The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Together, we began piecing together Lisanor's growing influence within the Council. Even though I had anticipated her to be formidable based on rumors alone, the depth of her infiltration was more than I'd imagined. She possessed a natural gift for pyromancy—one that set her apart from the countless other flame-wielders who relied on flashy displays of fire and fury. Lisanor, by contrast, wielded her art with surgical precision, burning away opposition in more ways than just literal flames. She had maneuvered herself into a position of quiet power, waiting for the perfect moment to ignite a blaze from within. I found it darkly ironic: a pyromancer forging alliances in secret, her every move cloaked in subtle manipulations and gentle persuasion. Yet, when you thought about the nature of fire, it made sense. Fire could be sudden, explosive, and impossible to contain once it was let loose—but it could also smolder undetected for a time, devouring foundations before anyone realized the danger. Lisanor embodied both extremes, harnessing the allure of knowledge like a hidden spark, ready to burst into an inferno when the time was right. Standing next to Kyrion in that claustrophobic, mana-saturated chamber, I felt an unexpected pang of understanding for how she might have amassed such influence. Information was a priceless commodity. In a Council filled with ambitious mages and cutthroat politicians, simply offering glimpses of "secret knowledge" could bind even the most suspicious mind to her cause. Not all, of course, but enough to shift the balance in her favor. "She had to have started small," I muttered, voice echoing in the chamber. "Subtle gestures of goodwill. Providing spells or arcane research that these Council members desperately needed." Kyrion inclined his head, a gesture of acknowledgment. "Precisely. She never overplays her hand. A single, well-timed gift. A promise of future cooperation. For those who resist her overtures, she sows quiet doubt in their reputations or stokes internal conflicts. In a Council so large and so used to bureaucracy, it's disturbingly easy to slip in unnoticed." A small frown tugged at my lips as I recalled the rosters of the Council members I'd encountered since my arrival in this timeline. Many faces flitted through my thoughts—some had seemed honest, some corrupt, and most were simply ambitious. And ambition is the perfect tinder for Lisanor's flame. "A Council Mage specializing in Divination," I mused aloud, crossing my arms over my chest. "If she has one feeding her insights, she can predict moves before they happen." The mental image of a Divination expert, peering through magical threads to see glimpses of future events, was disconcerting. To have your steps anticipated before you even took them was a terrifying disadvantage. My pens, the tools of my own magical repertoire, fluttered at the periphery of my vision as though they could sense my growing agitation. Kyrion nodded, his expression grave. "There's also an Enchanter—high-ranking, with access to restricted magical texts." I let out a soft hiss of disapproval. "Most Enchanters I've met pride themselves on refining illusions or mental influences. To imagine one skilled enough to rewrite or seal away entire tomes… that could be catastrophic if he's working under Lisanor's direction." My mind churned rapidly with the implications. A single altered text, a single restricted volume stolen or replaced with a doctored copy, could change the Council's knowledge base. And knowledge, especially arcane knowledge, was everything in this world. "And a security chief within Aetherion," I added, eyes narrowing. "Someone ensuring certain reports go missing—someone to hush up any anomalies related to necromancy or unauthorized magic." Kyrion's jaw tightened at my observation. "He's been on Lisanor's payroll, so to speak, for quite some time. Maybe not openly, but his 'misplacements' have persisted for years, conveniently hampering any investigation that might point to her." All of it added up to a clever stratagem of infiltration—a slow burn that left the Council unprepared. Lisanor was carefully placing her pieces on the board, ensuring that by the time she made her final move, she'd be unstoppable. I imagined the entire Council as a grand library filled with books, and Lisanor as the hidden spark smoldering in the pages. It would only take a little more time before everything went up in flames. "It's worse than I'd expected," I admitted, my voice grim. "She's been playing this game for a long time, weaving herself into the Council's structure so thoroughly that removing her will be akin to carving out a tumor from flesh—painful, delicate, and requiring absolute precision." Kyrion's lips formed a razor-thin line. "If she succeeds, she will control necromancy in its purest form. Her supposed 'breakthrough' in necromantic stabilization is nothing more than a stepping stone toward true resurrection." That final phrase conjured a haunting image: not simply reanimating corpses or bending undead thralls to her will, but actually wresting souls from death and reinstating them in living bodies. To meddle with the boundaries of life and death was dangerous beyond words. Doing so with a power-hungry pyromancer at the helm threatened the entire natural balance. I stiffened, mind racing. This was more significant than any routine Council power struggle I'd read about or experienced. True resurrection could overturn the very order of the world, especially in the hands of someone who saw it as little more than a tool to consolidate influence. Indeed, if Lisanor perfected such a spell, she could offer immortality to her followers, raise an endless army, or manipulate entire kingdoms through the mere promise of reviving lost rulers. For a moment, my thoughts drifted back to the original narrative—back to a time when I had treated this world more like a puzzle to be solved rather than a reality I had to survive in. I recalled the Council's inevitable fall, the brutal faction wars, and how at the heart of it all, Lisanor had risen like a pillar of flame that consumed her enemies. A mysterious Necromancer Sage—the figure who had aided the game's hero—had managed to mitigate some of the destruction, but even that intervention hadn't prevented the cataclysm. Entire cities had burned; entire families had been wiped from existence, with ashes drifting on the wind like macabre confetti. That unnamed Sage—had it been Kyrion after all? Or was he supposed to have stayed "dead" so that Lisanor could ascend unchallenged? The swirling questions gave me no comfort. My advantage—knowing the trajectory of events—felt like grains of sand slipping through my fingers. If Kyrion was never meant to be a part of the main scenario, every assumption I had about the future was on shaky ground. I inhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm. "Then we proceed with caution," I said at last, my voice low but resolute. Kyrion studied me, his expression revealing a quiet curiosity, like a scholar observing a new specimen. "And what does caution entail?" My mind shifted gears instantly, compartmentalizing my uncertainty and focusing on strategy. "Three steps," I replied evenly, allowing no hint of doubt to color my tone. "Subterfuge—erode the Council's confidence in her without direct confrontation. Sabotage—disrupt her experiments before she perfects necromantic stabilization. And elimination—only if necessary." Even as I spoke, images of arcane sabotage flashed through my thoughts: illusions that cast suspicion on her data, rumors seeded to undermine her credibility, carefully timed arcane backfires orchestrated to ruin her progress. All steps designed to ensure she never had the chance to stand triumphant over the Council, brandishing true resurrection like a flaming sword. Kyrion listened with measured silence. Perhaps he was gauging just how far I was prepared to go—or perhaps he was formulating his own parallel tactics. It was impossible to read that labyrinthine mind of his with certainty. Yet the moment I mentioned "elimination," a spark flickered in his eyes, suggesting he understood just how coldly pragmatic I could be. He smirked faintly. "Efficient."