Becoming the Dark Lord

Luke followed Evangeline as they left that stretch of forest behind. They climbed back up through the ruins and made their way toward the city. Her hideout was farther than he expected. Instead of heading deeper into the Wild Zone toward the capital, they had to circle back toward the Safe Zone and then skirt its walls, continuing forward without ever stepping inside. Even as he trailed her, he never let his guard down. Every step could still be leading him into a trap.

“You really did make a mess back in the Safe Zone,” she remarked.

They had stopped for a moment atop the shell of a crumbling building, gazing down at the Safe Zone. From there, Luke could see the glow of torches cutting through the dark, soldiers still combing the streets as if refusing to give up the hunt. Wooden watchtowers loomed, their silhouettes broken by the figures of guards scanning for any trace of him.

“And what was it like?” he asked. “Conquering Bastion.”

The wind tugged at their clothes as they leapt down from the structure and broke into a run, weaving through shattered stone, collapsed walls, and the occasional beast wandering the ruins.

“It took almost a year,” she said, not even pausing to think. “Maybe a little less, maybe more. I don’t keep track of dates. But it was before the second wave of newcomers arrived. Imagine this place without a Safe Zone, nothing but Wild Zone, wall to wall. A nightmare. Now imagine discovering that once night fell, the Midnight Wardens appeared out of nowhere. Chaos. And on top of that, surviving at level one, alone. That was my reality when I first got here.”

Her voice dipped lower. “And the few humans you might stumble across? The kind who’d rob you, kill you, or worse. So, I had to depend on myself. For a long time.”

She gave a faint smile. “I only had my shadow to trust.”

“My thief class gave me a head start here,” Evangeline added, with just enough pride to color her tone. “Stealth, tracking, moving without a sound. I could climb a tree, grab fruit, and be gone before a pack of raptors showed up. At night, I was already holed up somewhere safe before the Wardens emerged.”

“Sounds brutal, handling all that on your own. Coming from a normal life and being dropped into this,” Luke said quietly.

“I was used to it,” she replied, her voice casual, though the words carried weight. “I’m an orphan. Since I was twelve, I lived on the streets. Honestly, it wasn’t much different from this place.”

Luke kept his eyes forward, but his fists clenched at his sides.

“Running from predators, kidnappers, abusers, that was my day-to-day. Stealing food, outrunning cops. And orphanages?” She snorted. “Worse than the streets, depending on who ran them. So, I chose the streets.”

Luke thought of his own life. If he hadn’t been taken in by the Baumanns after his mother disappeared in the tutorial, he would have ended up in one of those orphanages too.

“As for surviving here,” she continued, “after a few months in the wild, I ran into a group of survivors led by a soldier. His name was Marshall. He brought order to the chaos.”

She glanced at him briefly. “He didn’t come here alone. He had fellow veterans, their kids, also military, wives, even elders. They all landed in this tutorial together. So I joined them. And that’s when I met Bartholomew. And Kruger.”

The Safe Zone was shrinking behind them now, and in the distance ahead Luke could already make out the outline of the towering wall.

“After some time, we discovered a statue that gave us a quest. It stood before a fortress. That’s when we learned there was a way out of this nightmare: activate three mechanisms, then reach the portal inside the castle. The first mechanism was right there, inside that fortress by the statue.”

She paused for a moment, watching the empty street stretch out before them.

“The rest you already know. Fifty of the strongest walked into that fortress and faced the mission event inside. Only four of us came out alive, me, Bartholomew, Kruger, and Marshall. That’s when the Safe Zone was born, after the first mechanism was activated.”

They kept running through the ruins. By the time dawn crept in, the bells rang in the distance, and they saw the Midnight Wardens retreating into their dens.

“How much farther?” Luke asked.

“Almost there,” Evangeline replied. “For now, it’s just going to be the two of us at my hideout.”

Luke stopped in his tracks. “What do you mean?”

“Allison and a few others from Haven are on a special mission. Something that’ll help us get out of here. Not many know the details, keeps Bartholomew from sniffing it out.”

He stared at her in silence, his gaze heavy, unblinking.

She raised her brows, suddenly uncomfortable. “What? Gonna just keep glaring at me like that?”

“In that case, I’m out.” He turned his back.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?”

“Leaving.”

“Hey!” She rushed after him, frustration sharpening her voice. “You’re really walking away?”

Luke turned, his expression like stone. “Yes. You lied to me. If a partnership starts with lies, I’d rather work alone.”

Her eyes widened, just for a second, before the sarcasm returned like a mask. “I didn’t lie. I said I’d take you to meet them. I just didn’t say when.”

