The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The grand chamber of Aetherion felt heavy with silence, a palpable tension hanging in the air as Chancellor Lisanor rose from her seat. Her crimson robes rippled with a subtle flicker of magic, her eyes blazing with a seriousness that instantly drew every gaze in the room. She held a small crystal orb, glowing faintly, in her palm. Her voice was sharp and authoritative, cutting through the whispers that had been floating around the chamber.

"Esteemed members of this council, I regret to begin our session today with grave news," she said, her voice echoing in the vastness of the chamber. "We have received word that an entire country, a proud and ancient land, has fallen." She paused, her expression filled with a mixture of disbelief and anger. "The Kingdom of Sarindel has fallen to the group known as the Devil Coffin."

A murmur spread across the room, an audible reaction to the shocking news. Gasps of disbelief, whispers of concern—even those whose faces remained calm couldn't hide the subtle widening of their eyes, the shift in their posture. Sarindel had not been a small nation; it was a force of power and resilience, and its loss was no trivial matter.

Lisanor's voice hardened, her gaze moving across the gathered council members. "The Devil Coffin remains as elusive as ever. Despite the efforts of our greatest investigators, the information we have about them is, at best, sparse. What we do know is that their core leadership consists of individuals known as the Seven Deadly Sins. Each Sin is a title—Pride, Wrath, Greed, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, and Sloth."

She paused, letting the weight of those names hang in the air for a moment. "These individuals are unlike any enemy we've faced. Their motives remain unclear, their methods unpredictable, and their reach—it seems endless. They operate from the shadows, striking without warning, and always leaving ruin behind. Sarindel's fall is proof enough of their power. An entire nation, lost."

The orb in her hand glowed brighter for a moment, casting an eerie red glow across her face. She looked at the gathered council, her eyes hard. "We must treat this threat with the utmost seriousness. The Devil Coffin does not operate with an agenda we can easily comprehend, nor do they limit themselves to the conventional rules of engagement. We are dealing with an enemy whose face we cannot see, whose motivations we cannot understand—and that should terrify each and every one of us."

The silence that followed her words was suffocating. Draven watched the expressions around the room with a practiced, detached gaze. He noted the reactions—some shocked, some angry, others attempting to mask their unease. It was a room full of powerful individuals, all unused to feeling powerless. And yet, here they were, confronted with an enemy that had just dismantled an entire kingdom. The Devil Coffin—it was a fitting name. A dark, mysterious coffin that could contain anything—or anyone.

Count Valen leaned forward, a dismissive smirk playing on his lips. "Chancellor Lisanor, while I do not belittle the severity of the news you have shared, I must ask—is it not possible that we are overreacting? The fall of Sarindel is tragic, yes, but perhaps our approach should be more strategic, less... reactionary. We must not act out of fear."

Valen's tone was calm, but the underlying arrogance was unmistakable. Draven could almost hear the unspoken words: "We cannot be as easily defeated as Sarindel." It was a dangerous mindset, born from the belief that power made one untouchable. And that—that arrogance was precisely why the Devil Coffin thrived. They preyed on those who thought they were above danger, those who dismissed the shadow until it was too late.

Duke Icevern, his silver hair gleaming in the soft light, spoke next. "Count Valen, I disagree," he said, his tone measured. "We cannot ignore the implications of losing an entire nation. Sarindel was fortified, even if its kingdom is not that big. Yet, they fell, and without any warning. This is not an enemy we can take lightly—an organization that can make an entire country disappear is not one we can simply strategize away. We must understand that our conventional methods may no longer apply here."

Duchess Blackthorn, who had been silent until now, inclined her head slightly. Her eyes were hard, her voice quiet but no less powerful. "There is no room for overconfidence here, Valen. We cannot afford the luxury of underestimation. We need to consider every option, and we must be prepared for anything." There was a flicker of concern in her eyes, something rare for the stoic Duchess. Even she couldn't deny the gravity of the situation.

Earl Falken, his armor glinting in the dim light, slammed his hand down on the table. "I say we strike back!" he barked, his voice filled with the fervor of a warrior. "We need to show them that we will not cower. A show of strength, a decisive counter-initiative—that's what they need. Let them know that they are not invincible, that we can and will fight back!"

There were a few nods from some of the representatives—those who were swayed by Falken's military might, the ones who saw force as the only answer to strength. Chancellor Kyrion, however, merely observed the discussion with a serene calmness that seemed almost eerie. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, yet it carried through the chamber like an echo from the depths.

"The chaos they bring... it disturbs the balance," he murmured, his eyes dark as they looked into the distance. "The realms of the living and the dead are not meant to be thrown into such turmoil. The Devil Coffin—they are not just a threat to the living but to the very balance of existence." His words brought a chill to the room, a reminder of the deeper implications that went beyond politics and military might.

Draven remained silent, his expression unreadable. They didn't know—no one here knew that he had faced one of the Seven Deadly Sins just days ago. Sloth. The memory of that encounter was still fresh, the raw power, the dark magic that had wrapped around Sharon, attempting to twist her into a weapon against him. He had seen firsthand the extent of their power, the darkness that drove them. And yet, he chose not to speak. Not now.

He could feel the suspicion, the unease, simmering beneath the surface of the council. If there was someone in this room connected to the Devil Coffin, revealing what he knew would only serve to warn them. And Draven—he wasn't ready to tip his hand just yet. He needed to observe, to watch the players in this room and see who moved when the time came. The Devil Coffin was in the shadows, but perhaps their influence was closer than anyone thought.

