The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 451: The Battle of Two Great Mages

The cloaked man staggered back, his confidence wavering as Draven’s cold, unyielding gaze bore into him. It was as though the air itself had grown heavier, the entire chamber submitting to the weight of Draven’s presence. Panic flickered in the cloaked man’s eyes for a moment before his instincts kicked in. With a sharp motion, he flicked his wrist, and the bound man in Draven’s grip was yanked toward him by a thread of magic.

Draven didn’t resist. Instead, with a flick of his own hand, he hurled the captive forward with such force that the man’s body collided with the cloaked figure, throwing him off balance. The cloaked man snarled and, without hesitation, summoned a surge of green flames. The captive’s scream was cut short as the flames consumed him, leaving nothing but ash. The cloaked man sneered, venom dripping from his voice. "This is far from over."

Draven’s response was wordless. He raised his Water Elvish Pen, the artifact glowing faintly as he began chanting in a melodic, flowing elvish tongue. The words were like ripples on a still pond, reverberating through the chamber. Ancient runes glimmered faintly in the air as the ground beneath them cracked, giving way to five serpents of ice that erupted forth. The serpents shimmered with crystalline clarity, their forms elegant and deadly.

They moved with terrifying speed, not slithering but propelling themselves forward like bolts from a crossbow. Their sheer velocity caused the air to crack audibly. Some serpents curved around, weaving through the air in an effort to encircle their prey, while others darted straight for the cloaked man. The assault left no room for error.

Caught off guard, the cloaked man hastily conjured shields of dark magic, deflecting some of the serpents. But the sheer number and precision of their attacks forced him to move erratically, his composure slipping with every desperate motion. One serpent grazed his shoulder, leaving a jagged trail of frost that sizzled against his protective aura. The momentary falter was enough to disrupt the man’s rhythm, his movements now revealing cracks in his formidable facade.

Draven moved without pause, his sharp eyes already analyzing the man’s movements. Amidst the chaos, his psychokinesis took hold of Amberine, gently lifting her off the ground and pulling her to safety. He placed her down carefully, ensuring she wouldn’t fall, and turned his head just enough to call, "Ifrit."

The fiery salamander stirred beneath Amberine’s robe, trembling as it leapt onto Draven’s shoulder. Ifrit’s glow was weak, its energy drained from the previous battle, but it perked up as Draven’s Fire Pen hovered beside him, blazing brighter with each passing second. Ifrit’s mana began to replenish, his small frame trembling with renewed vitality.

Draven’s voice was calm, measured. "Is that enough?"

Ifrit hesitated before replying, "More. I need more."

Draven’s expression didn’t change as he adjusted his stance. "Then I’ll buy you time." His words carried the weight of assurance, his tone unwavering despite the tension saturating the air.

The cloaked man, still reeling from the serpents, growled in frustration. His hands moved in intricate patterns, weaving dark energy into bolts of shadow that he hurled toward Draven. The bolts sliced through the air, but Draven deflected them with ease, the icy barrier conjured by his pen shimmering as it absorbed the attacks. Each deflected bolt ricocheted off with a faint hiss, dissipating into harmless wisps of energy.

"What are you even doing here, Draven?" the cloaked man spat, his voice a mixture of disdain and desperation. "You think you can win? You’re wasting your strength."

Draven remained silent, his cold gaze never leaving the cloaked man. He conjured a small shard of ice, deceptively simple in appearance. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled it with raw physical strength. The shard moved faster than any spell, a glint of deadly precision that pierced the cloaked man’s shoulder. The man cried out, clutching the wound as blood seeped through his robes, the crimson stain spreading rapidly across the dark fabric.

Draven finally spoke, his tone razor-sharp. "I have no words to waste on scum." His voice cut through the air like a blade, leaving the cloaked man visibly seething.

Enraged, the cloaked man raised his hands, his voice rising in frantic chants. Magic circles began to form beneath his feet, one after another, until the chamber was filled with dozens—then hundreds—of glowing, pulsating runes. The air grew thick with menace, the oppressive energy pressing down on everything. Amberine clutched her chest, struggling to breathe against the weight of it. Ifrit quivered, muttering, "This… this is a Grand Series. It’s far beyond anything normal."

Draven’s gaze remained steady. "A Grand Series is a chain of layered magic circles," he explained, his voice calm amidst the rising chaos. "Each circle amplifies the others, drawing on latent ley lines to stabilize the energy. It’s dangerous, but manageable." His explanation was almost clinical, a stark contrast to the overwhelming energy threatening to crush them.

Amberine, her voice barely audible, whispered, "But, Professor, at this rate, we’ll—"

Before she could finish, Ifrit interrupted. "I’m ready."

Draven’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, his gaze still locked on the cloaked man. "Good." His reassurance carried a gravity that seemed to steady Amberine, despite her growing exhaustion.

