The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"Is the restoration of the Magic Tower University all your doing, Draven?" Duchess Blackthorn asked, her voice as cutting as her gaze.

Draven, with his ever-composed demeanor, didn't flinch under her scrutiny. His eyes, cold and calculating, flicked toward the boy for a brief moment before returning to the duchess. His voice, laced with a hint of mockery, was barely above a whisper, but the power behind his words made everyone pause. "It is," he replied, the chill in his tone matching the cold air around them.

Then, his gaze hardened, catching the smallest detail—a knight from the Blackthorn family, gripping the child's shoulder tighter than necessary.

For Draven, details mattered, and this one struck him as curious. He turned his full attention back to the duchess. "Let me rephrase your question." His voice was sharper now, as if slicing through the tension in the air. "Are you accusing me of orchestrating all of this? Of weakening the strength of the great families of Regaria?"

The duchess remained silent, her fan lowering ever so slightly, revealing the firm line of her mouth. Her gaze didn't waver, but she didn't respond immediately. She merely stared at him with that deadly intensity, like a predator sizing up its prey. It was the look of a woman who held power but was unsure of the man standing before her. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and measured. "You've been...

strange, Draven. You show your true strength at the most inconvenient and dangerous times. You hold back, and then you let loose when it serves you. How are we to trust someone who only reveals his cards when the stakes are high?"

Draven smirked, though it barely touched his eyes. "Precisely because the stakes are high that I can no longer pretend to be a fool." He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his presence commanding the attention of everyone around him. "But if you think I am the one behind all of this chaos, then you must be more foolish than I thought.

If I were behind this, Duchess Blackthorn, none of you would be standing here alive."

His words hung in the air, heavy with menace and absolute certainty. The knights shifted uneasily, and even Duchess Blackthorn seemed taken aback, though she masked it well. She remained silent, her eyes narrowing as if weighing his words.

With a small, dismissive snort, Draven turned to leave, his black cloak fluttering behind him as he moved with purpose. "I believe someone like you, Duchess, should realize more than anyone not to accuse without proof. You accuse me because I acted decisively when others hesitated. Such accusations," he glanced back at her, his voice colder than before, "are born from fear, not wisdom."

At that moment, one of Blackthorn's guards, a man from a lesser branch of her family, let out a growl of frustration. His hand moved toward the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white with anger. "How dare you—!"

Before he could even draw his weapon, Alfred, Draven's butler, materialized before him. The movement was so fast and precise that the guard didn't even register it. Alfred bowed politely, his expression serene, but there was an unmistakable glint of danger in his eyes. "It would be most unfortunate," Alfred said softly, "to let your emotions cloud your judgment in a moment like this."

The guard froze, staring into Alfred's eyes. There was no denying the hidden threat beneath the butler's calm words. Everyone in the room knew that Alfred, despite his seemingly servile demeanor, was just as deadly as his master. Slowly, the guard lowered his hand, his face reddening with both shame and frustration.

"You've trained your servants well," Duchess Blackthorn said coolly, her fan flicking shut with a snap. "But be warned, Draven, not everyone will stand by idly and watch you play these games."

Draven didn't even bother to turn around. He simply snorted, his voice cutting through the thick tension. "If you want explanations, Duchess, you'll find me at the royal castle. The only one I owe any explanation to is the queen."

His words sent a ripple through the room. Duchess Blackthorn's fan trembled slightly in her hand, though she quickly regained her composure. Draven's dismissive tone, the way he held himself above the rest—it was infuriating, but it was also impossible to argue with. He had proven his power, restored the Magic Tower, and now... now he was setting the stage for something far greater.

Just as he was about to leave, more figures entered the room. Lord Falken, head of the Falken family, his coat adorned with feathers symbolizing their house's allegiance to the wind spirits, strode in alongside Lancefroz, the Duke Icevern.. Behind them were their families and relatives, rescued from the chaos by their knights.

The atmosphere shifted immediately as they approached, sensing the tension between Draven and the Blackthorn family.

Lord Falken's eyes swept across the room, landing on Draven. "Draven," he called, his voice tinged with confusion. "Is this your doing?"

___

Standing at the 100th floor of the newly restored Magic Tower University, I couldn't help but admire the room's beauty. The grand windows allowed streams of light to pour in, casting a warm glow on the polished floors. The gentle hum of mana in the air made it feel alive, like the tower itself was breathing. It was peaceful here, almost unnervingly so.

A soft breeze drifted in, ruffling my coat as I stood in the center, surveying the intricate carvings on the walls and the plush furnishings that filled the space.

I smirked to myself. While I enjoyed the quiet luxury of this room, my clone below was facing the heads of the great families of Regaria, no doubt holding their attention with cold efficiency. I knew exactly what he would say, how he would handle their questions. They were gathered below, preparing to report everything to the queen. It didn't matter—my clone was enough for now.

I've tripled my mana reserves since the battle, after all. I can afford a little indulgence in this moment.

But my satisfaction wasn't just about the meeting below or my expanded power. No, the real prize was in my hands—the dungeon's magic core, fully dismantled and pulsing with an eerie glow. Its potential was immeasurable, a tool that could shape reality itself if wielded with care. I turned it over in my hands, feeling the raw energy contained within.

"We'll need to use this with the utmost care," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper as I ran my fingers over its surface. The core hummed in response, as if acknowledging the gravity of my words.

But I had no intention of keeping this for myself, not directly. With a nod, I handed the core to one of my clones standing beside me. He took it with the same calm precision I used, knowing exactly where it needed to go.

"Take this to the Drakhan mansion," I instructed, my voice steady. "It'll be safe there until we decide on the next steps."

The clone nodded in silent acknowledgment, then turned to leave, followed closely by the undead goblin king, the goblin champion devil servant, the ascendant minotaur devil servant, and the ebon devourer. Together, they would travel to the Drakhan earldom, where my grand mansion awaited—far away from the eyes of those who might try to interfere.

There, the core would be safeguarded, ready for when I needed it.

As for my other clones… well, they were busy with their own tasks. The one stationed below was already handling the great families—Duchess Blackthorn and her ilk. No doubt they would try to pry into my motives, but they would find little. The clone was enough for that; they didn't need to see the real me just yet. Let them stew in their suspicions.

Another clone was with Sylara, preparing to return to adventuring. She was an invaluable ally, and keeping her close was essential. The third clone, however, was occupied with something far more critical: training. He had taken on the simple yet crucial task of strengthening himself. Every ounce of power he gained would transfer to me, enhancing all of us in the process.

It was a brilliant arrangement, really. My [Perfect Clones] were more than just copies—they were extensions of me, each with the same potential for growth. If one became stronger, we all became stronger.

It was efficient. Perfect. Stay tuned for updates on empire

And then there was me, the original. I would be investigating several pressing matters soon—things that couldn't be left to chance or handled by clones. There were secrets to uncover, enemies to track, and strategies to form. This world was unraveling faster than anyone realized, and the chaos forces Gilgamesh warned me about were no longer just a distant threat.

They were here, creeping closer every day.

But before all of that…

I glanced down at Elandris, still sleeping soundly. Her chest rose and fell with each soft breath, the peacefulness of her slumber a stark contrast to the storm that brewed around us. She had fought valiantly, but the battles had taken their toll. There was no doubt she was powerful—one of the strongest mages I'd ever met. But even she would need allies in the fight to come.

"We need to find more allies, huh…" I murmured, my gaze lingering on her for a moment longer.