The Villain Professor's Second Chance

I entered the room, my expression as usual. The woman before me, Liora, visibly paled and her features contorted momentarily. Her fear was palpable, but she quickly masked it with a defiant glare. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows that danced around us, adding an eerie ambiance to our encounter.

"Good evening, Silent Merchant," I greeted her, my tone devoid of warmth. She stiffened at my words, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I took a moment to observe her, my mind running through every detail like a finely tuned machine. Her stance was defensive, her muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for exits and weaknesses. Her complexion, although pale from the shock of seeing me, suggested a life spent both outdoors and in the shadowy underbelly of society.

Her clothes, practical and worn, spoke of a woman who valued utility over appearance.

"You've been in the city for a week despite being registered just today," I said, watching her reaction. Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. "The slight discoloration on your boots indicates frequent walks through the muddy outskirts.

Your hands, though calloused, have the fine dexterity of a craftsman, likely from handling delicate tools—both as a merchant and an assassin."

Her jaw tightened, but she remained silent.

"Your left wrist bears a faint scar, a mark from a defensive wound. Likely a knife fight," I continued, noting her subtle intake of breath. "You favor your right side, compensating for an old injury to your left knee. And the slight bulge under your cloak? A hidden blade, perhaps two."

"How do you—" she began, but I cut her off.

"I observe," I said simply.

Liora of the Nomad Merchants. Also known as the Silent Merchant in less savory circles. Her dual identity is well-documented.

She's a named character in this grand game, pivotal in the story's progression. Depending on the choices made by those who encounter her, she could either become a formidable ally or a deadly adversary.

She bristled at my words, her eyes flashing with anger. "What kind of idiot uses 'Silent Merchant' as an assassin alias?" I asked, my tone dripping with disdain.

"Leave it be!" she snapped, her voice rising in frustration.

I raised an eyebrow, amused by her reaction. "Calm yourself. You're not one to follow orders blindly. That much is clear."

I turned to Alaric and Garren, who stood at the edges of the room, watching intently. "Let her be. She's not someone who will respect or follow anyone blandly."

Alaric's eyes widened in surprise, and Garren's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. They were ready to intervene at a moment's notice, but I had no intention of letting them interfere.

I looked back at Liora, my expression inscrutable. "Rather than blaming your situation, I will give you a chance. You can either flee or attack me. My guards and the others won't help. Feel free to destroy some things; I've already compensated the inn handsomely."

She looked at me, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Quite bold for you who is famous for dirty tricks. What benefit would I get from this?" she asked, her voice laced with defiance.

I smiled, a cold, calculated gesture. "It's already an honor to have a chance to compete with me."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, she lunged at me. Rather than choosing to flee, she decided to go straight for the attack. Her movements were quick and fluid, a blur of motion as she closed the distance between us. But I was ready.

I didn't rely on my psychokinesis or magic. Instead, I used my physical body, enhanced by my trait [Herculean Physique]. Each of her attacks was precise and lethal, her knives aimed for vital points with deadly accuracy. But I moved with a grace and efficiency that belied the danger, dodging each strike by mere fractions of an inch.

Her frustration was evident as I evaded her attacks effortlessly. "You're fast," I said, my voice calm and measured. "But speed alone isn't enough."

Liora's eyes narrowed, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. "Shut up," she spat, her voice laced with venom. She spun around, her knives flashing in the dim light as she aimed a slash at my throat. I leaned back, the blade missing my skin by a hair's breadth.

"Predictable," I muttered, sidestepping another swift thrust aimed at my abdomen.

She growled in frustration, her movements growing more aggressive. Her footwork was impeccable, her attacks precise, but I could see the cracks forming. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and her breathing grew more labored with each passing second. Her speed was her greatest asset, but it was also her downfall. She relied too heavily on it, neglecting the subtleties of strategy and control.

Liora lunged again, this time aiming a flurry of slashes at my chest. I twisted and turned, my body a blur of motion as I evaded each strike. The air hummed with the sound of her blades slicing through it, a deadly symphony of steel and skill.

