The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"Seize the evidence," he ordered curtly. "Remove the body."

Kael stiffened. "The body—"

"It's not your concern anymore," Greaves interrupted, his tone final.

Kael's frustration boiled over, his fists clenching at his sides. He had seen this before—the bureaucratic stonewalling, the deliberate suppression of information. It was the same tactic used by those who wanted to bury the truth, to hide behind protocol while the real danger festered unchecked.

Liora, meanwhile, had gone unnervingly quiet. His hand hovered near the hilt of his blade, his posture loose but coiled, ready to strike. Kael knew that look all too well—it wasn't just anger. Liora was calculating, weighing his options, deciding whether or not to escalate the situation. Stay connected through My Virtual Library Empire

But then Liora's gaze shifted, sharp and deliberate, settling on one of the younger guards standing on the outskirts of the group. The man was barely more than a boy, his ill-fitting armor and stiff posture betraying his inexperience. He stood apart from the others, his eyes darting nervously between Greaves, the ruins, and the adventurers. There was a tension in his stance, a quiet unease that set him apart from the rest.

Kael followed Liora's gaze, his own eyes narrowing as he studied the guard. He wasn't difficult to read—the way his hand twitched near the hilt of his sword, the way his gaze lingered just a moment too long on the burned remains of the estate. He was uncomfortable, out of place. And Kael could tell he wasn't entirely on board with whatever orders had been given.

"Harlan," Liora murmured under his breath, his voice low enough that only Kael could hear.

Kael raised an eyebrow. "You know him?"

Liora shook his head, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual humor. "No. But I know that look."

Harlan.

Kael didn't know the name, but the guard's unease spoke louder than introductions ever could. There was something there—something worth pursuing. And Kael had a feeling that Harlan might just be the key to unraveling the web of lies and half-truths that surrounded this place.

For now, though, the tension hung heavy in the air, a fragile thread that could snap at any moment. The ash beneath their boots whispered of secrets yet to be uncovered, and the shadows that clung to the ruins seemed to watch, waiting.

____

Later that night, the inn's common room was subdued, its usual boisterous energy muted under the weight of the day's events. Shadows danced across the rough wooden walls as the fire in the hearth crackled low, casting a dim, flickering light over the handful of patrons still lingering. Harlan sat in the corner, his posture tense, fingers gripping the handle of a chipped mug with white-knuckled fervor. His face, pale and drawn, glistened faintly with a sheen of nervous sweat.

Kael and Liora approached quietly, their presence commanding just enough authority to part the air of hushed conversations. As they slid into the chairs across from Harlan, the young guard's gaze flicked between them, his eyes wide with unease. The mug trembled slightly in his hands, the faint clink of ceramic against wood betraying his frayed nerves.

Kael leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. His tone was calm, measured, but carried the weight of an unspoken demand. "You asked us to meet. We're here. Start talking."

Harlan swallowed hard, his throat bobbing visibly as he lowered the mug to the table. His hands twisted around it like it was the only anchor keeping him from spiraling into panic. "The bodies…" His voice cracked, barely carrying over the subdued hum of the room. He paused, wetting his lips before continuing, his words tumbling out in a rush. "They're taken to the old barracks beneath the city. No one's supposed to know."

Kael's eyes narrowed, the lines of his face hardening. "Why there? What's happening to them?"

Harlan hesitated, his gaze dropping to the table as though the answers lay etched in the wood grain. "They… they're not right," he whispered. "When they come back, they're… changed. It's like they're still them, but not. Like something else is wearing their skin."

The room seemed to close in around them, the crackle of the fire and the muted conversations fading into the background as the weight of Harlan's words settled over the table. Kael felt a chill crawl up his spine, his grip tightening on the edge of the table.

Liora broke the silence, his voice low and edged with danger. "And why are you telling us this?" His sharp gaze pinned Harlan in place, cutting through the young guard's shaky composure.

Harlan's knuckles whitened against the mug, his breathing shallow. "Because someone has to," he said, his voice rising slightly, desperation creeping into his tone. "The captain won't listen. The others… they're too scared. I—" He faltered, his shoulders sagging as he looked up at Kael, his expression pleading. "I don't know what else to do."

