The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The Continental Magic Council's headquarters, known as Aetherion, was an underwater fortress of unparalleled grandeur. Deep beneath the surface of the ocean, it stood, a place both ancient and magical, where the sheer strength of the enchantments holding it together seemed to resonate with the very breath of the sea. The fortress glimmered under the diffused light filtering through the ocean, its walls covered with runes that pulsated in sync with the ebb and flow of the tides. Aetherion, despite its age, looked as if it could stand against anything—a fitting home for the most powerful council on the continent. Discover hidden tales at My Virtual Library Empire

The grand chamber within Aetherion was immense, with high vaulted ceilings supported by ancient columns inscribed with spells from a forgotten era. Rows of seats formed a semi-circle, all facing the central council table that commanded the attention of everyone present. The room seemed alive with power—the air itself was thick with the magic of those gathered there. Enchantments covered every corner, resonating with an underlying hum that one could feel more than hear.

Duchess Blackthorn sat with an air of authority, her posture rigid, her dark eyes sharp as they swept across the room. Her demeanor was as cold as the family she represented, her presence intimidating to most. Next to her sat Duke Icevern, his silver hair neatly tied, and his icy blue eyes held the calm but ruthless gaze of someone with immense power. His physique spoke of years of training, a testament to the raw physical power and frost magic that defined the Icevern lineage.

Earl Falken was on the other side, his robust figure practically radiating confidence. His imposing demeanor and assertive posture were well-known across the continent. Falken was a man of both magic and military might, and there was no mistaking his prowess in both fields. His eyes, hardened by countless battles, took in the chamber with a calculating gaze, as if assessing the best strategic moves for the discussion to come.

Count Valen, striking with his golden hair and an expression of perpetual disinterest, leaned back slightly, his fingers lightly tapping against the surface of the council table. The Valen family was known for their golden mana attribute, a rare and highly revered power. He was father to Elara Valen, famously dubbed the "Genius Child Mage." His aura carried the prestige and entitlement that came from such a lineage, yet his gaze shifted now and then, betraying a certain restlessness.

These four individuals represented the Five Great Families of Regaria, the powerhouse behind much of the kingdom's influence. The absence of the fifth family—Drakhan—was conspicuous, and that absence drew murmurs from those gathered.

Further along the table, the Four Chancellors of the Magic Council sat, each distinct in their presence. Kyrion, the master necromancer from the ice-locked northern regions, was cloaked in deep black robes adorned with chilling blue ornaments. His eyes, dark as the abyss, seemed to peer into the souls of those he looked at. Beside him sat Lisanor, the fiery pyromancer from Aradia, dressed in robes of crimson, her attire appearing as though the fabric itself flickered with flames. Her eyes burned with an intensity that matched her powers, and her gaze was as fierce as her reputation.

Elysior, the chronomancer from the hidden elven realm of Vaylen, exuded an aura of mystery. His garments were embroidered with glowing runes that seemed to shift, representing the enigmatic nature of time itself. His ageless face gave nothing away, his expression unreadable, as though he could see beyond the present and into countless futures. And lastly, there was Balthus, the respected scholar of arcane history from the magical republic of Andria. His calm demeanor and gentle eyes made him seem almost out of place among the formidable magi present, yet the depth of his knowledge commanded respect.

Representatives from neighboring kingdoms filled the remaining seats, their robes and attires as varied as their origins. The international dimension of the meeting added an additional layer of weight to the proceedings, each delegate bringing their own concerns and agendas. Despite their different allegiances, there was an undeniable sense of shared purpose—a recognition that the threats they faced required unity, however reluctant that unity might be.

There was an undercurrent of tension, though, an unspoken question hanging over the chamber: where was Earl Draven Arcanum von Drakhan?

As the minutes ticked by, whispers grew louder, hushed conversations shared between those less inclined to show him any loyalty. The ornate clock in the corner of the chamber ticked with a steady rhythm, its sound amplified by the silence that filled the vast room.

