The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 443: Meeting Ifrit Again!

Amberine’s eyes fluttered open, her head throbbing, her body aching with exhaustion. She felt weak, so weak that it seemed like every muscle had betrayed her, refusing to obey her simplest commands. The dark chamber around her offered no comfort—just the same cold, oppressive emptiness that had greeted her since she first woke up here. The searing cold of the tattoos still burned across her skin, a relentless reminder of the pain she had endured.

Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, her stomach twisted in hunger. How long had it been? Days, perhaps. The sensation of time had blurred, blending into the darkness. Amberine took a deep breath, or at least as deep a breath as her chest could manage, and winced as the metal cuffs bit deeper into her skin. She was chained, still bound by those cursed enchanted chains that drained her mana.

And yet—she refused to give up.

Her father used to say that she was stubborn to a fault, that she always pushed against anything that seemed to contain her. If there was one thing that remained true, it was that Amberine Polime never backed down from a fight. Not then, and not now.

She blinked, forcing her vision to focus in the dim light of the glowing symbols etched into the stone walls. The chains—they had a pattern, a rhythm, almost like a heartbeat that pulsed faintly against her skin. Amberine narrowed her eyes, focusing on the strange thrum of magic she could feel coursing through them. There had to be a way to break it.

She flexed her fingers, her wrists protesting against the cuffs. A tiny ember of mana, barely more than a flicker, remained within her. It wasn’t much, but maybe—just maybe—it was enough. She closed her eyes, feeling her own pulse as she tried to synchronize her breathing with the subtle rhythm of the chains. Every beat, every pulse, seemed to pull on her mana, draining it in a steady, rhythmic flow.

"Come on, Amberine," she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible in the dark chamber. "You can do this."

She began focusing her mana, channeling it slowly into her fingers, feeling the warmth of her fire magic flickering to life—a small flame of defiance against the cold that had been clawing at her. She took a deep breath, and with that flicker of mana, she started to prod at the chain’s magic. Her fingers trembled, her body screaming in exhaustion, but she pushed on.

The pulse was steady, predictable. She could feel it—a pattern that repeated itself. Amberine bit her lip, trying to force her own mana into that same rhythm, disrupting the flow. The backlash was immediate. Pain flared through her wrists, searing hot and cold all at once, and she let out a strangled gasp. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to let herself stop. She had to break free.

The room was filled with the sounds of her labored breaths, the rattling of the chains, the whispered echoes of her determination. Again and again, she tried, her mana flickering, fading, until it was just the barest of sparks within her. Each failure was a blow to her spirit, but she couldn’t afford to dwell on it. She was tired, so very tired, but she wasn’t going to give up now.

"One more time," she muttered, her voice cracking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She closed her eyes, her body trembling with effort as she gathered the last remnants of her strength, focusing every ounce of her willpower into the chains. She took another deep breath, synchronizing her mana with the pulse, and then she pushed.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Amberine felt it—the faintest shift, the pulse disrupted. Her mind flashed back to one of Draven’s lectures. He had explained the logic of magic like it was arithmetic and geometry, every spell a careful equation, every enchantment a puzzle that had to be solved piece by piece. He had said that understanding the flow of magic was like understanding the balance of numbers—break the pattern, disrupt the logic, and you could unravel even the most complex spells. She could almost hear his voice, cold and precise, guiding her through the process. Her eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat as she felt the chains loosen, the grip around her wrists slackening. With a cry of triumph, she pulled against them, and with one last burst of mana, she shattered the chains.

She fell forward, her body collapsing onto the cold stone floor, her hands trembling, her breathing labored. Her wrists throbbed, her entire body ached, but she didn’t care.

She was free.

"Yes!" she whispered, her voice filled with disbelief and joy.

"I did it." A smile spread across her face, her eyes closing as she let herself revel in the small victory.

But then, the euphoria began to fade, slipping away as reality crashed back in. She was still in a dark, dangerous place. Her body was weakened, every inch of her aching from exhaustion. The thirst was unbearable, her lips cracked, her throat so dry that it felt like sandpaper. And she was starving, her stomach gnawing at itself, her muscles weak from hunger. The sense of pride that had filled her moments ago faded, replaced with a sobering realization—she had managed to break free, but she was far from being safe.

Amberine pushed herself to her feet, her legs trembling beneath her as she forced herself upright. She could feel the weight of the tattoos burning into her skin, but she ignored the pain, her focus on one thing—escape. She had to find a way out of here.

She moved quietly, her steps careful as she slipped away from the broken chains. Her hands brushed against the stone walls, steadying herself as she moved towards the door of the chamber. The door was old, wooden, with a small gap through which she could hear the faint, unsettling muttering of the grotesque figure somewhere nearby. His voice was creepy, echoing in a sing-song manner, as if he was talking to himself—nonsensical phrases that made her skin prickle.

Amberine held her breath, her body tensing as she listened. She had to wait, had to be patient. The muttering grew fainter, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall. She let out a breath, her body relaxing slightly. This was her chance.

She crept to the door, her fingers brushing against the edge. She had to act quickly. Reaching into the remains of her mana, she cast a small flame spell, her fingers trembling as a tiny flame ignited against the edge of a torn piece of cloth she had found in the chamber. She moved quietly, pressing the burning cloth against the gaps of the door, letting the smoke drift outwards. The guards stationed outside—two of them—had no idea what hit them.

