The Villain Professor's Second Chance-Chapter 605: The Sentinel’s Final Trial

"Asterion, distract it."

"Easy enough," he grumbled, lunging forward. His blade deflected bolts of energy with practiced ease, each strike calculated, precise, and clean. The guardian surged again, its movements growing increasingly desperate, arcs of volatile leyline energy erupting chaotically from its limbs, crackling violently against the stone walls.

Asterion moved with the grace of a seasoned warrior, every footfall placed deliberately, every sword stroke carefully measured. He danced fluidly around the guardian's attacks, anticipating strikes before they came, turning lethal blows into mere grazes. Sweat gleamed at his temples, testament to the exertion and skill required, yet his expression remained steady, focused.

I observed closely, analyzing the construct's behavior. The guardian's movements were governed by rigid logic, predictable patterns born from meticulously crafted enchantments. But with each passing second, it adapted, its strikes becoming less predictable, more instinctual. Its creators had clearly woven sophisticated spells into its design—likely the work of a master artificer. That revelation intrigued me even as it heightened the urgency. I had little doubt this guardian was connected to the deeper secrets we were about to unveil.

As another volley of energy bolts erupted, narrowly missing Asterion as he deftly sidestepped, I surged forward, artifact sphere in hand. My mana flowed effortlessly into the device, resonating perfectly with the intricate enchantments embedded within its metal surface. The sphere hummed fiercely in response, almost eager, like a well-trained hound recognizing its master's command.

Yet the guardian sensed my approach immediately, pivoting with unnatural speed, its eyes blazing with fierce blue light. It released a torrent of mana-infused flame, an arcane inferno meant to incinerate intruders on the spot. Instinctively, I manipulated my mana, weaving a swift, protective barrier just in time. Flames roared angrily against my defense, scorching the air around me, but the barrier held firm.

"You're slipping," Asterion quipped dryly from my side, eyes flashing briefly toward me. His amusement was thinly veiled beneath tension. "Need me to keep it busy longer?"

"Just do your part," I replied curtly, maintaining my focus. Despite the severity of our situation, his comment sparked a faint edge of irritation that I quickly suppressed. Distractions—even minor ones—could be fatal now.

He nodded grimly, resuming his assault. With precise, fluid movements, he unleashed a rapid series of strikes that forced the guardian into a defensive stance, diverting its attention momentarily. Asterion understood his role perfectly, keeping the construct occupied while giving me crucial seconds to deploy the artifact's magic.

I muttered a swift incantation beneath my breath, infusing the sphere with an additional layer of controlled energy. The device responded instantly, glowing brighter, humming louder in my palm. I felt the enchantment reach a critical mass, primed to release.

But in that exact moment, the guardian's form shifted dramatically. Its crystalline armor darkened and condensed, becoming denser and visibly stronger. I cursed inwardly—clearly, it possessed secondary defenses triggered by prolonged conflict. This was precisely the kind of complexity I'd come to expect from Council artificers. They never left anything to chance, their paranoia matched only by their ruthlessness.

The guardian swung viciously at Asterion, who barely managed to parry, his sword ringing sharply against the reinforced armor. The impact sent him sliding backward several feet, leaving deep grooves etched into the stone beneath his boots.

"Getting stronger," he growled, shaking off the impact. "Your little trinket ready yet?"

"Almost," I replied tersely, recalibrating the sphere's energy frequency on the fly. Precision was vital—too little energy and the guardian would withstand it; too much, and the backlash might trigger alarms throughout the fortress.

The guardian sensed vulnerability, lunging toward me with lightning speed, massive crystalline limbs descending in a blur. My reflexes took over instantly; I twisted aside just as its arm slammed into the stone floor, leaving behind a smoldering crater of raw leyline energy.

I felt a brief surge of adrenaline sharpen my senses further, slowing time itself. My thoughts became ice-cold, clinical, calculating each variable instantly: the angle of the guardian's next strike, its probable trajectory, and Asterion's recovery speed. The guardian pivoted toward me again, its stance betraying its next move.

"Asterion—left flank!" I commanded swiftly.

Asterion acted instantly, driving his blade toward the construct's exposed joint. The guardian recoiled, forced momentarily off-balance by his precise attack. I seized the opportunity, adjusting the sphere's resonance once more, aligning perfectly with the guardian's new defensive frequency.

Now fully attuned, the artifact pulsed violently, eager to fulfill its purpose. I hurled it forward, guiding its trajectory carefully with subtle mana manipulation. It struck the guardian's armored chest dead-center, embedding itself firmly. Instantly, arcs of disruptive energy rippled outward, rapidly unraveling the guardian's defensive enchantments. It shuddered, visibly weakening as the sphere's disruptive magic penetrated deeper into its core.

