until his mouth hung open far enough to swallow sothing much larger than he intended. Shock pinned him in place. He was never the most expressive person, yet right now every coherent thought scattered like startled birds, leaving his mind empty and his body frozen.
Fuck.. he swore inwardly, the word sharp and helpless in the sudden silence.
Hitler narrowed his eyes slightly, then tilted his head the way a predator studies new prey that might actually prove worthy.
Trying to understand what who and how stood in front of him.
"You know , young man? Don’t you? Haha..." he said, a dry, controlled laugh slipping out as he began walking toward Razeal with slow, deliberate steps, each one asured, his gaze fixed and probing, as if trying to peel through layers rather than simply look at a face.
Razeal didn’t move.
"Yes... yes, I know you... s..ssss.. sir," he answered, the words coming out tighter than he expected, almost forced, his usual composure slipping in a way that annoyed him the mont he noticed it. It wasn’t fear in the usual sense he had stood before beings far more dangerous, Zara, Tongue, entities that could erase him without effort yet this felt... different.
Uncomfortable in a way he couldn’t dismiss. Maybe because this wasn’t just a figure of power, but a na that had existed in his mind long before he ever gained strength. A story repeated, studied, warned about. A man who had shaped an entire world without magic.
The distance closed.
"Are you from Germany, young man?" the man asked, now standing just a step away, his eyes scanning Razeal’s features carefully, almost analytically, trying to place him within a frawork he understood.
"No... sir," Razeal replied, straight-backed without realizing it, like a student answering a question out of instinct. The reaction irritated him further.
"Could have been..." the man murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, eyes narrowing slightly as he continued examining him.
"Maybe you don’t know... but I can tell things. Silver hair... tall... pale skin... strong presence... handso face..." he paused, then tilted his head. "Norway?"
Razeal blinked once. "Umm..."
"Not that?" the man continued without pause. "France, perhaps? Not France?"
Razeal shook his head again, slower this ti.
"Greece, then?"
The hesitation lingered.
"...No."
"Poland?" he tried again, almost insistently.
Razeal nearly coughed this ti, the repetition catching him off guard.
The man exhaled and shook his head lightly, as if genuinely disappointed. "Ah... we could have been old friends," he said, letting out another short laugh, amused by his own conclusion. "But alas..."
Razeal didn’t respond.
He genuinely didn’t know what to say.
For a mont, he just stood there, watching him, adjusting to the reality of the situation rather than reacting to it.
Villey... is this really him? Razeal asked internally, his thoughts finally regaining structure. And how does he rank B? He’s just a mortal... from my old world.
The system responded without delay.
[It is him, Host. And as stated before, rankings are not determined by strength alone. Influence, impact, scale of change... all are considered. This individual qualifies for his rank.]
Razeal went quiet.
Then nodded slightly to himself.
That answer... made sense.
He exhaled once, steady this ti, and let the initial reaction settle completely. Whatever this man was or had been he wasn’t here by mistake.
And more importantly..
Right now he had co here with one clear purpose: to get advice and teaching from the man who had once tried to conquer the world. He was concerned about where and how to learn what he needed for what ca next, because surely in that world no one else could guide him on it.
Razeal stood still for a mont.. This man wasn’t the worst choice anyways, even if he hadn’t won in the end. Experience still counted for sothing, and Razeal needed to learn about the hard parts, the complications that ca with trying to conquer the world.
That alone said enough. This man hadn’t needed power in the conventional sense no mana, no cultivation, no divine blessing yet he had still moved nations, reshaped history, and dragged millions into war by will alone. That kind of influence wasn’t sothing Razeal could ignore.
In fact, it was exactly the kind of thing he lacked. He didn’t like admitting it, but Sofia had been right earlier. Power alone wasn’t enough. If he moved forward with what he was planning conquest, control, reshaping the world then people would suffer because of him. Innocents would die. Cities would burn. And when that happened... would he hesitate? Would he regret it? Would it slow him down? He didn’t know. And that uncertainty was dangerous. He needed to understand what it ant to carry that weight before he reached that point.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. If there was anyone who had lived through that kind of burden whether he admitted it or not it was the man standing in front of him. Loved by his people, hated by the world, rembered as a monster after death... yet powerful enough in presence and conviction that even his enemies had acknowledged his charisma. That wasn’t sothing you learned from books. That had to be understood directly.
Razeal’s eyes sharpened slightly as he decided how to approach this. For a brief second, the thought crossed his mind.. Heil but he dismissed it imdiately. It felt unnecessary, even cheap. If he wanted sothing from this man, it wouldn’t co from imitation.
