The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The arcane carriage shuddered, trembling violently under the invisible force that held it suspended. Runes etched along the wooden frame flickered erratically, their magic struggling to maintain the enchantments that kept the carriage afloat. Draven sat at the window, his eyes narrowed, his expression as cold and calculating as ever. The landscape beyond had transformed—the wide, open skies were gone, replaced by jagged cliffs and a rocky, mountainous terrain. Towering cliffs surrounded them, hemming the carriage in on all sides.

They were descending, pulled forcefully down toward the treacherous terrain below. The abrupt halt had been no accident. They had been lured into a trap. Draven's sharp gaze moved across the scene, taking in every detail, analyzing the situation with unnerving calmness. The movement was deliberate; whoever had brought them here knew exactly what they were doing. There was no room for error.

Staying in the carriage would soon prove fatal. The magic holding it aloft was already weakening, and they had no control over its descent. If they waited much longer, they'd be sitting ducks, vulnerable to whatever forces were waiting below. Draven's mind moved quickly, calculating possibilities, assessing risks, and finding none that offered a safe path forward if they remained in place. They had to move, and they had to move now.

With a sudden, almost impatient movement, Draven stood, the leather of his seat creaking as he rose. His abruptness caught Sharon's attention, her head snapping up, eyes wide with confusion. Her armor glinted in the dim light, the steel plates hugging her form, giving her the appearance of someone prepared for battle. But the truth was, Sharon had been unprepared for anything like this.

Draven moved toward her, his eyes focused, his expression unreadable. She flinched, unsure of his intentions. "What are you—?" she began, but he offered her no answer. Instead, he reached down and, with one arm, lifted her effortlessly, hauling her over his shoulder as if she weighed nothing.

"Hey!" Sharon gasped, her voice tinged with shock. Despite the weight of her armor, Draven carried her as though she were as light as a feather. Her eyes widened, her pulse racing. She wasn't used to being handled like this—like she had no say in the matter, no control. She struggled for a moment, but his grip was firm, and her struggles were futile.

Without a word, Draven flicked his psychokinesis pen. The door of the carriage blasted outward, the wooden panels splintering, the metal hinges shattering from the force. With Sharon still on his shoulder, Draven lunged through the open doorway, the cold wind whipping against their faces as they plummeted into open air.

The rocky slopes below seemed to rush up to meet them, the jagged rocks threatening to crush them on impact. But Draven was already ahead. His Water Elven Pen glowed a soft blue, and with a fluid movement of his hand, a pathway of ice formed beneath them. It shimmered in the moonlight, creating an elegant but rapid descent down the side of the mountain.

The ice shifted, molded by his will, creating a slide that allowed them to descend swiftly but safely. Sharon's heart pounded in her chest, her eyes wide as she watched the rocks speed past, the wind biting at her skin. "Is this guy truly a mage?" she muttered under her breath, her disbelief evident.

Draven's balance was unnaturally perfect. His feet skimmed the surface of the ice with an ease that defied logic, his movements graceful, almost predatory. The strength in his arm held her steady, preventing her from slipping, even as they careened down the slope. It was almost as if he had done this a thousand times before—as if the laws of physics were mere suggestions, rather than binding rules.

The ground rushed up to meet them as the icy path reached the base of the mountain. Draven's feet hit solid earth, his knees bending slightly to absorb the impact, and he set Sharon down with surprising care. Sharon's legs wobbled as she tried to steady herself, her breath coming in rapid, shallow bursts.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide with disbelief, but Draven had already turned away, his gaze sweeping across the area. They were surrounded. Armed figures emerged from the rocky terrain, their forms shifting in the dim light. Cloaks obscured their faces, but the gleam of weapons and the aura of magic were unmistakable.

"We're boxed in," Draven said, his voice as cold and detached as ever. He turned to Sharon, his gaze assessing her. "Are you ready to fight yet?"

Sharon took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. She couldn't afford to let fear take hold—not now, not when they were surrounded. She squared her shoulders, her eyes narrowing as she drew her sword. "Always ready. Don't underestimate a Royal Knight," she shot back, her voice filled with determination.

Draven studied her for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knew her capabilities. When she was calm, Sharon was formidable—not at Sophie's level, but still a competent combatant. He nodded, then held out his hand. "Your sword," he said.

Sharon blinked, momentarily taken aback, but handed it over. Draven took the blade, his eyes examining it before he muttered, "[Chyrisus' Touch]." Runes glowed along the length of the blade, bright and powerful, as they transformed it. The steel grew sharper, the edge more defined, an ethereal aura surrounding it as the runes embedded themselves into the metal.

