The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Sharon could feel the intensity in the carriage; the weight of the other passengers' eyes fell on her, and it felt like she was caught in a web of mistrust and hidden intentions. She tried her best to keep a composed face, her hand hovering near her dagger beneath her cloak. Her instincts screamed that something was amiss—something was about to happen, and she was in the center of it. Draven sat across from her, his presence both commanding and distant. He had warned her, "Stop whatever you are doing," and she'd questioned him. She couldn't understand, couldn't see why he was suddenly so concerned.

"Why?" she had asked, her voice laced with suspicion and confusion.

Draven didn't even look up from his book, his cold eyes still scanning the lines of ancient text as he responded, "Because you won't stand a chance against them."

With that simple response, Sharon felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine. It wasn't the words that frightened her; it was the certainty behind them. He wasn't merely cautioning her—he was stating a fact, an outcome he had already calculated.

And then, as if his statement marked the end of any further conversation, Draven closed his book with a snap. It wasn't an aggressive movement, but the sound seemed to ripple through the carriage, shifting something in the air. The tension that had been mounting now felt palpable—almost like the carriage itself was holding its breath, waiting for whatever might come next.

Draven placed his book into a luxurious leather bag, his every action deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world. Sharon watched, her eyes narrowing, her suspicion only deepening. He withdrew another book, this one bound in black leather, worn around the edges but completely unmarked. No title, no sigil—just a simple black cover that offered no clue as to its contents.

He opened it to a page somewhere in the middle and began flipping through it, his gaze focused, every ounce of his concentration on the text. Sharon could feel her patience fraying, her nerves raw with the uncertainty of the situation. She wanted to demand answers—to ask what he thought he was doing. But something about his stillness, his unwavering calm, held her back. Instead, she cursed silently under her breath, her thoughts a jumbled mess of irritation and wariness.
Your journey continues at My Virtual Library Empire

"What the hell is he planning?" she thought, her fingers flexing around the hilt of her dagger. Every subtle movement of his hands, every page turn, made her bristle with unease. It was as though he were deliberately trying to provoke a reaction from her, and she hated it. Sharon hated feeling like a piece on his chessboard, a pawn he could move or sacrifice at will.

Draven's focus remained on his book, his demeanor unfazed by the unease that seemed to swell around him. Sharon couldn't shake the feeling that there was something beneath the surface—that the calm was only an illusion, hiding the turmoil just waiting to erupt. She observed him with unwavering vigilance, taking note of every gesture, every twitch of his fingers. It was infuriatingly subtle, but she was certain he was making small motions with his hands, the kind one would use to channel magic discreetly.

"If he's trying to cast something dark," Sharon thought, her eyes narrowing, "I'll put an end to it." She clenched her jaw, her eyes locked on Draven's face, waiting for any sign—any hint—that he was about to make a move. Her heart pounded in her chest, the anticipation thick in her veins.

But then, just as suddenly, the atmosphere in the carriage shifted. There was no sound, no visible trigger—only an invisible signal that seemed to ripple through the passengers like a shockwave. Sharon felt her instincts flare, her entire body tensing as the strange calm evaporated. She looked up, and her eyes caught movement—small but unmistakable. The suspicious figures she'd noticed earlier were making their move.

Before she could even process what was happening, Draven's head snapped up. His eyes were sharp, like blades as they cut across the carriage, taking in everything in an instant. He moved with lightning speed, and before Sharon could react, she felt herself being shoved sideways. Her body collided with the side of the carriage, pain lancing through her arm where she'd hit the wall.

Her mind went blank for a second, her body struggling to keep up with what had just happened. Draven—he had pushed her? She growled, her hand flying to her sword, her first instinct to defend herself. "Bastard!" she hissed, her rage boiling over. But the scene that unfolded next made her freeze.

Draven was on his feet, his book forgotten as he lunged toward the other side of the carriage. Three mages, their faces twisted in concentration, were aiming their hands at him, runes glowing as they began casting spells. Sharon's eyes widened, and the realization hit her like a blow. They weren't here for her. They were here for Draven.

The mages released their spells, bursts of energy crackling through the air, but Draven was already moving. His hands flicked out, and the air seemed to shimmer around him as his psychokinetic power came into play. He twisted his body, dodging the magical blasts with a fluidity that seemed almost inhuman. Sharon watched, her eyes wide as he closed the distance between himself and the mages, his movements so swift and precise that it left her stunned.

Two knights from the back of the carriage rose to their feet, their hands on their weapons as they moved towards Draven. For a moment, Sharon assumed they were his allies—reinforcements, perhaps. But then she saw the cold glint in their eyes, the way their blades were drawn and aimed at Draven. No, they weren't here to help him. They were here to eliminate him.

