The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Inside the grand hall, Sophie knelt on one knee before her older brother, Duke Lancefroz von Icevern, the unbeatable knight of winter. His reputation was not just a local legend. He was a living myth—a warrior who could command the snow itself, a knight feared across Regaria and beyond.

The air was thick with an unspoken tension, and yet, the only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth, as though even the flames dared not interrupt the silence.

Lancefroz stood before her, his tall, armored figure cutting an imposing silhouette against the backdrop of the northern landscape visible through the large window. His armor shimmered with frost, as if winter itself was bound to him. The weight of his gaze was heavy, but Sophie's head remained bowed, her eyes fixed on the floor in a gesture of respect and formality.

Her white winterish hair, tied neatly into a black braid, contrasted sharply with the pure blue marble beneath her.

"Enough, Sophie," Lancefroz's voice, deep and commanding, echoed through the hall. "Stand. There is no need for this. You are my sister, not merely a retainer."

But Sophie remained unmoving, her posture resolute. "I cannot stand until I understand," she replied softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her. "Please, Brother, I need to know—why now? Why has the engagement been broken?" Her words carried a mix of frustration and confusion, emotions she had buried for years, but now they came bubbling to the surface.

For so long, Lancefroz had refused her requests to dissolve the engagement. Draven Arcanum von Drakhan, the cold-hearted genius, had always been a looming shadow in her life, an engagement she had neither chosen nor desired. Yet her brother, her lord, had insisted it was necessary—until now.

Lancefroz let out a quiet sigh, his breath visibly misting in the cold air. He had anticipated this moment, but that didn't make it any easier. "You've always been difficult, Sophie," he muttered, though there was a softness to his tone, a rare break in his otherwise stoic demeanor.

His icy blue eyes studied her for a long moment before he moved toward the large oak desk, his heavy boots echoing against the stone floor.

Reaching into a drawer, Lancefroz retrieved a small envelope—its dark red wax seal still unbroken. He held it between his gloved fingers, turning it over once before extending it to her.

"Read this when you're alone, in your chambers," he said, his voice carrying a weight of finality. "It will explain everything."

Sophie hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking up to meet his. She searched his face for answers, but Lancefroz's expression remained unreadable. "This was not my decision alone," he added, his voice quieter now. "Draven gave me the reason, and I... believe it was the right course of action."

"But why?" Sophie's voice cracked slightly, betraying the storm of emotions she had fought so hard to contain. "You were the one who refused to break it all these years. You told me it was for the good of Icevern, that this engagement was necessary. What changed?"

She clearly remembers the voice of Draven back in the case of the goblin king's uprising when she almost failed to defend her home, the Icevern regions.

'You're a failure. A disappointment. I have no use of failures,'

It was a line that is completely different from what he usually said and done to her. He was always desperate to get close to her, and to be included with her, and to have her as a whole, including her heart.

And she always refuses.

But ever since she met him at the magic tower university back then, when he was about to give the opening lecture in the beginning of the semester, she could feel something changed from him.

Lancefroz's gaze softened, though his demeanor remained firm. "Draven's reasoning is sound, Sophie. Trust me when I say this is for the best. You are free now."

She blinked in confusion.

Free?

But before she could probe further, he waved his hand dismissively. "That is all. Go."

Clutching the envelope tightly, Sophie rose to her feet. She gave a stiff, formal bow before turning and exiting the grand hall. As the heavy doors closed behind her, the silence in the room deepened, leaving Lancefroz alone with his thoughts.

For a long moment, he stood motionless, staring at the closed door through which his sister had just left. He let out another sigh, a weary one, before returning to the desk. But instead of sitting, he pulled open a hidden drawer—one that was well concealed behind layers of documents and papers. From it, he retrieved a second envelope, this one sealed with black wax.

Unlike the first, this envelope carried a weight that Lancefroz felt in his very soul. It was the true message from Draven, one not meant for Sophie's eyes. He held the envelope in his hand for a long moment, his thumb running over the smooth surface of the black seal, as though contemplating whether to open it again.

Draven, just how far are you willing to go? Lancefroz thought as he stared at the letter.

The contents of the black envelope had shaken even him. Draven's cold precision was known to all, but this letter... it revealed something much deeper, something that went beyond politics or duty. It was personal. A man like Draven was not one to be driven by emotion, and yet the words in this letter hinted at something almost tragic, a depth of feeling that even Lancefroz could not fully comprehend.

And it was filled with the tragic history between the Iceverns and the Drakhans as well.

And he understood it.

Lancefroz walked over to the window, the letter still in his hand, and looked out at the frozen landscape of Icevern. The snow-covered mountains stood tall in the distance, their peaks lost in the clouds, silent witnesses to the countless secrets held within the walls of the Icevern estate.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Draven..." he muttered softly to the cold air. "What is it that you truly want?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered, as Lancefroz stared into the endless winter. Draven had always been an enigma—a man of calculation and control.

But this... this was different.

There was something in the letter that hinted at a plan far beyond what even Lancefroz could see.

He clenched the black envelope tightly in his hand, contemplating whether to destroy it or to keep it hidden, as he had done so far. Sophie didn't need to know about this. She didn't need to carry the burden of Draven's twisted reasoning. But the Duke couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning, that whatever Draven had set in motion was about to change everything.

And Sophie, despite her newfound freedom, was still very much a part of it.

With a final sigh, Lancefroz placed the black envelope back in the drawer, locking it away once more. He turned back to the window, his gaze lost in the vast whiteness of the north.

"Just how far will you go, Draven? How far will you drag my yourself into the abyss...?"

The cold wind howled outside, but within the mansion, a storm far greater was brewing.

Lancefroz gazed out over his frozen kingdom, the vast expanse of snow and ice stretching far beyond the horizon. The sky was a pale gray, heavy with the promise of more snow, the sun barely visible through the thick clouds. His territory, the Icevern, had always been a place of harsh beauty—unyielding, unforgiving, yet loyal to those who commanded it.

The cold was in his blood, the silence of winter a familiar companion. And yet, today, the quiet felt oppressive, as though the very air held its breath in anticipation.

His eyes traced the jagged peaks of the distant mountains, their snow-covered slopes glistening like jagged teeth. The wind howled against the thick stone walls of the estate, a constant reminder of the wild forces just beyond their doors.

And as much as he controlled the north, as much as his name and reputation brought fear to his enemies, there was a growing sense that something far more dangerous loomed on the horizon.

Draven's words from the black letter echoed in his mind, each line calculated and precise, yet carrying an ominous weight. Whatever game the Earl of Drakhan was playing, it reached deeper than just politics or familial ties. Lancefroz felt the pull of something ancient, a force beyond even his comprehension, creeping closer with each passing moment.

His hands gripped the windowsill, the frost from the glass seeping into his skin, but he welcomed the chill. It was the only constant in a world where everything else seemed to be shifting beneath his feet. The cold didn't betray him.

"A storm is brewing," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely louder than the wind. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon once more, searching for signs of the inevitable conflict that he knew was coming. Not just within Icevern or between his family and Draven, but something larger—something that would shake the very foundations of the kingdom itself.

And as the first flakes of snow began to fall, Lancefroz knew that no matter how much he prepared, this storm would be unlike any other.

And when the time comes, he vowed.

That even if he couldn't bring the Icevern, he, himself, would be the lone man's ally.