The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 673: The Hidden Elven (2)

Sylvanna opened her mouth for a sharp retort, but another violent quake rocked the passage before she could respond. Her fingers tightened around the vines, the ladder swinging perilously beneath her. She twisted around just as another dragon burst savagely through a side-wall, its stone-scaled body shuddering oddly. Draven's keen eyes narrowed sharply as he registered the dragon's erratic movements, its wings beating unevenly, breath cycles misaligned and staggered.

"Remote-controlled," Draven murmured grimly to himself. His mind flicked through possibilities, dissecting each observation rapidly. The creature's rhythm was off. This wasn't mere panic or primal aggression. Something external—something precise and calculating—was manipulating the guardian. He filed this troubling fact away in his mind, determined to unravel its implications later.

Urgency propelled them forward, and they scrambled from the suffocating tunnel, emerging suddenly onto a vast open mesa. Draven scanned the area with lightning speed, instantly taking stock of the precarious platforms that jutted from the ground like jagged slabs of ancient granite, connected by floating root-bridges suspended by flickering magic. The bridges swung dangerously, swayed by residual tremors that rolled ominously beneath their feet.

For a heartbeat, Draven paused, reassessing strategy, considering alternate routes—then the sky above exploded into chaos.

A cacophony of crystal-sharp calls erupted as hundreds of birds burst from the subterranean glade below, their bodies shimmering like prisms, scattering refracted light. They trailed shimmering dust in spiraling plumes—hex-dust, Draven noted immediately, instinctively squinting his eyes to minimize exposure. He knew too well what happened to those who inhaled too deeply, their minds thrown into vivid and debilitating hallucinations.

Sylvanna stumbled beside him, eyes blinking rapidly, confused and slightly dazed. Her breathing quickened as her pulse surged erratically. Panic flickered briefly across her usually confident face.

"Did that root just wink at me?" she asked, her voice laced with anxious uncertainty.

Draven responded instantly, his voice a commanding anchor, cool and focused even amidst the psychedelic chaos swirling around them.

"Eyes front. Control your breath. The dust keys off pulse irregularities."

Vaelarien vanished abruptly, his form swallowed by a shifting landscape of crystalline reflections. One moment he was there, the next, the refracted terrain closed around him like a living, breathing puzzle, trapping his presence behind layers of distortion.

Draven halted briefly, exhaling with precise control. Calmly, methodically, he summoned a half-pulse of mana—a subtle invocation meant not to attack, but to trace. His senses reached outward, threads of his essence slipping through the misty maze. A faint response tugged at him almost instantly—a ghostly echo that marked Vaelarien's path.

Sylvanna paused beside him, breath coming fast and shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath her sweat-dampened tunic. Her eyes were bright, wide, glinting with unease and barely suppressed panic as she tried and failed to glimpse their lost guide through the swirling mists.

"Draven, where—?" she began, the words trailing off in wary confusion.

"He's ahead," Draven replied simply, already stepping forward again. The air pulsed rhythmically around them, and he sensed rather than saw the four massive forms of the dragons. They weren't chasing, he realized. Their massive bodies moved in calculated arcs, circling at a careful distance. He measured their spacing instinctively, his eyes tracking their shadows through the haze—wide sweeps, careful rotations, never crossing paths.

They weren't hunters. Not predators chasing prey.

"They're herding us," Sylvanna said suddenly, voicing Draven's silent realization. Her tone was sharp, edged with both shock and growing dread.

Draven nodded, too late, irritation flickering momentarily in his otherwise icy composure. He mentally cursed himself, angry that he'd been too slow to recognize the strategy. He had grown too accustomed to predictable patterns—patterns no longer reliable in this twisted sequence.

Just as his mind flashed through alternate scenarios, a dragon's roar shattered the air, a sound thick with ancient fury. The ground beneath their feet exploded with the deafening crack of splitting granite. Sylvanna yelped, stumbling backward as the earth itself yawned open, a monstrous fracture slicing across the terrain as if a gigantic jaw were splitting apart beneath them.

"Move!" Draven commanded, his voice slicing through the chaos. Sylvanna needed no further prompting. Her reflexes sharpened instantly, training and adrenaline blending into fluid urgency as she dashed ahead, avoiding the jagged fissure just as it ruptured wider. She felt the seismic shockwave ripple beneath her boots, tremors shaking the already unstable terrain.

Behind them, the bridge they'd just crossed disintegrated violently, shattering into a hailstorm of razor-sharp shards. Sylvanna ducked instinctively, shielding her face as fragments zipped past her ears, hissing through the air like angry hornets.

Vaelarien's voice emerged from the dense haze ahead, faint but insistent: "Just past the mirrored bluff!"

Sylvanna nearly laughed bitterly at the vague instruction, feeling disorientation clawing at her consciousness. The terrain itself defied logic—granite slabs shifted without warning, sliding and folding like a disjointed puzzle beneath their frantic steps. Draven's expression was fixed, steely determination masking the rapid calculations happening behind his gaze. Sylvanna knew that look well; it meant he was adjusting, recalibrating, re-strategizing in the face of chaos.

They sprinted forward, feet pounding, breath ragged, senses stretched painfully thin. Granite slabs tilted sharply beneath them, forcing sudden leaps across expanding gaps. Sylvanna's balance was tested severely, her muscles screaming protests with every twist and turn. Each landing was a gamble; each footfall was precariously uncertain.

Draven leaped ahead, his movements fluid yet deliberate, every step placed with ruthless efficiency. His eyes flickered rapidly, constantly mapping the shifting ground, marking stable points, and guiding Sylvanna through subtle cues and gestures. She read him perfectly, trust born from dozens of previous scrapes. They moved together in silent harmony, instincts meshed tightly even amidst chaos.

Finally, the mesa narrowed dramatically, funneling them toward a single narrow breach. Sylvanna surged ahead, eyes fixed firmly on the sudden opening that shone brightly ahead, spilling golden radiance into the gloom. Her pulse quickened—hope flared within her chest, tempered sharply by suspicion born of experience.

Updat𝒆d fr𝑜m freewebnøvel.com.

They tumbled abruptly through the opening, breathless and stumbling into sudden stillness.

The vista before them took Sylvanna's breath away. Warm, golden sunlight cascaded gently through a translucent canopy, casting ethereal patterns upon a mirrored lake. Blossoms floated serenely, glowing softly atop still, glassy waters. Fine pollen drifted lazily, sparkling gently as if suspended in amber.

Sylvanna took a few hesitant steps forward, her eyes widening, her lips parting softly in disbelief. She spun slowly, entranced, confusion briefly replaced by awe. "It's... beautiful," she whispered, her voice soft, hesitant—as if afraid speaking louder might shatter this fragile perfection.

Draven, however, had stopped dead. Every nerve ending prickled with instinctive wariness. Something was off. His eyes narrowed, analyzing the scene with merciless precision. He noted the exact symmetry of the blooms, the unnaturally flawless reflections in the water, the silence too profound to be natural.

"Too symmetrical," he murmured quietly, a shadow passing through his voice. "Too clean."