The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 429: The Professor Step Inside The Dream

Amberine could feel the heat of the desert searing her skin, the sun blazing overhead without mercy, the dry air making her throat ache as she struggled to breathe. Her body ached with exhaustion, her limbs trembling as she fought against the shadowy monsters that surrounded her. They were relentless, their vague forms flickering between shadow and substance, shifting and moving, their hollow eyes fixed on her as if they could see her very soul.

"Just stop appearing in my dreams!" Amberine shouted, her frustration boiling over as she hurled another burst of flame at the creatures. Her voice cracked, her throat dry from the desert heat. The fire roared through the air, a brilliant burst of red and orange, but it was as if the monsters were made of the very essence of shadows itself—they dispersed, reforming almost instantly, mocking her effort.

The cloaked figure, standing atop a dune not far away, watched her in silence. His presence was suffocating, his aura like an oppressive weight pressing down on her, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. His gaze was fixed on her, those eyes that she couldn’t quite see, but she could feel their intent—dark, consuming, and endless. Read exclusive content at novelbuddy

Amberine clenched her jaw, her heart pounding in her chest, her hands trembling as she tried to channel Ifrit’s power. The flames flickered around her fingers, but they felt weak, her exhaustion weighing down every movement. She was outnumbered, her power running out, and the fear of failing, of being caught by whatever these things were, clawed at her mind.

And then, the air shifted.

It grew colder—unnaturally so—and Amberine’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. The desert heat seemed to fade, replaced by a biting chill that made her skin prickle, her fire waver. The sand around her shifted, the creatures hesitating for just a moment, and then she saw it—another figure appearing on the distant dunes, his silhouette unmistakable.

Professor Draven.

His presence was like a knife cutting through the dream—sharp, cold, and unyielding. His long coat billowed behind him, his expression as indifferent as ever, but there was an unmistakable power radiating from him, something that made even the creatures falter. Amberine’s eyes widened, her heart pounding as she stared at him, her confusion mixing with a strange sense of hope. What was he doing here? How could he be here?

The cloaked figure turned, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was almost... reluctant. There was a moment—just a moment—when Amberine thought she saw something in the way they looked at each other, an odd sense of recognition, like they were two opposing forces that had met before.

Draven didn’t hesitate. His gaze flicked to the creatures, then to the cloaked figure, his eyes narrowing, his expression darkening. His hand moved, his fingers tracing a symbol in the air, and Amberine felt the shift—the magic that began to ripple through the dreamscape, bending it to Draven’s will.

The runes began to form around him, deep indigo and silver, swirling and expanding, wrapping around his body in intricate patterns that seemed to defy the very fabric of reality. The sky above them darkened, the sun fading as the air grew thick with energy, the runes expanding, spreading outwards, aligning themselves in complex, almost dizzying formations.

Amberine watched, her breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen anything like it—the sheer scale of the magic, the way it seemed to weave itself into the very world around them. The sky was filled with symbols, glowing with a light that was both blinding and beautiful, the air crackling with energy, the sand shifting beneath her feet.

Draven whispered something—a command in a language Amberine didn’t recognize—and the energy in the sky seemed to respond, the symbols converging, transforming, merging into a colossal construct. It was like a weapon, a massive blade made of light and shadows, shimmering with an almost ethereal glow. The sheer power of it made Amberine’s knees buckle, her breath catching as she watched it move, cutting through the air with a force that seemed unstoppable.

The cloaked figure didn’t move. He stood there, his gaze fixed on Draven, his form silhouetted against the blinding light of the spell. And then, in an instant, the blade struck. The light was blinding, a brilliant blue and violet that swallowed everything, the air filled with the crackling roar of magic.

The cloaked figure disintegrated—his form dissolving into nothingness, the shadows that had surrounded him vanishing, swept away by the sheer force of the spell. Amberine shielded her eyes, her entire body trembling, the intensity of the magic overwhelming, almost too much to bear. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

The light faded, the energy dissipating, the symbols vanishing from the sky as if they had never been there. The desert was silent, the air still, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind across the sand. Draven lowered his hand, his expression as cold as ever, his gaze fixed on the spot where the cloaked figure had stood.

Amberine let out a shaky breath, her entire body trembling, her mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. She looked at Draven, her eyes wide, her heart pounding in her chest. He had saved her—but how? How had he even been here?

She opened her mouth to speak, to ask, but then she heard it—Draven’s voice, low, almost a whisper, as he spoke to the empty space where the cloaked figure had been. She couldn’t make out the words, but there was something about them—something that made her shiver. And then, she heard it—a name. A name that sent a chill down her spine, that seemed to echo in her mind, though she couldn’t quite grasp its meaning.

