The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"It's fancy to meet you again, Draven," she said, her voice dripping with lazy sarcasm. "I heard you've already completed the investigation of the demonic appearance at the royal banquet."

The words hung in the air, causing a ripple of whispers among the gathered court magicians, professors, and ministers. Draven knelt there, unaffected by the heavy gazes, his head bowed in the formal manner the occasion demanded. He didn't move a muscle, his expression hidden behind his lowered head, and the whole assembly seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his response.

Elandris, the chancellor of MTU, stood in her cloned form—a wise-looking older man rather than her usual half-elf self. She watched Draven with great intensity, her expression showing none of the playful mischief her original form often conveyed. Instead, it bore a knowing, wise smile, a stark contrast that caused Draven to frown inwardly.

He couldn't shake the sense that her clone's demeanor signaled something—a forewarning perhaps, or an unspoken understanding of the deeper matters at play.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Draven's cold, composed voice finally broke the silence. "I have analyzed the appearance and identified a possible cause."

Immediately, a murmur of voices rose. The muttering wasn't subtle—the gathered crowd was divided between those who doubted him and those who were simply too afraid to speak up. Among the professors of MTU, there were visible frowns of discontent, especially from those whose dislike of Draven was openly known. They eyed him like he was an ambitious troublemaker, someone overstepping his bounds.

Others—the ones who knew the depths of his ruthlessness, the sharpness of his mind—stayed quiet, content to let the man do his work.

"Tell me now," Aurelia said, her voice cutting through the noise, a distinct sharpness in her usually careless tone. "Those who have doubts, sound them now or never." She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sweeping across the assembled officials.

There was a brief silence, before one of the court magicians stepped forward, his face twisted with skepticism. "Your Majesty, we have all run various tests and performed thorough analyses of the remnants of that demonic appearance," he began, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and disbelief. "None of us could decipher its origin. I do not see how Professor Draven, despite his...

skills, could achieve what so many of us could not."

Several other professors nodded in agreement, and a few muttered words echoed through the chamber.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," spoke up another MTU professor, a thin man whose eyes glinted with envy. "Perhaps it's merely a case of inflated ego. Professor Draven has had some... fortunate outcomes as of late, but perhaps he's letting those recent 'successes' get to his head." He sneered, clearly attempting to sow doubt among the gathered officials.

Aurelia's eyes narrowed, the room growing tense as the doubt-filled murmurs spread. She seemed ready to snap—her temper simmering beneath her otherwise calm exterior.

"Enough," she said, her voice carrying the undeniable weight of authority, and the room fell silent. She then turned her head slightly, her eyes falling on the chancellor. "What do you think?" she asked.

Elandris, still in her cloned elderly form, stepped forward, the staff in her hand tapping against the floor as she did. "Your Majesty," she began, her voice deep and resonant, the tone filled with wisdom. "It would be wise for us to comment and analyze Professor Draven's findings after he has had the opportunity to explain them to us.

From my observations of him, I do believe it will be worth our time."

The ministers and magicians exchanged glances, the tension lessening just slightly at her calm, confident words.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Stay connected through empire

"Alright then," Aurelia said, her eyes returning to Draven. She raised an eyebrow, giving a small, amused smile. "Go on, Professor. Impress us."

Draven rose gracefully from his kneeling position, his posture composed and commanding as he stood before the gathering. All eyes were on him now, the gazes varying from curious to hostile, skeptical to wary. He remained indifferent, his expression unchanged, as if the weight of their stares had no effect on him at all. To him, they were background noise—insignificant and irrelevant to his objective.

"Very well, Your Majesty," he said, his cold voice echoing in the large chamber. He raised his right hand slightly, his fingers moving in an intricate pattern, and with a flick of his wrist, an illusion appeared in the air before him. "I will begin the explanation."

The illusion shifted, forming glowing runes, swirling symbols in the air. "These are residues of the magic I captured at the royal banquet," Draven said, his voice slipping into the same calculated tone he used when lecturing his students. "It's what remained after the demonic appearance, a glimpse of the force that allowed it to manifest."

He gestured again, and the symbols shifted, coalescing into an image of a magic circle—a series of interconnected runes and sigils, complex in its design. "This," he continued, "is the possible magic circle that appeared during the incident. I memorized it as it materialized." He paused, allowing the audience to observe, to take in the complexity of the diagram.