Sharon pushed herself up, her eyes darting around the carriage as chaos erupted. The young knight who had spoken to her earlier—Marcus—drew his sword and charged forward, his eyes set on helping her. He moved with determination, his blade raised, ready to defend.

"Marcus!" Sharon shouted, her heart leaping to her throat. But before he could reach her, one of the enemy mages turned, a cruel smile curling his lips as he released a burst of magic. The energy struck Marcus in the chest, his body convulsing before he fell, collapsing to the floor of the carriage, his eyes wide with shock.

"No!" Sharon screamed, her voice filled with both fury and disbelief. She had barely known Marcus, but he hadn't deserved this—he hadn't deserved to die in such a brutal, senseless way.

One of the mages, seeing Sharon unguarded, approached her, his steps slow, deliberate. His face was partially hidden beneath a hood, but his intent was clear in the dark gleam of his eyes. Sharon forced herself to stand, her hand wrapping around her dagger as she readied herself. She could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, her heart racing as the mage drew closer, his lips parting in a cruel smile.

"You should have stayed out of this," he said, his voice low, dripping with malice.

Sharon raised her dagger, her eyes darting to Draven. She didn't want to rely on him—didn't want to need his help—but she was cornered, and the mage was getting closer. Her mind raced, trying to figure out her next move.

And then, without warning, the mage staggered. His eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening as if to speak—but no words came. Instead, he crumpled, collapsing to the floor at Sharon's feet. Sharon blinked, her gaze shifting, and she saw it—a pen, hovering in mid-air above Draven's hand, its surface shimmering with energy.

Draven's eyes were calm, his face expressionless as he moved the pen with a flick of his fingers, the psychokinetic force amplifying its power. Sharon watched, stunned, as he turned his gaze to the other enemies, his movements calculated, precise. The pen shot through the air, striking another mage in the throat, ending the threat with cold efficiency.

Sharon's breath caught in her chest as she watched Draven. He was surrounded by a shimmering aura—an ethereal shield of water that moved with him, rippling like the surface of a pond. It shielded him from the attacks of the remaining enemies, their magic dissipating as it hit the barrier. Draven's expression was one of complete focus, his eyes cold and detached as he moved through the carriage, eliminating his opponents one by one.

He moved like a force of nature—unrelenting, unstoppable. Sharon felt a chill run down her spine as she watched him, her heart pounding in her chest. There was no hesitation in his movements, no mercy in his strikes. He fought with a precision that spoke of experience, of countless battles fought and won. He made it look effortless, his psychokinetic abilities turning mundane objects into lethal weapons.

Within moments, the immediate threat had passed. The mages and knights lay on the floor, lifeless, their bodies scattered across the carriage. The air was thick with the scent of burned fabric and the metallic tang of blood. Sharon stood, her breathing heavy, her dagger still clenched in her hand, her eyes locked on Draven.

"What is happening here?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly despite her attempt to sound strong. She needed answers—needed to understand what had just happened, what she had been dragged into.

Draven turned to face her, his gaze sharp, his eyes calculating. He seemed to assess her for a moment, his expression giving nothing away. "There's no time for explanations," he said, his voice cold, detached. "We need to secure the carriage. There's more to this than you realize."

Sharon wanted to argue, wanted to demand more, but there was something in his tone—something that told her he wasn't lying. She watched as Draven closed his eyes for a brief moment, his breathing steady. He reached into his bag and released a blue pen that floated gently to the floor, its surface covered in intricate runes that seemed to pulse with a soft, ethereal glow.

Sharon watched, her eyes widening as the runes began to move, shifting across the pen's surface as if alive. The air around them seemed to hum with energy, the magic flowing through the carriage, filling the space with a tangible force. The pen pulsed, and the runes carved into its surface glowed with a bright blue light, their luminescence growing until it filled the entire carriage.

Intricate magic circles began to form around the interior of the carriage, the runes spreading out like ripples in water, their glow brightening until they formed a complex web of protective spells. Sharon could feel the power of the magic, the energy wrapping around the carriage, enveloping it like a cocoon. The turbulence that had shaken the carriage ceased abruptly, the entire structure stabilizing as the magic took hold.

A huge barrier of energy enveloped the outside of the carriage, shimmering with defensive enchantments, its glow visible through the carriage windows. Sharon stared, her breath catching in her throat as she watched the magic unfold. She had seen magic before—had fought beside mages in battle—but this was different. This was something beyond anything she had ever witnessed.

Draven looked at her, his expression serious, his voice calm but urgent. "We are getting attacked from outside as well," he said, his words carrying a weight that sent a chill through Sharon. She swallowed, her gaze moving to the window, her heart pounding in her chest.

Outside, the night sky was filled with shadowy figures, their forms barely visible against the darkness. Whatever was happening, whatever they had just faced, it wasn't over. And Sharon knew, with a sinking feeling in her chest, that she was far from ready for what lay ahead.