Becoming the Dark Lord

Bartholomew sat in the meeting room, and the news was grim. A squad had returned from an expedition near the barrier, shaken, injured, and visibly rattled. But the damage hadn’t been caused by some powerful beast. It had been the work of a single person.

“That’s the report. Everything I needed to deliver,” Ronan told the room. “This individual is extremely dangerous.”

He had returned a day after the attack, bringing a handful of soldiers with him. Most of the wounded had stayed behind for treatment. Mangled limbs weren’t something healers could fix quickly. Ronan himself had come back blind in one eye, something Bartholomew had personally healed. He couldn’t let anyone see his commander in that state.

“How does he compare to the Renegades’ last assault?” someone asked.

“Worse,” answered a woman, an archer, by the sound of her voice. From what Bartholomew knew, she had saved Ronan’s life.

“The Renegades were strong because they were an army,” Ronan said. “But this Luke… he’s just one man, and he has the strength of an army.”

Bartholomew clenched his teeth. He’d gotten what he wanted, a new enemy, a new challenge, a new Marshall. Yet the thought of this man unsettled him. If Luke had survived all this time beyond the barrier, it meant he’d grown strong enough to face the horrors that lived there.

And Bartholomew knew the truth: reaching the peak of a Rank made someone far too powerful. Crossing level 50 in any class or profession came with a staggering boost to attributes. Going from level 50 to 60 was a far greater leap in strength than the entire climb from 1 to 50. It was a one-way path to overwhelming power, and the awakening of epic-level skills.

“We need to stop Luke. Immediately,” Bartholomew said, his voice sharp.

Eight damn years to reach my level of power… There’s no way he hit the same tier in just four months. Right?

A headache throbbed behind his eyes. He’d been using Death Painting through the entire meeting.

[Death Painting (Rank-F)]: Born from a deep-rooted fear of death and an obsessive desire for control, this ability grants a fragmented glimpse of your own end. Not a literal vision, but a cryptic, symbolic painting, an abstract portrait of your final moment. Understanding it requires intuition, interpretation, and a willingness to face truths hidden in metaphor. Deciphering the work may offer a chance to rewrite fate and avoid the inevitable.

The image hadn’t changed. It was always the same: an endless, oppressive darkness… and within it, a black panther, staring at him like a true predator.

“Teamwork is everything,” Ronan said. “At least we know the enemy’s still alive. We find him, use the right plan, and he can be killed. No one’s invincible.”

The soldiers nodded, and reports continued until the meeting wound down. When it ended, Bartholomew dismissed everyone except Ronan and Kruger. Now wasn’t the time to keep up the facade of being untouchable. He needed to truly understand the threat Luke posed. Ronan hadn’t said much upon returning, too injured, too many ears around. But now, it was just them, the strongest in Bastion alongside Erza Grimhart, who, while not present in the room, was still very much part of that elite group.

The four of Bastion were deadly: Bartholomew himself, the Plague Doctor and healer; Kruger and Erza, both assassins with vastly different fighting styles, Erza with her doll; and Ronan, a brawler through and through. Together, they had the power of an army. The strongest the tutorial had to offer.

“Ronan,” Bartholomew said. “Be honest… can we kill him?”

“Kill him?” Kruger snorted. “Oh, no. When I find that little bastard, I’m not killing him. I’m going to torture him. Ever since he challenged me in the past, I’ve wanted that. And now he comes back and slaughters my soldiers?”

“Kruger,” Bartholomew cut in, shutting him down. Time mattered. He needed every scrap of information, fighting style, weapons, skills. If there was one thing Bartholomew prided himself on, it was his mind. He would craft the perfect plan to kill Luke, just like he had for Marshall.

“You want to know his weapons?” Ronan asked, voice heavy. Now that the others were gone, the confident mask had slipped, leaving only the truth.

“Every detail counts,” Bartholomew pressed.

Jonathan had vanished the moment Luke’s return was confirmed, which made him useless. Bartholomew wanted intel on the man’s fighting style badly, but he wasn’t about to bet on Jonathan’s loyalty.

