Becoming the Dark Lord

It had been a few days since Samael left, leaving only Luke, Artemis, and Charlie behind in the cavern. In that time, Luke hadn’t focused much on his profession. His attention was consumed by the capital and the hunt for the third mechanism.

“So... you’re looking for me,” he muttered, eyes scanning from the shadows.

He was tucked inside a ruined building, half-collapsed and smothered in dust. Most wouldn’t have been able to squeeze through the crack in the wall, barely wide enough for a finger. But with Wraith Form, Luke had slipped in easily.

He was alone. Charlie had stayed behind in the cavern. He didn’t like keeping her sealed inside his soul; it felt like stripping away her freedom. At least there, with Artemis around, she had company. She wouldn’t be completely alone.

From his hiding spot, he peered through a jagged gap in the stone, eyes fixed on a street in the capital. In these last few days of scouting, he’d learned what happened at the stroke of midnight when the bells rang.

[Midnight Watcher: Lvl 45]

Great. Dropped right in front of me.

One of them stood motionless in the street, then darted toward the others in a blur of unnatural grace. These things patrolled the capital at night. All of them feminine, tall, easily two meters, and slate gray, moving in synchronized clusters. Far smarter than a typical Midnight Warden. They weren’t just monsters. They were sentries.

Statues. Angelic in shape, but without wings. No expressions. Just smooth, cold faces that looked almost peaceful until they moved. The statues had gathered at a crossroad, as if exchanging intel. No words. The capital was filled with threats. Wandering undead at level 30 roamed the streets, and they never traveled alone. Always in hordes. Exploring buildings without caution was a death sentence—some of them hid inside like dormant landmines. Out in the Wild Zone, this kind of density was rare. Here, it was the norm.

And while there were beasts in the capital too, most stuck to the forests, the biggest daytime threat was still the statues. Like the Wardens, they had rest points. But unlike the others, these didn’t retreat to caves or dark corners. No. They stayed out in the open, on rooftops, fountains, balconies. By day, they looked like ordinary statues, perfectly camouflaged into the architecture. But they weren’t inactive. They watched.

They always watched. That’s why they were called Midnight Watchers. They were security cameras with teeth, surveillance and execution in one. Luke exhaled quietly and shifted. His body dissolved into a veil of black mist as he slipped back out through the gap. Wraith Form was the perfect exit strategy. And with Advanced Stealth active, he didn’t need to worry about noise. He could move freely, undetected.

He scaled to the rooftop of a nearby building, crouching low. Two statues moved toward the forest in synchronized steps. At six a.m., any statue that didn’t make it back to its post would freeze in place, locked in whatever pose it last held. Luke had been wondering what would happen if he killed one in that state.

He trailed them from a distance, keeping to the tree line. Over the past few nights, he’d been luring a few of them farther and farther from the city center. Purposely making noise near their routes. Drawing them out, like a trap slowly snapping shut.

The pair of Watchers stopped near the trees, scanning the area. Their weapons looked like longbows, elegant and curved, almost like some twisted version of Cupid’s arrows. They chose a direction and resumed their patrol. Luke remained crouched in the underbrush, quiet as shadow, then moved in. Silent steps. One breath. He slipped behind the last one in line and yanked it backward, driving his kukri deep into the base of its skull.

[You have slain a Midnight Watcher: Lvl 45]

The statue collapsed in Luke’s arms, lifeless. He eased it down to the ground, careful not to make noise. The second one kept walking, unaware. Without hesitation, he gripped his kukri, channeled stamina into it, and hurled the blade. It spun through the air and slammed into the side of the statue’s head.

[You have slain a Midnight Watcher: Lvl 45]

*Your class [Demonic Assassin] has reached Level 32! (Class Bonus Points Acquired:+5 Per, +4 Str, +4 Agi, +3 Vit, +2 Int, +3 Free Points)

The statue dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, the head shattered. Then, movement. A sound from the brush behind him. Luke bolted in the opposite direction and dove into the undergrowth, keeping low. He stayed still, watching. A third statue emerged. Alone. Bold.

He activated his skill [Assassin’s Mark]. A faint red outline shimmered around the statue’s form, now visible even through trees and shadows. It turned away, scanning the area. Luke pulled his bow from his inventory, crouched low, and moved silently through the underbrush until he found a solid tree with a thick branch. He climbed up, nocked an arrow, and waited.

The statue found the first body. It stood over the corpse, examining the scene, then moved toward the second fallen Watcher. Luke focused. He activated [Force Infusion], channeling stamina into the arrowhead. The arrow pulsed faintly, then he loosed it. The shot landed square in the statue’s back. It staggered, then spun around instantly.

