The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The city of Halewick sprawled beneath me, its streets slick with the remnants of a passing rain, lantern lights flickering in the damp darkness. From my vantage point, high above the quiet chaos, I swirled the wine in my glass, watching as the liquid caught the candlelight in blood-red hues. The drink was unnecessary—just an idle habit, something to fill the time between the inevitable movements of the game.

Beyond the glass pane, figures moved through the misty streets. Kael among them. A pawn in a much larger war, though one with potential. He would play his part, willingly or not. Others would follow. Some would die. The pieces would shift, rearrange, and the board would continue its dance. But it didn't matter.

I would ensure there were no loose ends.

A flicker of motion. A shift in the air.

I didn't turn immediately, merely exhaling softly as I set the glass down with a muted clink. "There you are."

The presence at the edge of the room moved forward, the heavy footfalls of something far too large to be a mere man. Shadows peeled away, revealing a massive frame clad in dark armor, its crimson cape draping behind it like the standard of a forgotten king. The Undead Goblin King. Once filled with arrogance and defiance, its gaze now held something different—respect.

Amusing.

I stood, rolling my shoulders, allowing the silence to stretch between us. The King did not speak, but the air around it thrummed with necrotic energy, a presence so thick it pressed against the walls of the chamber. A lesser man might have flinched beneath its weight. I merely observed, waiting for it to make the first move.
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It did not.

The Goblin King remained still, its hulking frame motionless in the dim light of the chamber. It did not lower its weapon, nor did it exude the same defiance it once held. Instead, something shifted in its posture—a slow, deliberate motion. Without a single command from me, it began to bow.

A memory surfaced, unbidden yet vivid.

The first time the Undead Goblin King had gained new power, it had not bowed. It had challenged. The energy coursing through its reanimated body had driven it to seek dominance, to test the limits of its newfound might. It had stood before me then, its massive greatsword crackling with dark runes, its crimson cape billowing in the arcane wind. That day, it had not sought to submit—it had sought to conquer.

And I had humored it.

____

A dim torch flickered in the corridor, casting wavering shadows across the ancient stone walls. Despite the gloom, I saw every detail with a preternatural clarity—cracks in the masonry, the faint glimmer of mineral deposits in the rock, and the subtle haze of dust that drifted through the stagnant air. I had walked these halls countless times in the present, yet now I was reliving them in memory, slipping back into the moment when I'd confronted the Undead Goblin King for the first time. It was a vivid recollection, so intense that I could almost smell the metallic tang of old blood and hear the distant echo of my own heartbeat. This was a flashback, one that held the promise of conflict—and an unexpected exercise in skill.

At the end of the passage stood a set of great doors, the wood blackened with age, iron bands rusted and pitted from centuries in this oppressive environment. I remembered pushing them open with a single, smooth motion. They groaned in protest, revealing an underground chamber that stretched far beyond the boundaries of what one would expect for a hidden training hall. Torches lined the walls here as well, their glow dancing on the polished stone floor. The space was massive—wide enough to hold a small army in formation, or to host the clash of powerful beings without fear of collapse.

I took a measured step inside, boots tapping against the polished slabs. My gaze swept the chamber, and I immediately spotted him: the Undead Goblin King. Even now, recalling that first time, I felt the faint stirrings of excitement at the sight of an opponent who might offer a real challenge. His broad shoulders were layered with tattered remnants of plate armor, each piece etched with runes that pulsed a dull crimson. He towered over a typical goblin, nearly seven feet in height, heavily muscled—even in undeath—and exuding an almost tangible aura of menace.

He clutched a massive greatsword in his right hand, the blade's length nearly equal to his own height. The metal was riddled with the same rune-etched patterns that glowed with unholy energy. Broken chains hung from the hilt, rattling softly whenever he shifted his stance. Despite the open mouth and hollowed eye sockets that were typical of the undead, I recognized a strange intelligence behind that ghastly face. This was no mindless husk, but a formidable creature resurrected through dark necromancy and bound to a will that might not have been entirely its own.

I stopped in the center of the chamber, letting my cloak settle around my shoulders. My fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger sheathed at my hip. The tension was palpable, thrumming in the air. The Goblin King took one deliberate step closer, the floor trembling slightly beneath his weight.

As I watched him, a slight smile curved my lips. "Interesting," I murmured. The echo of my voice in the memory was clear. I recalled my amusement, that thrill of facing someone—or something—capable of matching me in skill, or at least forcing me to push my limits. "This could be a great exercise."

The Undead Goblin King tilted his head, as though registering my words. A low growl rumbled in his chest, vibrating through the stillness. Bits of bone and desiccated flesh clung to his massive frame, and in that silent moment, I could feel the oppressive weight of necromantic magic swirling around him.

I bent my knees slightly, shifting my weight onto the balls of my feet. My posture signaled readiness. Fighting had always been part of my existence, a means of honing my edge, of testing myself against the forces that roamed the darkest corners of the world. A part of me craved these confrontations, not for the bloodshed, but for the exquisite clarity of focus that only a duel to the death could bring.

The Goblin King's grip tightened on the hilt of his runeblade. A faint pulse of crimson light flared along the etched lines of the blade, thrumming like a heartbeat. Then, with a snarl that echoed around the cavernous space, he sprang into motion.

I saw his intent in the shift of his muscles. Without hesitation, he lunged, covering the distance between us with a powerful burst of speed. His opening strike was a downward slash, meant to cleave me in two from shoulder to hip. The blade whistled through the air with lethal precision.

Rather than retreat, I moved forward. My instincts told me that the Goblin King had size and brute force on his side—allowing him to use the full momentum of that downward swing would be disastrous. Stepping in close curtailed his advantage, forcing him to adjust mid-swing.

My boots skidded lightly on the polished stone as I took two quick strides. In that split second, I felt the rush of wind from the descending sword pass perilously close to my back. I had positioned myself just inside the arc of his strike, ensuring he couldn't bring the full weight of that devastating blow to bear.

Yet the Goblin King reacted faster than I anticipated. With a surprising deftness, he altered the angle of his swing, pivoting at the hips. Although no longer a direct overhead slash, the strike still bore enough force to cleave a lesser combatant in half. The blade's edge hummed a hair's breadth away from my face.

In that instant, I raised my foot and caught the flat of the blade with my heel. The impact sent a jolt through my leg, and I channeled a whisper of dark energy through my muscles to absorb the shock. A normal human foot would have shattered on contact with a runeblade of that size, but I was far from ordinary. With a twist of my body, I managed to divert the blade's path just enough to avoid a lethal impact.

Using my foothold against the sword, I propelled myself into a spin, launching into a tightly controlled acrobatic motion. My coat fanned out around me as I pivoted in midair, transferring momentum from defense to offense in a single fluid movement. I extended my left leg in a snapping kick, aiming for the side of the Goblin King's skull.

He snarled and raised his forearm, absorbing the blow. The collision of bone against my shin sent a crackling vibration up my leg. I completed the spin, flipping backward gracefully to land on both feet. Though my kick was blocked, I felt a ripple of satisfaction. It had forced the Goblin King to defend himself, proving that he couldn't simply overpower me in one fell swoop.

"Not bad,"