“I saw him use two kukris, a bow, and he fought barehanded, hands, feet, didn’t matter,” Ronan said. “He was flawless in everything.”

Kruger clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“And skills?” Bartholomew asked.

“Only what we already knew. A black fog, and something like a shadow double that mimicked his movements. Just two visible ones. If he used anything else, body enhancements, reflex boosts, I couldn’t tell.”

Bartholomew felt a headache blooming. “You’re telling me he fought thirty of your soldiers without some over-the-top power that blows everything to hell?” The laugh that escaped his mind was sharp, humorless. “He fought them using only the basics?”

It was absurd. Bartholomew had taken on the best of the Renegades using his ultra-rare plague cloud and his epic-rank profession skill.

“You fought him,” Kruger said. “How’d you get your ass handed to you? Didn’t you have your epic Iron Skin? Or were you just caught off guard?”

That had to be it. A man like Ronan, with an epic skill, shouldn’t go down easily.

“I used Iron Skin in the fight,” Ronan said quietly, staring down at the floor. “And it didn’t work.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“What do you mean?” Bartholomew asked.

“That Luke didn’t flinch at my power. He didn’t run, didn’t hesitate, didn’t fear. If anything… he pressed harder. I thought I had the advantage, for about five seconds.”

“Five seconds?” Bartholomew repeated.

“That’s how long it took him to figure out how my power worked… and then knock me out. In five seconds of real fighting, I lost.”

Kruger let out a mocking laugh. “Pathetic.”

But Bartholomew felt a chill crawl down his spine.

Five seconds? Just five?

“And the man took an arrow to the heart,” Ronan continued, “and didn’t even slow down. Minutes later, he killed the assassins. The truth is, I’m only alive because he let me live… just so he could send you this ‘message’. I fear facing this guy alone will be harder than dealing with all the renegades combined.”

“What?” Kruger barked. “Because you took a knife to the eye? We have an army. We’re the strongest here.”

“You don’t understand!” Ronan snapped, cutting him off. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see the men afterward. He took legs in seconds, shot arrows, stabbed, sliced off fingers, and didn’t kill a single one. Do you get what he was telling us? That he could’ve… but didn’t. Because we weren’t even worth it.”

“Bullshit,” Kruger muttered.

Bartholomew stayed quiet.

“If you’d been there, you’d get it,” Ronan said. “Looking at Luke was like… staring down a big cat.”

Bartholomew shivered.

“Put everyone on alert,” he ordered, standing from his chair. “Post wanted notices. Put up bounties. Mobilize everyone. Every soldier is to be warned immediately. Luke is to be killed on sight!”

***

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Two days had passed since Luke left the capital. He roamed the Wild Zone, drifting through places he normally wouldn’t bother with. His path was bending toward the Safe Zone, but instead of heading straight for it, he was skirting the Wild Zone’s edges.

He hadn’t gone back to check on the group camped outside the capital’s gate, but he suspected the Midnight Wardens wouldn’t venture too close to the barrier. That made a small forward camp likely. It made sense, there were no Midnight Wardens stationed in the capital itself.

Now he stood high in the branches of an old tree, eyes fixed on the Safe Zone.

“Things… changed fast in the last four months.”

Part of him wanted to walk straight to the hotel that housed the Haven, but it wasn’t the right moment to see Allison again.

What’s it been? Eight months since Earth?

His thoughts drifted to the Baumann family, but he buried them quickly. If he let those feelings out, the despair would follow.

The Safe Zone looked different. New structures everywhere. Not just Bartholomew’s men working, plenty of civilians, too. Watchtowers bristled along the perimeter, and heavy siege weapons like ballistas crowned the tops of several buildings. The defenses had been tightened, clearly built to withstand serious assaults.

With Marshall and the Renegades gone, Bartholomew could finally focus on fortifying the place, stationing weapons wherever he wanted. He was the sole leader now, the most powerful man around, with nothing to check his ambitions. And yet, Luke noticed something odd. Some of the workers were smiling.

He wanted to slip inside, gather intel, but that would be too risky. His return had almost certainly been reported. He needed to know how people were talking about him now. When he vanished into the capital, he’d assumed most would think him dead. But the camp outside the gate had made it obvious they’d guessed where he’d gone.

