Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke had slept. Not just drifted off like before—he had actually slept. Deep, dreamless, vulnerable sleep. And yet, part of him had remained on edge, like a coiled spring. The kind of sleep soldiers talk about—light enough to wake at the softest creak. Just in case. That’s why he’d wedged the crystal in front of the door. If anyone tried to enter, the noise would jolt him awake in an instant.

Even as he rested, his mind had been working. Planning. Calculating. Trying to anticipate what would happen when the elevator took him back to the first floor.

Two scenarios. One far worse than the other.

Worst case? The elevator opens right in front of the criminals. No time to hide. No time to think. Just action. In that case, he’d already chosen his move: smoke bomb—his last one. Use the chaos. Make a break for it. Luke wasn’t the same person who had first stepped into this nightmare. If he saw even a sliver of an opening, he’d take it. Even if it meant hurting someone. Even if it meant using her.

There was always the Princess—Charlie. She could act as a distraction while he made a run for the statue. If she died? She’d come back. That’s what summons did. And if he was lucky with positioning... he could toss the smoke bomb, drop Charlie into the fray, and vanish while they focused on her.

Risky?

Very.

But it beat dying.

Best case? The elevator drops him far from the enemies. He could observe them from a distance. Wait for them to all descend into the dungeon or move away from the statue. Then he’d slip in, activate the portal, and be gone before anyone knew he was there.

But everything hinged on one factor, where the elevator opened.

And there was another problem, one that gnawed at the back of his mind: ’What if I missed the window for the tutorial?’

If the portal no longer worked, he’d be stuck here for a full year. That meant the moment he activated it—whether it worked or not—the criminals would know he was nearby. They’d come for him. Relentless. Fifteen criminals, all growing stronger by the day as they dove deeper into the dungeon.

He wouldn’t survive a year on the run. Not like this.

Unless...

“Would it work... if I jumped off the waterfall again? Landed on the last floor?”

It might be his best shot. As long as no one saw him. Even if the portal activated, they wouldn’t know it had been him. It was the cleanest plan he had.

But it came with a price—he’d be stuck on the bottom floor for an entire year. And he had no idea how deep the dungeon really went. He didn’t even know if the elevator would ever return.

Do I really want to live like that? Hiding? Waiting? Always afraid?

He clenched his kukris, eyes narrowed.

He was tired. Tired of running. Tired of fear. Tired of being prey.

“I don’t want to be the hunted anymore.”

His grip tightened. ℴ

“If they’re willing to hunt someone, then they need to be willing to be hunted.”

***

[Your servant Princess Charlie (Skeleton): Lvl 1) has recovered from her injuries.]

Luke waited patiently. Judging by his internal clock, roughly twenty-four hours had passed. He exhaled slowly and focused. He could feel it now—how the process worked. Like tugging on a thread deep inside his soul.

A pulse of black smoke burst from his chest, swirling through the air like a living shadow. It twisted, condensed—and then, kneeling before him, the familiar skeletal figure took shape.

Charlie was back.

The skeleton glanced down at its hands, then patted its chest, arms, and ribs—as if surprised it had a body again.

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“Princess Charlie?” Luke asked, unsure if she remembered anything. The skeleton’s head snapped toward him. And then she ran.

She barreled into him with a tight, bony hug. Luke stumbled back, genuinely caught off guard by her strength. “Okay—yeah, I’m glad to see you too,” he muttered, trying to peel her off.

Charlie didn’t let go. Instead, she started patting him down like a worried nurse, checking for injuries. “I’m fine. No wounds,” he reassured her.

She stepped back slightly, and Luke started explaining everything. The fight. Her death. The wait. He asked what it had felt like. For her, it had been like sinking into an endless, pitch-black sleep. No pain. No time. Just… darkness.

In that time, Luke had been trying to understand how the skill really worked. There was one part of the ability’s description that stood out—the servant could be stored in the user’s soul. He’d spent hours thinking about that.

So I’m basically a walking Pokéball now…

Apparently, when a servant died, they didn’t vanish—they retreated back into him. And now, with enough focus… he could control it.

He concentrated again. With a ripple of shadow, Princess Charlie faded into smoke—and disappeared inside him. “That was... weird,” he muttered.

He tried again, pulling her essence back into reality. She reformed at his side instantly, intact and ready. There were still things he didn’t have time to test. Like, if she got hurt and he stored her—would she heal inside him? That would have to wait.

