The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Draven moved steadily, his pace unfaltering despite the harsh conditions. He wasn't unaccustomed to this kind of environment; his focus was unwavering, his sharp eyes scanning the terrain ahead for any signs of movement. His mind, however, was not entirely in the wasteland—it was also with his other selves.

One version of him was lecturing back at the university, shaping young minds with theories of magic and alchemy. Another was hidden among adventurers, keeping a close ear to rumors and whispers that spread through guild halls. The last one was setting up his Earldom, building hidden defenses with the dungeon core, preparing for a future assault.

But this Draven, the one walking through the wasteland, had a different mission—he was on his way to Velkanis Empire, aiming for the City of Heavenly Relic. His journey was straightforward, though the wasteland was far from peaceful.

Ahead, a cloud of dust stirred, and Draven's eyes narrowed. He could make out a group of figures, a caravan surrounded by several bandits. He paused, his gaze sharpening. There were five, no, six bandits—all armed with mismatched weapons, their clothes worn and torn, covering their faces with ragged scarves.

The caravan, a single wagon pulled by two horses, looked defenseless. A lone merchant, dressed in faded robes, held up his hands in surrender, fear painted across his wrinkled face. The bandits shouted demands, their voices crude and harsh against the howling wind.

Draven exhaled, his expression remaining cold. He had no real obligation to interfere—this was not his land, and these were not his people. But the bandits were in his way, and he needed to get through without unnecessary trouble. His decision was made in an instant.

He moved, his form a blur as he approached the caravan from behind, slipping silently over the uneven ground. The bandits were too preoccupied with intimidating their victim to notice the cloaked figure approaching them. Draven's eyes glinted as he assessed the situation, his mind calculating distances, weapons, and weaknesses with clinical precision.

One of the bandits, a tall man with a makeshift spear, raised his weapon, pointing it threateningly at the merchant. "You deaf or something, old man? I said, hand over everything you've got!"

Draven's hand moved to the hilt of his short sword, and before the bandit could react, he was on them. The blade sliced through the air, swift and precise, cutting through the tendons in the man's arm. The spear fell from his grip, clattering to the ground as he let out a howl of pain, clutching his bleeding arm.

The others spun around, startled, but Draven was already in motion. He ducked under a clumsy swing of a rusted blade, his own weapon moving with practiced ease. The steel found its mark, piercing the side of another bandit, who crumpled with a gasp, eyes wide in shock.

The rest of the bandits hesitated, their bravado wavering as they faced the unexpected assailant. Draven's cold gaze flicked between them, his voice low and sharp, cutting through the chaos. "Leave. Now."

For a moment, it seemed they would fight. But the look in Draven's eyes—the cold certainty of death—made them reconsider. One of the bandits, a younger man with wild eyes, took a step back, his hands shaking. Without another word, they turned and fled, disappearing into the wasteland, leaving their fallen comrades behind.

Draven sheathed his blade, his expression unchanging as he turned his attention to the merchant, who was staring at him with wide eyes, his hands still raised in surrender.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"Are you hurt?" Draven asked, his voice flat, devoid of concern but direct.

The merchant blinked, lowering his hands slowly, his eyes flicking between Draven and the retreating figures of the bandits. "N-no, no, I'm fine. Thank you, sir, thank you... they would've killed me, they would've..." He trailed off, his voice trembling as he looked down at the fallen bandits, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.

Draven nodded, turning away as if to leave. He had no interest in lingering, but the merchant called out to him.

"Wait! Please, wait!" The merchant stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. "I... I have something to offer you. Supplies, information—anything. Please, let me repay you."

Draven paused, glancing over his shoulder. Supplies might be useful, and information was always valuable, especially this close to Velkanis Empire. He turned back, his gaze steady. "What do you know of the empire? And the City of Heavenly Relic?"

The merchant swallowed, nodding quickly. "Velkanis... it's not what it used to be. There's chaos everywhere—monsters have been sighted near the city, strange creatures that shouldn't exist. The City of Heavenly Relic, once a symbol of peace, is now under constant threat of invasion by these beasts. People are afraid to go near it."

Draven listened, his expression impassive. Monsters near the city, disturbing the balance—it wasn't entirely unexpected, but it was good to have confirmation. "And the supplies?" he asked.

The merchant nodded eagerly, rushing to the back of his wagon. He pulled open a small chest, revealing dried rations, water flasks, and a few medicinal herbs. "Take what you need, sir. It's the least I can do."

Draven took a small amount—enough for the journey ahead, but not enough to burden himself. He glanced at the merchant, nodding once. "Dravis Granger," he said simply, offering his alias. "You should leave this place. It isn't safe."

The merchant nodded, gratitude etched on his face. "Thank you, Dravis. May the gods watch over you."

Draven turned without another word, his cloak billowing slightly in the wind as he continued his journey. The wasteland stretched out before him, endless and unforgiving, but he moved with purpose, his sharp eyes fixed on the horizon.

—

The sun dipped low as Draven approached the first city within Velkanis. The city, perched on the edge of the wasteland, was bustling even at this late hour, its gates guarded by soldiers in dark armor, their faces obscured by helmets. Draven observed them from a distance before stepping forward, blending in with the flow of travelers making their way into the city.

Once inside, the contrast between the wasteland and the city was stark. The streets were alive with noise—merchants calling out their wares, children darting between stalls, and townsfolk moving hurriedly through the crowded alleys. Draven kept his hood up, his eyes scanning his surroundings. He needed information, and there was no better place than a city teeming with people.

He made his way to a small tavern, its sign swinging gently in the breeze—a crude depiction of a sword and a shield. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of ale and smoke, the murmur of conversation filling the room. Draven found a corner table, his back to the wall, and listened.

It didn't take long for him to hear what he was looking for. At the bar, a group of men were talking in hushed tones, their expressions tense. Draven focused on their conversation, his sharp ears picking up every word.

"—another attack, they say. Near the City of Heavenly Relic. Monsters, again. It's like they're coming from the ground itself."

"Aye, and the guards can't handle it. They say there's something wrong with the city. Some relic or other acting up. It's not safe to go near it, not anymore."

Draven's eyes narrowed slightly. Monsters, relics, disturbances—something was happening near the City of Heavenly Relic, something that was drawing these creatures out. He leaned back in his seat, his mind racing. The city was still two more stops from here, but whatever was going on there was clearly affecting the entire region.

One of the men at the bar slammed his mug down, his voice louder now, frustration seeping into his words. "If they don't do something soon, we'll all be in trouble. The whole damn city's going to fall, and then what? Velkanis'll be overrun."

The others muttered in agreement, their faces grim. Draven watched them for a moment longer before standing, slipping out of the tavern as silently as he had entered.

The city streets were quieter now, the sky above darkening as night fell. Draven moved with purpose, his eyes scanning the people he passed. He could feel the tension in the air—the way people glanced over their shoulders, the way guards patrolled in pairs, their hands never far from their weapons. Fear was a tangible thing here, and it only confirmed what he already knew.

Velkanis was on the brink. And the City of Heavenly Relic held the key to whatever was happening.