The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The arcane carriage trembled violently as they were besieged by the enemy's relentless pursuit, its ethereal defenses struggling to hold under the barrage of powerful spells. Draven remained still, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping across the scene unfolding around them. His sharp eyes took in every detail, processing everything with a speed and precision that few could comprehend.

"Zephyrion, giant monster birds of the Northern mountains," he muttered, his tone measured, almost indifferent. His gaze moved again, picking out details in the chaos outside. "Air resistance cloaks, manufactured magic-firing staffs. Elite forces, no doubt."

His eyes narrowed, noting the multiple flying carriages keeping pace with them, shadowing their movements like predators circling prey. Draven spoke aloud, his voice carrying a quiet intensity. "This isn't a random attack," he said. "This is a coordinated strike, executed by a faction with considerable resources." His words were delivered with such calm certainty that they almost sounded like a dispassionate observation rather than a dire realization.

He leaned back slightly, the tension in his shoulders barely visible, as if the relentless pursuit and impending danger were little more than a challenge to his intellect. "The strength of a great faction indeed," he said, almost as if he were appraising them, calculating their worth. "They have us surrounded—in mid-air, no less. High above the ground, circled on all sides, and heavily pursued." His lips quirked in a hint of what might have been amusement. "An extreme disadvantage."

Draven's cold, observant gaze shifted, settling on Sharon. She was slumped in her seat, her face pale, eyes wide with confusion and fear. Her body trembled slightly, her hands gripping her cloak as if it could somehow shield her from the danger. Her gaze was unfocused, darting between the window and Draven as if searching for answers.

He took her in, his sharp eyes analyzing her condition. She was shaken, no doubt overwhelmed by the sudden attack. Her confusion was evident, her inability to fully grasp the situation making her look lost, like a leaf caught in a storm. It was painfully clear to Draven that she wasn't prepared for this level of conflict.

"This girl," he thought, watching her with detached interest. He knew Sharon had been sent by the Blackthorn family, given the orders to either watch over or, if necessary, eliminate him. But those orders were mere formalities. He knew the true nature of the Blackthorn family's intent—particularly the games played by Duchess Malesya Nortuis von Blackthorn. The duchess was cunning, always pulling strings from the shadows. And this was no different.

"They're using her," Draven mused, his eyes narrowing as he studied Sharon. "Using her loyalty to Sophie—using her naivety and her devotion to her Lady." He could see it clearly now. Sharon was caught in the middle of a dangerous game, a pawn being used by forces beyond her comprehension. She had been thrust into this situation because of her loyalty to Sophie, because of the enmity between Sophie and Draven after the broken engagement.

Draven could almost scoff at the absurdity of it all. He had never wanted the engagement in the first place, yet here he was, paying for it in the form of half-baked assassination attempts by a devoted adjutant who hardly knew what she was doing. Sharon was an anomaly—a piece on the board that didn't quite fit, and yet here she was, thrown into the midst of a deadly pursuit with no idea what she was truly facing.

His gaze moved away from her, shifting to the window, where he could see their pursuers closing in. The entire situation was something Draven had anticipated—something that was meant to happen in the "game" he remembered. This world, with its people and conflicts, was all too familiar to him. He had lived it before, in a different form, through a different lens.

He recalled the scenario. This was the part of the game where the player character would escort the foreign princess of the Magical Republic of Andria—an important, politically charged mission that was rife with danger. The pursuers, the attack, the chaos—it was all part of the storyline. And now, here he was, playing the role of that player character, except he wasn't escorting a princess, and the stakes were far higher.

Draven allowed himself a small, humorless smile. "Everything is going according to plan," he murmured to himself, his eyes narrowing. He knew this was also the moment where the player could choose to eliminate Draven. He wouldn't let that happen. Not here. Not ever.

"Not when I am Draven."

He raised his hand, his eyes growing sharper, his focus shifting as he summoned his magic pens. They appeared before him, hovering in the air: the Fire Pen, glowing a fierce crimson; the Water Elven Pen, shimmering with an ethereal blue light; the Psychokinesis Pen, radiating a subtle, violet energy; and finally, the Devil Pen, dark and foreboding.
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Draven's eyes were cold, his expression one of detached confidence as he looked at Sharon, who seemed to barely register what was happening. He spoke, his voice calm and measured. "Let me show you the strength of the Head Professor of the Magic Tower University of Regaria."

