The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 468: The Secret Chamber (1) The Hidden Room

The letters sat heavy in my hand, two envelopes sealed with wax, each bearing the unmistakable mark of authority. I stood in the quiet sanctum of my private study, where the faint scent of aged parchment mixed with the cold undertone of arcane wards humming quietly in the walls. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, muted and pale, cutting shadows across the immaculate desk where tools, charts, and tomes lay in precise disarray—as though daring chaos to invade this space.

With a flick of my fingers, I broke the seals. The first envelope—a pale cream with gilded edges—bore the royal sigil. It felt heavier in significance than it did in weight. I unfolded the letter, the smooth parchment almost pristine beneath my touch.

[To the Esteemed Lord Draven Arcanum von Drakhan,

It is with both respect and necessity that I extend this invitation, that held accountable and affirmed according the information provided form the continential magic council.

The Arcane Symposium, to be held within five days at the Grand Assembly Hall of Aurelion, will bring together the realm’s scholars, noble houses, and esteemed magicians. In light of the recent disturbances—both the resurgence of dark elements and attacks threatening the kingdom’s stability—your presence is not only requested but required.

Your contributions to magical study and your status as both scholar and Earl make you uniquely positioned to advise and prepare those who must rise to these challenges.

I trust you will attend. There is much to discuss, and I shall expect to see you.

Yours in steadfast vigilance,*

Best Regards,

Queen Aurelia Thalassia Arctaris Regaria.]

The signature was written in her characteristic flowing script, a deliberate elegance that belied the weight her words carried. I set the letter down and exhaled faintly, allowing a brief moment to process it.

An expectation.

That’s what this was. Wrapped neatly in the guise of formality was a demand, one only Aurelia could make with such calm authority. Her words were not to be ignored.

The second letter was far less refined. The seal of the Magic Council—a hollow attempt at grandeur—cracked under the slightest pressure. The parchment was stiffer, as though infused with their bureaucratic self-importance. I unfolded it and scanned the lines.

[To Lord Draven Arcanum von Drakhan,

Following the recent events involving the Devil Coffin faction and the assault on Aetherion, it is our duty to report that the situation has been contained. The Council’s combined forces repelled the attack successfully, eliminating the infiltrating forces.

After careful deliberation, the Council has decided that the Arcane Symposium will still proceed but will now commence earlier—in five days’ time. Measures have been taken to fortify the Grand Assembly Hall and its surroundings to ensure the safety of all participants.

It is the Council’s belief that the Devil Coffin faction would not dare challenge the full might of the magical society gathered in unity.

We trust you will attend to lend your wisdom in these challenging times.

This chapt𝓮r is updat𝒆d by ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom.

Best Regards,

Magic Council Directorate]

I couldn’t stop the faint smirk that tugged at the corner of my mouth.

Contained?

That word alone revealed their naivety. I read the lines again, looking for some hint of understanding—there was none.

"The Magic Council… as foolish as ever," I muttered, shaking my head.

They thought this was victory? What they repelled were foot soldiers—underlings of little consequence. The true power behind the Devil Coffin faction—the Seven Deadly Sins—remained untouched, lurking in the shadows. The Council’s pride blinded them to the storm brewing just beyond their reach. Their arrogance could yet doom this world.

The decision to move the Symposium earlier… That was interesting. It mirrored the flow of events I had expected, aligning uncomfortably well with the game’s original trajectory. Heroes and major players would soon surface—key figures destined to face the coming conflicts. The orc invasion would begin to stir from this point forward, a domino that would set the rest of the pieces falling.

Good.

It was my task to ensure these events unfolded correctly. The world’s defenders had to be tempered, their resolve tested. But the challenge had to be controlled—sharp enough to harden them, yet not enough to break them completely. Orchestrating this delicate balance would require precision.

I turned toward the window, my gaze falling on the distant road. There, Sophie von Icevern and her knights—now little more than dots against the horizon—continued their march away from the mansion. Even at this distance, I could still feel the cold tension she left in her wake.

Her hatred… It’s necessary.

But it was never as simple as I pretended it to be. I exhaled softly, the weight of the moment pressing against the cold walls of my study.

"Not as easy as I thought," I murmured before turning away.