“Shit.” He ducked behind the tree, but he could still see its glowing outline sprinting, straight toward the city.

It’s running. It’s gonna alert the others.

Luke fired again. Missed. Fired again. Missed again. “Dammit.”

He tossed the bow aside and took off, sprinting full speed. Kukris in hand. The moment he had a clean angle, he launched the first kukri. It slammed into the Watcher’s leg, sending it tumbling into a brutal roll. But even while falling, the thing reached for its bow and fired.

Luke dove sideways, slamming into the bark of a nearby tree just in time. The statue didn’t stop. It kept running, firing as it moved, circling to flank him. He recalled the kukri. It snapped back to his hand like a boomerang.

What is this thing, the goddamn Robin Hood?

He had to leap from tree to tree, using the trunks for cover. The Watcher kept running and firing, relentless. And part of him, despite the danger, felt a flicker of admiration. He was trash with a bow. He could barely hit a stationary target, and only if he stood still like a statue himself. Trying to shoot while moving? His aim went straight to hell. He hurled the kukri again—miss. The statue dodged and kept firing.

“You sure you don’t wanna give me a few lessons?” Luke called out. “Maybe become my second servant?”

A stone arrow whizzed past his face. “Guess that’s a no. In that case…”

He reached out. The kukri lying behind the Watcher shot back through the air and slammed into its back. It stumbled, and Luke stepped out, launching his second kukri straight into its arm. The stone limb shattered, sending the bow clattering across the ground. He grabbed his own bow, drew quickly, and loosed a final arrow right between the statue’s eyes.

[You have slain a Midnight Watcher: Lvl 45]

The creature fell, motionless. Silence returned to the forest.

“I might suck at aiming with a bow, but at least I know my limits,” he muttered, silently grateful for Assassin’s Mark. The skill gave him a perfect outline of the target—without it, hitting anything would be a miracle.

Still, I can only land a shot if I’m standing still… and the target is basically posing for a portrait.

With a sigh, he kept moving through the ruins. Killing things with the bow didn’t give him any class experience, but it still counted toward race XP. And more importantly, it was practice.

An assassin, a botanist, and now an archer? Man, I’m turning into a full-on survival bundle.

***

Artemis rested lightly around Charlie’s neck while the skeletal woman stirred something that might eventually resemble food. She was trying, really trying, to make something for Luke.

“You should take your armor off more often, Charlie,” Artemis said casually.

Charlie wore only her armored pants and one of Luke’s shirts, which hung awkwardly on her frame. She paused at the comment, then shook her head. Talking to her was like playing twenty questions with a ghost. Luke could understand Charlie’s thoughts through their bond, but for Artemis, it was all about trial and error.

“You don’t like being out of your armor around Luke?” she pressed.

Charlie gave a silent nod, focusing on the bubbling soup.

“Why, because he’s a guy? Come on, there’s not exactly much for him to see. Just bones.”

Another shake of the head. That wasn’t it. Charlie lifted her hand and touched the ring on her finger with quiet pride. But then her shoulders slumped. She pointed to herself, then her arm, then her face, then looked away, visibly deflated.

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Artemis squinted, piecing it together like a puzzle. She was starting to get the hang of it.

“It’s your appearance?” she asked gently.

Charlie nodded.

“Oh… you don’t like him seeing you like this because underneath it all, you’re a skeleton.”

Another slow, sad nod.

“Aw, girl... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to poke at that. I get it, confidence is everything, especially for a woman.” Artemis’s tone softened. “But hey, Luke doesn’t care that you’re a skeleton.”

Charlie stopped stirring. Her shoulders sagged even more, eyes cast downward.

Artemis blinked, then caught on. “Wait… you want him to care. To actually notice you, your appearance..”

Charlie nodded again.

“Oof. That’s rough,” Artemis muttered. “So basically, you’ve got feelings, but you can’t really act on them…”

Charlie went back to stirring the soup, maybe just to have something to do with her hands. The goddess sighed and cleared her throat, trying to lighten the mood.

“If you had a real body, what would you want to do?” she asked, more gently this time.

Charlie perked up. Even for a skeleton, her body language lit up. She pointed to her hand, then to where her nose used to be.

“I’m gonna need more than that,” Artemis said.

Charlie grabbed the hem of her shirt and rubbed it under her nose.

“Oh! Touch and smell?”

A nod, bright and immediate.

“I never thought about it, but yeah... you don’t have your five senses, do you? Actually, I have no idea how you even see anything without eyes, but whatever.” Artemis waved the thought off before it got too existential. “So why do you want touch and smell so badly?”

