The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 459: The Cheeky Sneaky Silent Merchant

Draven sat back in his chair, letting the rich aroma of his coffee fill the air around him as he watched Elandris depart. Her steps, light and full of cheer, echoed faintly in the quiet room. She’d been in a particularly buoyant mood, skipping slightly as she left, humming a tune that carried her satisfaction. The door closed softly behind her, leaving the air tinged with her lively energy. Draven’s gaze lingered on the door for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly before he sighed deeply.

"I thought you had dropped your habit of sneaking around me, Liora," he muttered, his voice low and measured, cutting through the stillness with precision.

There was a faint shift in the shadows, so subtle that it could have been mistaken for a trick of the dim light. Then, from behind the sofa, a figure emerged with deliberate fluidity. Liora, the Silent Merchant, rose to her feet, a playful grin spreading across her face. Her movements were so smooth they seemed almost rehearsed, the kind of poise that only came from years of mastering stealth.

"Hehe, I thought I could surprise you this time," she said, her tone light and teasing. The glimmer in her eyes hinted at mischief, though it was tempered by a genuine admiration for his awareness.

Draven didn’t look at her immediately. He raised his coffee cup to his lips, taking a slow sip as if weighing the value of responding. Finally, his eyes flicked to her, calm and detached, before returning to the reports floating before him. "You didn’t surprise me," he said flatly.

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Unperturbed, Liora stepped closer, her hands clasped behind her back as she examined the room. "I’m good, though, right? Even the great Chancellor didn’t notice me!"

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Draven’s lips twitched—not quite a smile, more like a flicker of dry amusement. "She noticed," he said, setting his coffee down. "She just didn’t take any action."

He gestured toward the door, and Liora turned to see a faintly glowing magical script hanging in the air. "I see you :)," it read, complete with an emoji of Elandris flashing a peace sign.

Liora’s jaw dropped. "Unbelievable," she muttered, her pride clearly bruised. "I’m supposed to be the best at this."

Draven’s tone was cool as he replied, "Know your opponents before boasting."

Liora pouted briefly before making her way to his brewing tools. She handled them with the casual confidence of someone who had been here before, selecting tea leaves and setting them to steep. "More coffee for you?" she asked over her shoulder, her tone playful.

Draven’s gaze didn’t waver from the reports. "I don’t."

Liora smirked, pouring hot water over the leaves. "You didn’t even scold me for using your tea leaves. I guess we’ve reached that level of trust, huh?"

The corner of Draven’s mouth almost moved, but it didn’t. His pens continued their work, scratching precise notes into the air. "Don’t test that theory," he said evenly.

She chuckled, her attention shifting to the brewing tea. "You’re no fun, Draven. Always so serious."

Draven’s pens suddenly halted, floating in perfect stillness. He set his coffee down deliberately and fixed Liora with a sharp gaze. "What are you doing here, Liora? You have a question, don’t you? But first, your reports."

Liora straightened, turning back to him with a playful salute. "As you wish, my lord," she teased before launching into her updates.

"The auction preparations are on track. Guards are in place, the security systems have been tested, and the invitations have all been sent. The item list is finalized, and everything should proceed without a hitch," she said, her tone professional but laced with her usual charm.

Draven inclined his head slightly, signaling his approval. "And?"

Liora’s grin widened. "And, per your orders, I’ve been keeping an ear to the ground for strange information. Nothing too peculiar yet, except for one thing." She paused for dramatic effect, her gaze locking with his.

Draven’s pens resumed their steady orbit, but his eyes remained on her. "Go on."

"There are rumors about a certain professor," she said, her voice lilting. "Apparently, you’ve been quite busy. Murdering Lady Sharon of Blackthorn? Allowing the Devil Coffin to infiltrate Aetherion? Quite the scandal."

Draven’s expression didn’t change, but the air in the room seemed to grow heavier. "So, what happened?" Liora pressed, leaning casually against the counter. "You’re my master now, so I think I deserve to know if your ship is sinking."

Draven set his coffee down fully, meeting her gaze with an intensity that silenced the playful edge in her tone. "The rumors aren’t true," he said simply. "But whether I’m a worthwhile investment is up to you."

