Becoming the Dark Lord

The five profession options floated before him like pages from a magical book, suspended midair on the system’s interface: Veteran Herbalist, Venomous Herbalist, Alchemist of Ardan, Botanist of Mother Freya, and Beekeeper of Mikhayla.

They ranged from a shadowy chemical sect whose followers treated alchemical compounds as a form of faith, to the fanatical servants of a multiversal hive, an insectoid cult led by a honey-worshipping deity that sent entire swarms to spread its doctrine and convert innocents into winged zealots, loyal drones of the sacred nectar.

There was also, of course, the forgotten path of the Botanist of Mother Freya, a profession cloaked in silence, one that didn’t require allegiance to any Divine Order, but also offered no clear promises. It was an ancient road, moss-covered and layered in the dust of forgotten eras. It didn’t shout. It didn’t glow like the others. But it carried a strange magnetism, like an old book whose secrets only reveal themselves to those with the patience to truly read it. It was a path considered extinct. Something almost no one knew...

But he knew someone. Someone old enough to answer a few questions. Someone who always seemed to linger at the edges of reality, even when he didn’t show himself. When Luke turned to go looking for Samael... he was already there. Standing at the doorway, unmoving, like a shadow cast by thought itself.

“So, you’ve reached your first profession evolution,” Samael said. “This is an important step. It’s the moment the arrow called Luke chooses its direction.”

Luke opened his mouth, ready to speak, but Samael raised a hand.

“Don’t tell me about the divine order professions,” he said calmly. “I don’t want to influence your decision.”

Luke hesitated, then asked, “But... is it a problem? Like, if I pick a profession tied to another order? Aren’t I kind of part of yours already?”

Samael gave a faint smile, touching his chin with thoughtful fingers. “Yes... and no. Do you consider yourself part of our order?”

“No… but kind of, right? I accepted the bloodline when I was dying.”

“You’re in a gray area, Luke. First, because Lord Azazel didn’t assign you any rank. Second, because you came straight to the tutorial, you never even went through the initiation rite. So, technically, you don’t belong to any divine order. But… you are connected to the Order of the Primordial of Darkness.”

Luke furrowed his brow, trying to make sense of where exactly he fit in this cosmic web of orders, bloodlines, and skipped rituals. Nothing about it seemed to follow strict rules.

“So what am I then? Some kind of hellish intern?”

Samael let out a soft laugh.

“You’re... an investment asset.”

Luke blinked. “What?”

“You’re like a stock on the market. Lord Azazel bought all your shares when they were low. Or maybe it’s better to say... he’s an angel investor. You didn’t give anything in return, you just accepted the blood.”

Turning his gaze back to the system interface, Luke asked, “What about this choice now? If I take a profession tied to a divine order... will I have to join it?”

Samael made a circular motion with his wrist. “This first evolution is like a test drive. You can take the profession, use the skills... But the deeper secrets? Those only come with commitment.”

“Which means joining the divine order?” Luke asked.

“For now… you’re free.”

Luke nodded, thoughtful. “So the gods just scatter these professions like coins to lure people in?”

“That’s what they do: invest. They toss coins across the multiverse. Whoever finds one can follow the path. And if they like it… they might want more.”

“So it kind of doesn’t matter?” Luke asked. “I can take the profession, use the skills, and never actually join the divine order?”

Samael nodded, as if discussing something mundane. “In short… yes.”

Luke took a step back mentally, examining everything more carefully. The conversation had left tracks in his mind like footprints in snow. It wasn’t just information. It was a shift. Like something in his perception had tilted slightly, like he was being nudged to think differently. As if the world now shimmered through a new lens.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

It really did work like an investment. The logic behind divine choices finally made sense. The gods tossed coins, skills, items, professions, scattered them into the chaos of the multiverse like seeds in fertile soil, hoping a few would sprout into champions. It was a system of cosmic betting, where every soul was a potential return on investment.

“What’s Azazel’s profession, then?”

Samael smiled faintly.

“My master is a Primordial, Luke. Things operate differently at that level. He doesn’t need and doesn’t like to scatter treasures around. Besides, he has talented gods under his command.”

He paused, then raised a brow with subtle pride. “I’ve carved my own path within the Artificer profession. And even gods want to learn from me.”

