Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke had spent the entire day hidden in silence, watching the Beast Lord. The giant serpent roamed the ruins like it owned them, slithering between buildings, occasionally peering inside as if inspecting its domain. But Luke wasn’t here to fight. He was waiting for the perfect moment. That one window of opportunity when the monster would slip into the forest during daylight. That was how he’d been moving across the city, little by little.

“Tch.” He clicked his tongue, annoyed.

It was already night, and the serpent was coiled lazily around a broken tower, scanning the area. Smart creature. But then it moved. Sliding down from the tower, it began slithering toward the forest. That was his cue.

Luke slipped from his hiding spot and began scaling the building he’d camped in, one of the tallest in the area. From the rooftop, he surveyed the ancient city, noting the river that wound through the ruins from the forest’s edge. He followed its path with his eyes, gauging how far it cut through the city, but shoved that thought aside for now.

He leapt.

Activating his Spider Skill mid-air, the jump launched him even higher. As he ascended, he unfurled his cloak and began to glide. The higher he got, the harder it was for the cloak to slow his descent. There was a limit to how much lift it could give before it became useless, but all he needed was to reach the next rooftop.

When his altitude began dropping too fast, he landed on a nearby building, crouched, and jumped again. This was how Luke traveled: glide, jump, repeat. But then... the sound of bells echoed through the capital.

Midnight.

Footsteps echoed across the ruined streets below. The statues were on the move. Luke didn’t slow down. With his [Advanced Stealth] active, he felt practically invisible in the dark, especially now that he traveled above street level. The statues stuck mostly to the ground, his perch gave him an edge.

A scream echoed in the distance. He dove. Slipping through the shattered window of a crumbling house, bow already in hand, he landed in silence. His eyes flicked left—movement. He raised the bow in a single, fluid motion and fired.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead: Lvl 31]

Another emerged from a side room. Luke dropped to one knee, loosed an arrow mid-motion.

[You have slain a Wandering Undead: Lvl 31]

Neither had time to shriek. Neither hit the ground. Before their corpses could fall, he swept them into his storage item. Then he peered through the window again. In the distance, he spotted them, statues crawling up buildings, beginning to take the rooftops. He marked the closest one with [Assassin’s Mark] and leapt from the window. Luke ran. Not a footstep made a sound.

With [Advanced Stealth] cloaking him like a second skin, even his heartbeat felt distant. Silent. Almost nonexistent. He raced through the alleyways, eyes scanning for movement, for threats. The marked statue’s silhouette pulsed red in the corner of his vision, closing in. As she neared his location, Luke vanished into black mist.

The statue entered the street, moving with that eerie, cautious pace. Not slow, just careful. Watching. Listening. She passed. The shadows stirred. Luke reformed behind her, hit the ground running again. The combo was flawless: [Basic Dark Dash], [Advanced Stealth], [Wraith Form], and the ever-useful [Assassin’s Mark]. Layered together, they let him move deeper and deeper into the city, nearly untouchable.

One truth had become crystal clear: daylight was dangerous. The statues watched, waited, unmoving. But at night? They moved. They made noise. And that was his advantage. So he would flip the rules. Travel by night. Hide by day. In this game of cat and mouse with the Watchers, Luke had just taken the lead.

***

The bell tolled. Six a.m. Luke threw himself toward a house, dissolving into mist mid-air, slipping through the keyhole like smoke. Inside, he reformed in silence. No monsters. He moved room to room, checking every corner, every shadow. As he secured each window, the silence of the house slowly became a comfort. Finally satisfied, he exhaled and let the tension drain from his shoulders. He’d been running nonstop through the night, every nerve on edge, every sense alert. Now, he could finally breathe.

“I actually pulled it off,” he murmured, pulling a mattress from his storage and dropping it to the floor with a thud.

Charlie emerged from within his soul, taking her usual post as lookout. Luke collapsed onto the mattress, exhaustion creeping into his bones. After hours of chaining skills together in perfect sync, his mind needed the break even more than his body.

