Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke and Jack had been walking through the forest for two hours, a pack of bandits trailing behind them as escorts.

“Caw!” A crow screeched overhead, wings cutting through the night sky. Darkness had fully settled in.

“I just hope wherever you’re dragging us, we get there before midnight,” Luke muttered. “We’re a long way from the Safe Zone. Walking the Wild Zone at night, even in the gray areas, is always a gamble.”

“Shut your mouth!” One of them kicked him in the back.

Jack walked a little stiff, tension in every step. “I knew it…”

“This has happened before?” Luke asked, eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Jack admitted with a curt nod. “It’s common if you’re a healer. You think most of us go to Bastion just for the perks? Out here in the Wild Zone, there’s always the risk of getting snatched by criminals.”

“Got it. You’re too valuable to pass up,” Luke said dryly.

“Quiet down, you two princesses,” Rhett snapped.

Luke didn’t resist, just kept moving as ordered. “So, Rhett, are you the one running this little parade?”

Rhett stayed silent.

“Or maybe your boss is that woman with a fetish for dressing like a ninja?”

“I said shut up!” Rhett snarled, pressing a blade against Luke’s neck.

“Alright, alright…”

Their wrists were bound tightly with rope. Luke didn’t know much about knots, but this one was solid. Eventually, they reached a ruin tucked away in the forest, a rough camp sprawled around it with several tents set up.

“I’d almost prefer a blindfold,” Luke said casually. “People who memorize the route don’t usually get to test their memory twice.”

One of the bandits stiffened. “You memorized the way here?”

Luke blinked innocently. “Memorized? Who said anything about memorizing? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Around a fire sat eight more people, waiting.

“Did you bring the healer?” someone asked.

“Yeah,” Rhett answered. “And we’ve got another one for Landon.”

“Don’t say his name, you idiot!” another snapped.

“What’s the big deal? They’re already caught.”

The flap of the largest tent opened, and a man stepped out. Tall, clad in full armor, beard neatly trimmed, clipboard in hand.

“Conrad?” Jack blurted out.

“Hello, Jack.” Conrad’s voice was calm, almost amused. “Who would’ve thought you were a healer all along? Funny, that little detail wasn’t in the files I had access to. If you’d been one of Bastion’s honored soldiers instead of some camp rat, the moment I learned you abandoned your role, you’d already be gone.”

The realization hit. This wasn’t just any bandit. Their leader had been the administrator of the lumber camps.

“Nothing personal,” Conrad continued smoothly. “But you know how it works. A healer out here is worth his weight in gold, especially with Bartholomew hoarding nearly all of them.”

He strode closer, eyes flicking between Luke and Jack.

“Why would you become a bandit?” Jack demanded. “Didn’t you already have a job?”

Conrad’s smile sharpened. “And who said I care about that damned Bastion job? I only enlisted for power. I’m still part of a gang. With the Renegades gone, the board’s been flipped.”

Luke finally broke his silence. “So you’re aiming to take Marshall’s place?”

“Waste my time waging war against Bastion? Hardly. But we’re not fools either. A new tutorial area just opened, and that’s the real gold rush. With a healer in our ranks, patching us up while we carve our way through and grind levels, we’ll be unstoppable.” Conrad’s eyes gleamed. “That’s the key to power.”

He drew a sword and leveled it at Jack. “Why am I wasting time explaining this to you two? It’s simple. You heal us when we need it, and you won’t be harmed. You’ll have food, safety… or, we start cutting off your fingers. One a day. Until you comply. What do you say?”

“F-fine. No one needs to get hurt here,” Jack stammered.

Conrad gestured toward one of the men by the fire. The man’s foot was wrapped in a filthy bandage, clearly wounded. “Start with him. And don’t try anything clever.”

Jack hurried over and knelt, already channeling his healing.

“And what about me?” Luke asked. “I take it things aren’t going to end as neatly in my case.”

“Are you a healer?” Conrad’s eyes narrowed.

“No.”

“Then you’ll be useful in another way. Our leader will be here in a few days. Even weaklings like you serve a purpose. You’ll make a fine sacrifice for him, worth a chunk of experience.” Conrad pressed the tip of his blade closer.

“Hand over everything in your inventory… or…”

“Or you’ll kill me?” Luke said evenly. “You already said you would.”