Amberine could hear their coughs, the sound muffled as the smoke filled their lungs, their protests turning into groans. She could feel her heart pounding, fear and hope intertwining in her chest. She needed this to work.

Slowly, the coughing subsided, replaced by silence. Amberine closed her eyes for a brief moment, whispering a quiet prayer. She pushed against the door, the wood creaking as it swung open. The guards were slumped on the floor, their bodies lax, their eyes closed in an unnatural sleep. Amberine let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, a wave of relief washing over her.

She stepped over their bodies, her feet light against the stone floor, and moved into the hallway beyond. The dimly lit corridors stretched out before her—a maze that seemed to go on forever. Her heart pounded, her senses heightened, every nerve on edge. She had to be careful. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake, not now.

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Every step was deliberate, her breath held as she moved through the halls, her eyes darting from side to side, listening for any sound that might indicate someone approaching. The fortress was dark, the torches mounted on the walls barely providing enough light to see. The shadows seemed to shift around her, the cold air biting at her skin.

Amberine’s movements were slow, careful, her hands brushing against the stone walls to keep herself steady. She turned a corner, her steps pausing as she listened, her ears straining for any sound. The halls were eerily quiet, the only noise the faint drip of water echoing through the dark.

Her stomach twisted painfully, her body aching from hunger, but she ignored it, her focus on one thing—escape. She had to get out, had to find a way back to safety. She couldn’t let herself be caught again.

Amberine turned another corner, her feet slipping slightly on the uneven floor. She caught herself against the wall, her breath coming in short gasps, her body trembling from the effort. She was tired—so tired—but she couldn’t stop now.

She moved forward, her gaze darting around as she tried to get her bearings. She didn’t know where she was going, but she had to keep moving, had to stay ahead of whoever was after her. She rounded another corner, and then—

She froze.

A small figure stood before her, his tiny salamander-like body glowing faintly, casting a soft, warm light across the dark corridor. Amberine’s eyes widened, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized him.

"Ifrit," she whispered, her voice barely audible, her body sagging in relief. The little spirit turned his head towards her, his eyes widening, and then he scurried forward, his small claws clicking against the floor.

"Amberine!" Ifrit’s voice was filled with a mix of relief and urgency. He climbed up her shoulder, his small body glowing brightly as he pressed against her neck, his warmth spreading across her skin.

"Thank the flames, you’re alright!"

Amberine let out a shaky breath, her hands coming up to hold Ifrit gently.

"How... how did you get here?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Where’s Draven?"

Ifrit looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination.

"Draven," he said, his voice steady, "created a passage for me—a temporary rift. He couldn’t come himself, but he sent me to find you. We have to move quickly, Amberine. This place… it’s dangerous. More dangerous than we thought."

Amberine nodded, her heart swelling with hope. Draven had tried to save her. He had sent Ifrit. She wasn’t alone. She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing as she looked around.

"Alright," she said, her voice filled with determination.

"Let’s get out of here."

Together, they began moving through the dark, maze-like corridors, Ifrit’s small body glowing just enough to light their path without drawing too much attention. Amberine felt stronger now, the warmth of Ifrit’s presence giving her the strength to push forward. She explained to him everything that had happened since she had been taken—the grotesque figure, the tattoos, the chains. Ifrit listened, his tiny claws gripping her shoulder, his eyes glowing with worry.

As they moved through the fortress, Amberine spotted something—a small bag left discarded by one of the guards. She knelt, her hands trembling as she opened it. Inside was an old, worn black book. The Holy Scriptures. Her heart skipped a beat, remembering what she had overheard from the guards. She took the book, her fingers brushing against its cracked cover. There was something about it—something important.

They moved to a hidden corner, Amberine opening the book, her eyes scanning the pages. The text was old, written in a language she barely understood, but she forced herself to focus, her eyes widening as she began to decipher the meaning. The Devil Coffin’s plans—their attack on Aetherion—it was all here. Maps, strategic notes, references to key locations. Her fingers trembled as she flipped through the pages, and then she saw it—a prophecy.

"The Child of Promise… the Daughter of Flames," she whispered, her voice trembling. Amberine’s eyes widened, the words echoing in her mind. She looked at Ifrit, her breath caught in her throat. "I think… I think they’re talking about me."

Ifrit’s eyes met hers, his small form trembling slightly, his voice filled with a mix of fear and determination. "Then we have to be even more careful," he said, his voice steady. "We have to make sure they don’t get what they want from you."

Footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing closer, and Amberine’s heart leapt into her throat. She and Ifrit exchanged a panicked glance. Without hesitation, Ifrit extinguished his glow, plunging them into darkness. Amberine pressed herself tightly against the cold stone wall, clutching the black book to her chest as she strained to hear the approaching steps.

Her heart pounded in her ears, her breaths shallow. The footsteps grew nearer, shadows shifting with each flicker of movement. She closed her eyes, silently praying that whoever was coming would pass by without noticing them. The tension was suffocating, every second stretching out like an eternity.

Then the voice of him appeared.

The person that has been entering her dream for a while now.

And the person who is responsible for bringing her to this prison dimension

"I found you,"