The Villain Professor's Second Chance

The air crackled with the leftover energy from their dueling, floating in invisible currents around them. Aurelia let her eyes drift shut for a moment, feeling the tingle of power still stirring under her skin. That final technique—she'd harnessed something new, a synergy that bridged her physical ferocity and her mana's destructive surge. The synergy had shaken Draven's barrier. She replayed the moment in her mind, the way her blade had glowed bright red, the sudden alignment that let her cut deeper into his defense. It was exhilarating.

But apparently, this lesson wasn't over. Draven exhaled slowly, placing his scroll aside and tapping his psychokinesis pen once more. He cast a scrutinizing glance around the chamber, as though assessing the space. Then, without warning, he stepped forward and flicked his wrist. Five swords from the nearby rack lurched into the air, spinning in a slow circle. Gasps broke out among the watching knights. Aurelia's eyes snapped open at the bright ring of steel overhead.

"Your skill with a blade is impressive," Draven said, his voice carrying a subtle resonance that made even the bystanders feel the weight of his words. "But raw skill alone isn't enough. Swordsmanship can be elevated with psychokinesis—if one's will is strong enough to command multiple weapons at once." He paused, letting the five swords revolve in a mesmerizing orbit around him, each angled with deadly intent. "A queen doesn't fight just with her own hands. She commands."

Aurelia's breath caught in her throat. She recognized the challenge in his tone. He wasn't belittling her skill; he was prompting her to assume a broader perspective—one that encompassed more than a single duelist's stance. She, who had always prided herself on direct confrontation, was being asked to become a conductor of steel. The notion stirred her competitive spirit and her pride.

"Show me," she said, voice tight. "Show me what you can do with those party tricks, bastard."

A faint smirk curved his lips. In a smooth motion, he sent one sword arcing toward her. Aurelia's instincts kicked in—she sprang up from the marble, ignoring the ache in her muscles, and caught the hilt mid-air. The blade hummed with a faint magical resonance. She let out a short laugh, blood pumping hot in her veins. Around her, the knights exhaled sharply, hands drifting to their own scabbards out of reflex.

Draven, meanwhile, gestured for the other four swords to scatter around the chamber, each one hovering like a sentinel. "You're a genius with a blade in your hand, but can you orchestrate multiple weapons simultaneously?" His tone was flat, but to Aurelia, it sounded like a direct provocation.

She advanced a step, eyes narrowing. "You might be the academic type, but you're not the only one who can multitask. You think I can't push my mana into more than one implement at a time?"

Draven flicked his wrist, and one of the floating swords darted toward her from behind. She felt the disturbance in the mana, whirled, and batted it aside with her own sword. The metallic clang rang across the training hall, accompanied by the startled shouts of the onlooking guards. The queen stood firm, adrenaline returning in a rush. She sensed the other swords encircling her, guided by Draven's telekinetic will. The faint glow in his psychokinesis pen told her how precisely he controlled each blade's path.

He stepped back, arms folded calmly, letting the swirling ring of swords do the talking. "Feel them," he said, his voice pitched for her ears alone. "Your mana isn't just destructive potential. It's the authority to direct. Let these swords become your extension."

She pivoted, scanning the edges of the ring. "You want me to hijack your telekinesis, is that it?" Her eyes burned with rising confidence. "Or are we going to test whether you can still handle them once I inject my own mana?"

He inclined his head, unruffled. "Show me, Your Majesty."

Aurelia drew in a slow breath. Her heart pounded with a heady mix of defiance and fascination. One by one, she reached out mentally, letting a trickle of her mana thread through the swirling air. She felt the swords quiver, like instruments awaiting a new conductor. Draven's hold was strong—he was a master of precise control—but she found the cracks in his psychic weave where she could slip her own force. For a moment, it was an invisible tug of war: Draven resisting her infiltration, she pushing back with raw determination.

Around them, the knights edged closer. Some looked pale, apprehensive about the magical energies crackling in the air. Others wore expressions of awe, seeing their queen locked in a silent struggle of will with the infamous professor who rarely let anyone stand at his level. A wave of silent tension rippled through the crowd; they'd never seen Aurelia in quite this kind of contest.

Finally, two of the swords halted, shuddering in midair, their loyalty divided between Draven's control and Aurelia's infiltration. She clenched her teeth, focusing on the flood of mana in her veins. Slowly, to the gasp of the watchers, those two blades drifted in her direction, bowing to her command.

Draven's gaze flickered. The faintest spark of pride or maybe amusement glimmered in his eyes. "Impressive," he murmured, letting the next two swords shift under her power. Now four hovered behind Aurelia, their tips angled outward like loyal guardians. The fifth sword, however, still floated under Draven's exclusive reign, whirling around her like a predator waiting to strike.