Kael exchanged a glance with Liora. The rogue's expression was inscrutable, his sharp features cast in flickering shadow, but Kael could see the calculation in his eyes—the silent weighing of risks and possibilities. It was a look he had come to recognize, though it never ceased to unsettle him.

Finally, Kael spoke, his voice steady. "We'll handle it. But you need to stay out of sight. Don't tell anyone you talked to us. Not the guards, not your captain. No one."

Harlan nodded quickly, his relief palpable. The tension in his posture eased slightly, though his hands still clutched the mug like a lifeline. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Kael nodded once, his gaze lingering on the young guard for a moment longer before he stood. Liora followed suit, his movements smooth and deliberate as he adjusted the edge of his cloak. They left Harlan where he sat, the weight of his revelations heavy in the air between them as they moved toward the door.

The chill night air hit them like a slap, the quiet hum of the inn replaced by the distant rustle of leaves and the faint murmur of the city beyond. Kael pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, his breath visible in the cold as he turned to Liora.

"Thoughts?" he asked, his voice low.

Liora's lips curved into a faint smirk, though it lacked its usual humor. "Plenty. None of them good." His gaze flicked toward the darkened streets, his expression thoughtful. "If what Harlan said is true, we're dealing with something worse than we thought. And I don't think it's just Seyrik."

Kael's stomach twisted at the thought, but he nodded, his jaw tightening. "The old barracks, then?"

Liora shrugged, his smirk sharpening. "No time like the present."

And with that, they stepped into the night, the shadows of Halewick stretching long and dark before them.

____

The entrance to the old barracks was hidden beneath a crumbling archway on the outskirts of Halewick, shrouded by creeping ivy and half-buried in the moss-covered remnants of an ancient wall. The stone steps leading downward seemed to vanish into an impenetrable darkness, the air growing colder and more oppressive with every step. Each faint echo of their boots against the damp stone felt like an unwelcome intrusion into a forgotten place.

Kael's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, his grip tight. The weight of the weapon, though familiar, did little to ease the unease prickling at the edges of his senses. The silence was heavy, broken only by the distant drip of water seeping through the old stones. Ahead of him, Liora moved with practiced ease, his steps silent despite the uneven footing. His sharp eyes scanned the corridor, glinting with a focus that set Kael even more on edge.

"Feels like we're walking into a tomb," Kael muttered, his voice low.

"Not far off," Liora replied without looking back. His tone carried its usual nonchalance, but there was a tension beneath it—subtle but unmistakable.

The tunnel walls began to change as they descended deeper. At first, they were plain stone, worn smooth by time. But soon, glyphs began to appear, etched into the surface with a precision that felt almost unnatural. Their faint glow bathed the corridor in an eerie, shifting light, their patterns intricate and layered, as though woven together by a mind that understood secrets far beyond mortal comprehension.

Kael's stomach churned as recognition struck. "These… these are like Seyrik's sigils," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. His eyes traced the curves and angles, the faint hum they gave off vibrating in his chest.

"Not just like," Liora said, pausing to examine one. His fingers hovered near the edge of the glowing symbol, careful not to touch it. "These are older. Cruder in some ways, but more intricate in others." He straightened, his expression grim. "Whoever made these wasn't just dabbling. This is deep magic."

Kael frowned. "What do they do?"

Liora's smirk was sharp and humorless. "Nothing good."

The oppressive atmosphere seemed to thicken the further they went. The tunnel finally opened into a wide chamber, and Kael's breath hitched as his eyes adjusted to the sight before him.

Bodies.

Dozens of them, arranged with unsettling precision on stone slabs that lined the chamber like some grotesque gallery. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, the veins beneath twisted and dark like blackened roots spreading through fragile glass. Some of the corpses appeared untouched, eerily peaceful save for the sigils carved into their chests, which pulsed faintly with a sickly glow. Others bore signs of horrific experimentation—limbs unnaturally elongated, mouths frozen in silent screams, eyes wide with the terror they had taken to their graves.

The air was heavy with a low hum, a vibration that thrummed through Kael's bones. It was a sound he couldn't quite place, as if the chamber itself was alive and watching.

"This…" Kael's voice faltered, his throat tight. "This is…"

"A workshop," Liora finished, his voice cold. "Or a butcher's."