Maybe I shouldn’t have told the Haven I killed a Midnight Warden.

He’d also mentioned, back then, exploring near the gate. That basically handed them a map to where he’d run when he escaped. Another reason to avoid the Safe Zone was simple: plenty of people in Haven wanted him dead. It wouldn’t be hard for someone with a Painter profession to sketch his face for a wanted poster. And now that they knew he’d made it back from the capital, the hunt would be on.

“I swear, my luck’s garbage. My element of surprise didn’t even last a second after I stepped out of that barrier,” he muttered.

Luke dropped from the tree.

“Headed there now?” Artemis asked.

“Of course,” Luke replied.

And with that, he turned his back on the Safe Zone and set off toward the Wild Zone again. His next move was to infiltrate the second fortress of the mechanism.

***

Luke was back. He’d thrown himself off a cliff and plunged into the river below, only to climb out into the familiar shadow of the orc forest. Nostalgia hit hard. The place hadn’t changed, except for the fact that it was empty. Not a single orc in sight.

Maybe that had something to do with Morvat’s death. He’d half expected other generals to rise and plunge the forest back into its usual chaos, but so far, nothing. Even if they did, he was certain his current strength could handle several Morvats at once. Stealth didn’t matter anymore; he walked in a straight line, snapping branches underfoot without caring.

“Bartholomew’s got a real problem with the second mechanism,” he told Artemis.

“He knows exactly where it is and may have guessed that I want to activate it. But unlike the group he posted at the capital gate, he can’t just park soldiers in front of the second mechanism’s fortress. If he did, his biggest secret would get out.”

Luke wove through the shattered streets of the forest’s buried city. A red tyrannosaurus burst from the treeline and thundered toward him. His hand closed on a kukri, channeling stamina and mana into the blade. The monster’s roar shook the street as it charged. The kukri flashed through the air, slamming into the dinosaur with enough force to send it crashing into a crumbling building.

[You have slain a Red Tyrannosaurus: Lvl 24]

Luke kept walking, calling the blade back to his hand with a pull of magnetism. Another tyrannosaurus appeared. Another throw. Another kill.

[You have slain a Red Tyrannosaurus: Lvl 25]

He didn’t break stride, stepping over the carcass and raising a hand so both kukris could whirl back into his grip.

The second fortress loomed ahead.

“Back to the point,” he said. “Bartholomew can’t just send people to stop me from activating the mechanism. So there won’t be an army camped here waiting. That leaves one option, Kruger, those insane assassins, and anyone else truly dangerous.”

Do the assassins even know about the mechanism’s location? Would Bartholomew tell them?

That was the real question. Would he risk sharing that kind of information just to stop someone from leaving this world? How many people were as unhinged as he was? Luke had no idea.

He stopped in the open, just shy of the fortress, and waited.

“In my original plan, this was where they’d try to kill me,” he said, scanning the ruins. “It would’ve been the perfect setup, draw out Bartholomew’s most dangerous soldiers and deal with them here, away from civilians.”

The timing had been perfect: send the message through Ronan, kill Bastion’s king’s assassins, wait two days for the news to reach its target… then stand here and let the fanatics come to him. The only people Bartholomew would trust with this location were the ones crazy enough to want to stay in this world, and those were the exact ones Luke wanted dead.

But no one came.

“So… on to the second theory.”

“And that is?” Artemis asked.

“Bartholomew won’t risk letting people like Kruger and the other top killers stray too far from him in Bastion. Now that he suspects I might be… a little strong, he’s going to want as much protection close by as possible. Which means they could be waiting for me in the Safe Zone, or somewhere nearby.”

He studied the fortress, noting the rows of alarm crystals, and started walking. The blue stones began to blink, but Luke didn’t care. Midnight was closing in, and whatever was waiting inside, he’d face it head-on.

The chimes rang out as he passed, sharp and steady. Once, that sound would have tightened his chest, visions of an orc army descending to tear him apart. Now? If the orcs were still lurking somewhere in the forest after losing their general, he’d just use the alarm to draw them in, and kill every last one.

