The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Chapter 244 The Barrier Test (2) The Evaluation

Amberine's heart raced, but she quickly masked her nervousness with a scowl. She stood from her seat, her hands balling into fists at her sides. Ifrit stirred beneath her robes, sensing the tension, and she had to focus to keep the fire spirit from manifesting prematurely.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Her magic was wild, yes—but it was powerful, and she wasn't about to let Draven see her fail. Not again. She raised her hand, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she summoned her mana.

"Ready yourself," Draven said coldly, his hand already hovering near the needle, ready to fire.

Amberine nodded, focusing on the area directly in front of her. She could feel the warmth of her fire magic coursing through her veins, begging to be released. But she couldn't let it out—not yet. She needed to control it, to mold it into something precise, something that wouldn't spiral out of control the moment she called upon it.

Draven watched her closely, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of her posture, her breathing, her mana flow. He saw the instability in her aura, the wild edges of her magic that she struggled to contain.

"Focus," he commanded. "You're leaking mana. Pull it back."

Amberine clenched her jaw, furious at herself for being so obvious. She forced her magic to obey, tightening her control over the barrier she was forming. A thin, flickering shield of flame appeared in front of her, shimmering in the air like a mirage.

Draven didn't give her time to adjust. With a flick of his hand, the needle shot forward, faster than a blink, hurtling toward her shield with deadly precision.

Amberine's eyes widened in panic, her control slipping as she instinctively poured more magic into the shield, trying to make it stronger, bigger—but the moment the needle touched her barrier, the shield shattered with a sharp, echoing crack.

The needle stopped just inches from her chest, held in place by Draven's psychokinesis. He hadn't intended to let it hit her, but the demonstration was clear.

"Too much power," Draven said, his voice cutting through the silence. "You're compensating for your lack of control by brute-forcing your magic. That won't work here. You need precision, not raw strength."

Amberine's face flushed with anger and embarrassment. She knew he was right, but that didn't make the failure any easier to swallow. She glared at the needle in front of her, as if willing it to disappear, before muttering under her breath, "Bastard."

Draven's eyes flickered toward her, but he said nothing. He moved on. Enjoy exclusive chapters from empire

"Elara," he called, and the room seemed to shift with the mention of her name.

Elara rose from her seat, her movements graceful and deliberate. She stepped forward without hesitation, her face an expressionless mask. The golden mana of her Valen lineage swirled around her in perfect harmony, calm and steady, a stark contrast to Amberine's fiery aura.

She raised her hand, her golden mana forming into a small, translucent shield in front of her. It shimmered softly, the edges sharp and precise, as if carved from light itself.

Draven watched her carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Impressive," he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. "But let's see how it holds."

With the same flick of his wrist, he sent the needle hurtling toward Elara's barrier. The projectile moved fast, slicing through the air like before, but this time, when it hit the barrier, there was no shattering. The needle stopped, absorbed by the shield's perfect structure, its momentum completely nullified.

Elara lowered her hand, her expression unchanged. She didn't look to Draven for approval—she didn't need to. The result spoke for itself.

Draven nodded, though his face remained impassive. "Well done."

He turned to the rest of the class. "This is the level of control I expect from all of you. A precise barrier, tailored to the threat at hand. Anything less is unacceptable."

The room was silent, the weight of his words pressing down on the students like a tangible force. Maris, sitting in the back, took a deep breath. Her hands trembled slightly, but she clenched them into fists, trying to steady herself.

"Maris," Draven called, his voice even but firm. "You're next."

Maris stood slowly, her heart racing. She wasn't as confident as Elara, and her illusion magic wasn't suited for direct combat, but she had to try. She had to prove that she could handle this.

She stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly as she summoned her mana. Her illusion magic wrapped around her like a protective cloak, distorting the air around her, making her shimmer like a mirage.

Draven's eyes narrowed as he studied her magic. "Illusions won't protect you from a physical threat, Maris. You need to create a real barrier."

Maris nodded, her face pale but determined. She focused her mana, pulling it into a tight, concentrated form. A faint, translucent shield appeared in front of her, flickering slightly as if it might disappear at any moment.