Conrad paused, then pulled the blade back with a sigh. “There are two kinds of death. The good ones, and the bad ones. The quick, and the long.” He turned to the others. “Make the little bird sing.”

“Wait!” Jack pleaded. “No one needs to get hurt. I can keep healing everyone, and he can stay here. Once you’re strong enough, you won’t need us anymore. Just let us go then.”

No one bothered to answer him.

Luke was dragged to a tent set apart from the rest. Inside, a stone column, remnant of the ruin, rose from the ground. Shackled to it was a wooden chair stained dark with old blood. The dirt floor was no cleaner, spotted with dried patches of red. On a crude wooden counter sat a box filled with tools, each one more ominous than the last.

“Leave him to me,” said a bald man.

“You sure, Beckett?” one of the others asked.

“Just chain the idiot and get out. You know what comes next.”

Heavy chains wrapped around Luke’s chest and wrists, securing him against the column.

“Out!” Beckett barked, and the others obeyed.

The man inhaled deeply, then let it out slow. A smile crept across his face. “If there’s one thing I truly enjoy… it’s this.” His tone was calm, almost indulgent, as he strolled toward the counter.

He gave a sharp whistle and snapped his fingers. Something shifted in the air. Luke felt a pressure, a shimmer of power as a barrier sealed the tent.

“That’s why I chose to be a mage,” Beckett murmured, slapping his palms together. Sparks flared, crackling with raw electricity, like a living defibrillator. “Torture is an art. One reserved for the patient few.”

He stepped closer, looming. “Don’t bother screaming. The barrier keeps your pain all to myself.” His grin widened.

A laugh cut through the tension.

Beckett froze. “What was that?”

“No idea,” Luke replied calmly.

Beckett frowned, rifling through the tools before turning his attention back to Luke. He checked his wrists, tugged at his hands, even pulled off his boots. Then he yanked away the eyepatch. “Huh. So that eye of yours works.”

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“I wear it for style,” Luke said flatly.

Beckett rolled his eyes and kept searching.

“You’ve got nothing worth taking,” he muttered. Then he unclasped a necklace from Luke’s neck and held it up. “Except this little trinket.”

He focused, trying to identify it. Nothing. His eyes narrowed. “Doesn’t work. Soulbound, is it?” He glanced at Luke, who remained silent. Beckett chuckled darkly. “Not talking, huh? Doesn’t matter. I’ve seen enough of these. Odds are it’s a storage item.”

He set the necklace down on the counter.

“Not going to tell me to empty the item?” Luke asked.

“No,” Beckett replied. “I’ll confess something. If you handed over all your items right now, it wouldn’t be any fun. So relax, and enjoy the moment with me.”

He grabbed a wooden plank and tapped it against his palm. “Before you cook the meat, you have to tenderize it.”

The plank cracked across Luke’s face. A burst of laughter exploded through the tent.

“What the hell was that?” Beckett snapped.

The laugh didn’t come from Luke—it came from the necklace on the table. A man’s voice, roaring with amusement.

Luke blew a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah… my item’s a little weird.”

Beckett scowled, snatching the necklace to examine it. His brow furrowed, then he tossed it back onto the counter. “Never seen anything like this.”

He whistled a tune, humming as he pulled tools from the box. He held up a serrated blade, frowned. “This saw’s a little dull, but it’ll do later.” Then he picked up a hammer, hefting it with one hand. “Imagine you’re at a doctor’s appointment.”

The hammer slammed down against Luke’s leg with a sickening crack.

“Hahahaha!” Franky’s voice howled with laughter through the necklace.

“What kind of insane item is this?” Beckett growled.

“He told me to keep quiet, but I can’t help it. This is too funny!” Franky cackled.

Beckett lifted the hammer and saw the head bent, warped by the impact. He turned, glaring at Luke. “Why didn’t you scream when I hit you?”

“Because it didn’t hurt,” Luke said flatly.

A vein bulged on Beckett’s forehead. He rummaged through the box, snatched a nail, and pressed it against Luke’s hand. “You’ll start singing soon, little bird. Sweet music for my ears.”

He raised the hammer. “On three. One… two!” And he brought it down hard.

Franky lost it, laughing so hard it shook the air. Beckett stared, expecting agony. Instead, Luke just tilted his head.