Sharon watched, her mouth slightly open in awe. Draven wasn't done yet. He placed his hand on her armor, the runes spreading, glowing softly as they molded into the metal. The armor shifted, its weight decreasing, the plating becoming more refined, designed for both protection and mobility. Sharon felt the difference immediately—it was lighter, more flexible, and yet she could tell it was far stronger than before.

"I've traded my mana to unlock the true potential of your weapon and armor," Draven said, his voice still calm, as if he hadn't just transformed her gear with a few words. "Use them wisely."

Sharon stared at him, her eyes wide. "How could you... How could you do that?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief.

Draven didn't answer her question. Instead, his gaze shifted to the figures surrounding them. They were closing in, moving with purpose. Draven noted the magic-resistant cloaks, the enchanted weapons, the deliberate movements. These were not amateurs; they were elite combatants, well-prepared for a fight.

Despite the overwhelming odds, Sharon found herself feeling surprisingly confident. With Draven beside her, she felt that they might actually stand a chance. His presence was commanding, his calmness infectious, as if he had already calculated every possible outcome and knew exactly what to do.

"Fight as you see fit," Draven said, his gaze still on the advancing enemies. "I'll adjust."

Sharon smirked, her grip tightening on her enhanced sword. "Just make sure you keep up," she replied.

Draven didn't respond. Instead, he extended his hand, and the rocky ground beneath them began to shift. Stones rose into the air, molded by his psychokinesis, forming a makeshift sword—crude but effective. His magic pens hovered around him, each one glowing with latent energy, ready for use.

The enemies launched their attack, their movements swift and coordinated. Several figures advanced simultaneously, their weapons raised, their cloaks shifting as they moved. Sharon lunged forward, her newly enhanced sword leaving a trail of cold mist in its wake as she met the first enemy head-on.

Her blade sliced through a magic-resistant cloak, the runes glowing brightly as the steel met flesh. The enemy crumpled, falling to the ground. Sharon barely had time to catch her breath before another opponent was upon her. She moved quickly, her blade striking with precision, her enhanced armor allowing her to move fluidly, dodging attacks with ease.

Draven moved alongside her, his rocky sword clashing against enemy weapons, his pens casting protective shields and offensive spells. The Fire Pen released a burst of flame, creating an inferno that forced their enemies to pull back. The Psychokinesis Pen deflected incoming arrows, redirecting them back at their attackers, taking down enemies from a distance.

Sharon's heart pounded, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she fought. The enemies were relentless, their attacks well-coordinated, their movements precise. But Draven was there, his presence a constant, his abilities overwhelming. He moved like a force of nature—unrelenting, unstoppable. His magic pens moved with him, each one casting spells that protected, attacked, or healed as needed.

"Who is this guy? How is he casting so many spells at once?"
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The voice of one of the enemies reached Sharon's ears, filled with disbelief and fear. She could see it in their eyes—they hadn't expected this. They had come prepared to face a powerful mage, but Draven was beyond anything they had anticipated.

"He's not supposed to be this powerful!"

Amidst the chaos, Sharon felt a strange sense of clarity. She had always thought of Draven as a manipulator, a schemer who used deceit and cunning to achieve his goals. But what she was seeing now was something entirely different. He was powerful—truly powerful. His strength was not something that could be faked. It was real, undeniable.

She had been wrong about him. He wasn't just a mage—he was a force of nature, his abilities far beyond anything she had imagined. She fought alongside him, her blade cutting through their enemies, her movements fluid and precise. She could feel the power of her enhanced armor, the strength of her transformed sword. And she knew that with Draven beside her, they stood a chance.

Draven's focus was unwavering, his eyes cold, his expression unreadable. He moved with precision, his rocky sword striking down enemies with brutal efficiency. His pens hovered around him, casting spells that seemed almost effortless. Fire roared across the battlefield, ice spears shot through the air, lightning crackled and struck with pinpoint accuracy.

The enemies faltered, their numbers dwindling, their confidence shaken. They had come expecting an easy victory, but they were being cut down, their attacks rendered useless against Draven's overwhelming power. Sharon could see the fear in their eyes, the disbelief as they realized they were outmatched.

As the last of the enemies fell, Sharon stood there, her chest heaving, her sword dripping with blood. She looked at Draven, her eyes wide, her mind reeling with everything she had seen. He was calm, his expression as cold and detached as ever, his pens slowly lowering, their glow fading as the battle came to an end.

Sharon swallowed, her voice barely a whisper as she spoke. "He's... Just who the hell is he actually...?" The question hung in the air, her disbelief palpable. She had thought she knew who Draven was, but now, she wasn't so sure. The man before her was a mystery—one that she was only just beginning to understand.