As the cloaked man’s chant reached its crescendo, Draven began his own incantation. His voice, deliberate and commanding, reverberated through the chamber in an ancient tongue that seemed to pull at the very essence of the ley lines around them. Each word resonated with power, as though summoning the strength of forgotten ages. Massive red magic circles began to materialize in layers, each one more intricate than the last, forming a cascading series of runic glyphs that pulsed with an overwhelming aura of might.

The air around Draven shimmered and distorted, the temperature fluctuating wildly as the crimson circles expanded, their fiery brilliance growing brighter with each utterance. These were not mere symbols of magic but complex interwoven matrices, spiraling outward like living entities, their light painting the chamber in hues of crimson and gold. Arcs of energy sparked between the circles, their crackling intensity punctuated by the rhythmic thrum of raw mana surging through the lines.

Amberine, watching from behind Draven, felt her breath catch. For an instant, it was as though time itself bent beneath the gravity of the spell. Her eyes widened as Ifrit, perched on Draven’s shoulder, began to glow with an intensity she had never seen before. His small form seemed to blur, his shape stretching and warping. No, it wasn’t just a trick of the light. In that fleeting moment, she swore she saw him transform—grow—not merely larger but colossal. Ifrit’s outline shifted into something ancient and primal, his aura exuding a power that dwarfed her understanding.

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A dragon...?

The thought seared itself into her mind before the image faded, leaving her trembling.

The cloaked man’s chant grew louder, his desperation evident as his green magic circles began to flicker and warp under the sheer dominance of Draven’s spell. The energies clashed violently, the room trembling as though caught in the throes of an earthquake. The force of the collision sent shards of glowing debris flying, each fragment dissipating into the ether as the two powers battled for supremacy. It was a spectacle of raw, unfiltered magic, a duel of wills manifesting in an explosive display of brilliance and shadow.

The cloaked man’s voice rose in a desperate crescendo: "Azûrik voltena mardakh!"

Draven’s response was measured, unwavering: "Ishari thrannos velkyr!"

The collision of their spells created a shockwave that rattled the chamber, sending debris tumbling from the ceiling. The ground beneath them cracked, and the pressure threatened to crush everything around them. The cloaked man’s green flames clashed against Draven’s crimson and blue energy, the two forces locked in a deadly struggle. Sparks of raw magic cascaded around them like a storm of light and shadow. Read new adventures at novelbuddy

Draven’s power began to overwhelm his opponent, his red circles burning through the green flames, unraveling the hundreds of layered spells. The cloaked man screamed as the backlash caught his left arm, searing through flesh and severing it entirely. He stumbled, clutching the wound as his blood pooled on the ground, each drop sizzling against the heat of dissipating magic.

Just as Draven prepared to deliver the final blow, glowing chains erupted from the ground. Their aura was ancient, binding, resonating with a sinister magic that froze the air. Draven immediately reacted, grabbing Amberine and lifting her effortlessly with his right arm. He moved with calculated precision, dodging the chains as they lashed out wildly, seeking to ensnare him.

The chains hissed as they struck the ground, leaving jagged trails of frost in their wake. Draven’s movements were fluid, his sharp eyes scanning for the source of the new threat. Amberine clung to him, her breath ragged, her mind reeling from the sheer intensity of the battle. The weight of his steady presence was the only thing grounding her.

From the shadows, another figure emerged. Also cloaked, this new presence exuded a chilling calm. Their voice was soft but commanding, carrying an authority that silenced the chaos. "That’s enough. Fall back."

The wounded cloaked man glared at Draven, his face contorted with pain and rage. "I won’t forget this, Draven Arcanum von Drakhan."

"So you’re just going to run? Not even using your authority? Or perhaps," Draven’s tone turned sharper, slicing through the man’s remaining composure, "you’re just afraid of what comes next."

"DRAVEN!!!!!!" The man grunted terrifyingly, and for a glimpse, Amberine could see his eyes filled with madness as he stare at Draven.

Then.

A dark, foreboding portal formed behind them, its edges crackling with unstable energy. The two figures stepped into its swirling depths, their forms vanishing as the chains dissolved into the air. The portal closed with a low hum, leaving the chamber in an eerie silence.

Draven set Amberine down gently, his sharp gaze scanning the room. His pens hovered around him, their glow dimming as his mana stabilized. Amberine looked up at him, her voice trembling. "Professor… Just exactly... What happened...?"

Draven didn’t respond immediately. He glanced toward the fading traces of the portal, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and precise.

"A nuisance appeared. And make quite a lot of trouble. That is all."

Without another word, he turned and began walking toward the remnants of the Holy Scriptures, his figure framed by the faint, flickering light of the ley lines.

"So this is their holy book?"