Alfred waited in the main hall, standing beside the staircase with his usual quiet composure, his figure poised like a statue carved from duty itself. The faint sound of my boots meeting the polished marble resonated through the hall, subtle yet unmistakable in its rhythm. His sharp gaze lifted at once, attuned to even the smallest disturbances in the mansion. As always, Alfred noticed before anyone else.

He inclined his head smoothly, the motion precise and fluid, as though rehearsed a thousand times. "My lord," he said, his deep voice carrying a calm resonance that suited the grand stillness of the hall. The faint light filtering in from the tall windows caught the silver threading along the edge of his coat, emphasizing the sharp angles of his appearance—a butler who seemed too perfect for this mortal world.

For a moment, I let my gaze linger on him—the unshakable pillar at the core of this estate. Behind his composed exterior, I could sense the weight he bore, the silent worry he would never voice unless invited to speak. Alfred had been many things: a shadow at my side, an observer of my decisions, a reminder of what this house represented. In his presence, the echoes of the mansion’s past seemed somehow quieter, its burdens shared across invisible lines.

"Alfred," I said, my voice breaking the brief spell of stillness.

He lifted his chin slightly, his focus narrowing with the efficiency of a man awaiting instruction. "May I inquire about the letters, my lord?"

"In five days, the Symposium will commence," I replied simply, slipping the letters onto the table beside him. "There is much to prepare."

Alfred’s expression remained impassive, though I could see the wheels turning behind his eyes. Before he could offer his thoughts, however, movement from above caught my attention. Two dark heads bobbed comically behind the ornate railing of the upper balcony.

I tilted my head slightly, voice carrying an edge of amusement. "What are those heads doing?"

A muffled squeak followed as Tiara and Clara—my sisters—lurched into view, their expressions frozen in a mix of embarrassment and poorly feigned innocence.

"W-we were playing hide and seek!" Clara blurted, her cheeks flushing crimson.

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Tiara elbowed her sharply. "Shut up, you’re making it worse!"

I raised an eyebrow, the faintest flicker of amusement crossing my otherwise impassive face. "Careful," I said, letting the words roll off my tongue with deliberate slowness. "The mansion may not be the same as you remember."

Their widened eyes were answer enough. I turned to Alfred, ignoring their hushed squabbling.

"I’ll meet them at lunch," I added offhandedly, brushing past them toward the study. "There’s something I need to attend to first."

____

The study was orderly, a mirror image of my office in the Magic Tower University—or so it seemed at first glance. Every corner, every shelf, was meticulously arranged with books, artifacts, and tools of the highest quality. Tomes, aged and pristine alike, rested in neat rows, their spines marked with symbols of forgotten languages. The faint smell of leather bindings and parchment mingled with the cold scent of residual mana that clung to the air like mist. Light from the tall windows glimmered off polished brass instruments scattered atop the heavy wooden desk, tools for arcane experiments that sat unused yet perfectly aligned, as if mocking any notion of disorder.

A large map dominated one wall—not the world as it was known, but a layered construct of ley lines, magical flows, and territories marked by precise annotations. I could see the inked borders of warring factions, the symbols of alliances and threats etched into its surface like scars. The faint hum of enchanted wards resonated beneath the floorboards, a constant reassurance of the sanctuary this space provided.

But this was not my destination.

For all its organization and deceptive calm, this study was merely a façade, an immaculate surface concealing what lay beneath. My fingers flicked toward the far wall, and with a rumbling groan, the towering bookshelf shifted inwards, splitting along invisible seams. The stone staircase revealed beyond was cloaked in shadows, a cold breath of air escaping like the exhale of something ancient and unseen.

I stepped forward, leaving the facade of normalcy behind as the hidden path swallowed me whole.

With a flick of my wrist, the far wall groaned in response. A massive bookshelf trembled before shifting aside, revealing a cold stone staircase spiraling downward. The air here was still and cold, untouched by time.

My steps echoed softly as I descended, entering the hidden chamber I had carved beneath the mansion’s foundations. Here, in this secret labyrinth, I stored what the world was never meant to see—and never would. The sprawling expanse opened before me: a vast, multi-purpose sanctuary built for war.