“Oh, right. Not lying, just omitting every important part. And letting me walk into an empty burrow.”

“They’ll all be there once their mission’s done. Meanwhile, I’ve been babysitting the Safe Zone, keeping an eye on you, ready to drag you out if you got yourself caught. Instead of enjoying my hideout, I had to shadow you. You should be grateful.”

“I don’t owe gratitude for something I never agreed to.” He gave her one last look before turning away. “When they actually get back, I’ll swing by.”

Evangeline sighed. “I told you my tragic backstory. You could at least give me some credit.”

“I grew up with a family of lawyers. We’ve seen every kind of con artist there is. It’s always the same trick, spin a sad tale, earn sympathy, then go for the con. I’m not falling for it. Goodbye.” He jogged off without looking back.

She darted ahead and blocked his path. “The idea wasn’t mine. Take it up with Princess Allison when she comes back. And for the record, it’s your fault things had to be rushed, the order was to kidnap you if necessary.”

“Princess?” Luke frowned.

“Sort of. She’s heir to one of those families that run the world,” Evangeline said with a shrug.

“Right. Forgot about that little detail. The word ‘princess’ just… reminded me of someone,” he muttered, resuming his stride.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“You’re really leaving?” she called after him.

“I am.” He shrugged and kept walking.

“I bet you’re just nervous about seeing them again,” she teased, the sarcasm curling back into her voice.

“You’re wrong.”

“Oh no, I can see it. You’re nervous.”

“Think whatever you want.” He vaulted over the ledge of a crumbling house and dropped into the street below.

She followed, keeping pace at his side. “Or maybe you’re nervous about seeing Allison again?” she asked, her tone sly, almost sing-song.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Luke said flatly, striding forward without slowing.

“Hm… looks like I was right,” she said, examining her nails with exaggerated boredom. “You know, this sort of thing doesn’t happen by accident. You met her out there in the frozen desert, outside the walls, just the two of you stranded for days, any minute one of you could’ve died. Then you ended up here, where trusting anyone is a gamble. Feelings happen. Especially for a virgin boy like you.”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “Did she tell you how we got here, or did you pry around until you figured it out?”

Evangeline met his stare. “You really don’t believe I’m working with Haven?”

“I do believe it. But honestly, I’m not in the mood to be interrogated or forced to prove myself to anyone. I’m not going to beg for friendship or jump through hoops to show I’m trustworthy. I just want to get the mission done and get out of this place. When they come back, then I’ll talk to Allison.”

She let out a long sigh. “You really are an idiot.” Evangeline pointed toward a well tucked away between the ruins. “That’s the entrance to my hideout. Now stop brooding, Snow White. We need to sit down and plan. They’ll be here in a day or two at most, and we have to decide our moves before we trigger the second mechanism. Because that means facing Bartholomew.”

She strode to the well, flipped open the hatch covering it, and started down.

“We’ve been walking past your hideout this whole time?” Luke asked.

“Yep.”

“And why?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you knew they weren’t waiting inside like it’s some kind of welcome-home party.” She was already halfway down the steps when she glanced back. “So, are you coming in to talk strategy and swap intel, or do you plan on standing out there sulking all night?”

Luke exhaled, peering down into the dark. Then he followed.

“Lock it from the inside,” her voice called up from below.

He slid the bolt shut and descended. At the bottom, a narrow tunnel opened in the stone wall.

“Come on already, Snow White,” she teased.

Luke ducked inside. Behind them, Evangeline reached out, extended her ring into the well’s opening, and began pulling chunks of rubble, planks, and broken beams from her storage. She piled the debris until the passage looked sealed again.

Turning back to him, she dusted her hands. “There. Usually I just slip through the gaps with my shadow skill, but since I was dragging you along, I had to clear it first.”

Her hideout opened into a surprisingly spacious chamber, carved out and patched together into something that looked halfway like a home. A battered sofa sat crooked in the corner, opposite a bed piled with mismatched blankets. Rugs of every color covered the stone floor. Tables were cluttered with sketches, half-finished designs, and stacks of books. Weapons of all kinds leaned against the walls, clearly scavenged trophies. Dozens of clothes hung on makeshift racks, some neat, others draped haphazardly, with wigs perched like silent guardians on crude stands. Needles, spools of thread, and bolts of fabric were scattered everywhere.

Luke took it all in. “What is all this?”

She was already changing, her ninja garb vanishing with a shimmer from the system. With a casual flick, she tugged something from her head. A blonde wig. She hung it neatly beside the others, revealing her true hair: black, and natural. She shook it loose.

“Much better.”