As he spoke, magic circles began to appear outside the carriage, forming intricate patterns that expanded across the sky, their luminescent glow piercing the darkness. These were not hastily drawn spells; they were complex, calculated—magic circles he had prepared in advance, knowing what was to come. He had taken the opportunity to draw them as they traveled, waiting for the right moment to unleash them.

The air crackled with energy as Draven began to pour his magic into the circles, amplifying them by drawing on the residual magic in the atmosphere. The circles glowed brighter, their power building until they pulsed with energy, a visible testament to the strength behind them.

With a flick of his hand, Draven activated the magic. A powerful barrier enveloped the entire arcane carriage, shimmering like a translucent dome, the runes etched into it glowing brightly. The first wave of attacks from their pursuers struck the barrier, the impact reverberating through the air, but the shield held strong, deflecting the spells with ease.

Then, in a split second, the magic circles unleashed a barrage of attacks—fire erupted from one circle, roaring across the sky; ice spears shot from another, glinting like deadly shards of glass; lightning crackled, arcing from one circle to another, creating a web of destruction. The sky lit up with a brilliant display of magic, the sheer force of it shaking the air around them.

Sharon watched, her eyes wide, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the scene outside, her breath catching in her throat as she witnessed the power Draven wielded. She could barely comprehend what she was seeing—the precision, the control, the sheer magnitude of the magic he commanded.

"This is... Draven's strength?" she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. She remembered the rumors, the whispers that had followed him. He was supposed to be a false prodigy, someone who had used underhanded methods to achieve his position. She had believed those rumors, had believed that he was nothing more than a manipulator, a man who had climbed the ranks through deceit and cunning.

But as she watched him now, she began to question everything she had thought about him. The power he displayed was not something that could be faked. It was real, undeniable. Had he always been this powerful? Had he hidden his true strength all this time, pretending to be something less than what he was?

The questions swirled in her mind, her confusion growing as she watched Draven in action. He moved with an effortless grace, his hands directing the magic as if it were an extension of his own body. He was in complete control, his focus unbroken as he targeted their pursuers, eliminating them one by one.

The Zephyrion monster birds fell first, their massive forms plummeting from the sky as Draven's magic struck them down. The mages and knights followed, their spells deflected by the barrier, their attacks rendered useless against the sheer power of Draven's magic. The flying carriages that had pursued them were caught in the barrage, their occupants thrown into disarray as the magic tore through their defenses.

Draven's gaze was cold, his expression unreadable as he continued to eliminate their enemies. His movements were precise, calculated, each spell cast with the intention of maximizing its effectiveness. He was like a conductor, directing an orchestra of destruction, his magic pens hovering around him, their runes glowing as they channeled his power.

The Water Elven Pen moved, casting a healing rune over the Spectral Drakes pulling the carriage. The ethereal creatures shivered as the magic enveloped them, their wounds closing, their strength returning. Draven didn't even glance at them, his focus entirely on the battle, his eyes sharp as he surveyed the scene.

One by one, the pursuers fell, their attacks faltering as Draven's magic overwhelmed them. The sky was filled with the remnants of their spells, the air thick with the scent of ozone and smoke. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The last of their enemies fell, the sky clear once more.

Draven lowered his hand, the magic circles fading, the glow of the runes dimming until they disappeared entirely. He took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the Spectral Drakes, ensuring they were fully healed before he allowed himself a moment to relax.

But just as he began to let his guard down, the carriage shuddered, coming to an abrupt halt. The sudden stop threw Sharon forward, her body slamming against the side of the carriage. She winced, her hand flying to her shoulder as she pushed herself upright, her eyes wide with alarm.

"What's happening now?" she asked, her voice shaky, her gaze moving to Draven.

Draven's eyes narrowed, his expression hardening as he looked out into the dark sky. There was something there—something unseen, something powerful. An invisible force had locked onto the carriage, holding it in place, preventing them from moving.

He didn't answer her question immediately, his gaze scanning the darkness, searching for the source of this new threat. His eyes were sharp, his mind working quickly, analyzing the situation, calculating their next move.

Whatever it was, Draven knew one thing for certain—this fight was far from over.