The Villain Professor's Second Chance

His swords, still dripping with dark blood, gleamed in the dim light. Draven's eyes, sharp and cold, swept over the battlefield, taking in the scene with a ruthless detachment. The goblins were scattering like rats, and though many might consider it a victory, Draven saw it as unfinished business.

"Do not let them escape," Draven's voice cut through the air, as sharp as the blades he wielded. His command was clear, precise, and left no room for hesitation. The knights and adventurers under his command, already wearied by the battle, straightened at his words, their fatigue momentarily forgotten.

There was something in his tone that brooked no defiance, a cold finality that chilled even the most seasoned warriors.

At his signal, the hunt began.

The adventurers, still bloodied and bruised from the battle, surged forward with renewed purpose. Draven's knights, disciplined and relentless, pursued the fleeing goblins with a merciless efficiency. There was no hesitation, no pause—only the drive to complete the task that had been set before them. It wasn't enough to win; the victory had to be absolute.

The goblins were no match for the trained knights. Many fell where they ran, cut down by the precise strikes of the swords or pierced by arrows that found their mark with unerring accuracy. The forest echoed with their dying screams, their blood soaking into the snow beneath their feet.

It was a slaughter, plain and simple, and Draven watched it unfold with an expression that could have been carved from stone.

There were murmurs among the adventurers, whispers that passed like shadows between the trees. They spoke of Draven—his handsomeness, his undeniable intellect, the awe he inspired with his strategic brilliance. But these compliments were tinged with something darker, a fear that crept into their voices.

No one could deny the results of his leadership, but there was something in the way he moved, the cold efficiency with which he commanded, that left a chill in their bones.

"He's terrifying," one of the soldiers muttered under his breath, his eyes wide as he watched the goblins being cut down without mercy.

"Like a demon," another agreed, shivering despite the warmth of his cloak. "Doesn't even flinch… Like none of this matters to him."

"Did you see how he took down the Goblin King? It's like he's not even human…"

The rumors spread quickly, like a fire catching on dry wood. Draven's actions, his decisiveness, his ruthless efficiency—they all pointed to a man who was more than just a warrior. There was something else beneath the surface, something cold and unfeeling, and it made the soldiers and adventurers alike shiver.

As the last of the goblins fell, silence descended on the battlefield. The adventurers stood among the fallen, their breaths visible in the cold air. Draven sheathed his swords with a single, fluid motion, his expression unchanged, his eyes as distant as ever. For him, this was just another battle, another task completed with precision.

But for those who had followed him, the memory of his command, his presence, would linger long after the blood had been washed from their blades.

Sophie watched the scene unfold from the sidelines, her heart a tumultuous storm of emotions. She had been saved from the brink of disaster, her forces spared from further casualties, but it was Draven who had done it. Draven, her fiancé, the man she had such mixed feelings about, had commanded the battlefield with a coldness that made her question everything she thought she knew about him.

She couldn't deny the relief she felt—her people were safe, and the goblin threat had been eliminated. But the way it had been handled, the brutality with which Draven had ordered the goblins hunted down like animals, left a bitter taste in her mouth. The Draven she had known, or thought she had known, had been different.

Or perhaps, she realized with a sinking feeling, she had never truly known him at all.

Sophie's thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her younger sister, Annalise, and her loyal adjutant, Sharon. Annalise, ever perceptive, noticed the way Sophie's gaze lingered on Draven, her expression one of confusion and unease.

"Sophie, are you alright?" Annalise asked, her voice soft but insistent. She followed her sister's gaze to where Draven stood, giving orders to his knights, and her expression darkened. "What did he do to you?"

Sophie shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "Nothing… He didn't do anything to me, Anna. It's just…" She trailed off, unable to put into words the turmoil inside her.

Annalise's eyes narrowed, her protective instincts flaring. "If he did something, I swear I'll kill him," she growled, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword.