“I thought we agreed on three.”

Beckett glanced at the nail driven clean through Luke’s hand, then back to his face. “That had to hurt. Why the hell aren’t you screaming?”

“Pretty sure the problem’s you, not the weapon.”

The smile slid from Beckett’s face.

He exhaled slowly, and in his hands appeared a pair of metal knuckle-dusters, crackling with electricity as he clashed them together. “I’m gonna smash that unbearable face of yours,”

“Hahahaha! He said you’ve got an unbearable face!” Franky burst out laughing. “Man, that’s exactly your face! Hahaha, I’m dying here!”

Beckett swung, the charged fist smashing into Luke’s cheek. Then another. And another. Blow after blow, electricity sparking with each hit while Franky’s laughter filled the tent. But when Beckett finally stopped to look, Luke’s face was unmarked. Intact.

“What the hell are you?” Beckett muttered, panic cutting through his bravado.

Luke sighed, raised one hand, and pointed at the ground. Roots erupted from the soil, coiling like serpents around Beckett’s legs, climbing, twisting, crushing until they locked around his throat. Luke pulled an axe from his inventory. The blade flared, glowing with heat. With a single brutal swing, he brought it down on Beckett’s skull. Flesh sizzled, the man convulsed for a few seconds before collapsing, lifeless.

[You have slain a Human: Lvl 13 (Mage: Lvl 24 / Cook: Lvl 32)]

[You have acquired +1 Soul Fragment]

“Luke, I thought you were going to torture him,” Artemis said, her voice low, almost reproachful.

“He was a mage,” Luke replied coldly. “If I hadn’t killed him quickly, he would’ve warned the others.”

The axe dissolved back into his inventory with a faint shimmer, as though the weapon itself had never existed. Luke flexed his fingers, shaking off the phantom heat of the blade, and turned toward the cluttered table.

“And honestly,” he muttered, sweeping his belongings into a neat pile, “he wasn’t even worth burning the kukri on.” His tone carried no anger, just the blunt practicality of someone weighing the cost of effort against the value of a life.

He lowered his voice, almost conversational, as if speaking to an old acquaintance. “So, little snake… you had your laugh. How about making a familiar pact with me now?”

Franky’s reply came sharp and flat. “No.”

Luke arched a brow. “I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends? With you?” Franky barked a bitter laugh. “Not a chance.”

Luke slid the necklace back around his neck, the metal catching what little lantern light filtered through the tent, then adjusted the eyepatch into place with the precision of a ritual.

“It’s been almost three months,” he said quietly. “Every single day. You still won’t admit this is at least some kind of friendship?”

“There’s not a shred of friendship between us,” Franky snapped, his words dripping venom.

Luke ignored the bite in his tone. He pushed aside the flap of the tent and peeked outside. Fourteen men, maybe more, spread across the camp. Lanterns swung in the night breeze, casting long, jagged shadows that shifted like restless specters.

A grin tugged at his mouth, feral, anticipatory. “Better than I expected,” he whispered to himself.

Wasting that much experience wasn’t an option. He hadn’t allowed himself to be captured out of weakness. He had walked into this camp with one purpose: to erase the entire gang in a single, devastating strike.

***

The Orc Lord roared with laughter as he swung at Allison and her party, a guttural, animalistic sound that echoed through the burning village. They had barely managed to land a handful of strikes on him. Malik had fallen almost instantly, crushed by one of the monster’s iron balls. Mason was the only one who could trade blows without being torn apart, but even he was bleeding and exhausted. The massive spiked spheres, chained to the creature’s arms, spun with terrifying speed, smashing through anything in their path. Getting close to him was nearly impossible.

“Keep them contained!” someone shouted over the chaos.

The village had become a storm of violence after the Orc Lord’s first roar, a sound that had driven the lesser orcs into a frenzy. Haven soldiers had pushed forward to reinforce Allison’s group, holding back the horde, but it was far from enough.

Allison narrowly avoided one of the iron balls as it smashed into the ground. The frozen corpses of orcs shattered nearby, exploding into shards of ice that sprayed in every direction. She seized the opening, dashing forward in a blur and slashing at the Orc Lord with her Freezing Slash. Arrows rained down from archers overhead, sinking into the beast’s hide, but he barely noticed them.