“We just need to wait until midnight now, Charlie,” he said, eyes half-closed.

***

Midnight. Luke was on the move again, slipping through the shadows of the ruined city. He crept up the side of a crumbling building, movements fluid and soundless. Once at the top, he reached over his shoulder, summoned an arrow into his hand, and pulled Angelica’s bow from his inventory.

Time for the plan. He pulled out an empty potion vial, tied it tightly to the arrow using a strip of cloth.

“This is so stupid. Wasting a perfectly good vial for this…”

Grimacing, he held the arrow up, vial dangling beneath it. Drawing the bowstring back, he poured stamina into his arms and infused the arrow with as much force as he could without risking a break.

Then he fired it skyward. The arrow vanished into the night. Somewhere out there, the vial would crash and shatter—loud enough to draw attention. He sat down near the edge of the rooftop, eyes on the street below. And waited.

***

Not even thirty minutes had passed when it began. Statues sprinted toward the sound, drawn by the crash. Luke could see more of them organizing from afar, swarming the area. Kicking in doors. Flooding buildings. Searching.

A slow grin formed across his face. He vaulted off the rooftop, hit the street below, and started running. The way was clear. The statues that usually patrolled near the root-wall were now miles away, chasing phantoms.

***

The wall rose before him—roots, vines, packed earth, and trees twisted together into a barricade of nature. Towering trunks curved upward, forming arch-like supports. It looked more like a cathedral than a forest. Only instead of sacred, it felt cursed.

“This is practically screaming ‘Danger ahead.’ All that’s missing is a skull-and-crossbones sign,” Artemis muttered. “No offense, Charlie.”

“I’m going to have to climb it,” Luke said, eyeing the structure from bottom to top.

Something was back there. Hidden beyond the forest inside the capital. And he intended to find out what.

“Why don’t you try chatting with your leafy little friends? Or use that plant-sensing thing of yours?” Artemis suggested.

“I can’t. These things don’t even have the bare minimum of intelligence. Just raw plant matter. And I can’t use the sensor properly with that wall in the way.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Luke kept moving along the root-covered barricade, scanning for any weak spot—an opening, a break, anything. But the structure was relentlessly dense, woven tight like the forest itself was alive and intent on keeping whatever secrets lay inside.

He had to be quick. Sooner or later, the statues would return to patrol this area. A flicker on his plant sensor caught his attention nearby. He stepped closer to an herb with pale green-gray leaves, shaped oddly like a curled tongue. Curious, he activated his Identify skill.

[Stomach’s Tear (Uncommon)]:

Description: A wild herb infused by mana, enhancing its natural traits. The sap extracted from its stem serves as a base for a variety of antidotes.

Mother Freya’s Note: “The antidote made from this herb induces violent vomiting almost instantly. Good for clearing ingested poisons from the stomach.”

“Only useful if I happen to eat something poisoned… Still, I might be able to use this to craft other kinds of antidotes. Worth a shot.”

He cupped the plant gently in his hands. A soft green glow spread from his fingertips, and the herb began to retract, folding in on itself until it vanished, leaving behind a single glowing seed.

[Seed Conversion].

Even with his skill level, the process demanded focus—and a solid chunk of mana. He wiped the sweat from his brow. There was no way he could use the same technique on the wall. The vines here were just one part of a much larger ecosystem. Too vast. Too chaotic.

Gripping both kukris, he pulled them from his inventory and stabbed one into the living wall. He was preparing to climb. That’s when the roots began to shift. They writhed like serpents, slithering apart, untangling and twisting until a tunnel opened within the wall itself. A dark corridor stretched forward, gaping like the maw of some ancient predator.

Luke instinctively took two steps back. Then, the system chimed.