Charlie hesitated, then mimed hugging someone and taking a deep breath. Artemis stared. Then grinned.

“No way... You want to hug and smell someone?” she asked, grinning wider.

Charlie nodded with the enthusiasm of a girl admitting her first crush.

“Well, well. Who could it possibly be? Such a mystery…” Artemis chuckled. “Too bad the guy’s as dense as a dungeon wall.”

Just then, a sound echoed through the cave. The door at the end of the corridor had opened. Charlie nearly knocked over the pot as the system screen flared open in front of her. In one frantic motion, she yanked the necklace from around her neck and shrugged off Luke’s shirt. Her skeletal fingers flew through the interface, tapping and confirming selections. Within seconds, her full armor shimmered into place.

She slipped the necklace back on just as footsteps echoed down the corridor.

“I’m back,” Luke announced, stepping into the room.

Charlie froze mid-movement.

“We definitely weren’t doing or talking about anything suspicious,” Artemis chimed in casually.

Charlie nodded in quick agreement, stiff as a statue.

Luke scratched the back of his head, visibly confused. “Okay… I’m gonna go wash up. I’m covered in dirt.”

As he disappeared down the hall, Charlie sagged in relief—an odd gesture for someone without lungs. She hurried over to where Luke’s shirt had been left on the ground and carefully folded it with almost reverent precision. It was one of her personal treasures.

***

Kruger sat alone in his room in Bastion. It wasn’t large or luxurious, just four walls, a stiff bed, no windows. Exactly how he liked it. Windows meant exposure. Space meant vulnerability. Sure, technically nothing would happen to him in Bastion, but the instincts of an assassin didn’t turn off just because the walls were safe.

His skull mask rested on a small stand atop the desk, flanked by two enchanted candles that never burned out. That mask was everything to him. Not just gear, recognition. Proof.

[Mask of the Assassin of Lakarion (Rare)

Description: Bestowed only upon those who have been accepted into the Order of Assassins of the mighty Lakarion, God of Assassination. This mask symbolizes a silent oath to the shadows and the blade. To wear it is an honor earned by few. To lose it, for any reason, is considered treason. Punishable by death, by a brother’s hand.

Enchantments:

[Shadow Vision (Rare)]: Grants perfect vision in total darkness, as if it were broad daylight.]

This mask was Kruger’s most prized possession. Because it meant a god had acknowledged him. Back on Earth, he’d been nothing. Mocked. Rejected. Just another background loser people laughed at in school hallways. But since stepping into the tutorial, the world had changed and so had he. Here, people feared him. Here, he ruled through terror. Here, he’d earned what he had always craved: power.

The kind of power that made people flinch just from his presence. That made cowards piss themselves when his name was whispered. That’s why he’d embraced the path of the assassin. When he killed for the first time, he felt no remorse. Only exhilaration. Killing was a thrill, yes, but more than that, it was the fear. That delicious, raw fear others felt just being near him. That was the real high.

They were fools, all of them. The kids at school, the weaklings from his past. Trash. He’d always known he was different. And now, a god had confirmed it. Lakarion, the God of Assassination, had reached out to him in a dream, whispering of a chosen one within the tutorial. Just one. A true killer. And Kruger knew, deep in his core, it was him. It had to be. Because he was special.

He’d unlocked a class mutation before the forced evolution. Phantom Assassin. A class designed to manipulate fear itself. Then came the rare mission orb, the one that let him commune directly with the god. After pledging himself to Lakarion, his strength only snowballed.

He’d mastered the Poison Manipulator profession, unlocking an Epic-tier skill. Time passed. He evolved his class again. Stronger. Faster. Deadlier. Eventually, he unlocked a Rank Skill, something few in the entire tutorial had ever achieved.

Kruger stood at the edge of true power. Maybe even Marshall never reached this level. In his eyes, assassin was the peak class. Mages, healers, archers, reliant on allies. Warriors, swordsmen, mercenaries, fine, but predictable. None of them could deliver a death sentence from the shadows like he could.

Kruger could ambush a target twenty levels above him, spring a trap, and kill them before they even drew their weapon. Level gaps meant nothing when your prey didn’t see it coming.

A warrior surrounded by five Midnight Wardens? He’d panic. Maybe even die. An assassin? He’d vanish. Strike from the dark. And disappear again before the bodies hit the floor. That was the power of his class. And teleportation, his precision movement skill, was just one of the weapons in his growing arsenal.

