The Villain Professor's Second Chance

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cold stone floor beneath his feet. His mind immediately began to organize the day ahead, ticking through tasks and responsibilities. In the mansion that stood proudly within the capital's heart, Draven was a presence to be revered, admired, and feared. The servants, now fully loyal and obedient, whispered constantly of his greatness.

His exploits were the stuff of legend—the restoration of the Magic Tower University, the defense against the demon at the royal banquet, and the crushing of the goblin king's uprising in the Icevern territory.

Draven's name had become synonymous with power.

He rose from the bed, stretching his body with deliberate precision. He didn't rush through his morning routine; everything had a purpose. Draven believed in the refinement of both mind and body, and as he warmed up his mana, he could feel it course through his veins like a river of controlled energy.

His morning stretches were not just for physical preparation; they were a way to harmonize his body with the immense magical power he wielded. With each stretch, his mana responded in kind, weaving through his muscles and joints, reinforcing his body like a living fortress.

The Drakhan mansion, though grand, was silent this early in the morning. The staff, knowing Draven's routine, moved like shadows through the hallways, preparing for their master's awakening. But none dared disturb him. It was a sign of respect, born from a mix of fear and admiration.

In the kitchens, the cooks whispered of his perfection, of how every battle he fought was an example of cold brilliance. And the maids, as they readied his clothing for the day, spoke in hushed tones about his handsomeness, his grace, and the way he carried himself with effortless elegance.

Draven jogged through the private garden, his footsteps light but purposeful. His morning run was a tradition he maintained, even here in the capital. It wasn't about the distance or speed; it was about control. His heart rate remained steady, his breathing never wavering. Each step was calculated, each breath a testament to his mastery over his body.

As he passed through the gardens, the maids and staff who had been quietly tending to their duties couldn't help but steal glances. His tall, lean form moved with an elegance that seemed almost unnatural, every muscle perfectly defined, every motion smooth as if rehearsed a thousand times.

"Isn't he just perfect?" one of the younger maids whispered as she watched him pass.

"Quiet!" the older maid beside her hissed, though her own eyes were glued to Draven as well. "You know he hears everything."

Draven didn't acknowledge the whispers, though he was acutely aware of them. His sharp senses picked up everything—the admiration, the fear, the way people marveled at him. He didn't need their praise, but he understood its power. Respect, after all, was a weapon as sharp as any blade.

He finished his run and returned to his chambers, his body humming with energy. A maid stood by the door, head bowed, holding out a towel for him as he entered. Without a word, Draven accepted it and wiped the thin layer of sweat from his brow. Even his movements while cooling down were precise—every action deliberate and efficient.

He moved through his stretching routine, his muscles relaxing into the familiar poses. Despite the physical exertion, there was not a single wasted motion.

In the dining hall, breakfast was already prepared. The head chef had taken great care to prepare an elegant yet simple meal—perfectly poached eggs, delicately grilled fish, and freshly baked bread. Draven seated himself at the table, and the servants stood at attention, ready to assist, though they knew he rarely needed them.

As he ate, every movement was a study in elegance. His fork lifted the food to his lips with perfect precision, not a single crumb falling out of place. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste, but never lingering too long. Everything about Draven, from the way he held his utensils to the way he sat, was a testament to discipline and refinement.

The maids and footmen exchanged quiet glances as they stood by, admiring the way he conducted himself. "Look at him," one of them whispered. "It's like he was born to be this perfect."

"Not a single flaw," another muttered in awe.

They weren't wrong. Draven's aura of perfection extended beyond his looks and power—it was ingrained in his very being. And as he finished his meal, dabbing the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin, he stood with a smooth, fluid motion that left everyone watching in silent admiration.

Today, however, Alfred was not present. It was the head maid who approached him instead, her posture rigid with respect as she stepped forward. "Master Draven, the carriage is ready to take you to the Magic Tower University," she said, her voice soft but formal.

Draven nodded once, his gaze flicking over her. "Very well."

He made his way to the entrance hall, his robe already laid out for him by the maids. The dark, flowing fabric shimmered with magical enchantments, enhancing both his protection and presence. As he draped it over his shoulders, the room seemed to shift with his power. The aura he carried with him was undeniable—cold, authoritative, and impossibly sharp.

The carriage awaited outside, and as Draven stepped into it, he noticed how the staff—both inside the mansion and out—moved with heightened urgency, eager to ensure everything was in perfect order for their master. The whispers of his greatness continued even as the carriage pulled away from the grand gates of the Drakhan estate and made its way through the bustling streets of the capital.

The journey to the Magic Tower University was familiar, but something was different today. Draven's eyes scanned the streets as the carriage passed, noticing how people turned to watch him, their whispers trailing behind him like an invisible breeze.

"That's him," a woman said, her voice barely audible. "The one who saved the university."

"He's so… regal," another murmured. "Cold, but beautiful."

"Did you hear about how he dealt with the goblin king?" a man's voice added, hushed but excited. "Ruthless. Efficient. He saved Icevern without breaking a sweat."

Draven let the whispers wash over him, his face as expressionless as ever. These people—they admired him, feared him, revered him. And why shouldn't they? He had proven time and time again that he was more than capable of handling the impossible.

When the carriage arrived at the Magic Tower University, Draven stepped out, his long cloak billowing slightly in the morning breeze. The university guards, once indifferent to his presence, now straightened as he approached, offering him respectful nods as he passed.

"Morning, Professor Draven," one of the guards said, his voice betraying a hint of awe. "It's an honor to see you, sir."

Draven barely acknowledged the greeting, his sharp eyes scanning the grounds as he made his way toward the entrance. Students whispered as he passed, their voices barely contained as they marveled at the man who had become a living legend within the university's halls.

"That's him, isn't it? The one who restored the tower?"

"They say he's ruthless, but look at him. He's practically flawless." Enjoy more content from empire

"I wish I could be half as powerful as him."

Draven's cold demeanor never wavered. He strode through the halls of the university, his footsteps echoing in the silence as the crowds parted to let him pass. Every step he took felt calculated, every glance he cast was sharp and precise. The students and staff couldn't help but stare, drawn to his presence like moths to a flame.

When he finally arrived at his office, he paused at the door, taking in the sight of the space that had been his domain for years. The office was neat, orderly, every book and artifact meticulously placed. But something had been missing.

With a single, fluid motion, Draven raised his hand, and the air around him shimmered with magic. The hidden artifacts and magical items he had concealed within the office reappeared, filling the space once more with an air of power and mystery. Ancient relics, magical tomes, and enchanted items materialized around him, each one pulsating faintly with the magic that had been woven into them.

Draven's eyes flicked over the artifacts, his mind already calculating the next steps in his plan. Everything was in place.

He allowed himself a small, barely perceptible nod. "Time to restart the lecture," he murmured, his voice low and cold.

The day had begun, and with it, the world would soon remember just how powerful Draven truly was. As a professor, of course.