**Special Quest: Sanctuary of the Stone Echoes!**

You stand at the threshold of a place forgotten by time, where matter has been reshaped by curses and the pain of those who came before. Before you lies the Sanctuary of the Stone Echoes — a graveyard of lost ages, where silence weighs heavier than the air itself.

Ruins of a crumbled fortress rest at its center, surrounded by shattered pillars, broken arches, and statues that seem to follow your every move. But these are no mere relics. The statues... walk.

Created as eternal sentinels, they’ve been corrupted by lingering essence from a forgotten war. Now they roam, stripped of purpose, crushing any living thing that dares enter. Their joints creak like brittle bones.

At the heart of this parade of stone is the Fallen Angel of Stone, a towering figure carved from pale, weather-worn rock. Its body bears the scars of ancient battles—cracks, chips, and missing fragments that whisper of war.

Deep within the ruins lies the Third Mechanism, a vital piece on your path forward. But as long as the Fallen Angel remains, no one passes.

Objective: Destroy the Fallen Angel of Stone and break the Watchers under its command. Only then will you gain access to the fortress and activate the Third Mechanism.

Warning: Once you cross the threshold, there is no turning back. The only exit... is victory.

[The stones are watching. And waiting. Do you accept the challenge?]

Luke took another step back, eyes still locked on the living wall in front of him.

“I told you, this place screams danger,” Artemis said, her voice echoing faintly from the necklace. “All it’s missing is a sign that says ‘Enter and Die.’”

“I found it,” Luke breathed, almost smiling. “The damn third mechanism.”

Days of searching, tracking, and guesswork had finally paid off. Now, he knew the location of all three. There was a way out of the tutorial—and he was getting closer to finding a path back to Earth. The roots shifted again, twisting and folding until the tunnel was completely sealed. It was as if it had never opened at all.

“So you’ve finally given up on killing yourself. About time. Let’s go eat something,” Artemis muttered.

“No. I’m not going in because it would be pointless right now. I still need to activate the second mechanism first.”

She sighed in mock frustration. “So you really are planning to dive into that nightmare tunnel eventually? The one that practically screams ‘come die in here’?” 𝑓𝑟ℯℴ𝓂

“I am.” Luke turned away. As he walked, an image of the castle formed in his mind, followed by a flood of memories. Allison. The Haven. Bartholomew. Returning to the Safe Zone would be risky. Bartholomew would likely hunt him down, and the Haven still wanted him dead for what happened to Angelica.

“But if I activate the second fortress... and now that I know where the third is... I might be able to manipulate a few things,” he muttered. “Let Allison take the credit. Then...”

There was still one massive problem. Activating the third mechanism would trigger the Midnight Warden offensive. If the Safe Zone wasn’t evacuated before that happened, it would be a slaughter.

“You’re worried about the people, aren’t you?” Artemis asked.

“Something like that. And I’m not sure I can handle all this on my own. That forest... it’s probably a death trap. The Midnight King is guarding the castle, and I need a party. A real one. Preferably with a healer.”

Healing potions could restore HP, but they couldn’t reattach limbs or mend broken bones. The risk was too high. He and Charlie wouldn’t be enough. Not with only six healing potions left—and definitely not for everything the tutorial still had in store.

“And there’s still the Beast Lord,” Artemis reminded him. “You planning to take up Samael’s challenge and fight that thing alone?”

Charlie shook her head so hard it was practically a blur, frantically signaling no.

“I’m not crazy. Not yet,” Luke replied. “Before I take on the second strongest Lord... I need to beat the first. One step at a time.”

He still had his sights set on the Orc Lord, who, at least on paper, was supposed to be weaker than the Beast Lord.

Artemis chuckled. “Look at you, finally thinking things through. I’m almost proud. Hey, Charlie, if he keeps this up, maybe those things you want so badly might actually happen.”

Charlie nodded so enthusiastically she nearly toppled over backward.

“Stop putting weird ideas in her head,” Luke muttered. “You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’m an amazing friend, actually. I just want to bump this story’s age rating up a notch.”

