Becoming the Dark Lord

Up ahead, just beyond the treeline, Luke spotted movement—three yetis circling something.

No... not something. Someone.

A boy, roughly his age, was locked in combat with the beasts. He wielded a sword, slashing desperately as the creatures lunged and swung their massive limbs.

What stunned Luke even more was the structure nearby—a small wooden cabin half-buried in snow.

Another participant!

It was the first human he’d seen since the dungeon. Since the prisoners.

Luke instinctively stepped forward, then stopped.

He couldn’t forget the prisoners. Just because someone looked normal didn’t mean they were. This was still the tutorial. Some participants were monsters in human skin.

He crouched low in the snow, watching from cover.

The boy fought hard, but he was clearly overwhelmed. One of the yetis slammed him into a tree. He held onto his sword, barely. With a shout, he lunged forward, stabbing one creature in the gut and spinning to slice another—only to be struck from behind by a thick branch.

He staggered, and a yeti kicked him across the clearing.

Shit.

Luke made a decision.

He moved.

A kukri flew through the air and embedded itself in the shoulder of the nearest yeti. At the same time, Princess Charlie burst from the trees, slamming her iron fists into another.

The yetis roared in fury. One swung at Luke, but he dashed to the side, slipping between snow and shadow.

The boy groaned, pushing himself up from the ground, spitting snow.

”You alright?” Luke called out.

”More or less,” the boy wheezed.

The creatures advanced.

The boy leapt—and jumped again, mid-air, as if he’d stepped on solid ground.

Luke’s eyes widened.

Double jump!

The teen came down hard, driving his blade into a yeti’s skull. The beast thrashed wildly, blindly swinging and smacking another of its own.

Luke and Charlie pushed forward. Kukris spun through the air, duplicating mid-flight and striking true. Charlie rushed in, shoulder-charging a yeti into a tree, then unleashed a brutal barrage of punches—her Iron Fists pummeling its head with bone-cracking force.

She leapt back as Luke dashed in, sinking both blades into the creature’s neck.

It dropped, lifeless.

Only two left.

Luke turned and watched as the boy danced between their blows, rolling and jumping with speed and grace.

Luke hurled both kukris again. They split in the air and tore into a yeti’s face.

The boy seized the opening. His blade shimmered with energy as he spun in a clean arc. Blood sprayed. The creature’s head fell moments after its body.

One left.

But then the boy collapsed, dropping to his knees in the snow.

Luke didn’t wait. He dashed forward just as his kukris returned to his hands. One flew again, slicing into the final yeti’s throat. As the creature raised a hand to react, Luke closed the distance and drove the second blade deep.

[You have slain a Cliff Yeti: Lvl 10]

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Three corpses hit the ground.

”We did it,” Luke said, retrieving his kukris.

The boy shakily stood, raising his sword.

”Who the hell ar—”

He dropped, unconscious.

Princess Charlie looked at Luke and raised her hands in mock surrender. Not my fault.

Luke sighed, walking over to check on the stranger. The moment his hand touched the boy’s skin, he understood.

Cold. Too cold. But sweating. Shivering.

”Hypothermia.”

Luke rushed toward the cabin, dragging the boy across the snow. The small wooden structure was empty—bare walls, no supplies, no furniture. Not even a bedroll.

”Great. Not even a pile of straw. You’ve got nothing.”

He laid the boy down and quickly tossed the wolf pelt over him. Then he gathered some branches, sparked them with his fire ring, and set up a crude fire pit in the corner.

“I’m gonna help you,” he muttered, crouching near the flame. “Because I need answers. And I doubt I’ll get any if you die.”

The fire cast flickering shadows across the walls. Luke glanced around again. No supplies, no tools, nothing to suggest this guy had been here long. Just his clothes, a basic sword… and a strange pendant hanging around his neck.

An item?

He tried to use Identify, but it didn’t work.

Luke handed the boy’s sword to Princess Charlie, who stood by the door like a skeletal sentry.

“Temporary weapon. If anything shows up, warn me first.”

The skeleton nodded, then looked back at the unconscious boy, head tilted.

Luke raised a brow. “Relax. I’m watching him.”

Charlie turned and stepped outside.