He stepped forward half a pace, eting his gaze properly this ti.
"Well... sir," he began, his tone controlled and direct, "where I’m from shouldn’t concern you. What matters is... I co from a ti after your demise." He paused just long enough to let that settle, then continued without breaking eye contact. "I was able to co here because of a... gift. Well.. i can share it with it.. its Sothing which I’ve had since birth. I can communicate with the dead anyone I choose."
There was no hesitation in his voice, no shift in expression. The lie ca out clean, structured, believable. Not exaggerated, not defensive. Just stated.
"And since I had sothing important to understand... sothing only you have experience in... I ca to you."
Silence followed for a second.
Hitler raised an eyebrow slightly, studying him again, this ti not just physically but more carefully, as if weighing the consistency of what he had just heard rather than reacting to the words themselves. There was skepticism there but not outright rejection.
Razeal didn’t interrupt.
He let him think.
"...Hmm," the man finally exhaled, his tone quieter now. "Under normal circumstances, I would call that absurd." His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile. "But since this hell exists.. where I am probably punished for eternity. I have started to believe in magic and all. Hell and heaven can exist. This blessing you got might be creative, but I have to believe you." He nodded with a lancholic expression.
"But I wonder... what kind of thing you want to converse with that you didn’t hesitate to co step in hell?" Hitler asked, his face now fully convinced as he took Razeal’s words at face value. "What is it that you seek to learn from ?"
Razeal at his words turned slightly, taking in the space around him instead of answering imdiately. It wasn’t empty. It wasn’t abstract. It was a battlefield dense, loud even in its silence. Bomb craters tore through the ground in uneven patterns, artillery pieces sat abandoned at angles that suggested they had been left mid-fire, and broken tanks lay scattered like discarded shells. The air felt heavy, carrying the faint impression of smoke and iron. Bodies in uniform were everywhere, so half-buried under debris, others sprawled in positions that made it clear how suddenly everything had ended. Fighter jets twisted, burned, grounded rested like fallen birds across the field.
Razeal’s eyes moved across it without flinching, but his mind didn’t stay idle. Is he thinking that this is hell? he wondered. It would make sense.
A battlefield without end, frozen in ti, surrounded by the consequences of decisions that could no longer be changed.
But Didn’t Villey say this space reflects the villain’s own perception and desire?
His gaze lingered on the scale of destruction the bombs, the machines, the bodies and for a brief second he could help but wonder?
Is this what he desires? Ahhem
The thought was crude, instinctive. He didn’t dwell on it.
Razeal shook his head lightly, cutting the line of thinking before it went anywhere unnecessary, then turned his attention back to the man in front of him.
"Well... nothing complicated," he said, starting more carefully this ti, though the structure didn’t hold for long. "I just wanted to... discuss sothing. My plans. I an.."
He stopped.
There wasn’t a better way to fra it.
So he didn’t try.
"I just want to learn how to conquer the world.. Well..."
The words ca out clean.
No hesitation.
No attempt to soften them.
Hitler didn’t respond imdiately.
He just looked at him.
A full second passed. Then another. The silence stretched—not awkward, but deliberate, as if the statent had shifted the conversation into sothing more precise.
"Well," he said at last, a faint trace of amusent touching his tone, "You are an interesting one, aren’t you..." His lips curved slightly, not mocking, not dismissive.. curious.
"I believe you have the ans to do it. An ability like yours... to speak with the dead... that alone is already a strategic advantage most would never even imagine.. I cant."
His gaze sharpened, more focused now.
"But what interests more," he continued, taking a slow step to the side, arms folding behind his back as his posture straightened, "is not your ambition and resolve."
He studied Razeal like a commander assessing a recruit not for strength, but for intent.
"Such plans, at your age..." he added quietly, almost to himself, "that is rare."
A pause.
Then a short, low chuckle.
"...Impressive."
Another mont passed before he spoke again, this ti more directly.
"Though.. I can see," he said. "You dont seem concerned about whether you can do it or not." His eyes narrowed slightly, not in suspicion but in clarity. "That part, you’ve already decided."
He tilted his head just a fraction.
"You are concerned about sothing else."
The tone shifted not heavier, but more exact.
"About what it ans to do it."
A small pause.
"Let guess"
"Worried about the deaths? The suffering?" he asked, the faintest edge of a scoff in his voice. "Hah."
"Umm" Razeal suddenly paused.
——
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