The room continued to buzz with ideas—plans of action, countermeasures. Draven's sharp eyes moved from one face to the next, gauging reactions, watching body language. Count Valen's dismissive attitude had caught his attention—too quick to brush aside the threat. And then there was Duchess Blackthorn. Her gaze lingered on him a moment too long, her expression carefully neutral. It wasn't enough to accuse her, but it was something to remember, something to keep in mind.

Chancellor Elysior, with his ageless face and distant gaze, spoke next. "We must act to protect what remains," he said, his voice calm, the runes on his robes shifting subtly. "The magic of my realm may allow us to fortify our cities, to foresee potential threats before they strike. Chronomancy is not an exact art, but with enough preparation, we may be able to predict the movements of the Devil Coffin, or at least protect against their attacks."

Balthus, the scholar, nodded in agreement, though his expression was grim. "We must not underestimate them," he warned, his voice steady. "History has shown us that such organizations do not rise without deep roots. There are always connections, threads that bind them to places and people. We must be vigilant, not just in fortification but in understanding who and what we are truly dealing with."

Draven decided it was time to speak. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharp, his voice cutting through the discussions. "Fortifications and barriers will only delay the inevitable," he said, his tone calm, almost indifferent. "You cannot fight an enemy you do not understand. We need intelligence. We need to know who they are, what they want, and how they operate. Only then can we develop a strategy that has any hope of success."

His words were met with silence for a moment, the gathered members processing his statement. Some nodded, their expressions thoughtful. Count Valen, predictably, looked skeptical. "And how do you propose we gather such intelligence, Earl Draven? These individuals are ghosts—impossible to find, impossible to predict."

Draven's eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze locking onto Valen's. "Nothing is impossible, Count," he replied, his voice carrying an edge of challenge. "The Devil Coffin may operate in the shadows, but they leave traces—patterns, connections. We simply need to look in the right places." He paused, his gaze sweeping the room. "Strength is meaningless if we cannot aim it at the right target. We need precision, not just power."

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Duchess Blackthorn watched Draven with a calculating gaze, while Duke Icevern gave a small nod of agreement. Chancellor Lisanor, who had been watching Draven's interactions closely, finally spoke, her voice curious. "And what of the upcoming symposium, Earl Draven? With these recent threats, what preparations do you suggest to ensure the safety of those who attend?"

Draven didn't hesitate. "We need additional screening procedures for all participants. Magical background checks, thorough examinations of their affiliations. We cannot afford to allow anyone through unchecked." His tone was cold, efficient, and it left little room for argument. "Security is paramount, but it also provides an opportunity—to see who might be hiding something, who might have ties to the Devil Coffin that they wish to keep hidden."

His suggestion was met with mixed reactions—some nodded in agreement, others exchanged uneasy glances. Count Valen looked displeased, though he said nothing, his gaze narrowing slightly as he regarded Draven. Chancellor Kyrion spoke next, his voice calm. "A prudent approach. We must ensure that our gathering does not become their hunting ground."

Duke Icevern added, his tone measured, "We should also prepare for the worst. Even with precautions in place, we cannot assume we will be safe. We must be ready to act, should the need arise."

Draven inclined his head slightly. "Agreed. I will assist with security personally." His words drew surprised glances from around the room, even a few murmurs. Draven was not known for taking on such roles—his focus had always been more academic, more detached from the mundane tasks of security. But now, his involvement seemed to add weight to the importance of the symposium's safety.

Count Valen raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with skepticism. "You, Draven? Since when did such matters interest you?"

Draven's gaze remained cold, his expression unreadable. "Ensuring everything runs smoothly is in my best interest, Count Valen. Besides, I find that sometimes, seeing things firsthand yields results that mere observation cannot." There was an edge to his words, a subtle hint that there was more to his involvement than he was letting on. Valen's eyes narrowed, but he didn't press further, his lips thinning into a displeased line.

The meeting continued, but the air was thick with unease. The Devil Coffin was a specter that loomed over every discussion, every suggestion. There were no easy answers, no clear solutions—only preparations, guesses, and the hope that they could withstand whatever came next. Draven watched as the council members spoke, his sharp mind already working through the possibilities, the connections, the threads that might lead him to understand the truth behind this elusive enemy.

As the meeting finally drew to a close, the council members rose from their seats, their faces reflecting a mixture of determination and uncertainty. Draven stood, his gaze meeting Duchess Blackthorn's once more. Her expression was still unreadable, but there was something in her eyes—something that Draven couldn't quite place. Suspicion? Concern? He couldn't tell, but he would remember it. Count Valen's gaze followed him as he made his way to the exit, the tension between them unspoken but palpable.

Draven walked out of the grand chamber, the cool air of Aetherion hitting him as he paused at the entrance. He looked out at the ocean beyond, the water shimmering in the faint light, the weight of the meeting settling heavily on his shoulders. The encounter with Sloth, the council's discussions, the looming threat of the Devil Coffin—all of it pressed against his thoughts, a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

He knew the game had only just begun. The Devil Coffin was an enigma, a shadow that refused to be caught. But Draven was patient, methodical. He would find them—no matter where the path led, no matter who he had to confront along the way. And as he stood there, his gaze distant, his expression cold, one thing was clear: he would see this through to the end, no matter the cost.

But of course this is not the end. Stay connected with My Virtual Library Empire

"Draven," A voice appeared before him.

"Of course," Draven smirked.

"I know that you will be coming for me,"