Count Valen leaned towards Earl Falken, a smirk playing at his lips. "Seems the good Earl Draven has finally overestimated his ability to make an appearance on time," he whispered, just loud enough for those nearby to hear.

Earl Falken gave a noncommittal grunt, his eyes narrowing slightly. While he wasn't an ally of Draven's by any stretch, Falken was not one to underestimate any of the Five Great Families, especially not Drakhan. Duke Icevern remained silent, his eyes fixed on the grand doors, his expression giving nothing away. Duchess Blackthorn's gaze remained impassive, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. Draven was not one to arrive late without reason.

The seconds continued to tick away, the smug anticipation among Draven's detractors growing as the time to begin approached. The grand chamber seemed to hold its breath, the silence pregnant with expectation and unspoken judgments. There was something almost palpable about the way those who opposed Draven leaned back, their eyes fixed on the doors, ready to seize the moment.

Count Valen leaned back, the smirk widening into a smile. "A shame, really," he muttered, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "It seems the esteemed Earl is not as dependable as his reputation suggests."

The final minute began to tick down, each second echoing through the chamber, the anticipation almost electric. The council was about to begin without Draven. Valen's fingers tapped rhythmically on the table, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. The countdown reached the final five seconds, and just as the room seemed to accept Draven's absence as fact, a sudden shift in the atmosphere occurred.

CREAK!

The grand doors of the council chamber swung open, their ornate frames moving with a dramatic flourish that seemed almost deliberate. The room fell silent, every head turning toward the entrance as a chill swept through the air, the temperature dropping noticeably. A messenger stepped into the room, his voice ringing clearly, cutting through the silence.

"Earl Draven Arcanum von Drakhan has arrived!"

Draven stepped into the chamber, his presence instantly commanding attention. His robe was tattered and visibly worn, the once immaculate fabric stained with dirt and hints of dried blood. Yet his posture was as straight as ever, his demeanor calm, his eyes sharp as they scanned the room. Despite the state of his attire, there was nothing about his presence that suggested weakness. If anything, the contrast between his disheveled appearance and the sheer authority he exuded made him all the more striking.

Whispers spread through the chamber, some filled with surprise, others with curiosity, and a few with evident dismay. The silence was broken only by the soft hum of magic in the air, as everyone watched the disheveled Earl stride confidently toward his seat. His robes bore the evidence of the battles he had just faced, but his expression remained composed, his steps measured.

Count Valen's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he watched Draven approach. Duchess Blackthorn's gaze met Draven's briefly, her expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of acknowledgment—perhaps even a hint of respect. Duke Icevern's gaze followed Draven's every move, his icy blue eyes betraying no emotion.

Draven paused for a moment before the council table, bowing slightly, his voice calm as he spoke. "My apologies for the delay," he said, his tone carrying across the room with an authority that brooked no challenge.

Raising his hand, Draven allowed his Psychokinesis Pen to float into the air, glowing softly as it moved. The room watched, captivated, as the tattered robe he wore seemed to ripple, the fabric shifting, the tears and stains disappearing as if the events that had marred it were being undone. It wasn't time magic—it was precision, meticulous control of every fiber through psychokinesis. Within seconds, the robe was restored to its pristine state, the transformation seamless and almost mesmerizing.

A few members of the council exchanged glances, some with surprise, others with grudging admiration. Even those who had seemed most eager to see Draven fail found themselves momentarily speechless in the face of his casual display of power and control. There was no grandiose flourish, no need to assert his strength verbally. Draven simply acted, and the results spoke for themselves.

Draven moved to his seat, settling into the chair as if nothing was out of the ordinary. His eyes met Duchess Blackthorn's again, her expression still as cold as ever, but she gave a slight nod, acknowledging his presence. He returned the nod, his face betraying nothing. Count Valen shifted uncomfortably, his smirk now completely gone, replaced with a tightened expression.

