The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 437: Thing About to Get More Dangerous

Amberine’s hands still trembled, her breathing shallow as she tried to compose herself. Everything that had happened in the past few minutes felt like a blur—the creeping fog, the sudden teleportation, and now, being here, in Professor Draven’s room. She stared at him, the familiar figure surrounded by papers, his gaze sharp and focused, as though the chaos happening around them was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Amberine opened her mouth to speak, but her voice faltered. It was only when Ifrit nudged her side—his warmth radiating comfort—that she managed to find her words. "Professor," she whispered, her voice shaky, "are you... are you okay?" She struggled to keep the concern from seeping through her tone, but it was hard. Despite everything she knew—despite all the anger and resentment she harbored against him—she still worried. It confused her, twisted her insides, but there it was.

Draven didn’t look up from his papers. He continued to read, his eyes scanning the contents with a practiced ease that almost made Amberine question if he had heard her at all. But then he spoke, his voice calm, steady—almost bored.

"They’re trying to confine me, yes. But they won’t be able to. The evidence they have is inconclusive." He flipped a page, his tone making the situation sound like nothing more than a mild inconvenience—a fleeting annoyance, rather than an attempt to imprison him.

Amberine blinked, taken aback by the casual way he spoke. The accusations against him were serious, potentially life-threatening, yet here he was, acting as though it was beneath his notice. It made her heart stutter, her shoulders loosening just a fraction. She hadn’t realized how tightly wound she had been until that moment. A part of her believed him—believed that he would come out of this untouched, unscathed, because he always did. She almost sighed in relief, feeling her body relax ever so slightly.

Silence filled the room again, the only sound the rustle of paper as Draven continued reading. Amberine watched him, her thoughts swirling. Ifrit’s words echoed in her mind, soft but insistent: "Make sure of the truth. Trust your heart." Her heart was torn—a war between admiration and hatred, fear and loyalty. She took a shaky breath, the tension coiling within her again, her fingers trembling as they curled into fists.

She had to know. She had to make sure of the truth, even if it shattered everything she believed in. She swallowed, her throat dry, her voice barely a whisper as she finally found the courage to ask. "Professor... did you..." She hesitated, her eyes locking onto his. "Did you kill Lady Sharon? The Adjutant of Lady Sophie?"

The room seemed to freeze.

Draven’s hand paused, his eyes slowly lifting from the paper to meet hers.

His expression was blank, completely neutral, and the silence that followed was deafening. Amberine’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind a whirlwind of fear and uncertainty. She didn’t know what she expected—anger, denial, perhaps even a sharp, dismissive glare. But not this.

Draven blinked, his gaze unwavering as he replied, "Yes." The word hung in the air, cold and unfeeling, cutting through Amberine like a blade. He continued, his tone indifferent, as though discussing the weather. "I killed Sharon. She was quite persistent."

Amberine’s world tilted, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at him, her chest tightening painfully, her emotions crashing into her like waves. Rage, sorrow, disbelief—they all swirled together, too overwhelming to process. Tears welled up in her eyes, unbidden, her vision blurring. She thought of Lady Sophie, her gentle smile, her kindness—how she had always made Amberine feel welcome. And Sharon, always by her side, always so protective and caring. The memory of Sharon’s laughter, her soft-spoken encouragements, made Amberine’s heart ache.

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She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She wanted to scream, to cry, to lash out at him, but all she could do was stand there, her body trembling, tears slipping down her cheeks. She remembered her father—the warmth of his voice, his laughter, the way he used to encourage her dreams. And then she remembered how all of that was taken away, stolen by Draven’s hand. He had killed her father, and now he admitted to killing Sharon as well. The rage that bubbled up inside her was almost unbearable. Draven, meanwhile, simply watched her, his expression unchanged, his eyes as cold and detached as ever. It made her sick—made her chest burn with fury and grief that she couldn’t even begin to articulate.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Draven’s eyes narrowed, his head tilting slightly as his gaze moved past Amberine, focusing on something unseen. His entire demeanor changed in an instant—the calm, detached facade replaced by something dark, something dangerous. Amberine felt it—a chill that seeped into her bones, an instinctual sense of foreboding.

"So they’ve come," Draven muttered, almost to himself. His eyes gleamed, and a small, amused smile tugged at his lips. "I thought they might, but I underestimated just how well-prepared they’d be."

Amberine’s breath caught in her throat as she watched the smile spread across his face—a smile devoid of warmth or humor. It was cold, terrifying, filled with a murderous intent that made her blood run cold. She had never seen him like this before, had never seen the true extent of his ruthlessness. It was as if a mask had fallen away, revealing something dark and twisted beneath.

Her legs gave out, and she stumbled back, her back hitting the wall as Ifrit pressed closer to her, his small form trembling with fear. Draven’s voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous, "It seems I’m not the only murderer in this underwater fortress."

Before Amberine could even process his words, the entire room shuddered. The floor beneath her feet trembled violently, the walls vibrating as if caught in an earthquake. She gasped, her eyes widening as she tried to steady herself, her hands pressing against the wall for support.

But something was strange—despite the shaking, nothing in the room moved. The papers on Draven’s desk remained perfectly still, the inkpot untouched. Even the books on the shelves didn’t so much as wobble. Amberine’s eyes darted around, confusion mixing with her fear until her gaze landed on a single object hovering in the air—a pen.

It floated above Draven’s desk, glowing faintly with mana. The shimmering aura extended outward, enveloping everything in the room. Amberine realized, with a mix of awe and unease, that the pen was the source of it all. It was holding everything in place, controlling the very room around them. Draven’s power extended even to the chaos of an earthquake, his psychokinesis keeping everything perfectly balanced.

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Draven himself remained seated, his posture unbothered by the violent shaking, his eyes focused, his expression sharp. He didn’t so much as flinch as the world trembled around them, his presence unwavering, commanding.

After a few agonizing moments, the tremors ceased. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, the air thick with tension. Amberine’s breath came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling from the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the door, her instincts screaming at her to run—to get as far away from whatever was happening as possible.

She reached out, her hand trembling as it moved toward the door handle. But before her fingers could touch the cool metal, Draven’s hand shot out, his grip like iron as it clamped down on her wrist.

"Stay back," he commanded, his voice low, firm—leaving no room for argument. Amberine looked up at him, her eyes wide, her mind reeling. She wanted to ask—wanted to understand.

If he was capable of killing, if he was ruthless enough to end lives without hesitation, then why had he saved her?

Why did he step in whenever she was in danger?

But the words were stuck in her throat, her fear and confusion making it impossible to speak.

Draven released her wrist, his attention shifting as he moved toward the door, his expression hardening. He opened the door with a swift motion, and the instant it swung open, a bolt of lightning hurtled toward him. Amberine barely had time to gasp before a wall of fire erupted, the flames roaring as they blocked the attack, the intense heat searing the air around them.

Draven moved with a fluid grace, his head tilting slightly, and in the next instant, a knife shot out from his sleeve. It flew across the hallway with a deadly precision, disappearing into the shadows. A strangled cry echoed through the corridor, and Amberine peered out, her heart pounding.

She saw it then—a grotesque figure crumpled on the ground, a knife embedded in its throat. It was monstrous, twisted, something that had once been human but was now something else entirely. The sight of it made Amberine’s stomach churn, her body going cold with fear.

Draven looked at the fallen creature, his expression unchanged, his gaze sharp and calculating. "This is far worse than I anticipated," he muttered, his eyes narrowing in thought. He turned back to Amberine, his presence commanding, his voice leaving no room for doubt. "Stay close," he said, his gaze locking onto hers, "things are about to get much more dangerous."