"No," Sophie said quickly, placing a hand on her sister's arm to calm her. "It's not that. He… saved us. If it wasn't for him, we might not have made it."

Annalise looked unconvinced, but Sharon's sharp gaze turned towards Sophie, assessing her reaction. "You don't seem too pleased about it," she remarked, her tone cautious but probing.

Sophie hesitated, glancing back at Draven. "It's not that I'm not grateful… It's just… the way he did it. It was so… brutal."

Sharon's lips pressed into a thin line, and she exchanged a glance with Annalise. "Brutal or not, he got the job done. But I've been hearing some things from the soldiers," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Something about messages being obstructed… messages that were meant for the Duke."

Sophie's brow furrowed in confusion. "Messages? What are you talking about?"

Sharon looked around to make sure they weren't being overheard before continuing. "Apparently, the messages you sent to your father about the situation here—about the goblin threat and the need for reinforcements—they never reached him. It's like someone intercepted them."

Sophie's eyes widened in shock. "But how? Who would do such a thing?"

Annalise's gaze hardened, her voice dripping with suspicion. "Who else? Draven. It makes perfect sense, doesn't it? He would have had the opportunity to save you, to be the hero… He probably thought it would make you look at him differently."

Sophie's heart sank at the implication. Could it be true? Had Draven really gone to such lengths, manipulating the situation to his advantage? It was a possibility she hadn't considered, but now that it was laid out before her, it seemed all too plausible.

"No…" Sophie whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. "He wouldn't… He couldn't…"

Sharon's expression was skeptical, her tone laced with cynicism. "Why not? He's cold, calculating… He's the type who would do whatever it takes to achieve his goals. Even if it means manipulating you."

Annalise's grip on her sword tightened. "If that's true, I'll make him regret it."

Sophie felt a wave of nausea wash over her. The idea that Draven could have orchestrated everything, that he could have put her and her men in danger just to play the hero, was almost too much to bear. But as much as she wanted to dismiss the idea, the doubt had already taken root in her mind.
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She watched Draven as he gave his final orders, his expression as unreadable as ever. He had saved them, yes, but at what cost? And for what reason? The man who had once been her fiancé now felt like a stranger, a figure she could no longer trust, no matter how much she wanted to.

Annalise's voice broke through her thoughts, her tone fierce. "Whatever his reasons, Sophie, you don't owe him anything. Remember that."

Sophie nodded numbly, her emotions a tangled mess. The battle was over, but the war within her heart had only just begun. And as she watched Draven walk away, disappearing into the shadows of the fort, she couldn't help but wonder if she would ever truly understand the man behind the mask.

As the battle finally subsided, the once-chaotic fortress now lay eerily silent, the ground littered with the remnants of the fierce confrontation. The few remaining adventurers and soldiers moved through the fort, tending to the wounded, securing the area, and gathering their dead. The acrid smell of blood and sweat hung in the cold air, a stark reminder of the price they had paid for victory.

Sophie stood atop the fortress walls, her eyes still scanning the horizon, as if expecting another wave of enemies to emerge from the treeline. The adrenaline that had kept her going during the battle was beginning to fade, replaced by an overwhelming sense of exhaustion. The weight of leadership bore heavily on her shoulders, and she struggled to process the events of the past few hours.

Below, she noticed a group of soldiers gathered around a large, crude crate, struggling to hoist something heavy onto it. Curiosity piqued, she descended the stairs, weaving her way through the remnants of the battle, until she reached the gathering.

Draven was there, his presence as commanding and cold as ever. He directed the soldiers with curt, precise orders, his tone brooking no argument. The object being loaded onto the crate was none other than the corpse of the Goblin King, its massive, grotesque form still radiating an aura of malevolence even in death.

Sophie hesitated, unsure of whether to approach him. The memories of their shared past, of the man Draven had once been, clashed with the cold, calculating figure he had become. But something compelled her to move forward, her heart a tangled mess of emotions.

"What are you doing?"