Chancellor Kyrion, the necromancer, cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. His voice was deep, resonant, carrying an authority of its own. "Let us proceed," he began, his gaze sweeping across the room. "Today we gather to discuss both the upcoming Arcane Symposium and the threats looming over our continent, including the recent activities of the group known as the Devil Coffin."

The Arcane Symposium was a significant event—a gathering where the greatest magical minds came together to share their research and advances. This year, Draven had been chosen as the keynote speaker, a fact that had caused no small amount of discussion. He had remained silent for several years, absent from the academic world, and many questioned whether he was truly prepared to stand before the continent's greatest scholars.

Count Valen leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he addressed Draven, his voice filled with skepticism. "Draven, are you truly prepared for this?" he asked, his tone dripping with doubt. "It has been years since we've seen any publication from you. The symposium is not a place for half-prepared theories."

A murmur ran through the council, all eyes turning to Draven, waiting for his response. Draven's expression remained calm, his gaze meeting Count Valen's without flinching. He spoke, his tone even, his words measured. "The paper has already been submitted to the council. Should you wish for a brief explanation or a demonstration, I am more than happy to provide it."

There was a moment of silence, the tension thick in the air. Count Valen's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes narrowing further before he sat back, clearly unsatisfied but unwilling to press further. Duchess Blackthorn hid a small smile behind her hand, her eyes glinting with amusement at Draven's confident response.

Chancellor Lisanor leaned forward, her crimson robes flickering as if the flames within them had stirred. "The symposium will be held in the kingdom of Regaria this year," she said, her voice firm. "To ease the concerns of the queen, who has been unwell, and considering that our keynote speaker is also from Regaria, we believe it to be the most prudent choice."

There was a murmur of agreement from those gathered, the decision evidently one that had already been discussed at length. The rest of the discussion focused on logistics—the dates of the symposium, the restrictions that would be in place, the invitations to be sent. Papers appeared on the table before each figure, brought forth by an enchantment that worked without flaw, detailing every aspect of the upcoming event. The documents included a comprehensive schedule of keynote speeches, panel discussions, and practical demonstrations. Each section of the symposium had been carefully curated, featuring groundbreaking research topics ranging from advanced elemental fusion to new theories on chronomantic influence over spatial distortions. Security measures were also highlighted, ensuring that only those with proper clearance would be allowed to attend sensitive discussions, and strict protocols were to be followed, given the presence of rare magical artifacts and confidential experiments.

"Now, let me give a brief explanation of the Arcane Symposium. The symposium is a grand gathering of the most brilliant magical minds across the continent, held annually to foster the exchange of knowledge and advancements in the magical arts. This year, it will be hosted in the Kingdom of Regaria, largely due to the need to accommodate Queen Aurelia's health, as well as the fact that the keynote speaker, Earl Draven, hails from Regaria.

The symposium will include keynote speeches, intensive panel discussions, and live demonstrations, focusing on groundbreaking advancements in areas such as elemental fusion, spatial-temporal magic, and arcane innovations. The event will also feature discussions around contemporary threats to the magical world and emerging technologies in mana manipulation.

Moreover, the symposium will strictly enforce security measures, considering the presence of rare magical artifacts and confidential experiments. Only those with proper clearance will be allowed to attend specific high-level discussions. This year, Earl Draven's keynote will address advancements in three different papers, which is a controversial subject that has already piqued significant interest due to its implications for understanding magical boundaries. You can read the abstract of them at the end of the papers you held,"

Chancellor Elysior, his gaze distant, as if looking beyond the present moment, asked, "Are there any questions regarding the symposium?"

There was silence, a rustle of papers as the members glanced at the documents before them. No one spoke up, their silence a testament to the thoroughness of the preparations.

Lisanor nodded, her gaze shifting, her expression hardening slightly. "Then let us move on," she said, her voice taking on a more serious tone. "We have a greater concern to discuss—one that threatens not only our kingdoms but the very foundation of our magicala world."

Her gaze swept across the room, her eyes burning with intensity.

"The Devil Coffin,"