"Stop moving, damn you!" she cursed, her voice tinged with desperation.

I smirked, my eyes locked onto hers. "Why? Are you getting tired?"

Her response was a wordless scream of rage as she charged at me with renewed fury. Her knives came at me in a whirlwind of steel, each strike faster and more desperate than the last. I ducked and weaved, my movements fluid and controlled. Her frustration was palpable, each miss driving her deeper into a frenzy.

With a swift kick, I aimed for her midsection, but she twisted at the last moment, narrowly avoiding the blow. Her agility was impressive, but I could see the strain beginning to show. Her attacks grew more reckless, her precision faltering as exhaustion set in.

"Enough games," she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

"Agreed," I replied, my tone icy.

Liora's eyes flared with anger, and she launched into another assault, this time more calculated. Her knives flashed in intricate patterns, a deadly dance that would have overwhelmed a lesser opponent. But I watched her closely, noting the subtle shifts in her stance and the flicker of intent in her eyes.

I countered each move with precision, blocking her strikes with my forearms and deflecting her blades with swift, controlled movements.

She pressed on, a relentless force of fury and frustration. Her speed was astonishing, but her attacks became increasingly wild. She aimed a low slash at my legs, but I leaped over the blade, landing lightly on my feet. She spun and slashed upward, but I bent backward, the knife passing harmlessly over me.

"You're wasting your energy," I said, straightening up and meeting her gaze. "You can't win like this."

Her eyes blazed with defiance. "I'll show you," she snarled, lunging forward with renewed intensity.

I decided to shift my approach. Instead of merely dodging, I began to counter her strikes. When she aimed for my throat, I parried with my forearm and followed up with a sharp jab to her shoulder, causing her to stumble back. She recovered quickly, but I could see the uncertainty in her eyes.

She attacked again, a series of rapid thrusts aimed at my chest. I deflected each one, then stepped inside her guard, driving my elbow into her ribs. She gasped in pain, staggering back a few steps. I didn't give her a chance to recover. I advanced, pressing my advantage, my movements a blur of controlled power.

Our fight took on a brutal rhythm. She would lunge, and I would counter, each exchange more intense than the last. Her knives danced through the air, but my hands were a constant, unyielding defense. I could see the exhaustion setting in, her movements growing slower, her attacks less coordinated.

Liora tried to create distance, leaping back and throwing one of her knives at me. I sidestepped, the blade embedding itself in the wall behind me. She drew another knife from her belt, her hands shaking slightly.

"Running out of tricks?" I taunted, advancing on her.

She bared her teeth in a snarl, but the fear in her eyes was unmistakable. She lunged again, her attacks more desperate than ever. I caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it sharply. She cried out in pain, dropping the knife. I didn't let go, using her momentum to spin her around and pin her against the wall.

"Give up," I said, my voice cold and commanding. "It's over."

She struggled against my grip, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Never," she spat, her voice a mix of defiance and despair.

I tightened my hold, forcing her to drop the other knife. She tried to kick at me, but I blocked it easily, pressing her harder against the wall. Her strength was waning, her resistance growing weaker with each passing moment.

"You don't have to do this," I said, my tone softening slightly. "It's not too late to walk away."

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of doubt. But then her expression hardened, and she twisted violently, breaking free from my grip. She staggered back, her chest heaving, eyes wild with desperation.

"You're a fool," she said, her voice trembling. "I can't stop now. I won't."

She lunged once more, her knives aimed straight for my heart. This time, I was ready. I moved with a speed and precision that caught her off guard, my hand shooting out to grab her wrist. She twisted, trying to free herself, but my grip was unyielding.

With a swift motion, I disarmed her, her knives clattering to the floor. Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she seemed to consider her next move. But before she could act, I activated my psychokinesis, catching her in an invisible grip. She struggled against the unseen force, her eyes blazing with fury.

"You bastard!" she spat, her voice shaking with a mix of anger and exhaustion. "Let me go!"

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