The training grounds stretched across one wing, a massive arena where my chimeras roamed. Through careful magic, I had bound them to Sylara’s talismans—ensuring that when unsummoned, they would return here, away from prying eyes. The creatures sparred and played, their forms monstrous yet strangely obedient.

The laboratory lay adjacent—a sprawling hall cluttered with blueprints, spell tomes, and intricate tools for experiments forbidden to most. My gaze swept the room briefly before landing on the undead defenses positioned along key points. The Undead Goblin King stood stoic, its massive form cloaked in shadows. Alongside it, the Ascended Minotaur and the Ebon Devourer stood watchful.

They were my sentinels—monstrous, loyal, and utterly implacable.

The passageway beyond the hidden staircase descended into silence. Every step I took echoed faintly against the stone walls, swallowed quickly by the dense stillness that enveloped this hidden space. Here, beneath the estate, lay my true sanctum—the place no eyes but my own had seen. The hidden study was far more vast than its above-ground counterpart, stretching out into a sprawling chamber of deliberate design and calculated chaos.

As I stepped into the room, the soft hum of magic greeted me, resonating from the countless artifacts and tools that occupied every corner. The space was illuminated by floating orbs of white light that hovered above, their glow focused on key areas as if anticipating my next move. This wasn’t just a study; it was the very heart of my operations, the nexus of my planning, research, and secrets—secrets the world must never see.

Maps covered the far wall, pinned in layers, each marked with my handwritten notes and symbols that only I could decipher. Battle lines, migration paths of orcs, locations of devil coffin factions, and points of interest from the game-world all intertwined in a web of connections. Threads of red, blue, and black yarn crisscrossed like veins, each carefully plotted. A whiteboard stood beside it, filled with equations, magical formulas, and fragmented theories—many half-erased but lingering as reminders of puzzles yet to be solved.

To the side, long shelves housed stacks of books—ancient tomes, journals, and handwritten notes—meticulously categorized according to topic. Necromancy. Monster classifications. The nature of dungeons. Hidden artifacts. And there, at the far edge of the chamber, were carefully sealed scrolls bound in leather, protected by spells that would incinerate anyone foolish enough to pry them open without my command. Knowledge the Magic Council could only dream of acquiring.

This was my mind, externalized and manifested. Everything I had pieced together, every theory, every plan, and every observation of this world’s mysteries took form in this room.

I strode to the center where my desk stood—a wide, dark table, entirely clear save for my psychokinesis pen resting atop it. A faint hum surrounded it, as though the very air acknowledged its importance. I leaned back into the high-backed chair behind the desk, letting out a slow breath as I took in the space around me. This room had no distractions. No empty formalities. No pretenses. Just pure focus.

"Let’s get to work."

With a subtle thought, the pen stirred. Immediately, the room came alive. Sections of shelves shifted as if they had minds of their own, tomes and papers rising into the air. The large whiteboard rolled itself closer, erasing prior markings and preparing for new ideas. A series of maps floated toward me, hovering precisely at eye level. My psychokinesis remembered my every system, my patterns of thought; it was an extension of me here.

The room adjusted itself depending on my needs. If I wished to delve into research about monsters, notes, sketches, and bestiaries would align in an orderly row, ready to serve. If I turned my focus to strategy, the maps and blueprints of cities and fortifications would present themselves, their annotations practically glowing in the dim light. Everything in this chamber existed to save me time, to streamline every thought and plan without a moment wasted.

For now, my thoughts were fractured, and I needed clarity.

I lifted my hand, and the maps floated closer, the red threads catching the light as they moved. The current threats: Devil Coffin, orc invasions, and the looming presence of the demons. Three separate forces, each devastating on their own, yet unaligned. For now. That tenuous lack of cooperation was my one advantage, but it wouldn’t last. The Devil Coffin’s recent assault was proof enough of their growing ambition.

I traced a finger along the map of Aetherion, the underwater fortress. Its defenses had held—for now—but even a single incursion was enough to expose weaknesses. Aetherion was a symbol of the Council’s arrogance. They thought their layers of enchantments made them untouchable, forgetting that no fortress is perfect. Now they scrambled to strengthen their defenses while foolishly holding the Symposium earlier.

"They’ll never admit it’s desperation," I muttered, my words low and sardonic. "Fools wearing confidence as armor."