Draven didn't wait. He sent the needle flying toward her with the same speed and precision as before.

Maris's heart pounded in her chest as she poured every ounce of her focus into maintaining the barrier. The needle hit the shield, and for a brief moment, it held. The needle struck the translucent barrier with a sharp, resounding ping, vibrating against the force of her magic. Maris felt the impact reverberate through her mana, her entire body trembling from the strain.

For a brief second, she thought it might work—that she had managed to stop it.

But then, the shield flickered, wavering as her concentration faltered. The needle pushed through, cutting cleanly through the remnants of her barrier. Draven's hand flicked slightly, halting the needle just before it touched her. It hovered there, frozen in the air, inches from her chest.

Maris gasped, stumbling backward, her breath coming in shallow, panicked bursts. She clenched her fists, trying to steady herself, but her face was flushed with both fear and disappointment.

Draven didn't move, his cold, impassive gaze resting on her. "You lack confidence," he said quietly, his voice sharp and cutting. "Your mana is scattered because your mind is scattered. If you do not trust your own abilities, no one else will. Least of all, your enemy."

Maris nodded weakly, unable to meet his eyes. She knew he was right—she always knew. But hearing it in front of everyone only deepened the sting.

"Focus," Draven continued, his voice colder now. "Do not rely on illusions to shield you from reality. You must face it head-on."

Maris swallowed hard, nodding again. She didn't need to hear more—she had failed, and she knew it. But Draven's words, harsh as they were, ignited something inside her. A spark of determination, of grit. She had been afraid for too long, and she was tired of it.

"I understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Draven's eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned to the rest of the class. "You are all capable of more than you believe. But until you learn control, your magic is nothing more than a dangerous weapon in untrained hands. Remember that."

Amberine, still standing nearby, bristled at his words, crossing her arms defiantly. She had heard enough lectures on control from Draven to last a lifetime, but that didn't make the sting of her failure any less painful. Ifrit simmered beneath her skin, and she clenched her fists tighter, willing the spirit to stay calm. She would not let it out—not here, not now.

Draven walked to the center of the room, his presence commanding the attention of every student. His gaze swept across them, cold and unyielding, but beneath the sharpness of his eyes was something more—a deep understanding of what lay ahead for each of them.

Draven's cold eyes swept across the room after Maris stepped back, her face still flushed with embarrassment. He allowed the tension to simmer for a moment before speaking, his voice like ice cutting through the heavy silence. "I purposely did not warn you about today's test for a reason. In battle, you will not have the luxury of knowing when an attack will come.

You will be caught off guard, and if you're not prepared, you will die."

The bluntness of his words hung in the air, and every student felt the weight of them. Draven was never one to sugarcoat reality. They weren't knights; they were magicians. And while knights fought with steel and brute force, magicians had to rely on their wits and precision. Draven's lessons were never just about spells—they were about survival.

He turned slightly and gestured toward the assistant professor, Yuli, who had been standing silently at the edge of the room. Without a word, she lifted her hand and, with a flick of her wrist, sent a small cloud of dirt into the air in front of the students. The dirt swirled in mid-air, caught in a controlled vortex of magic, before Draven's psychokinesis took hold of it.

With just a thought, the dirt began to shift and mold, taking on a solid form. Within moments, it became a sword—perfectly sharp, sleek, and glinting despite its earthen origin.

The students watched in awe as the sword hovered beside Draven. He had not made any grand gestures, nor had he needed incantations to control the magic. His power was absolute, a mastery of psychokinesis that made the complex appear simple. The sword floated effortlessly, its tip pointed downward.

Draven didn't stop there. Behind him, a piece of chalk rose from the tray on the blackboard and began drawing in midair. Each stroke of the chalk was precise, forming the lines and curves of a magic circle in perfect detail. The circle itself was intricate, the runes weaving together to form a complex barrier formula.

Every student watched intently, mesmerized by the ease with which he controlled multiple elements of magic at once.

"Focus," Draven commanded, his sharp eyes narrowing as he surveyed the room. "Do not write it down yet. You will do nothing but observe."