Kael swallowed hard, forcing himself to step closer. The closer he got to the slabs, the more he noticed—the faint smell of decay, the way the sigils seemed to pulse in time with the hum in the air, the sheer wrongness of it all. He tried to ignore the bile rising in his throat as he approached one of the bodies.

Its face was twisted in agony, the mouth parted as though mid-scream. The sigil carved into its chest glowed faintly, the lines sharp and deliberate. Kael reached out, hesitating as his fingers hovered over the edge of the slab.

The corpse's eyes snapped open.

Kael froze, his blade half-drawn, his breath caught in his throat. The pale, glassy eyes locked onto his, unblinking, and the mouth began to move. At first, no sound came, the lips forming silent words, but then a voice emerged—low, rasping, and unnatural. It cut through the air like cracking ice, chilling him to his core.

"He sees you."

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before the body convulsed violently, disintegrating into a cloud of ash that swirled in the faint glow of the glyphs. The voice echoed in Kael's mind, even as the ash settled.

Kael stumbled back, his heart hammering in his chest. "What the hell was that?"

Liora was already moving, his blades drawn, his sharp gaze scanning the chamber. "We need to leave. Now."

Kael didn't argue. His instincts screamed at him to run, to get as far away from this cursed place as possible. But as they turned toward the tunnel, a low rumble stopped them in their tracks.

The entrance had sealed itself.

The sound of stone grinding against stone echoed through the chamber, and the air grew heavier, suffocating. The glyphs lining the walls flared to life, their glow intensifying, casting wild shadows across the grotesque scene.

"Oh, great," Liora muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm despite the tension in his stance. "Trapped in a cursed tomb. Just how I wanted to spend my evening."

Kael tightened his grip on his blade, his eyes darting to the shadows that seemed to shift and dance along the edges of the room. The hum in the air grew louder, more insistent, resonating in his chest like a heartbeat that wasn't his own.

From the darkness, a figure emerged.

They were tall, cloaked in black robes that seemed to absorb the faint light. A hood obscured their face, but the gleam of a dagger in their hand was unmistakable. The blade pulsed with the same sickly glow as the glyphs, its surface etched with markings that mirrored the ones on the walls.

"You shouldn't have come here," the figure said, their voice low and whispering, yet it carried across the chamber with unnerving clarity.

Kael raised his blade, his muscles tensed. "Who are you?"

The figure tilted their head, the motion unnaturally fluid. "A messenger," they said softly. "And a reminder."

Before Kael could respond, the figure lunged.

The clash was immediate and brutal. The assassin moved with unnatural speed, their strikes precise and relentless. Liora met them head-on, his blades flashing in the dim light as he matched their movements with deadly grace. The sound of steel against steel rang through the chamber, sharp and jarring.

Kael had no time to watch. Shadows peeled themselves from the walls, forming smaller creatures that swarmed toward him with an unnatural, predatory fluidity. Their shapes were indistinct, flickering and shifting like smoke caught in a storm, but their claws and teeth were all too real.

Kael fought with everything he had, his blade cutting through the shadowy figures. Each strike dispersed them into wisps of black mist, but they reformed just as quickly, circling him like wolves around a wounded deer. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to keep up, his muscles burning with effort.

Liora's duel with the assassin was a blur of motion. The rogue's blades moved like extensions of his body, every strike calculated, every parry precise. But the assassin was no ordinary opponent. Their movements were erratic yet purposeful, each strike aimed to kill. It was a deadly dance, and neither seemed willing to give ground.

Kael slashed through another shadow, his chest heaving as he caught a brief glimpse of the assassin placing a hand against the wall. A sigil flared to life beneath their palm, its glow bathing the chamber in an eerie light.

"You're too late," the assassin said, their voice echoing unnaturally. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, they vanished, leaving only the glowing sigil behind.

Liora cursed under his breath, his chest heaving as he sheathed his blades. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his jaw tight with frustration.

Kael's gaze lingered on the sigil, its glow fading slowly. The chamber was silent again, but the hum of the glyphs still resonated faintly, a reminder of the power that had been unleashed here.

A single thought echoed in Kael's mind, heavy and foreboding.

What have we just unleashed?