Becoming the Dark Lord

The system interface snapped open, filling Luke’s vision with a glowing notification.

[Princess Charlie has acquired a Second Class: Pugilist]

For a moment, his brain couldn’t even process it. The words registered — but meaning didn’t follow. His body was collapsing, every limb heavy, drowning in exhaustion. Stamina — zero. One eye blind, the other barely holding open, flickering against his will.

And then — darkness swallowed everything.

But not for long.

A shadow loomed over him. Charlie.

Without effort, she dragged Morvat’s corpse over and dropped it next to him like it weighed nothing. Then, without hesitation, she scooped Luke into her arms — princess carry style.

“Pretty sure... in the movies... it’s the guy who carries the girl... not the other way around,” he muttered, voice thin, ragged.

She glanced down, confused.

“Never mind... You’ve never seen a movie,” he sighed, letting his head fall back.

Charlie carried him toward the orc village. Her steps were steady. Fluid. She set him down gently against the trunk of a tree.

A few minutes later, something heavy landed at his feet with a wet, hollow thud — a half-dead orc, dumped like garbage. Charlie stomped on the creature’s chest, pinning it in place. She crouched, grabbed one of his kukris, and pressed it into Luke’s hand.

No words. None were needed.

He understood.

His fingers trembled as he gripped the handle. His arm felt like lead. But with what little strength he had left, he drove the blade into the orc’s chest. Then, slowly — deliberately — he activated Basic Blood Regeneration.

Vitality drained. He felt it flood into him in sluggish waves. Wounds pulled closed — not cleanly, but enough. Bone fractures throbbed but held. His blind eye stayed ruined. The shattered ribs didn’t knit. But the pain dulled, and the thin thread of HP began crawling back upward, tick by tick. His mana emptied.

The orc spasmed once. Twice. Then went limp — life snuffed out as the last sliver of its existence was siphoned away.

Luke slumped back, breathing hard. The pain still clawed at him — his insides felt like sacks of broken glass shifting with every breath — but he was no longer balancing on the edge of death.

“We did it,” he muttered, half in disbelief. “We can finally go back... to the Safe Zone.”

But the system wasn’t finished. A soft glow flickered to life.

The mission orb.

The one he’d nearly forgotten about.

*Contract of Assassination (Exclusive)*

Objective: Kill the Orc Lord.

The Orc Lord hides deep within the forest, near the mountains, in the final orc village nestled at the base of the cliffs. He spends his days enthroned, basking in the brutal grandeur of his position, orchestrating constant raids against tutorial participants.

Since the death of an Orc Captain, you’ve been marked as a real threat to his rule.

Requirements:

- Approach the target alone.

- Bringing any companion will cause the Orc Lord to relocate.

Reward: (???)

(NOTICE: The Orc Lord’s main forces have been eliminated. The path will be easier.)

Luke closed the interface, staring at it with a bitter expression.

“The path will be easier, huh?” A dry laugh slipped out, hollow. “Yeah... right. I’ve had enough of cheating death for one day.”

With Charlie’s help, he forced himself to his feet. His body protested with every motion. Muscles throbbed. Bones shifted wrong beneath the skin. Some fingers wouldn’t even respond — jammed, broken, like they were stuffed with sand and splinters of glass.

Together, step by dragging step, they made their way to the Mantis Tunnel. At the edge of the hole, Luke shifted into mist, slipping through the narrow passage. On the other side, he reformed midair, activating his cloak to slow the fall. Charlie emerged from his soul moments later, landing beside him.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

His hand brushed over his forearm. The bones... they moved. Not the way bones should move. Loose. Misaligned. Dancing under the skin like shards of a broken puzzle barely held together.

But he was still standing. And for now... that was enough.

He could’ve activated Meditation. Let the mana and stamina refill, let the system do its work — efficient, clean, mechanical. But not now. Not this time.

Right now... all he wanted was something simpler. Something primal. Sleep. Real, honest, biological sleep. After everything, he’d earned it.

Right before surrendering to unconsciousness, Luke opened Charlie’s interface. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, despite the fatigue anchoring every muscle.

“Alright... so you became a Pugilist.”

She nodded. Calm. Unbothered. Like she was confirming something as obvious as the sky being blue.

Charlie had awakened a Second Class.

And even buried beneath exhaustion, pain, and the dull haze of a body barely functioning, Luke couldn’t help it — a spark of something flickered inside. Excitement.

