The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Annalise frowned, sweat beading on her forehead as she circled Draven, her icy aura swirling around her like a storm waiting to break. There was something about him that unsettled her. The axe wielder, standing beside her, seemed to sense it too. He turned his head toward Annalise and called out, "Lady Annalise… this guy—there's something off about him."

"I know," she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

She had been watching Draven closely, and something was gnawing at her. "He's not using any magic," she finally said, her voice laced with disbelief. "Not a shred of mana. No spells. It's all… pure physical strength, skill, decision-making. What kind of monster fights like that?"

Draven remained silent, as he often did. His cold, calculated gaze never left her, and the silence only added to Annalise's frustration. She didn't know it, but the reason her instincts screamed at her was simple—she had no idea who she was truly fighting.

To everyone else, Dravis Granger was a mysterious, sword-wielding adventurer, one who rarely if ever used magic. And they all accepted that because it fit the narrative. But Draven—the real Draven—was a master of magic, a professor at Magic Tower University, a man whose power lay in the arcane. To believe that such a man could also excel in close combat? That would be beyond belief.

It was precisely why his dual identity remained undetected. He could fight on equal footing with powerful warriors like Annalise, using only his physical abilities, and no one would ever suspect that Dravis Granger and Draven the professor were one and the same.

"This," Draven muttered quietly under his breath, just loud enough for Annalise to catch. His eyes flicked to her and her comrades, and a small, calculating smile curled at the corner of his lips. "This is the perfect opportunity."

Annalise's frown deepened. "What…?"

Draven didn't elaborate. Instead, he thought of the larger picture. Annalise and her party, powerful as they were, had likely grown too confident in their abilities. They were considered one of the strongest parties in the Icevern region, second only to the one Sophie would likely lead in the future. Defeating them here—single-handedly, no less—would remind them of their limits.

It would push them to grow stronger, make them understand their place in the grand scheme.

That their battle had started over a ridiculous misunderstanding—a fiery-tempered sister's mistaken belief that Draven had wronged Sophie—only made the whole situation more absurd. Still, it was an opportunity Draven wouldn't waste.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

The battle resumed.

The axe wielder, seeing Annalise's hesitation, took the initiative. He charged forward with a roar, his massive axe swinging toward Draven like a battering ram. Annalise and the knight flanked him from both sides, rushing in to pin Draven down in a coordinated pincer attack.

Draven's sharp eyes took it all in—the way Annalise prepared her scythe chain, the way the knight's shield gleamed as he advanced, and the brutal force of the axe-wielder's swing. If he retreated, Annalise would trap him with her scythe, and the knight would cut off his escape route. He would be forced into a defensive position, with no room to maneuver.

But Draven wasn't the type to retreat. Find your next read on empire

Just as Annalise and the knight closed in, Draven made his move. Instead of stepping back, he dashed forward—straight toward the axe wielder. All three of his opponents' eyes widened in shock. No one ever charged directly into the path of an attack like that. The axe wielder, having gathered his mana for a devastating strike, swung with all his might.

Draven's right hand met the blow with his sword.

Boom!

The sound of their clash reverberated through the alley, a shockwave tearing through the air. The impact was so powerful that the ground beneath them trembled, cracks splintering out from where their weapons had met. Annalise and the knight, though not thrown back, were momentarily stunned by the sheer force of the blow.

Draven's muscles tensed as he met the axe wielder's attack head-on. It was a fierce contest of strength, but it was over in an instant. Draven's left hand darted forward, aiming for a strike to the axe wielder's ribs.

But the archer had other plans.

A whistling arrow tore through the air, aimed squarely at Draven's exposed side. He had anticipated this. With a quick movement, Draven twisted his body, sending the arrow flying with a flick of his sword. The projectile spun through the air and veered straight toward the archer who had fired it.

"Darren!" Annalise shouted, realizing too late that the archer was now in danger. She cursed under her breath, flinging her scythe in a desperate attempt to deflect the incoming sword. The scythe connected with the sword just in time, sending it clattering harmlessly to the side.

But the brief distraction was all Draven needed.

With a powerful leg sweep, he knocked the axe wielder off balance, sending him staggering. In the same motion, he delivered a swift kick to the knight's head, sending him flying backward into a nearby wall. The impact left the knight dazed and barely conscious.

Draven didn't stop. Using the momentum of his kick, he launched himself into the air, aiming directly for the archer, Darren. The archer's eyes widened in terror, but he had no time to react.

Annalise, her scythe once again in hand, threw it at Draven's legs in a desperate attempt to halt his assault. But Draven was too fast. He caught the blade of the scythe between his boot and the ground, then, with a powerful kick, yanked the chain toward him.

The force sent Annalise careening forward, crashing into the archer with brutal momentum. The two tumbled to the ground in a heap of limbs and weapons, completely disoriented.

Now, only the axe wielder remained.

Draven's sharp gaze turned to the burly warrior, who was struggling to regain his footing. Annalise, lying on the ground with her comrades scattered around her, could only watch in disbelief. How had it come to this? They were strong—one of the strongest parties in the region. And yet, here they were, utterly outmatched by a single man.

As she lay there, gasping for breath, she looked around at her comrades. The knight lay slumped against the wall, groaning in pain. The archer was still trying to untangle himself from Annalise's scythe chain. The axe wielder, their most powerful fighter, was barely able to stand.

And then there was Draven. Calm. Unbothered. Standing in the midst of the chaos, as if the fight hadn't even taxed him.

Sylara returned to Draven's side, her expression smug as she approached. "All done on my end," she said casually, her eyes scanning the battlefield. "Looks like no one's dead, but their injuries… well, they'll remember this for a while."

Draven nodded, his gaze still fixed on Annalise. Slowly, he sheathed his swords, his cold, piercing eyes locking onto hers. For a long moment, he said nothing. And then, with a voice as chilling as the frost that still lingered in the air, he spoke.

"Next time," he said, his words cutting through the silence like a blade, "use a proper attitude when you're asking for something."

Annalise, still on the ground, clenched her fists in frustration. She wanted to scream, to shout, to fight back. But there was nothing she could do. Draven had already won. And deep down, she knew that no amount of rage or bravado could change that.

The battle was over.

And Draven had made sure they knew their place.