The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The carriage trembled under the external bombardment, its ethereal defenses groaning under the strain. Sharon's gaze shifted to Draven, her suspicions sharpening like the edge of a blade. Despite everything—the chaos outside, the carriage shaking, the palpable danger—he looked utterly indifferent. His demeanor was calm, his cold eyes focused on the book in his hands. The chill in the air seemed to emanate from his very presence. It made her skin crawl.

She couldn't hold her frustration back any longer. Raising her voice, she demanded, "What are you trying to do?" Her tone was laced with suspicion, every word like a challenge.

Draven didn't bother to turn to her. He continued to scan the pages of his book, his expression almost bored. "Are you so foolish that even in this situation, you think I am the one scheming?" His voice cut through the noise, cold and devoid of emotion, like ice cracking in a still winter night.

Before Sharon could retort, he lifted his right hand, and suddenly, a shield of fire materialized before them. It roared to life, glowing fiercely just in time to intercept an explosion from outside. The carriage rocked violently, and Sharon barely managed to grab the edge of her seat to keep herself from being thrown to the floor.

Draven, however, remained as composed as ever. His gaze was sharp as he scanned the area beyond the carriage, his focus unflinching. "I don't know whose faction this is," he murmured, almost to himself. His eyes shifted to Sharon, cold and calculating, and his voice took on a dangerous edge. "Is it from a neighboring country? The Blackthorns?"

Sharon's breath caught in her throat as his piercing gaze bore into her. The mention of her family's name sent a shiver down her spine, but before she could react, Draven continued, his voice dripping with suspicion. "Or is this the doing of the council? Or perhaps…" He paused, his eyes narrowing as if considering a thought that had just crossed his mind. "…of Sophie?"

Sharon felt her blood run cold at the mention of Lady Sophie's name. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry. She watched, stunned, as Draven turned his attention back to the window. Outside, a mage was conjuring an ice magic circle in mid-air, his hands moving with a practiced precision.

Draven let out a scoff, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. Without moving, his water-elemental pen floated into the air, shimmering as it did. With a flick of his wrist, another shield formed—this one composed of glistening ice. Behind it, a frozen spear materialized, hovering for a split second before launching forward with deadly precision. The shield successfully absorbed the incoming attack, and the spear shot out, impaling the mage on his mount, a creature resembling a massive falcon made entirely of ice—a Cryovex Falcon.

As the mage fell, his spell dissipating, Draven watched with a curious glint in his eye. "Interesting," he muttered, more to himself than to Sharon. "I never considered the use of aerial forces before… perhaps I will need to prepare some for myself."

Sharon's eyes never left him as he mused aloud. She watched the way his mind seemed to calculate even in the midst of battle—cold, detached, always thinking a step ahead. This was the true Draven, she realized. Not the professor who lectured on arcane theory at the academy, but the Earl of Drakhan, a noble whose ambition and power knew no bounds. The mask of the aloof academic had fallen away, revealing the dangerous, calculating man beneath.

Sharon's heart pounded, her mind spinning. Here they were, alone in the carriage, with Draven entirely focused on the enemies attacking from outside. He was distracted, his attention elsewhere. If there was ever a chance to complete her mission—to fulfill the order from the Blackthorn main family—it was now.

The image of Lady Sophie filled her mind—her gentle smile, her unwavering kindness, her strength even in the face of adversity. The Lady she admired and loved, who had been shunned and ridiculed ever since her engagement with Draven had ended. This man was the source of her Lady's agony, the cause of her suffering.

Sharon's grip tightened around the handle of her dagger. She hadn't yet used the magic ice sword that had been given to her—a weapon specifically crafted for this moment. The element of surprise was on her side.

"For Lady Sophie," she whispered to herself, her determination solidifying. She pulled out a small crystal from her cloak—a magical item designed to work like a flashbang, to blind everyone around her for a precious few seconds. She had to act now, before she lost her nerve.

With a swift movement, Sharon activated the crystal, throwing it to the floor of the carriage. A blinding light exploded from the crystal, filling the entire space. Sharon closed her eyes, shielding herself as best as she could, and when she opened them, she saw her chance. Draven was momentarily blinded, his hand lifting to shield his eyes.

Sharon unsheathed her magic ice sword, the blade shimmering with a cold, ethereal light. She moved quickly, her heart pounding in her ears as she lunged at Draven. She aimed for his exposed left side, her movements swift and precise. The blade sliced through the air, connecting with his shoulder, the impact sending a shock through her arm. Ice bloomed from the point of contact, spreading across his shoulder and down his arm, freezing his foot to the floor of the carriage.