***

Luke remained seated, staring at the boy’s pale, shivering form. He opened his system and used Identify.

[???]

Nothing.

The skill failed to return a name, level, or class—just empty symbols.

He frowned. “So it doesn’t work on humans, huh...?”

The skill didn’t trigger, even though he was so close and focusing. Luke hadn’t been able to test Identify on the criminals since he’d only observed from a distance, so this was the first time he was actually using it on a human being.

Maybe it’s a level difference… or maybe humans are just harder to scan.

The boy groaned in his sleep. Sweat beaded on his forehead, even with the wolf pelt and fire. Fever. His body was fighting back, but barely.

Luke sighed, scooping snow into his palm. He heated it with his ring, then gently tipped the water into the boy’s mouth.

Outside, Charlie returned with both skeletal hands cupped, filled with snow.

Luke blinked. “More capacity, huh? Good idea.”

She tilted her head proudly. He melted the snow in her hands and drank.

When he did, Charlie suddenly turned away.

Luke narrowed his eyes. “What? What was that?”

The skeleton’s skull shook side to side rapidly. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He stared.

“You are the weirdest undead I’ve ever met.”

She fidgeted awkwardly.

***

Time passed. The storm returned, howling outside.

Luke let Charlie back inside and barricaded the door with every piece of wood he could find. The fire crackled loudly, its warmth filling the small chamber.

He sank to the floor, tearing into a chunk of roasted wolf meat, his eyes flicking constantly toward the door. No signs of more yetis—yet.

He’d shaped one of his gloves into a makeshift water cup, letting snow melt inside and sipping it slowly.

Then—

“M-Mom...”

The boy stirred, voice faint and broken.

Luke looked up.

The kid was delirious, muttering in his sleep.

“Great,” he muttered. “Now I’m a babysitter.”

He leaned back against the cabin wall, letting his head rest for a moment as he tossed another stick into the fire. Outside, the storm still howled, wind lashing the trees and snow battering the roof—but in here, for now, it was warm. The flames crackled and popped, casting flickering light across the cramped shelter.

Then the boy whimpered again, lost in fevered dreams. Luke turned to look at him, his eyes narrowing.

“I better get some damn answers when you wake up.”

***

Hours passed.

The darkness of night had finally lifted, giving way to a pale, icy dawn that crept across the frozen terrain. The blizzard had spent its fury. No more screaming wind. No more stabbing snow.

Just stillness.

A heavy, absolute silence blanketed the land—so complete it felt like the world itself was holding its breath. Everything was frozen in place. Untouched. Waiting.

Inside the cabin, Luke tilted the makeshift water cup—his repurposed glove—and gently poured a trickle of melted snow into the unconscious boy’s mouth.

Then the boy’s eyes snapped open.

Startled, he shoved Luke’s hand away, sending the glove clattering to the floor. He scrambled to his feet, breath ragged, eyes wide with panic.

“Who the hell are you?!”

Luke didn’t move. He kept his voice calm.

“Relax. You’re safe. I helped you. You were fighting three yetis—remember?”

The boy’s gaze darted around the cabin. His back hit the wall as he searched for exits, weapons, answers.

Then he froze.

“W-Why’d you take my shirt off?!”

Luke raised a brow.

“It was soaked in blood—and frozen. You had a fever. I didn’t strip you for fun. It’s over there.”

He pointed toward the corner, where the shirt lay in a stiff, frozen bundle.

Despite the calm tone, Luke kept his kukri in hand, watching closely for any sudden moves.

Then the boy’s expression changed.

Panic. Desperation.

“My necklace!”

He reached for his throat and visibly relaxed when his fingers brushed the cold jewel still resting against his skin.

Luke rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, calm down. I didn’t steal anything. Well—okay, I borrowed your sword. Briefly.”

But the boy wasn’t listening anymore.

A glint of red light flared in the air as the sword vanished from Charlie’s skeletal hands and reappeared—instantly—in the boy’s grip.

Inventory link.

Luke’s instincts flared. He moved.

But not fast enough.

The cold steel of the blade pressed against his chest.

That speed!

The boy’s eyes were sharp now. Focused. His fever was gone, replaced by raw tension.

“I want answers,” the boy said, voice low and steady.