Luke gripped the necklace tightly.

“Okay, okay! I’ll stop! It’s just... I binged Game of Thrones and now I’m addicted,” Artemis confessed with a guilty giggle.

***

Kruger walked through the filthiest corner of the Safe Zone, the kind of place people only ended up when they were too weak to risk the Wild Zone and barely scraped together enough to eat. A cluster of failures, most of them probably stuck at level three, if they even had a class worth mentioning.

But this was also where the dirtiest business in the Safe Zone happened. Makeshift brothels. Shady taverns that didn’t pay tribute to Bartholomew and, as a result, were shoved to the outer rim of Bastion like trash swept under a rug. Kruger moved through the alleys in silence. A few women approached him—until they caught sight of the skull mask. Then they turned and scurried off like rats.

“Good even—” the bartender began as Kruger pushed open the tavern door, but his face went pale the moment he recognized him.

“Room eight. Upstairs or down?” Kruger’s voice was flat, cold.

“U-upstairs,” the man stammered, already trembling.

Kruger ignored him. Calmly, he climbed the stairs, whistling a slow, eerie tune. The place doubled as an inn, though barely. Faded numbers were scrawled on the doors in smeared paint. When he found number eight, he kicked it open without hesitation.

The man inside jumped, eyes wide in terror.

“Please, no!” he shouted the moment he saw the crossbow.

“Shut up,” Kruger snapped. Then he pulled something from his storage item and tossed it at the man’s feet. A severed head hit the floor with a dull thud.

“You recognize him, don’t you?”

“M-my old partner,” the man croaked, already ghost-white.

“I’ve always been a good informant,” he started babbling. “I’ve always cooperated, I swear—”

Kruger clicked his tongue and fired. The bolt struck the wall, just inches away. “I said shut up.”

He took a step forward, aiming the crossbow right at the man’s chest. “Your old partner’s officially out of the business. Which means you’re back in.”

The man froze.

“Soon, one of mine will contact you. The street gangs are starting to feel bold,” Kruger said, lowering the weapon. “If you run, if you so much as flinch out of line—next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

Then he turned and walked out the door. The message had been delivered. Just as Bartholomew wanted. With Marshall gone, the gangs were back in play. Before, Bartholomew couldn’t fully use them—Marshall had too many of his own men embedded. But now? Now, the game was his.

Bartholomew was already thinking ahead to the next year—when a fresh wave of tutorial survivors would arrive. His plan was simple: scatter men throughout the Wild Zone. Killers, loyal and cold, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to take down an innocent. They’d pose as helpers. Shelter providers. Guides. And depending on the kind of person that crossed their path, the order would be simple: eliminate.

He didn’t want another Marshall. Not even another Ronan. No more brilliant tacticians, no more capable leaders. And definitely no more nobles. Anyone with the potential to stir things up would be dealt with early—when they were still weak, still naive. Most of them would never even reach the Safe Zone. Those who did? Assassins would handle it.

Back during his war with Marshall, he needed numbers. Allies. Chaos he could command. But now? Now he had what he needed. The world was populated enough. What he required was control.

The ideal scenario? Kill every single arrival the moment they entered the tutorial. Of course, that was impossible. But the next best thing was clear: snuff out any flicker of hope. Crush the belief that escape was possible. That Earth was still out there, waiting. No more dreamers. No more problems.

Anyone who stood in his way... would die. As Kruger descended the stairs, the bartender glanced up—only to immediately look away, his face pale.

Kruger didn’t say a word. Just kept walking. When he reached the door and pushed it open, someone else was coming in at the same time, and they bumped into each other.

“Sorry, didn’t see y—” the person started, then froze.

Their eyes met. The air shifted, heavy with recognition. Kruger didn’t move. Just clicked his tongue, then walked past without a word.

What the hell is Allison Rhiannon doing here? Visiting a boyfriend at a back-alley inn? Seriously?