Another flick of his wrist, and the magic circle hovered before them, glowing ominously, casting an eerie light across the chamber. "This particular circle is unique. Its mechanism is complex, containing elements of both summoning magic and a darker variant—one tied to corruption. Watch closely." Draven stepped forward, touching the edge of the circle.

The runes shifted, and a new layer of symbols emerged, overlapping with the previous ones. He began to alter the shape, shifting runes, connecting sigils, adjusting the flow of the magic circle. With each movement, he explained calmly, his voice unwavering.

He spoke of the sequence of elements, of the patterns required to initiate such a summoning, each adjustment transforming the spell into something more refined.

Then, without warning, Draven spoke. "Prepare yourselves," he said, his cold gaze sweeping across the assembly.

Aurelia frowned from her throne, a hint of irritation crossing her features. "What do you mean by that, you bastard?"

Draven didn't answer immediately. He moved his hand to the center of the circle, pressing his palm against the glowing sigils, and uttered a single word. "Activate."

The magic circle responded, the glow intensifying until it became blinding, forcing the gathered ministers and magicians to shield their eyes. A gate formed—a twisted amalgamation of blood and flesh, a grotesque structure that seemed almost alive, pulsating with unnatural energy.

From the center of the gate, a mirror-like surface emerged, reflecting not the room, but a vision—an image of another plane.

Through the mirror, they could see it clearly: demonic orcs, their bodies twisted and corrupted, clad in blackened armor, their faces twisted into snarls of hatred. They were gathered in formation, their weapons raised, their guttural voices shouting in a language unknown to any of them. The scene was chaotic—an army preparing for something sinister.

A gasp echoed through the room, the tension palpable. The court magicians immediately began to channel their mana, their bodies tensing, ready for battle. The knights present drew their swords, the sound of steel ringing through the air as they took defensive positions.

The gate exuded a stench—blood, malice, hatred. It permeated the chamber, the thick, nauseating smell nearly overwhelming those closest to it. The scene was raw, primal, a sight of unrestrained violence and savagery. The demonic orcs continued their chant, their eyes burning with a malicious fire, the hunger for battle and destruction clear in their gaze.

The murmurs began again, louder this time. "What is this?" "What are we seeing?" "Is this truly happening?" The professors from MTU exchanged worried glances, some looking visibly shaken.

Aurelia's gaze stayed fixed on Draven, her expression unreadable. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing, her voice a low, dangerous whisper. "Draven," she said, her tone carrying a mix of anger and disbelief. "What in the hell are we looking at?"

Draven's gaze never wavered, his cold eyes locked onto the queen's. He let the question hang in the air for a moment longer, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

"This," he said finally, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the entire room, "is what we're facing. A possible invasion—a demonic army gathering strength, preparing for something greater."

The silence that followed his words was profound. The court magicians looked at one another, the reality of the situation sinking in, their expressions ranging from shock to disbelief. The ministers stood frozen, their faces pale, their eyes wide as they stared at the image through the gate.

Aurelia clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening on the armrests of her throne, her knuckles turning white. For a moment, she looked as if she might erupt, her fiery temper boiling over. But instead, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay composed, her eyes never leaving Draven.

"You mean to tell me," she said, her voice cold, her tone biting, "that we're facing an invasion of demons? And you decided to demonstrate this to me by opening a damn gate to their world?"

Draven inclined his head slightly, the faintest hint of acknowledgment. "The evidence speaks louder than mere words, Your Majesty."

She huffed, her eyes blazing, her expression filled with both anger and grudging respect. "You always did like your theatrics, didn't you?"

Draven remained silent, his gaze unwavering.

The old clone of Elandris stepped forward, her wise eyes narrowing as she examined the gate, the magic circle, the image of the demonic orcs. "This is... indeed beyond what we initially perceived," she said slowly, her voice filled with both awe and fear. "This is no small matter. If an invasion is being planned, we must prepare—immediately."

Then suddenly, a voice of a person stole the attention of the whole hall.

"Your Majesty!"

A voice that defined a regal and strict nature of a knight.

Draven's eyes widened a bit before finally closed.

It's Sophie.