Liora tilted her head, her fingers drumming thoughtfully against the counter.

"Well, let’s see. Killing Sharon? Not your style. Too messy, not enough gain. It’s not your way to leave loose ends that scream motive. Bringing the Devil Coffin into Aetherion? Again, doesn’t fit your methods. You’re meticulous, not reckless, and there’s no profit or strategic gain for you in courting that kind of chaos." She paused, tilting her head slightly as if weighing her next words.

"If anything, your moves are always cold and calculated—not the kind that would burn bridges so openly."

Draven remained silent, watching her with the same detached calm.

"But more importantly.

She leaned forward, her voice softening. "Are you okay?"

For a moment, there was only the hum of magic in the room. Then Draven spoke, his tone quiet but firm. "I’m fine. But for now, you might want to avoid risks. Stay hidden until the symposium. Defend your siblings."

Liora’s expression grew serious, her usual playfulness giving way to a rare gravity. "Of course," she said simply.

Suddenly, the pens clattered to the floor. Draven’s hand flew to his head, and he let out a strangled gasp. His body convulsed, his sharp, calculated movements replaced by a violent tremor.

"Draven!" Liora’s voice was frantic as she rushed to his side. Her hands hovered over him, unsure of how to help. His face twisted in agony, his sharp eyes wide but unseeing.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It wasn’t just physical—it was the sensation of dying, over and over again. Each death was vivid, each wound felt with excruciating clarity. He could feel the steel of a blade slicing through his flesh, the burn of fire consuming him, the crushing weight of stone as it shattered his bones. It was endless, relentless, each death layered on the last until they blurred into a single, harrowing torment.

His vision darkened, the room spinning around him in a vortex of torment. The sensations were excruciatingly vivid, each one tearing through his consciousness with unrelenting ferocity. It wasn’t just the feeling of pain—it was the suffocating weight of mortality crashing down upon him repeatedly, a loop of endings he couldn’t escape. He felt the searing heat of fire consuming his flesh, the icy bite of blades carving through muscle and bone, and the suffocating pressure of stone crushing him until his body gave way. Each death was unique, yet they layered upon one another, compounding the agony until his mind couldn’t separate where one ended and another began.

It was more than physical—it was the invasion of memories he had never lived but could now feel, as if they were his own. The sharp sting of poison coursing through his veins, the echo of his body breaking under unseen forces, the emptiness of a final gasp—all of it played in a symphony of destruction, an orchestra of endings conducted by some unseen force. Each moment felt eternal, and yet they came in rapid succession, overwhelming his senses.

Then, amidst the haze of torment, a terrifying realization clawed its way to the surface. This wasn’t a mere illusion or trick. These were memories—memories of his real body, the original Draven, returning from the quest world. Every death, every moment of suffering his physical form endured, was now imprinted on him, shared across the tether of their connection. His sharp mind, so used to processing with cold precision, strained under the assault of simultaneous lives ending in grotesque detail.

He could feel the weight of each blow, the shattering of ribs, the last flicker of light in his eyes before darkness claimed him, over and over again. It was relentless and raw, a cruel reminder of the sacrifices his real self had made. His breaths came in shallow gasps, each one feeling like a battle won against the crushing tide of despair. The pain wasn’t just seared into his body—it was burned into his very essence.

"Draven!" Liora’s voice broke through the haze, a desperate anchor in the sea of suffering. Her hands pressed against his shoulders, shaking him gently but firmly. "Stay with me!"

He couldn’t respond, couldn’t move. The pain consumed him, pulling him into a darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. His sharp mind, usually so controlled and unyielding, felt like it was splintering under the weight of the torment.

Liora’s voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. "W-What happened?"

Her words, though faint, seemed to reach him. Slowly, the darkness began to recede, the sharp edges of the pain dulling ever so slightly. His breaths came in ragged gasps, his body trembling as the agony ebbed.

Liora’s hands didn’t leave his shoulders, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and determination. "Draven, what happened?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. His sharp eyes met hers, and for the first time, there was a flicker of vulnerability in their depths.