Luke couldn’t help staring as she slipped the wig into place on its rack.

“My profession’s tailoring,” she said with a smirk, sinking into a chair. “I picked up skills to help me build disguises. Every piece here? Made by me. Clothes, wigs, props. Don’t judge me, James Bond, but I still sneak into the Safe Zone sometimes. Disguises make that possible.”

Luke wandered among the mannequins draped with outfits, running a hand across the stitching. “Impressive.”

“Yes, go on, praise my work. It was a pain to pull off,” she said, standing and moving toward a makeshift counter.

Evangeline pulled a lit torch from her inventory and touched it to the firepit until flames caught. “There’s airflow down here. The smoke from the wood and the smell of cooking don’t get trapped,” she explained, pointing to small vents carved into the stone wall.

“This place… it’s part of one of those dungeons where the Dead Watchmen patrol, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I converted one of the side chambers.”

He let out a low whistle. “Me and Allison ran into one of these.”

“They’re only near the outer walls, connecting inside to out. I sealed the entrance to this room.” She tugged open a set of curtains, revealing a collapsed passage choked with rubble. “At least the air still finds a way in, wherever it’s coming from.”

Then she let the curtain fall back into place. “The corridors deeper in are completely sealed. No chance one of those undead knights hears us down here.”

Luke’s gaze drifted toward the wigs hanging neatly in rows. “How did you even make those?”

“At first? With real hair. Back when I worked as a hairdresser in Bastion, I started saving what I cut. Later, I picked up a profession skill that lets me transform fabric into hair. After that, I could make my own wigs.”

She stepped closer, narrowing her eyes at him. “By the way, how did you bleach your hair blonde? It’s naturally black.”

“I made the dye myself, using what I know from my profession.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously? Can you make some for me? Like… a lot? Can you dye fabric too? Could you do it right now? What colors can you produce? How much at once? Do you know how to make hair relaxers? Shampoo? I could help with the process! Will you teach me?”

The questions tumbled out so quickly she was almost tripping over herself.

“Whoa, slow down.” He pulled his hands free when she grabbed them in excitement.

“You’re really not going to help your friend with some dyes?” She gave him a pitiful, wide-eyed look.

“Don’t make that face. You look like a stray cat begging for scraps.”

“I have to use every trick I’ve got,” she replied, smirking as her usual expression slid back into place.

She dropped into a chair, pulling a few cans from her storage. “I’ll make breakfast. In the meantime, you can tell me exactly how you brewed that miracle dye.”

She hummed while she set the cans in a pot of water and hung it above the fire.

“Let’s stay focused,” Luke cut in. “The goal is finishing the tutorial.”

She settled into a chair, pulling out needles, scraps of fabric, and a spool of thread.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sewing. Talk while I work.”

He let out a long breath. “You really don’t take things seriously…”

“I take them very seriously. I’m making a new shirt. Ask whatever you want while I stitch.” Her hands were already moving, the needle flashing as she pulled the thread tight.

“Where’s Allison? This expedition of hers—where is it, and why? What does it have to do with getting out of this tutorial?”

Evangeline glanced up from her work. “It has everything to do with it. What level are you in your class?”

He hesitated, weighing whether to answer.

“Have you reached level fifty in your race yet?” she pressed.

The questions hit like a trap. To reveal his race, class, and profession levels would be to reveal far too much. He tried to parse her angle before responding, but she’d asked so directly it left no room for excuses.

“I’ll be blunt,” she continued. “At some point, you won’t be able to level up anymore. Not your class, not your race, not even your profession.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You thought leveling was infinite? There’s a ceiling.”

A ceiling. A damn level cap?

“It applies to everything. Race, class, profession. Eventually, no matter how many powerful monsters you kill, the experience just stops sticking. I’ve hit the cap across the board, and even then I don’t trust myself to survive the event tied to the second mechanism. The third one? Or the castle? Forget it.”

The revelation hit harder than he wanted to admit. His plan had been clear: clear the fortress alone, grow stronger, push toward the capital. But if there really was a limit—and if it was low compared to the monsters ahead—then…

Then I’m stuck in this world. No matter how much I grind, I’ll never be strong enough to break through. Unless…

“Now you see my side of things,” she said quietly. “That’s why I’ve been trapped here eight years. The cap is set too low for one person to face everything alone. On our own, we’re weak.”

He looked at her sharply. “So what is the cap? At what level do class and profession stop giving skills?”

Her sewing slowed, and she fixed him with a steady look. “It’s not just the cap. There’s also a… gift that comes with reaching it.”

“A gift?”

“A Rank skill.”