The Villain Professor's Second Chance

I tightened my grip.

Armandra's small neck felt fragile beneath my fingers, the skin soft but unnaturally cold. Her once proud, commanding voice had turned into nothing more than a raspy breath, each inhale strained as if her body itself resisted the inevitable end. Her eyes, however, held everything.

At first, there was the familiar hatred, those sharp glimmers of malice she had always shown me, even when she was the professor—intelligent, calculating, and dangerous. But then, as the pressure increased, that hatred faltered. The gleam turned into something else.

Fear.

I could see it in the way her pupils dilated, wide and panicked. Her body shook, small tremors rippling through her frame as her breath caught in her throat. I felt the tension in her muscles—the futile resistance—but there was nothing she could do. The once-powerful sorceress, now reduced to a childlike form, was no match for the grip of my [Herculean Physique].

And yet, as I applied more pressure, my hands tightening like a vise, something unexpected happened.

Her tears.

They slipped from her wide, terrified eyes, trailing down her cheeks in silent desperation. It wasn't the pleading sobs of someone begging for their life. No, Armandra would never stoop to such an obvious display of weakness. But the tears, they betrayed her. They carried the fear she couldn't voice, and it struck me harder than I anticipated.

Why wasn't her neck snapping?

My strength had already started returning, my body healing rapidly from the exhaustion of battle. I knew what I was capable of. I could crush her throat like it was nothing. And yet, her slender neck, for some reason, resisted me. I could feel the pulse of her fragile life beneath my fingers, her breath shallow and quick, but something… something stopped me.

It wasn't her magic. No, the dark mana that had once clung to her like a second skin was now barely a flicker. She was defenseless. But it was the eyes. Those wide, trembling eyes, staring up at me, pleading with silent horror. They weren't the eyes of the Armandra who had corrupted students, betrayed her comrades, and killed so many in her pursuit of power.

No, in that moment, they were the eyes of a child. A small, terrified child, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape.

My hands… they stopped.

I couldn't explain it. Every part of me screamed to end it, to rid the world of the darkness she carried, the evil that had consumed her. But those eyes… they tore at something deep inside me. Something I thought had long been buried.

She gasped, her lips parting as she fought for air, her tears coming faster now. The more I squeezed, the more her body shook, but I couldn't bring myself to finish it. The fear in her gaze only grew, morphing into something almost pitiful, and I realized with a shock that my own hands had gone still. My grip had loosened.

What was I doing?

I stared into her eyes, and for a brief moment, I saw her—not as the monster, not as the enemy, but as the professor I had once known. Tall, beautiful, confident, and intelligent. She had been brilliant, in her own way. And though we had clashed on more occasions than I could count, there had been times—fleeting moments—where we had fought side by side.

In some of the most dangerous missions for the Magic Tower University, we had been a team. She had been sharp, quick-witted, and always two steps ahead of everyone. In those moments, there had been something… almost admirable about her.

But those memories were poisoned. I could feel them slipping away, replaced by something darker.

Dravis Granger's memories came flooding back, and with them, the image of the woman Armandra had become. The tall, beautiful sorceress was gone. In her place, a demon had risen, fueled by hatred and driven by a lust for destruction. I remembered her smile—the twisted, cruel smile she wore as she slaughtered innocents.

The joy in her eyes as she embraced the darkness, turning her back on everything she had once stood for. She had betrayed not only me but the entire world, aligning herself with the very forces that sought to destroy it.

The more I remembered, the colder I felt. My hands, once still, began to tighten again.

Armandra's eyes widened in horror as she felt the shift. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her small hands weakly clawing at my arm. She wasn't strong enough to push me away, wasn't powerful enough to stop what was coming. But I could see the plea in her gaze—the silent cry for mercy. For a moment, I could feel her desperation, her fear of death.

She wasn't pleading with words, but her eyes… they begged.

I had seen those eyes before. The eyes of those who knew their end was near. And yet…

Crack.

The sound was soft, barely audible over the ringing in my ears, but it echoed in my mind like a thunderclap. Her body went limp in my hands, the light in her eyes flickering and fading in an instant. The tension, the struggle, it all vanished as her neck snapped beneath my grip.

It was over.

I let her fall to the cold stone floor, her small, broken body crumpling in on itself like a discarded doll. Her wide, lifeless eyes stared up at the cracked ceiling, the tears still fresh on her pale cheeks. The once-powerful Professor Armandra, who had stood at the pinnacle of magical academia, was gone. And yet, as I looked down at her, there was no satisfaction, no sense of triumph.

Only cold, empty silence.

For a long moment, I simply stood there, staring at her lifeless form. The weight of what I had done—what I had been forced to do—settled heavily on my shoulders. There was no glory in this victory, no heroism. Just a necessary evil.

I had been right. She was too dangerous to be left alive. But the way her eyes had changed in those final moments, the way her tears had betrayed her fear… It lingered in my mind. Even now, I could still feel the ghost of that final look. The look of someone who had once been human, reduced to something far less.

"Draven…"

I turned my head slightly, my body stiff from the tension and the strain of the battle. Elandris stood behind me, her expression unreadable as she looked down at the body of our fallen enemy. Her arms were crossed, her usual playful demeanor absent as she observed the scene in silence.

"You did what had to be done," she said quietly, her voice steady but lacking its usual edge. "She… she would've never stopped."

I nodded, though the gesture felt hollow. "I know."

Elandris stepped closer, her gaze lingering on Armandra's broken form. "She made her choice a long time ago, Draven. You were just the one who had to end it."

"I know," I repeated, my voice quieter this time.

There was a long, heavy silence between us. The air was thick with the remnants of dark magic, and the dungeon felt colder than before. I could still feel the distant pulse of the core, barely stable, but it was no longer our immediate concern.

"What a foolish child," Elandris, unlike her usual self, I could see the age, the hint and the spitting image of a woman on her late age looking at children. "Getting herself devoured by the hatred, selling her soul to the demons, and making a foolish dream."

"The world is not easy, nor is it simple. There is no such thing as pure justice or pure evil. In every act of justice, there are always those who are harmed and perceive it as evil. Likewise, there are those who find justice in the actions of villains. You cannot condemn an entire race as villains because one person or group committed a grave sin.

After all, there is no one who is truly free from sin." Her voice is filled with the wisdom of a person who has witnessed all kinds of scenes happening around the world.

She approached me, and somehow, held my hand.

I didn't refuse her.

"It seems that she's part of the age of those runes within your pen is, looks like she knows well the age of the great Queen of elves that leads the demonic front to protect the world from the demons, or perhaps, she even got saved or lived together in that era," she uttered as she saw the water magic pen floating beside me.

Then the memory started to appear to my head.

The sight of the queen that sent me and the queen off back from the quest.

I see.

I've a feeling that it might be like that, but looking at her face once more, perhaps, she's a relative of hers.

The queen of elves, Elaitharis.

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