[Second Class]: A Second Class emerges when an innate talent awakens within you. This power, long dormant, reveals itself in a crucial moment, granting access to new skills and unlocking new evolutionary paths. A Second Class isn’t something you choose or learn—it’s a natural manifestation of a talent that’s always been there, opening a new road for development.

“You’re gonna have two classes...” Luke muttered, stunned. The words tasted strange even as he said them — like his brain hadn’t fully caught up to reality yet.

A memory surfaced. Something Angelica had said once. A passing comment, almost a throwaway line back then — how obtaining a Second Class was one of the rarest achievements possible.

And now... he understood why.

It wasn’t a choice. It wasn’t an upgrade. It wasn’t something you earned by grinding levels or ticking off quests.

It was talent. Pure. Raw. Unforgiving. The kind of talent that couldn’t be faked. The kind that couldn’t be bought, learned, or forced. It was something written deep into the soul.

A soft chime echoed. A window expanded across his screen.

[Pugilist]: The Pugilist is a master of hand-to-hand combat, trained to turn their fists into lethal weapons. Their body, hardened through discipline and pain, is resilient and capable of withstanding even the toughest challenges. Their fighting style is direct and brutal, focused on delivering quick, devastating blows while enduring the damage their enemies try to inflict.

Attribute Bonuses per Level:

+3 Strength, +2 Endurance, +2 Agility, +2 Vitality, +2 Perception, +2 Intelligence, +2 Free Points.

“You’ve got to be kidding me...” Luke stared at the screen, completely dumbfounded. “You’re gonna outscale me. Fast. And long-term... yeah, the gap’s gonna be ridiculous.”

His own class — Death Knight — was already generous. +3 Strength, +3 Endurance, +2 Agility, +2 Vitality, +2 Intelligence, +1 Perception, plus 2 free points. Fifteen total. Per level.

But now... Charlie would get another fifteen. As a Pugilist.

Thirty. Thirty stat points per level.

And that wasn’t even counting skills, passives, multipliers, scaling effects...

But the real issue wasn’t just raw growth. It was speed. Her second class started at Level 0. Early levels were cheap — XP requirements practically nonexistent. She could jump five levels by mowing down a few stray feral orcs.

In a matter of days... she could outpace him. Easily.

His eyes drifted toward her. Calm. Completely unaware of just how insane this was.

“She’s not gonna outscale me long-term...” His voice dropped to a mutter. “It’s gonna happen soon. Real soon.”

A pause. Then... a grin tugged at his lips.

“Good.” He exhaled. “If I’m gonna make you my tank... we’re on the right track.”

A cough. Wet. Heavy. Blood filled his palm.

-2 HP per minute...

Luke sighed, wiping it away, then tapped the next notification. A new window blinked open, filling his vision.

[Second Class: Pugilist awakened successfully]

[Princess Charlie has acquired the Second Class skill: Advanced Fist Handling (Uncommon)]

He clicked it open.

[Advanced Fist Handling (Uncommon)]: The Pugilist has reached an advanced level of hand-to-hand combat mastery. Their attacks become incredibly precise and powerful, allowing them to unleash rapid, devastating strikes with exceptional efficiency.

Charlie stood, throwing punches into the air — smooth, rhythmic, fluid. Her fists sliced through the cave’s silence with mechanical precision. Each strike was sharp, solid, deliberate. Every movement loaded with intent.

Her footwork was razor-tight — quick, compact steps, like a professional boxer working the ring. Light on her feet. Balanced. Clean.

Luke watched in silence.

This wasn’t just random punching. It was technique. Pure, distilled technique. Full-body control. Every shift of weight. Every micro-adjustment. Charlie hadn’t just learned it — she had absorbed it. Like it had always been there, dormant, waiting to be awakened.

She stopped. Turned. Met his gaze. And through the soul-link between them... he felt it. Clear. Direct. As real as spoken words.

’Are you proud of me?’

She didn’t need to say it aloud. The bond carried it. Honest. Raw. Impossible to miss.

Luke exhaled softly. “Yeah... I’m proud of you.”

The response hit her like lightning. A burst of light in her soul, bright and uncontrollable. Joy. Pure and unfiltered. Her presence almost buzzed — vibrating with a happiness so sharp it felt like standing in the sun.

Luke laughed under his breath, shaking his head at the sheer, surreal absurdity of all of it.

Then — finally — he turned his attention back to the system interface.

[An item has been added to your inventory]

The notification still sat there. Patient. Waiting. Frozen in time since the moment they’d killed Morvat.

He tapped it. The item name popped onto the screen. His eyes went wide.

“...Holy. Shit.”

It was good. It was really, really good.