He approached the elevator, reaching for the sword he’d left there. “I believe this belongs to you.”

Charlie clutched the weapon with something that almost resembled joy, her skull tilting in silent gratitude.

Together, they faced the elevator.

Luke had already told her everything—both possible outcomes. If they arrived near the criminals, she’d hold them off while he ran for the statue. He’d activate the portal and escape. That was the worst-case scenario. Best case? They’d spawn far away. Unseen. They’d sneak, wait, strike only if they had to.

They were ready for either.

Luke placed his hand on the crystal.

The elevator began to rise.

***

[Notice: Approaching First Floor]

Luke and Charlie were ready.

Charlie gripped her sword, poised and still. Luke had one hand on the elevator crystal—his other clenched tightly around a smoke bomb. His kukris were stashed in his inventory, ready to be drawn the moment the chaos began.

The elevator slowed, groaning as it ascended. He could feel it—they were close.

No matter how much he’d prepared, tension coiled in his gut like a snake. If they arrived in the middle of the enemy group, things would spiral fast. Faster than the crocodile. Deadlier than the skeletal mage.

The platform creaked again. Slower now. Luke’s fingers tightened around the bomb. A soft orange glow pulsed from the crystal.

Almost there.

And then... it hit him. A weight like gravity itself pressed against his chest. A flood of adrenaline. Of fear. Of resolve. He pulled his hand off the crystal and lowered into a ready stance, bomb primed to hit the floor. Beside him, Charlie readied her attack—[Heavy Strike] charging in her blade, humming faintly.

The elevator stopped. Silence.

Then, the doors creaked open.

Luke tensed, and blinked.

”...No one?” he muttered, scanning the space in disbelief.

The rush of tension gave way to a strange, quiet relief. They weren’t in the dungeon’s main hall. Not even close.

Instead, they stood in a sealed-off chamber. Dust coated the stone floor. Faint orange torchlight flickered across cobweb-covered walls. No spiders—just their webs. An old chandelier hung overhead, long extinguished. Melted candles lay scattered across the floor like forgotten memories.

One door. That was it.

Luke approached it, twin kukris in hand. Charlie followed closely, blade at the ready. The smoke bomb now sat between Luke’s teeth—if it came to it, he’d spit it, ignite it with mana, and vanish in a cloud.

The door didn’t open cleanly. It scraped. Stuck. Luke gritted his teeth and eased it open inch by inch, every nerve alert.

The next room was also sealed. He peeked through the crack first.

“A coffin...?”

They hadn’t entered from a hallway—they’d emerged from behind a standing coffin, like some secret passage.

The new room had no exit. No doors. Only a hole in the ceiling.

He didn’t hesitate. He climbed.

The passage above was half-collapsed, and he had to crawl through chunks of broken stone. Charlie moved behind him, silent and agile despite her bones.

Ahead, dense greenery loomed. Luke pushed through the foliage—

And stepped into the open air.

The scent of grass, bark, and damp earth flooded his senses. Luke had emerged somewhere on the first floor’s surface, outside the cavern.

His heart pounded. The second scenario.

This was the one where he hadn’t alerted the criminals to his presence. Which meant one thing.

He had the advantage.

Luke scanned his surroundings with sharp eyes, making sure no one was nearby. Every step he took was deliberate, silent. When he reached the tallest tree in the area, he began to climb, branches creaking faintly under his weight. He kept going—higher, slower—until he reached the canopy.

From there, in the distance, a warm orange glow pierced the darkness.

Fire.

He narrowed his eyes, focusing. Shapes began to emerge: silhouettes of men gathered near the flames. Crude tents were pitched haphazardly around the clearing, along with wooden barrels stacked in neat rows. Judging by their placement and the faint shimmer on their surface, they were storing water—likely drawn from the lake nearby.

The criminals were camped directly in front of the statue.

Luke stared at them from above.

“I don’t have a choice…” His fingers tightened around the pair of kukris in his hands.

He’d made his decision. He would no longer be the victim. No longer the prey.

He would become the predator.

An assassin.

“I’ll watch. No matter how long it takes... I’ll learn everything about you.”

He climbed down, every movement fluid, calculated.

This was his first move.

Like a panther in the underbrush, he would wait.

Study.

Stalk.

Until the perfect moment came...

To strike.