He moved with patient steps, crossing the outer walls until he stood before the entrance to the second fortress.

“So you’re just going to… walk in?” Artemis asked.

“Pretty much. There’s nothing out here that can kill me anymore, and I don’t care about the alarms,” Luke replied. “Back when I planned this, I was the kind of guy who could die from one punch from a Midnight Warden. Back then, stealth mattered. Today… not so much.”

Kukris in hand, he stepped inside. The first thing he did was summon Charlie from his soul. The place swallowed sound. It was pitch-black, the only light coming from the alarm crystals embedded in the walls. These ones glowed red, not blue, silent beacons meant to keep intruders unaware, while warning whatever lived inside.

Luke already knew what was coming for him: a Midnight Warden. Maybe more than one. Since learning what truly lay beneath their armor, he’d had time to piece things together. They were undead. He opened Charlie’s system interface, pulled up her inventory, and tapped on a piece of gear he’d earned as a reward in the past.

[Midnight Warden’s Chestplate (Ultra-Rare)

Description: A reinforced black steel chestplate once worn by one of the feared Midnight Wardens. Incredibly heavy, yet unmatched in durability, it serves as a living wall in combat.

Enchantments:

[Mana Repair (Rare)]: If damaged, the chestplate can repair itself by absorbing mana. No need to remove or return it to inventory.

Bonus: +50 Strength, +40 Endurance

Requirement: Level 20 in any Fighter class.]

That was the real secret behind the Midnight Warden’s strength, their gear. Full sets of enchanted armor and weapons, nothing less than ultra-rare. Without it, they weren’t born killers like the Orc General, who’d had fire magic and a berserker’s rage. A Warden was just a corpse wrapped in very powerful gear. Put anyone in that gear and they’d seem unstoppable. And what made them look truly invincible was the most broken enchantment of all: Mana Repair.

In battle, a Warden could restore their armor on the fly. It created the illusion of absolute durability, letting them fight at peak defense for as long as they had mana to burn. The chestplate had been damaged by the arrow that struck him in the heart. Luke had been forced to pull it off and send it to his inventory for repairs. A Midnight Warden, though, never had to deal with that problem. With that enchantment, their armor never lost its full defensive capability, no matter how battered it got.

Ultra-rare gear. Thick layers of black steel forged from a metal that was probably unique to the First Universe. Of course those things were monsters, and now Luke understood why.

The “Midnight” in their name gave them away. They were creatures from that dead, collapsing universe, survivors of its extinction, carrying enchanted equipment from a place that no longer existed. They weren’t normal monsters. They were direct servants of the Midnight Lord and the Midnight King, the final monster of this entire place. And that wouldn’t be some ordinary fight. It would be against a survivor of the First Universe.

Which meant things were going to get complicated near the end of the tutorial.

During his time in the capital, Luke had noticed something else, something worse, about the Wardens. Samael had once praised him for choosing a skeleton as his first servant. A skeleton couldn’t drown, couldn’t be poisoned, didn’t need to eat or sleep, and was naturally resistant to all kinds of harm. In short, an undead could be incredibly dangerous.

The Midnight Wardens were undead. That meant immunity to most forms of damage. Poisons? Worthless. Drowning? Pointless. Suffocation, paralysis toxins, none of it worked. Even wounds didn’t debilitate them the way they would a living fighter. If someone split Luke open and his organs started spilling out, even with his level, he’d still be slowed down. The Wardens wouldn’t.

He kept walking through the fortress, memories of his last fight with a Midnight Warden resurfacing. Now, here he was, heading in alone.

A monster from the First Universe. An army from the First Universe. A Lord from the First Universe. And a King from the First Universe.

What would that king be like? He let out a slow sigh.

Samael never said whether I can tell anyone else about the First Universe… That’s going to be a problem later.

Deeper inside, the fortress was lit here and there by magical torches. That was when he heard it, the metallic rhythm of footsteps. They echoed through the corridors, drawing closer. Twin red eyes emerged from the darkness. The silhouette took shape. The monster stepped into the light.

[Midnight Warden: Lvl 40]

“So,” Luke said, “guess I’m interrupting your night off.”