The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The tension in the room settled like a thick fog. No one dared to breathe too loudly, let alone speak. Draven's presence did that to people. His cold, calculating demeanor filled every corner of the classroom, and even those who had never been in his direct path felt the weight of his gaze.

Draven stood at the front, his dark cloak draping perfectly behind him, making him seem even taller, even more imposing. His eyes swept over the room once more, taking in the faces of the students, all sitting rigid in their seats. His sharp gaze flickered for a brief moment toward Amberine, who met it head-on. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she refused to look away.

She could feel the heat rising in her, the same heat that always flared up when he was near. Ifrit, hidden beneath her robe, seemed to stir in response, the faintest warmth radiating from her chest.

"I hope you're all prepared," Draven began, his voice cool and measured. "Because starting today, this will no longer be a lecture in theory. This will be a practical class."

A murmur rippled through the room, but it was quickly silenced by a single look from Draven.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Considering the recent case of the Magic Tower University's dungeonification, you all need to understand the conditions of battle," Draven continued, his tone clipped and precise. "What to do in a real combat situation, how to conduct yourselves when facing a magical opponent, and how to manage the chaos of spell warfare. If you thought you were here to listen to me talk, you are mistaken."

Amberine's fingers tightened around the edge of her desk. This was what she had been waiting for—real combat, real training. But the knot of tension in her chest refused to loosen. She could still hear Draven's voice from that day, the way he had said it so coldly, so matter-of-factly: Yes. He had killed her father, and now, here she was, being taught by him how to fight.

"Raise your hand if you've received any practical combat training in your earlier classes," Draven said, his gaze flicking across the room like a hawk.

A few hands went up hesitantly, Amberine's included. Elara, sitting beside her, raised her hand without any hesitation, her face as calm and unreadable as ever. Maris, who was sitting on the other side of Amberine, followed suit, though she looked a little unsure.

Draven's sharp eyes landed on them. "And who taught this class?"

"Professor Reynard," one of the students in the back called out, her voice slightly shaky. "He... he taught us basic dueling and defensive spells."

Draven's lips curved into a smirk, though it was a cold, humorless expression. "Professor Reynard, is it? I've heard of his methods. Show me what he taught you."

The classroom fell into an uneasy silence as Draven's cold gaze settled on the student in the back. The tension was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. Amberine felt the familiar knot of anger twist in her stomach as she watched Draven, that ever-calculating expression making her want to lash out. But she knew better. She needed to keep her cool if she wanted to prove herself in front of him.

The student, a young man with sandy blond hair, stood up, his movements hesitant. He swallowed hard before stepping forward, his hand shaking slightly as he prepared to demonstrate what Professor Reynard had taught him. His nervousness was obvious, and the weight of Draven's scrutiny didn't make it any easier.

"Go on," Draven said, his voice as sharp as ever. "A simple demonstration of what you've learned."

The student took a deep breath and raised his hand, the familiar hum of mana beginning to gather around his fingers. Amberine watched closely, her eyes narrowing slightly as the student formed a basic defensive barrier, a shimmering, translucent shield appearing in front of him.

It was a decent spell, one that would probably hold up against a weak attack, but Amberine could see its flaws immediately—unstable at the edges, too slow to form under pressure.

Draven's smirk deepened, his eyes gleaming with a cold satisfaction. "Is that it?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "This is what you've learned? A half-formed shield that would shatter at the first sign of real danger?"

The student's face flushed with embarrassment, and he faltered, lowering his hand as the shield flickered and disappeared. "I—"

"Enough," Draven cut him off, his voice icy. "If this is the level of training you've received, then it's no wonder you've struggled to survive even basic encounters."

Amberine clenched her fists under the desk, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She wasn't going to let Draven's arrogance go unchallenged. Not this time.

"Professor Reynard's methods aren't perfect," Amberine spoke up, her voice steady despite the heat rising in her chest, "but they've helped a lot of students. Maybe it's not the shield that's the problem, but the way it was demonstrated."

Draven's gaze snapped to her, sharp and cold. For a moment, Amberine thought she saw a flicker of something—surprise, perhaps—but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by his usual mask of indifference.

"And you think you could do better?" he asked, his voice carrying a dangerous edge.

Amberine met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "I'm sure of it."

The room went silent again, the tension thickening. Some of the other students exchanged nervous glances, clearly unsure of where this was going, but Amberine didn't care. She had spent too long holding back, too long biting her tongue while Draven treated everyone around him like they were beneath him.

Draven's eyes narrowed slightly. "Then by all means, show us."

Amberine stood, feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on her as she moved to the front of the room. Ifrit stirred beneath her robe, his warmth a comforting presence against her skin. She could feel her heart pounding, but it wasn't fear—it was the thrill of the challenge, the need to prove herself, not just to Draven but to everyone who doubted her.

Taking a deep breath, Amberine raised her hand, calling on her mana with practiced ease. The air around her seemed to hum with energy as a barrier began to form in front of her, but this one wasn't like the flimsy shield the other student had conjured. Amberine's barrier was strong, solid, its edges sharp and clean.

It shimmered with a faint red glow, a reflection of the fire magic she was so adept at.

Your journey continues on empire

The room was silent as she held the barrier in place, her eyes locked on Draven. She knew it wasn't perfect—no spell ever was—but it was a far cry from the weak display the other student had shown. Amberine felt a surge of satisfaction as she saw the slightest flicker of acknowledgment in Draven's eyes.

But it wasn't enough.

Draven stepped forward, his movements smooth and deliberate. "A decent attempt," he said, his voice calm, "but let's see how it holds under pressure."

Without warning, he raised his hand, and a pulse of dark, icy mana shot from his fingertips, slamming into Amberine's barrier with force. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, and Amberine felt the barrier tremble under the pressure. She grit her teeth, pouring more mana into the shield, reinforcing it as the icy magic pressed against it.

For a moment, it seemed like her barrier might hold. The red glow intensified, flickering like flames as it pushed back against Draven's attack. But then, with a sharp crack, the barrier shattered, fragments of red mana dissolving into the air.

Amberine staggered back, the force of the explosion sending a jolt of pain through her arms. She caught herself before she could fall, but the strain of maintaining the barrier was evident in the way her breath came in short, sharp bursts.

Draven lowered his hand, his expression unreadable. "Better," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But still lacking."

Amberine's chest tightened with frustration. She had expected Draven's criticism, but it still stung. She had poured everything she had into that barrier, and still, it hadn't been enough. Still, she wasn't enough.

"You can do better than that, Amberine," Draven said, his tone cold but not mocking. It was almost as if he were daring her to prove him wrong.

Amberine clenched her fists, the heat in her chest flaring up again. "I can," she said, her voice low but determined. "And I will."

Draven's eyes gleamed for a moment, and Amberine wasn't sure if it was amusement or approval. But he said nothing more, turning back to the rest of the class.

"The rest of you," he said, his voice sharp again, "will be expected to reach a similar level. Combat is not about memorizing spells or casting them perfectly in controlled environments. It's about adapting, surviving, and overcoming."

He paused, letting his words sink in. "In the real world, there are no second chances. If your barrier fails, you die. If your spell misfires, you die. You will either learn to rise to the occasion, or you will be left behind."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, and Amberine felt a chill run down her spine. Draven was harsh, but he wasn't wrong. She had seen firsthand the consequences of failure in battle, the lives lost during the dungeonification. She knew the stakes, and she wasn't about to let herself fall behind.

He then suddenly raise his arm.

"Now all of you," He began. "Unleash your spells towards me, let me show you the real magical 'shield', what a magic barrier truly meant,"