"Finish it!" I snapped sharply.

Asterion needed no second urging. He surged forward decisively, blade flashing brilliantly under the arcane lighting. His strike was flawless, slicing directly through the construct's weakened chest armor. A bright pulse of leyline energy erupted, scattering outward harmlessly, dissipating rapidly into fading motes of light.

The guardian trembled violently, staggering backward. Its limbs dissolved into dust, falling away piece by piece until its entire form collapsed, leaving only scattered remnants of its once formidable presence.

Silence returned, heavy and profound, punctuated only by the sound of our controlled breathing. I stepped toward the vault doors, allowing myself only the briefest satisfaction at the guardian's defeat. There was no room for complacency here, no luxury of celebrating minor victories. The fortress had yet to reveal its darkest secrets.

The vault doors slowly parted, groaning softly as if protesting our intrusion. The air within the chamber was cool, tinged faintly with the scent of ancient parchment and arcane residue. My gaze immediately fell upon the crystalline artifact suspended within a shimmering containment field. It was mesmerizing, its rhythmic pulse matching the subtle ebb and flow of my mana, resonating on a level deeper and more ancient than I'd ever experienced.

My heartbeat quickened slightly despite my discipline, recognizing something disturbingly familiar in its resonance. Asterion approached cautiously, eyes narrowed in wary suspicion.

"Familiar?" he asked carefully, watching my expression closely.

"In ways I'd rather it wasn't," I replied coldly, barely concealing the faint tremor in my voice.

I reached out hesitantly, fingertips brushing the containment field. The barrier dissolved instantly, almost eagerly, recognizing my presence. The artifact seemed to hum louder, its pulsing intensifying. I touched it lightly, and reality shattered around me.

Visions overwhelmed my consciousness instantly, violently. Images flashed rapidly, sequences overlapping chaotically. I saw laboratories filled with screaming test subjects, their anguish magnified by the clinical detachment of observing Council Lords. Leyline disruptions detonated deliberately, ripping cities apart in calculated acts of destruction, each event meticulously documented, analyzed, categorized.

At the center of the visions stood Belisarius, trapped and helpless, his essence cruelly harvested by ruthless spellcraft. The Council hadn't merely orchestrated his return—they'd engineered it precisely. He was a tool, a weapon forged by their arrogant ambition.

The visions shifted again, resolving into clear maps and intricate diagrams marking future targets. Cities appeared in vivid detail, each location marked distinctly, targets awaiting calculated destruction in future leyline meltdowns. The Council's plans stretched decades into the future, a web of devastation waiting to unfold.

Pain exploded through my mind, forcing me to stagger backward, gasping sharply. Asterion caught my arm instantly, steadying me.

"What happened?" he demanded urgently, grip firm, eyes scanning me for signs of injury.

"The Council," I managed harshly, steadying myself quickly, composure returning with practiced discipline. "They've planned this for years. Belisarius is just the beginning."

Asterion's eyes hardened, jaw tightening visibly. He understood immediately the implications, the urgency of our discovery.

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"We have to take it," he insisted fiercely, voice resolute, anger simmering beneath his carefully controlled exterior. "Leaving it here is suicide. The Council can't keep this power."

I hesitated, calculating rapidly. The moment we removed this artifact, alarms would undoubtedly trigger fortress-wide, sealing our fate into confrontation or capture. Yet leaving such destructive knowledge unchecked would condemn countless innocents.

We stood there, locked in silent debate, tension thickening with every heartbeat. Time was precious; every second we delayed increased the likelihood of discovery. But the choice was unavoidable, the responsibility absolute.

My eyes narrowed finally, decision crystallizing within me, cold and unyielding.

"Agreed," I said finally, voice cold, resolved. "Be ready."

The instant I lifted the artifact from its resting place, the fortress erupted into chaos. A thunderous, echoing alarm blared sharply, its piercing wail slicing through the air with a deafening intensity. Instantly, my senses sharpened, adrenaline rushing through me, my heart hammering in controlled bursts. The walls vibrated faintly as hidden wards flared violently awake, their pulsing energy bathing the vault in harsh, unsettling hues of crimson and amber.

"Well, subtlety is off the table," Asterion remarked dryly, his blade already drawn, stance rigid yet poised for action. He glanced around quickly, eyes narrowing as he instinctively scanned for approaching threats.

"Then we fight,"