The Villain Professor's Second Chance

"Boring," Gilgamesh interrupted, his voice dripping with arrogance. "You're boring me."

Before Malakaroth could react, Gilgamesh raised his sword high, and the light from the six portals intensified. The staffsreleased beams of golden energy, converging on the demon king with a force that shook the entire dungeon. Malakaroth roared in defiance, but it was futile.

Gilgamesh's laughter rang through the chamber as he continued to toy with Malakaroth, his golden sword effortlessly deflecting the demon king's desperate attacks. Each strike from the demon, no matter how powerful, was met with casual precision, the King of Heroes almost dancing through the onslaught. It was clear to me that this was no contest—Gilgamesh was simply playing with his prey.

But even as the battle raged on, I could sense the growing disinterest in Gilgamesh's movements. His strikes, once sharp and precise, became more languid, more casual. His smirk, which had started out full of amusement, now faded into something closer to boredom. I could see it in his eyes, that same cold calculation, as if he were already thinking of something else, something more entertaining.

Malakaroth, on the other hand, grew more and more frantic. The demon king, once so full of bravado and fury, was now clearly beginning to falter under the sheer weight of Gilgamesh's power. His magic, his strength—none of it seemed to be enough to even scratch the King of Heroes.

And the more Malakaroth fought, the more he began to realize that he was not battling just any hero but a legend, a being whose power far surpassed his own.

"Is this really all you have?" Gilgamesh muttered, his voice dripping with disappointment as he sidestepped another massive swing of Malakaroth's axe. He didn't even bother to deflect it this time; he just let the demon's weapon pass by harmlessly, his golden eyes narrowing in disdain. "I expected more from a so-called demon king."

Malakaroth roared, his voice filled with frustration and rage. "You arrogant—!"

Gilgamesh cut him off with a lazy wave of his hand, sending another beam of golden light crashing into the demon, forcing him back several paces. "Yes, yes, I'm arrogant," he said, his tone utterly bored now. "But you see, that's because I have every reason to be."

For a moment, Gilgamesh simply stood there, his sword lowered at his side, his expression one of utter disinterest. He let Malakaroth catch his breath, the demon king's chest heaving as he struggled to stand under the relentless assault. The power difference was undeniable. Gilgamesh wasn't just stronger—he was leagues beyond anything Malakaroth could have prepared for.

"I'll give you credit for one thing," Gilgamesh finally said, his voice low and contemplative. "You've managed to last longer than most. But, well…" He glanced down at his golden sword, twirling it absentmindedly. "I'm bored."

Bored? I watched him, my eyes narrowing as I observed his every move. I had known Gilgamesh to be arrogant, but this was different. His boredom wasn't just casual indifference—it was a challenge, a taunt. He was waiting for something more, something that could push him beyond the monotony of an easy victory.

Malakaroth, sensing an opening, charged forward with renewed fury, his axe glowing with dark energy as he swung it down toward Gilgamesh's head. But Gilgamesh didn't move to block or dodge. Instead, he let out a sigh.

"You know what?" Gilgamesh said, just as Malakaroth's axe descended. "Let's make this more interesting."

With a flick of his wrist, all six of the golden portals behind him vanished, the weapons they had summoned retreating back into the Gate of Babylonia. The sword in his hand shimmered, and then, with a flash of light, it too disappeared, leaving him completely unarmed. I felt a moment of confusion wash over me as I watched the King of Heroes willingly disarm himself.

Gilgamesh smiled, a thin, dangerous smile. "I'm going to give you a handicap, demon."

Malakaroth hesitated mid-swing, his glowing red eyes narrowing in disbelief. "What?"

Gilgamesh spread his arms wide, as if inviting the demon to strike. "I'll put away all my weapons. I won't use any of my treasures. Just a single, ordinary sword." His voice was calm, almost amused. "It's been a long time since I fought like a hero."

I blinked, taken aback by his words. A hero? Gilgamesh, the king known for his arrogance, for his vast collection of treasures, was choosing to limit himself, to fight like the heroes of old? I couldn't help but feel a sliver of unease. This wasn't just a display of arrogance—it was a test. He wanted to see if Malakaroth could actually provide him with the challenge he craved.