For a beat, everything hung in balance—her four swords against his lone blade. The onlookers barely dared to breathe, enthralled by this silent demonstration. Aurelia, sweat beading on her brow, managed a triumphant grin. She'd wrangled control from Draven. That alone felt monumental, given how easily he usually danced around her attempts to corner him.

But Draven wasn't finished. His free hand rose again. In a surge of mana, he propelled the final sword forward in a lightning-fast thrust. The ring of steel soared at Aurelia's flank, forcing her to react in real-time. With raw, relentless instinct, she pivoted, commanding two of her four swords to intercept. Their edges collided midair with a ringing clang that jarred the entire chamber. An eruption of sparks rained down. She felt the recoil through her mental link, nearly losing her hold on them, but she dug her heels in.

Gasps of wonder scattered across the crowd. The queen had effectively parried Draven's assault using not her hands, but her will channeled through multiple swords simultaneously. The brilliance of it left the knights unable to decide whom to admire more—the unstoppable queen or the unyielding professor. Aurelia's grin widened, a savage twist of pride lighting her eyes.

"That all you got?" she challenged, voice ragged.

Draven's reply came in a quiet hum, his expression as chill and composed as ever. "You've improved," he said softly, "but we both know this is only the beginning."

She let the swords hover for a moment longer before exhaling, releasing the mental hold. They clattered to the ground in a series of sharp metallic echoes, and the watchers stepped back uneasily. Aurelia inhaled, chest heaving with a heady mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration. She felt unstoppable—like the first step of bridging her ferocious skill with a refined magical artistry had finally been unveiled.

He nodded once, a silent confirmation that the lesson had reached its pinnacle. The tension in the air melted, replaced by a cautious wave of applause or murmured exclamations from the gathered crowd. Some knights bowed in respect, their eyes shining with renewed devotion. The queen who refused to be bested, the mage who pressed her limits—both commanded admiration.

Aurelia sank to her knees, half laughing at her own fatigue. She placed a hand on the marble floor, feeling the coolness seep into her palm. "Don't look so smug," she whispered, though not too loudly, partly out of breath. "I could've done that months ago if you'd mentioned it sooner."

Draven raised a brow, offering a slight shrug. "I doubt it," he said, but there was no malice in his tone. For him, it was merely fact.

She shot him a glare, but the corners of her mouth curved upward regardless. "Bastard," she said again, but the word lacked bite. Instead, it glowed with a grudging respect that neither of them chose to name.

For a moment, they were simply there—queen and tutor, challenge and challenger—amid the hush of the once-lavish private chamber turned battlefield of swords and illusions. Around them, the watchers slowly dispersed, though a few lingered, enthralled by the scene. Aurelia wondered if they sensed the intangible shift in the air, the unspoken acknowledgment that she and Draven stood on equal ground in will, if not yet in mastery.

The chamber grew quieter, but her pulse stayed rapid, her mind racing. She might never say it aloud, but she felt grateful. The glimpses of new power, new possibilities—these were the reasons she tolerated Draven's presence, even craved it at times. He saw her as a force to be refined, not a spectacle to be tamed. She hated him for his condescension, but she also needed his brilliance to spur her forward, to measure her potential against something infinite.

Draven's gaze drifted to the tall windows where the training chamber ended, his attention turning distant. She caught a flicker of shadow in his eyes. She knew that look. He'd slip into that silent realm of internal calculations at a moment's notice, every variable weighed and reasoned through. This time, though, she sensed an anxiety beneath the calm, a tension that had nothing to do with her or the lesson. The reality of it made her uneasy.

He lifted a hand toward his coat pocket, almost absently, fingertips grazing the shape of his psychokinesis pen. For reasons she couldn't explain, she felt a twist in the pit of her stomach. Something about the stillness of his stance told her that for all the show they'd just put on, there was a deeper conflict playing out in his head.

A small wave of restlessness prickled at her nerves. She was on the verge of asking him what the hell he was thinking when he spoke, voice even quieter than usual. "The original is missing," he murmured under his breath, scarcely loud enough for her ears alone. "If this Quest loops again, even Aurelia might not be spared."

She frowned, about to question him, but he didn't elaborate. A faint glow pulsed against his pocket, and he froze, eyes narrowing. Her heart lurched, remembering rumors that Draven was more than just one man—that he had ways of splitting himself, existing in multiple forms. She never delved too deep into those rumors because, frankly, it wasn't her business. But seeing him so rattled, if only faintly, unsettled her.

Another ripple of magical disturbance skirted across the chamber, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She watched Draven tilt his head as if listening to some distant echo. When he finally lifted his gaze, his expression was colder, more precise, and quietly disturbed.

He whispered, "...What changed?"