Luke let out a low whistle, genuinely impressed. The idea of a god teaching other gods was hard to wrap his mind around. But coming from Samael… it felt oddly believable.

Samael took a step toward the doorway, his movements quiet as a well-trained shadow. The dimness of the room seemed to part naturally around him, as if it recognized him as its own. And just before fading completely, he said:

“Make your choice, Luke. This will be an important first step.”

And with that, he was gone. As if he’d never been there at all. Luke stared at the interface with renewed focus, the weight of the decision pressing in on him. First, as any good strategist would, he analyzed the attribute bonuses with cold precision:

[Veteran Herbalist] -> 10 points per level

[Venomous Herbalist] -> 11 points per level

[Alchemist of Ardan] -> 15 points per level

[Botanist of Mother Freya] -> 16 points per level

[Beekeeper of Mikhayla] -> 17 points per level

The numbers were clear. But not everything that glitters is gold, and he knew that. Without question, in terms of raw stats, the Beekeeper stood at the top. But when it came to real combat potential, the Alchemist of Ardan had the edge with its bombs, transmutations, and unpredictable effects. Still… the most mysterious of all was Botanist of Mother Freya. This profession didn’t advertise itself as battle-ready. It didn’t promise explosions or bee armies. It was quiet. Deep. Full of blank spaces waiting to be filled.

“This one doesn’t force me into some crazy divine order...” Luke murmured.

The words came out laced with irony, but beneath the surface, there was a truth that settled deep in his chest. And it was in that moment that he understood what this profession truly offered: freedom. Not just the freedom to choose, but the freedom to shape his own path, away from doctrines and forced allegiances. It was a trail where he would be the author of his own evolution.

The raw professions, Veteran Herbalist and Venomous Herbalist, didn’t seem powerful enough to justify missing the opportunity for a true class mutation. But the path of the Botanist... that could lead to healing, poison, communion with nature, or something entirely unknown.

The professions tied to divine orders, while powerful, all seemed to have a ceiling. Sooner or later, he’d have to bow to a faith… or reject the next evolution. Luke considered it carefully:

The Venomous Herbalist might one day become an alchemist through merit alone… Though he had zero interest in poison. And the Veteran Herbalist might eventually awaken the path of the Botanist without needing Mother Freya.

One way or another, it seemed possible to transition into other professions without submitting to a divine order. Like Samael had said, each faith had its own branches of power. A raw herbalist might be weaker than one blessed by a god, but he would also be free to explore, to carve his own route rather than walk one that was already paved.

There were doubts. So many possibilities. But if Luke had learned anything in this world, it was this: trust your instincts. And they were telling him that among these professions, one was the right path.

“Making this choice really is something personal… and deep. But in the end, it doesn’t matter that much. I can just choose a profession, gain stronger skills, and move on later when I evolve again.”

It was the strategic takeaway from Samael’s explanation. He could even pick the beekeeper profession, ride it to the top, then jump ship when he hit a ceiling. So, in this moment, he chose to follow what he truly wanted to explore and understand, something that echoed the essence of being a witch. A scholar of the unknown.

His eyes drifted toward the herbology book resting on the table. “You were written by Mother Freya, right? I’m curious what happened to her. And maybe… if I go deep enough, I’ll find out.”

The interface glowed gently, waiting with infinite patience for his decision. The words hung in the air like carved runes, still, silent, but dense with expectation. The five options stood before him, unmoving, like the gateways of an ancient temple. Luke took a deep breath, feeling the chill of responsibility down his spine and the warmth of possibility in his chest. The world seemed to hold its breath, suspended in time, waiting for him to choose.

“I’m trusting my instincts.”

He moved his finger slowly, savoring the moment. There was something sacred in the act of choosing. And then, he tapped the option.

[New profession selected successfully!]

[You have become a Botanist of Mother Freya]

The interface lit up with brilliance. A vibrant, green-hued light spread through the room as if nature itself had smiled. The name of the new profession replaced the old one with a smooth, almost ceremonial motion.

[Evolving skills…]

Lines of magical code danced in the air like flowing ink across a living scroll. But it was the next notification that made Luke’s eyes widen in shock.