The demon king, sensing an insult, growled low in his throat, his muscles tensing. "You think you can defeat me with an ordinary sword? You mock me, human."

Gilgamesh's smirk widened. "I'm not mocking you. I'm giving you a chance."

With a flash of golden light, a simple sword appeared in his hand. There was nothing extraordinary about it—no glowing runes, no divine aura. It was just a plain, steel blade. But in Gilgamesh's grip, it felt like the deadliest weapon in the world.

Malakaroth's rage surged. He let out a bellowing roar and charged, his massive form barreling toward Gilgamesh with enough force to shake the entire chamber. His axe, crackling with dark energy, swung down with brutal speed, aiming to cleave the King of Heroes in two.

But Gilgamesh, with the same casual grace he had shown throughout the battle, sidestepped the attack. His movements were fluid, almost lazy, as he brought the ordinary sword up in a simple arc. The blade flashed, and Malakaroth's axe met it with a deafening clang. For a moment, the two weapons locked, the sheer weight of Malakaroth's strength pressing down on Gilgamesh.

But then, with a flick of his wrist, Gilgamesh deflected the blow, sending Malakaroth stumbling back, off-balance. He didn't even bother to follow up the attack. Instead, he watched the demon king regain his footing, a bored expression on his face.

"Is that all?" Gilgamesh asked, his voice dripping with disdain. "You have the strength of a brute, but no skill."

Malakaroth roared again, his fury reaching a boiling point. He swung his axe wildly, each strike filled with raw, unbridled rage. But Gilgamesh was faster, his movements precise, economical. With every swing of Malakaroth's weapon, Gilgamesh was already a step ahead, dodging, parrying, countering with the most basic of sword techniques.

Despite his handicap, Gilgamesh fought like a master. There was no need for flashy magic or overwhelming power—every strike of his sword was deliberate, each movement calculated to perfection. It was as if he was dancing through the battle, effortlessly avoiding Malakaroth's attacks while landing precise, surgical strikes of his own.

And yet, he wasn't trying to win. I could see it in the way he moved. He was holding back, testing the limits of his opponent, giving Malakaroth every chance to prove himself. But the demon king, blinded by his own fury, couldn't see the game that Gilgamesh was playing.

With a final, frustrated roar, Malakaroth swung his axe with all his might, aiming directly for Gilgamesh's head. But this time, instead of dodging, Gilgamesh stepped forward. His sword flashed, and with a single, elegant motion, he deflected the axe and brought his blade up in a clean, upward slash.

The impact was immediate. Malakaroth's axe was sent flying from his hands, clattering to the ground several meters away. The demon king stumbled back, clutching his now-empty hands, his eyes wide with disbelief.

Gilgamesh stood still, his sword lowered at his side, his expression one of utter boredom. "You're done."

Malakaroth snarled, summoning dark energy to his hands, but Gilgamesh moved faster. Before the demon king could even raise his magic, Gilgamesh's sword was at his throat, the cold steel pressing against his skin.

"Enough," Gilgamesh said, his voice low and commanding. "You've failed."

For a moment, there was silence. Malakaroth's body trembled with rage, his eyes burning with hatred. But he didn't move. He knew, as well as I did, that there was no point in continuing. Gilgamesh had won.

The King of Heroes stared down at his opponent, his gaze cold and unfeeling. "I was hoping for more of a challenge," he muttered, almost to himself. "But I suppose even demon kings are disappointing these days."

With a flick of his wrist, Gilgamesh removed his sword from Malakaroth's throat and stepped back. He sheathed the ordinary sword at his side, the battle already over in his mind.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood," he said, turning his back on the demon king. "Otherwise, I would've killed you the moment you stepped into this world."

Malakaroth let out a low growl, but he didn't move. His pride, his arrogance—everything had been shattered in the face of Gilgamesh's overwhelming power. The demon king was defeated.

I watched the scene unfold, my mind racing as I processed everything that had just happened. Gilgamesh, the King of Heroes, had fought with a single, ordinary sword—and still, he had completely dominated one of the most powerful demons in world.