The Villain Professor's Second Chance

His feet slid backward across the ground, the frost biting at his boots. But Draven didn't panic. With a precise movement, both of his hands gripped his twin blades, and with a single slash, he cut through the cold force, shattering it like fragile glass.

The wave subsided, the chill in the air lessening, and Sylara, always ready, immediately retreated to his back, her instincts kicking in as she assessed the shift in power.

"What does a warrior of Icevern have to do with us?" Draven's voice was colder than before, matching the icy atmosphere that now surrounded them. His sharp eyes darted to Sylara for a brief moment, but she remained quiet, her gaze focused on the danger before them.

"Icevern...?" Sylara muttered under her breath, recognition dawning on her face. Her eyes flicked to Annalise, who was now glaring at Draven, her rage barely contained. And then, from the rooftops surrounding them, more figures appeared—seven in total. They moved with the silence of trained warriors, positioning themselves as if they had been waiting for this exact moment.

"We're the backup," Annalise hissed, her voice laced with venom. "For big sis. She trusted you, went on that mission with you to deal with the Shadow Plague, and then you had the audacity to send her back first."

Draven's eyes narrowed slightly. He had always expected a confrontation from her towards Draven, but this was more than a misunderstanding. This was calculated.

"I don't know who you are," Annalise continued, pointing her giant scythe at him with a trembling hand. "But you... You smell like trouble. You must have some scheme in mind for you to sent her back first." Discover hidden tales at empire

What does this girl talking about? Is something that Draven really want to utter right now.

Draven's lips barely moved as he muttered under his breath, "Ridiculous."

Her eyes blazed with anger. "Ridiculous, is it?" she spat. "You think you can walk away from this? You're in the middle of a scheme—something bigger than you or I. The royal knights that sent my sister to that dangerous mission, the nobles, they're all might be involved. This whole situation with the Shadow Plague, the demonic orcs...

it's all might be connected. And I believe you know more than you're letting on."

Draven's expression didn't change. His cold gaze met hers, unwavering and detached. "I don't know a single thing that I should tell you," he said calmly, his voice emotionless.

Sylara sighed, shaking her head in frustration. "You really need to work on your communication skills, Draven. That's not what she meant."

Annalise's face twisted in anger, her misunderstanding of Draven's words pushing her closer to the edge. To her, it wasn't that Draven had no useful information. No, to her ears, his words meant something else entirely. It was a challenge—a provocation. A declaration that nothing she said or did was worth his time.

The ground beneath Annalise's feet began to freeze, a layer of frost spreading outward from where she stood. Her hands gripped the scythe tightly, her body trembling with barely controlled fury. "Is that so?" she snarled, her voice dripping with malice. "Then I'll make you talk."

Draven remained still, his posture relaxed, unbothered by the ice forming around him. He let out a small sigh, his breath visible in the cold air. "Then try," he said, his voice quiet, devoid of fear.

The tension hung in the air for a brief moment, and Sylara, sensing what was about to happen, smiled to herself. "Looks like it's going to get interesting."

With a sharp whistle, Sylara summoned her Magma Bear, the massive creature appearing beside her with a growl, its molten body radiating intense heat that clashed with the icy surroundings. Without another word, Sylara charged toward the seven warriors on the rooftops, her bear following closely behind, ready to keep them occupied while Draven faced off against Annalise.

Annalise dashed forward, her speed faster than before, her mana now concentrated in her right foot. Draven's sharp eyes noticed it immediately. The moment her foot struck the ground, an ice wall erupted around him, trapping him in a narrow space. The walls were thick, durable, reinforced with her mana in such a way that unsheathing his blades would be nearly impossible within the confined space.

She stood in front of him now, her scythe raised, her face twisted into a confident smirk. "I've got you now," she whispered, her voice laced with triumph.

But as she brought the scythe down to strike, her eyes widened in shock. Her swing stopped mid-motion, her body frozen not by her own ice, but by Draven's hand gripping her elbow with lightning speed.

"You—" she gasped, but before she could finish, Draven's right fist connected with her gut, the force of the blow sending shockwaves through the air. The impact was so powerful that it blasted Annalise backward, her body flying through the air and crashing into the ground nearly twenty meters away.

She coughed violently, her breath stolen from her lungs, her body trembling from the pain. "You... bastard..." she muttered, clutching her stomach.

Draven stood still, his expression unchanged. "Looks like you barely blocked it with your ice magic."

Annalise growled, struggling to her feet. Her entire body ached, but the fire in her eyes hadn't dimmed. She wasn't done yet. She couldn't be.

"You might want to ask for help from your friends," Draven said coldly, his eyes flicking to the axe-wielder and the knight standing on the rooftop.

Annalise hesitated for a moment, then nodded. With a sharp glance, she signaled to her allies. The axe-wielder and the knight jumped down to stand beside her, readying themselves for the fight. Sylara, meanwhile, was busy fending off the remaining fighters, her Magma Bear swiping at the archers and mages on the roof, keeping them at bay.

Draven's voice was calm, even as he stood alone against the three warriors. "Come," he said, his tone unwavering. "I won't be defeated."

There was no arrogance in his words, only certainty. He had already carved the battle style of the strongest warrior he had ever encountered into his mind—Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes. It was a memory burned deep into his subconscious, a lesson learned from a battle fought long ago within his own mind. And with every fight, every step he took, Draven had been honing those skills.

His clone, deep within the dungeon of necromancy, had been training endlessly, refining his techniques, mastering not just swordsmanship, but the very movements of Gilgamesh himself.

The axe-wielder moved first, his massive weapon crashing toward Draven with devastating force. But Draven sidestepped the attack effortlessly, his sharp eyes already predicting the follow-up strike. The knight, with his shield raised, lunged forward, trying to trap Draven between them.

But Draven was faster, his movements fluid as he slipped past the knight's defense, striking the man's shield with a force that sent him stumbling back.

Annalise, still recovering from the earlier blow, watched in disbelief. Every move Draven made was precise, calculated. It was as if he could read their thoughts, anticipating their attacks before they even happened.

"You're... insane,"