Sharon felt the sword plunge deep, her breath caught in her throat. She had done it—she had struck him. She felt her heart race with adrenaline, her vision narrowing as she focused on the blade embedded in Draven's shoulder. Did she succeed? Was it enough?

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the carriage, throwing Sharon off balance. The force of it sent her sprawling backward, her vision blurring as her head struck the side of the carriage. Her ears rang, her body aching from the impact. She blinked, struggling to regain her bearings, her vision slowly clearing.

When her sight returned, she found herself looking at Draven. He was still standing, impossibly close to her. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she realized what she was seeing. Her sword was still lodged in his shoulder, the ice magic still clinging to him, but he was standing. Not just standing—he had allowed her to strike him.

"W-What are you doing...?" Sharon's voice was barely a whisper, her throat tight with confusion. Her eyes traveled to his left shoulder, where her blade remained embedded, deep enough to have seriously injured him. She couldn't understand—why wasn't he retaliating?

Draven's gaze, though filled with pain, was steady, his eyes focused on something behind her. And then Sharon saw it—two cloaked magic swordsmen, their blades piercing into Draven's right arm. But their swords had been aimed at her head.

It is as if.
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As if.

Draven had stepped between them and her, taking the blows meant for her.

Her mind reeled, her thoughts a mess of confusion and disbelief. "Why...?" she managed, her voice cracking as she looked up at him. His eyes met hers, the pain in them evident, but also something else—something she couldn't quite understand.

Draven didn't answer her question. Instead, he muttered a single word: "Fulminis."

Electricity crackled to life around him, not from the front but from the point where his arm was pierced. The energy arced and twisted, curving unnaturally as it found its targets. The two swordsmen didn't even have time to react. Lightning struck them from the side, their bodies convulsing before they fell to the floor, lifeless.

Sharon watched, her heart pounding, her breath caught in her throat. She had seen magic before—had fought against mages, had fought beside them. But this—this was something else. Draven moved with an unshakable purpose, his focus sharp, his psychokinetic abilities amplifying his magic to terrifying levels.

With a flick of his wrist, the swords embedded in his right arm were pulled free, the force sending them clattering to the floor. Blood oozed from the wounds, but Draven showed no sign of pain—only a slight narrowing of his eyes. His gaze moved to Sharon, cold and calculating.

He reached for the sword lodged in his shoulder—the magic ice sword that she had used against him. Sharon felt a surge of panic, her heart racing. "Wait!" she shouted, her voice filled with fear.

But Draven ignored her. His right hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword, and immediately, the magic of the blade rejected him. Ice spread across his hand, the cold biting into his flesh. Sharon watched, her eyes wide, as the ice climbed up his arm. But Draven didn't stop. With a show of immense strength, he pulled the sword free, the ice cracking, shards falling to the floor.

Blood poured from the wound, staining his robes, but Draven remained unfazed. He held the sword out, his gaze steady as he returned it to Sharon. She took it, her hands trembling, her mind reeling with questions she couldn't voice.

With a soft sigh, Draven called his water-elemental pen, which had hovered in the air throughout the battle. It floated to his hand, and as he held it, a magic circle formed beneath his feet, glowing softly. The air around them shimmered, healing magic enveloping him, the wounds on his shoulder and arm beginning to close. The bleeding ceased, and the tension in his muscles relaxed as the magic worked its way through his body.

Once his wounds had closed, Draven's eyes sharpened, his gaze moving to the state of the carriage. He raised his hand, and with psychokinesis, the shattered parts of the carriage began to move. The wood reformed, the metal creaked as it shifted back into place, the structure slowly mending itself.

Sharon remained on her knees, her eyes wide, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. She looked up at Draven, her voice trembling as she asked, "Why...? Why did you... save me...?"

Draven paused, his expression inscrutable, his eyes locking onto hers. There was a long silence, and for a moment, Sharon thought he wouldn't answer. But then he spoke, his voice soft, almost distant. "Because someone would be sad."

Sharon's breath caught in her throat. His words were simple, but they struck something deep within her. She couldn't comprehend what had just happened, couldn't understand why this cold, calculating man had chosen to protect her. She stared at him, her heart pounding, the image of Lady Sophie flashing in her mind once more.

Draven turned away, his gaze shifting back to the world beyond the carriage, his focus returning to the battle at hand. Sharon could only watch, her mind a tangle of confusion and emotions she couldn't name.

"For now. You should survive,"