With a roar, the Orc Lord charged, swinging both chains down at once. The twin iron balls slammed into a wooden house, blasting a squad of archers into the air like broken dolls.

Mason hurled a fireball, the explosion lighting the battlefield in orange fury. Allison followed the blast with volleys of ice, launching orb after orb to blind and slow the monster. Even scorched and frostbitten, the Orc Lord fought on, his fury unbroken.

“Fall back!” Allison shouted to the Haven soldiers.

Miriam staggered, her arm bleeding heavily, her body covered in bruises. Eugene darted in and out with his spear, lightning sparking across his legs, stabbing at the monster before retreating out of reach.

Allison sprinted straight for the Orc Lord, weaving between the deadly iron balls. She leapt, a double jump carrying her higher, blade ready. The beast raised his arms to block and swung a massive fist at her, but she exhaled a freezing gust, blinding him with sudden fog. Dropping through the mist, she slashed again and again, driving her blade into him relentlessly.

She had seen it now. His fighting style had a weakness: the iron balls only dominated mid-range. Up close, the monster’s movements were slower, more desperate. The air around him seared with blistering heat, steam rolling from his body in suffocating waves. Staying close was torture. But Allison’s own aura of cold kept her skin numb, her breath steady.

The Orc Lord swung wildly. She dodged, firing an iceball point-blank. The blast of snow burst across his face just as Mason rushed in with his sword, Eugene striking from behind, and Gilbert hurling axes from a distance.

For a moment, they had him staggering.

Then the monster snarled and yanked the chains back. The iron balls snapped into his grip, and he spun like a tornado, the storm of steel blasting everything away. Allison sprinted for a wooden archer’s tower, but the spinning mass ripped through it, collapsing the structure in a crash of splinters. The Orc Lord ended the spin with a final strike, slamming both balls into the ground. The impact cratered the earth, sending shards of stone, wood, and dirt flying in all directions.

The shockwave hurled Allison through the air. She hit the ground hard, blood spraying from her lips, her ribs screaming in pain. The village burned around her, fire swallowing the homes, the sky choked with smoke.

She pushed herself up on trembling arms, leaning on her sword.

And then she saw him, standing across from her, his burning gaze fixed on her with something between fury and fascination.

“A dragon woman?” the Orc Lord growled.

Allison darted aside, barely avoiding the swing of the chains. The monster barreled after her as she ran at full speed, refusing to slow for even a breath. She hurled herself into the shell of a ruined stone house, the creature crashing in after her, shattering what remained of the walls.

Iceballs burst from her hands as she sprinted deeper inside, ducking behind a cracked column. The air was suffocating, heat radiating from the Orc Lord like a furnace. Unlike Morvat, who cloaked himself in flames, this thing burned with an invisible aura, just as deadly, just as relentless.

“I met a dragon once,” the monster’s guttural voice echoed through the ruins. “You’re one too, aren’t you? Trapped in that humanoid shell, a mongrel mix of bloodlines. How pitiful. Why would a species so proud ever stoop to such filth as breeding a half-human, half-dragon?”

With a sudden roar, he lunged, smashing the stone columns apart, the chains demolishing everything in reach.

Allison threw herself out through a broken window, rolling across the dirt slicked with mud as the building collapsed behind her.

“Run!” the Orc Lord bellowed, tearing the ruins to rubble, debris flying in every direction.

She bolted, only to see more orcs charging straight toward her. Too far from the other Haven fighters. Too far from help. Glancing back, she saw him again, charging, unstoppable. No retreat left.

Allison gritted her teeth and pushed forward, weaving between the whirling metal spheres. Orcs leapt at her, clawing and slashing, trying to pin her down. She focused her will, channeling power into her blade until the steel glittered with frost, a lethal edge of ice. Spinning as she ran, she cut them down one by one.

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

[You have slain…]

Orc after orc froze solid where they fell, grotesque statues locked forever in the final moment of their charge. But there were too many. They came from every direction, surrounding her, pressing her back toward the monster itself.The world blurred as one of the iron balls slammed into her side. The impact ripped her from the ground, hurling her through the air until her body crashed against the trees with bone-rattling force.

The Orc Lord loomed above her, chains dripping with blood and mud, eyes blazing with savage triumph.

“I’ll take your head as my trophy, little dragon,” he snarled.