Before she could say anything, before she could even process what had happened, everything around her began to blur, to fade. The desert, the sky, the sand beneath her feet—it all began to dissolve, the dreamscape collapsing in on itself, the world spinning around her. Draven’s figure began to fade as well, his form blurring, disappearing into the void.

"Wait!" Amberine tried to call out, her voice breaking, her hand reaching out towards him, but the words were swallowed by the fading dream, her voice lost in the void. The last thing she saw was Draven’s cold gaze, his eyes locking onto hers for just a moment before he vanished, the world around her dissolving into darkness.

Amberine bolted upright, her heart pounding in her chest, her entire body tense, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. She blinked, disoriented, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting of the room, her gaze darting around as she tried to remember where she was.

Draven’s room. The VVIP quarters of Aetherion.

She let out a shaky breath, her hand coming up to press against her chest, trying to steady her racing heart. It had been a dream—just a dream. But it had felt so real, the fear, the magic, Draven’s presence. She could still feel the chill of his magic, the weight of his power, the way the dream had shifted around him.

Her gaze moved across the room, landing on Draven, who was sitting at his desk, his attention focused on the book in his hands. The dim light from the ocean beyond the window cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his features. He seemed as indifferent as ever, his expression calm, detached, as if nothing had happened.

Amberine swallowed hard, her heart still pounding, her mind reeling from the dream. She sat up, her breath still unsteady, her gaze fixed on Draven. She couldn’t hold it in—she had to say something.

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"Professor," she blurted out, her voice shaky. "In my dream... you were there. You saved me from the cloaked figure. Thankyou..."

Draven’s eyes flicked towards her, his expression unreadable, his gaze cold. He raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line as he studied her for a moment. Then, he shrugged, his attention returning to his book. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, his tone flat, dismissive. "Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky if you were saved in such a dream."

Amberine stared at him, her heart sinking. Was he serious? Was he really pretending like he didn’t know? Or was he hiding something from her? She could feel her frustration bubbling up, her fingers clenching around the blanket, her mind racing with questions she knew he wouldn’t answer.

And then, she noticed it—something in her hand. She frowned, looking down, her eyes widening as she saw what it was. A pen. A pen she had never seen before, its design intricate, almost ornamental, the metal cool against her skin.

No, it’s similar to the pen that the professor uses.

She turned the pen over in her hand, studying it, her eyes narrowing in confusion. How had she gotten this? It wasn’t hers—she was sure of that. She looked up at Draven, her brow furrowing. "Professor... Is this yours?" she asked, her voice hesitant, holding up the pen for him to see.

Draven glanced over, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the pen. He was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful, almost curious, before he spoke. "It’s a replica," he said, his tone indifferent. "But it seems it works well enough for psychokinesis... and fire magic."

Amberine blinked, her eyes widening in surprise. Psychokinesis? Fire magic? She looked down at the pen, her fingers tightening around it, her heart pounding in her chest. The idea that it could be used for such powerful magic, even if it was just a replica, left her speechless. There was something about it—something that made her feel a connection, a warmth that spread through her fingers as she held it.

Draven, however, seemed uninterested in elaborating. He turned his attention back to his book, his expression once again detached, his voice dismissive as he spoke. "Sleep," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’ll need your rest if you want to be prepared for tomorrow’s symposium presentation. I won’t repeat myself. You can use that pen for now,"

Amberine opened her mouth to argue, to ask more questions, but the look in Draven’s eyes silenced her. He wasn’t in the mood for explanations, and she knew better than to push him. She nodded, her gaze dropping to the pen in her hand, her thoughts racing. She had so many questions, so many things she didn’t understand, but she knew she wouldn’t get the answers tonight.

She shifted back into the bed, pulling the blankets up around her, her fingers still wrapped tightly around the pen. There was something comforting about it, something that made her feel less alone, less vulnerable. She closed her eyes, her mind still buzzing with questions, her heart still pounding, but slowly, the exhaustion began to take over, her body relaxing into the comfort of the bed.

As she drifted off to sleep, she felt a warmth beside her, something that made her feel safe, protected. It was as if the pen was more than just an object—as if it held a piece of the magic that had saved her, a connection to something greater. And then, in the middle of her sleep, her consciousness drifting in and out, she thought she saw something—a glimpse of Draven, his upper body bare, his skin covered in bruises, his face strained in concentration.

He was tending to his own wounds, his hands moving with practiced precision, his magic glowing faintly as he worked. The wounds were strange—decaying, bruised, hints of ice clinging to his skin, as if he had faced something terrible. Amberine’s mind was too foggy to fully comprehend what she was seeing, her body too tired to react, but she could feel it—the exhaustion in his movements, the strain in his expression.

Before she could say anything, before she could even fully register what was happening, sleep took her once more, her mind slipping into darkness. But as she drifted off, her lips moved, her voice barely a whisper, the words escaping her without thought.

"Professor... What happened..."