[Phantom Blink (Ultra-Rare)]: A shadowed leap through the cracks of reality. The Phantom Assassin can instantly teleport to any location within a 5-meter radius, so long as they remain completely still. Like a true specter, they vanish in a blink and reappear where no one expects, already behind their target, blade ready to silence them before they even notice he was ever there.

In one-on-one combat, Kruger was easily one of the most dangerous beings in the entire tutorial, especially because he combined his epic profession skill with his epic class skill. The Assassin class was made for him. It didn’t matter how strong the opponent was. His class gave him the tools to break through any wall, overcome any obstacle. Why would he ever want to go back to Earth? That world never accepted him. This one was perfect.

Well, almost perfect. If he had one lingering regret, it was this: he wished he could pay a little visit to his former classmates. Drop in during the night. Let them feel the fear crawling up their spines... and then, end them. Slowly.

A grin stretched across his face as he slipped the mask over his head. Today would be long. There were lives to end.

“G-g-good morning, Mr. Kruger,” someone stammered as he passed through the stone halls of the fortress.

Typical. No one ever knew whether they should greet him or run. That uncertainty, that fear, was just the way he liked it. He said nothing, didn’t even glance at them. Just kept walking.

The fortress was massive, built like a cathedral dedicated to violence. Kruger especially enjoyed the dungeon levels. He’d descend now and then, just to make a few prisoners sing like canaries. Some were traitors, others merely unlucky. But they all bled the same.

As he walked through one of the main corridors, he passed two maids scrubbing the floors. They didn’t flinch or look his way. Good. Because they weren’t ordinary maids. Here, even the cleaners could kill. Trained assassins, each one of them. Not his students—Kruger didn’t have the patience to train anyone, nor the interest—but members of Erza Grimhart’s service. A priestess of the order. Noble-born. Unlike him.

Erza was of the high caste. Her family had been handpicked by Lakarion himself, trained directly under his divine eye. Kruger, by comparison, was a talented initiate. Chosen, yes, but only through a dream. A whisper in sleep.

But Erza’s bloodline? They were the peak of the order’s hierarchy on Earth. Not that any of it mattered to Kruger. Let the nobles have their ceremonies and secrets. He’d stay down here in the shadows, killing and climbing. Whether it took decades or centuries, he would rise. After all, he had the System. And with the rank he’d reached, he’d live far longer than any ordinary human. A few extra years—or even decades—in this world were nothing. He didn’t just want strength.

He wanted immortality. He wanted to be feared by nations, respected by gods, remembered forever. And his devotion to the order would get him there. That’s why he was so focused. So relentless. So merciless. So that one day, his god would look down and say: That one. That’s mine.

“Kruger,” came a voice behind him.

He clicked his tongue.

“What is it, Ronan?” Kruger asked.

“There are meetings scheduled throughout the day. Expansion plans. Would be helpful if you showed up,” Ronan replied.

Kruger stared at him for a moment, then kept walking. “I’ll drop by if I have time.”

And that was it. Kruger left. He didn’t like Ronan. But Bartholomew did, and that was enough to tolerate him—for now. Ronan was one of Bastion’s top commanders, a man raised in a military family, trained from the cradle to command troops and win wars. His strategies had been instrumental in holding off Marshal’s advances over the last few years.

Not that Kruger cared. Politics bored him. Just before exiting the fortress, a shadow peeled off from the stone wall beside him. A figure emerged, cloaked in black, face hidden behind a skull-shaped mask. One of his own.

All of Kruger’s personal soldiers bore the same class: shadow-wielding assassins. His extermination unit. A privilege reserved only for those recognized by the Order, allowing him to recruit killers who followed his commands without question.

“Sir Kruger. The location has been confirmed, just like you ordered,” the assassin said, handing him a folded slip of paper.

Kruger took it without slowing. “Perfect.”

And he vanished into the wild.

***

Dusk had begun to fall over the Wild Zone, and Kruger moved like a ghost through the trees. This was his favorite time to strike. Right as the world let its guard down. Right when prey began to sleep. From a vantage point above the clearing, he watched the camp. Twelve people. Bandits.

Bartholomew had long pretended that policing the edges of the Safe Zone was too difficult. It was no accident that gangs had flourished along the border. After Marshal’s death, the criminals had grown bold, daring enough to start operating inside the Safe Zone itself. That was about to change. Kruger was here to send a message.

They had informants embedded in the gangs. Plenty of desperate men would sell out their own for food, protection, or the promise of a healer if things went south. In places like this, the promise of a healing potion was worth more than gold. He scanned the camp one last time. Twelve targets. Scattered tents. A fire in the center. With a sharp breath, he activated his trump card, his Rank Skill.