The Villain Professor's Second Chance

Chapter 162: The Cavaliers' Anger

Garren nodded slightly, though his expression remained unreadable beneath his visor. "I understand the importance of your mission, Lady Vera," he said, his tone respectful yet unyielding. "However, Lord Draven is not in the best of health at the moment.

He has been through consecutive trials—the royal banquet and the subjugation of the Goblin King in the northern Icevern territory have taken their toll on him."

Modric's expression darkened immediately, his brow furrowing in frustration. "This is an order from Her Majesty, the Queen," he snapped, his voice sharp with irritation. "It must be carried out without delay."

The tension between the two men was palpable, a silent clash of wills as Modric's anger simmered just beneath the surface. Vera shot him a quick glance, silently willing him to calm down. They couldn't afford to provoke the Drakhan Knights, not here and not now.

But Garren remained calm, his gaze steady as he met Modric's glare. "I understand your urgency," he said, his tone measured and calm, though there was an edge of steel in his words. "However, my lord's health is of the utmost importance. Without him, there can be no resolution to whatever matters have brought you here. I assure you, he will see you as soon as his condition allows."

Modric's grip tightened on the reins of his horse, his knuckles turning white. Vera could feel his frustration radiating off him, but she remained composed, her mind working quickly to find a way to defuse the situation. The last thing they needed was a confrontation with the Drakhan Knights.

"Captain Garren," Vera said, stepping in before Modric could escalate things further. "We understand the importance of Lord Draven's health, and we have no intention of jeopardizing that. However, you must also understand the gravity of our mission. Her Majesty has entrusted us with a task that cannot wait. Time is of the essence."

Garren's eyes flickered, a brief moment of consideration passing over his face. He hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly. "I will relay your message to my lord," he said finally. "And I will do everything in my power to ensure that he meets with you as soon as possible. But until then, I must ask for your patience."

Vera could feel the tension in the air beginning to ease, though it was far from gone. Modric was still visibly bristling, his jaw clenched in frustration, but he remained silent, trusting Vera to handle the situation.

"Very well," Vera said after a long pause, her voice cool but respectful. "We will wait."

Garren gave a curt nod and turned to his knights, issuing a few quiet commands. The Drakhan Knights, ever disciplined, moved like a well-oiled machine, maintaining their formation but subtly easing the tension in their ranks.

Vera glanced at Modric, her eyes sharp. "Hold your temper," she whispered under her breath. "We don't want a conflict here."

Modric let out a low growl of frustration but nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I don't like this," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "We're playing right into Draven's hands."

"I know," Vera replied, her voice equally quiet. "But we can't afford to act rashly. Draven is unpredictable, and if we push too hard, we might lose any leverage we have."

Modric didn't reply, his eyes fixed on Garren, who was walking back toward the towering gates of the mansion. Vera could sense his unease, and truth be told, she shared it. Draven was a master manipulator, and nothing about this situation sat right with her.

The prosperity of the city, the fear that lingered in the townsfolk's eyes, the eerie calm of the Drakhan knights—it all pointed to something far more complex than what they had been led to believe.

As they waited, Vera's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of information they had gathered so far. Draven was clearly more than just a ruthless lord; he was playing a game that extended far beyond the borders of his territory. The improvements to the city, the technological advancements, the whispers of fear and uncertainty—it all pointed to a man with a plan.

But what that plan was, Vera couldn't yet discern.

After a few tense minutes, Garren returned, his expression unchanged. "Lord Draven has agreed to meet with you," he announced, his voice steady. "However, I must warn you—he is not at full strength. You will need to be brief in your discussions."

Modric muttered something under his breath, but Vera silenced him with a sharp look. "Understood," she said, her tone calm. "Lead the way."

Garren motioned for them to follow, and the gates of the mansion creaked open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond. As they rode through the entrance, Vera couldn't shake the feeling that they were stepping into something far more dangerous than they had anticipated.

The air inside the mansion grounds was thick with tension, as though the very walls were watching them, waiting for something to happen.

Modric leaned over slightly, his voice low. "What do you think? Is he stalling?"

Vera's eyes flicked toward the mansion's grand facade, her mind whirling with possibilities. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice quiet. "But we need to be careful. Draven's a man who never does anything without a reason. If he's keeping us waiting, it's because he's already ten steps ahead."

Modric grunted in response, clearly unhappy with the situation but unwilling to argue further. Vera could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword, as if ready to draw it at a moment's notice.

As they approached the mansion's entrance, Vera felt her pulse quicken. Whatever lay ahead, she knew one thing for certain—Draven was not a man to be underestimated, and this meeting would be anything but straightforward.

The gates had parted before them, and the Crown Cavaliers rode through the imposing entrance. They had expected to be greeted properly, as befitting their status and the authority they carried on behalf of the Queen. The courtyard, while immaculate and vast, was eerily quiet, almost too perfect, as if it held its breath, waiting for something.

Modric shifted restlessly beside her. She could feel his tension, his mounting frustration as the seconds ticked by. They had been here too long already without any formal reception. It was an insult, a blatant disregard for the respect due to them. Vera could understand his anger—after all, as the swords of the royal family, the Crown Cavaliers were more than just another set of knights.

They represented the very will of the monarchy.

Still, no servants came forward. No majordomo greeted them. Nothing but silence greeted their arrival.

"This is ridiculous," Modric growled under his breath, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "We're the Crown Cavaliers, damn it. We've waited long enough."

Vera could see the rage building behind his eyes, the tension in his jaw as his frustration grew. She understood it well. For all their importance, they were being treated like common messengers. It was an affront to their dignity, to their very standing in the kingdom. Draven's reputation for his disregard of protocol had clearly not been exaggerated.

Still, she couldn't afford to let Modric's temper get the best of them.

"Calm yourself," Vera said, her voice steady but firm. "Draven is testing us."

"Testing us?" Modric spat, his eyes flashing with barely contained fury. "We carry the Queen's orders! He's spitting in the face of the crown by making us wait like this."

"I know," Vera replied quietly, though her voice carried a sharp edge. "But losing your temper here will only make things worse."

Modric opened his mouth to argue, but before he could voice his anger, the wind in the courtyard shifted. The very air seemed to change, growing heavier, colder. It was as though the mansion itself had taken notice of their frustration. A low, rumbling sound filled the air, not quite thunder but something far more menacing, like a growl from the earth itself.

Suddenly, the great wooden doors of the mansion began to swing open and shut, as if some unseen force was manipulating them. They banged with a rhythmic intensity, the sound echoing across the courtyard like a heartbeat growing louder and louder with each beat.

The wind picked up, swirling through the garden, and the once-beautiful flowers seemed to wilt, curling inward as if retreating from an unseen force. The clouds above darkened, thickening as they gathered ominously.

The sudden change in atmosphere was enough to silence even Modric, who froze in place, his hand still gripping his sword but unmoving. His eyes darted around the courtyard, his anger forgotten in the face of the strange, unsettling power that now surrounded them.

Then, cutting through the cacophony of the banging doors and the howling wind, a voice echoed from within the mansion. It was low and deep, each word spoken with deliberate, terrifying precision, the kind of voice that sent a shiver straight down to the bone.

"Who is my guest?" the voice asked, its tone as cold as winter's breath.